Shooting for Stars

[Fractured]

Oh, man, Trip thought, looking at his clothes in the mirror, I am one sexy vampire-man, but he wasn't very convincing. He just didn't look like Eric, or Bill, or even Edward. His clothes did, sure. That counts for something, right? It'd have to be enough, because tonight was the night when he met the other Kindred in this town. And whatever passes for celebrities here in the capital...politicians? Oh, man, I hope I can do better than that... His attitude is significantly improved when he remembers Arnold freakin-Schwarzenegger is governor. Maybe he'll run in to him at that fancy cigar bar he'd read about it. He checks his suit again- impeccable. His hair- perfect. It was time to make a go at this thing.

He parks his Sebring a ways from the club, not wanting to be embarrassed should anyone recognize him in the totally temporary Chrysler, just til he gets back on. Banishment is such a pain in the ass. Another thought arrives, that he might find someone here with better wheels willing to lend them to an impressive young man...and Trip could be that, for a little while, anyway. He walks in, cell phone to his ear, and talking big to a dialtone on the other end...

"You tell him from me that I said he's done, finished, finito, unless he comes through on that deal...You better, or it'll be your ass in the sling, Kutcher..." He makes eye contact with an older blonde at the bar, mouths 'actors,' and rolls his eyes before turning away and smiling to himself at how well that went. He wonders if anyone else is paying any attention to him, and scans the room...

[Fractured]

The Mekhet is just cursing his decision to come to an establishment where fire is on the menu when the Beast gnaws at Trip's mind, alerting him to the threat of another, smaller Kindred. His own Beast is not Obfuscated; what's the point in living long and well enough to nip at the heels of the Ancillae if you pretend your some jerk kid? Besides, it would have made this evening's goal that much more of a risk. In the Mehket's experience, Blood always outs, anyway.

The older woman is quickly forgotten; I mean, she was old, like thirty-five maybe (OMG! soooo old!) and this one over here by the door is gonna look that good forever. Trip hangs up on his phony conversation, places the mobile in his pocket to smooth over his hair. Show time. Unfortunately, most vampires Trip had met outside of Hollywood didn't give a damn about celebrities and pull among the Mortals, not as though he actually had either, so he figures he'll try his hand at charm instead. Summoning every bit of confidence he can fake, he saunters over to the redheaded people-eater and beams as though he had backflipped his way over instead. "Good evening, miss," he says, trying way too hard to bring sexy back from wherever Justin left it, "My name is Trip and I'm new here. I suppose you stopped modeling, but, the world's loss appears to be my gain tonight, because you're simply ravishing, dear, ravishing. Care for a drink? I'm buying, I insist." Trip comes off less debonair than, say, geek who'd stayed up all night watching old Bond movies in his room, that is, his parent's garage.

[Fractured]

At the invitation to sit, Trip practically bursts with enthusiasm. He never ceased to be amazed when a pick up line actually worked, though, the Beast reminded him which of the two she was being friendly towards, and hint, it wasn't the necrotic flesh bag It was wearing. He ignored the thing as best he could; it would never just be cool. "Trzbiatowski," he says, pronouncing the first part 'Trez,' which was close enough, and following up in classic Bond form. "Andrzej Trzbiatowski. Trip's just easier on American tongues," he says, trying to appear as though the double-entendre was a slip up, but not too hard, and failing miserably in either case. "Have you live...eh, stayed in Sacramento long, miss...?" There were ulterior questions within that one, just under the surface of politeness, namely 'How do things run here?,' 'How do you fit in?,' and 'What is your name?' though, as he hadn't asked them forthright, he'd settle for whatever answers are given.

[Fractured]

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Donovan," Trip says, trying to ooze sexuality, and he would have succeeded, had the excitement he felt Dansing with Ariana not caused his tone to rise into a near-squeal. If I had thought it'd be this much fun starting over, I would have left Los Angeles decades ago, he deluded himself. But it was fun; he felt like a fresh-faced neonate sitting here, playing the information game. "Poland, originally, but I have travelled extensively since leaving the Old Country. Oh, the stories I could tell you of days gone by!" he exclaimed, the grandfatherly statement contradicting the youthful face years had not marred. "Of course, most of them are half-truths, embellishments, or simply false, but stories are to entertain, right? I leave the facts to those unimaginative to do better than this poor shadow we call reality." He chuckled, an attempt at scholarly debonair delivered clumsily so that he seemed to be laughing hardily at his own joke. "But don't get me started," he winks, "you say you have been here many months, Miss Donovan? I hear there are opportunities to be had here during these, aheh, interesting times. Have you found this to be the case?"

[Fractured]

Trip is curious of Ariana's response- did she mean there were many lies in Sacramento, or stories, or had she deduced his Clan? Was he wearing his Shadow on his sleeve? "Oh, the truths are boring, believe me," he laughs in self-deprecation. And he has already given many; the Beast across the table was a sharp one, to be sure. Trip's eyes alight as Ariana obliquely refers to her position in the city. Meeting a Harpy on the first try, oh, well done, old boy! he congratulates himself. If the evening played out well, he was likely to find the opportunities he sought here. "Rumors, however, are an exciting business, Miss Donovan," he grins, "and I would love nothing more than to hear them." He pauses before following that with, "Well...almost nothing." He laughs again, because he found Kindred and Kine alike were more at ease among clowns. Why this should be was not a consideration; Trip was no philosopher, but he was happy to play that part, too, if the audience required. "Of course, Miss Donovan. I am a friend to idealists, but my family is in the dark." Oooh, you're one smooth bastard, Trip, damn smooth. "And yourself, Miss...Donovan...?" A slow key in his mind turns a rusty lock, and he tells her, "Your name seems familiar to me, but I cannot place it...." though its more a question than statement.