(sac Noir) Succubus Dance

[Yumyumcrow]

Nefertiti Khan is droning on and on. Now she is taking about the correct sacrifices to the Judge. So what! Its olive oil! And blood. Blood? Ooh my!

Vivian might have found it easier to process, had not the Moustachioed Man approached. He smelt of aftershave and cigar smoke. His eyes were on her. His mouth a private smile. He makes a furtive, quick look about him and see's that everyone else seems to be absorbed in Khan's exposition.

"We can away, my dear. No one will notice now. Not even Fatima." His presence presses against her with an easy familiarity. His speech is familiar. Doubtless, in his garbled headspace, he is talking to a lover or confidant. Or both.

Selena Vivian York

[Yumyumcrow]

Hunger in his eyes, the Moustachioed Man takes her hand and draws Vivian away.

  

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2015-02-26 23:58:21		Someone rolls 4 to do something insignificant (10 Again)		3, 9, 3, 8		2 successes

He finds the shadows and moves cat-like through the dim spaces, away from the blaring, basilisk gaze of the lights and toward the cluster of buildings near the main house. There was no sign of a barn from the path he had taken to arrive, so that left the space beyond the house and the rank of green houses. The main house and the green houses were all clothed in shadow, mysterious in the cold night.

By a quirk of fate, the man avoided the spots where Baldwin's men had laid their traps.

Vivian and her prey will eventually find a rambling old barn, well away from where the Kindred and the mysterious Khan have gathered. However, if Vivian wishes to drag her willing prey into one of the green houses instead, she may do so

[Yumyumcrow]

Perhaps the man with the moustache was too in tune with his baser lusts; perhaps he was simply opportunistic. When one is deep in the shadows and no barn is in sight, a big, dark, and dingy green house will do just fine. Especially when the door is unlocked.

He ducks inside. Vivian follows.

Its quaint and rustic and pleasantly warm. Long trestle tables are filled with verdant foliage. Aroma of compost and soil. Tinkle of water and rustle of leaves. Plastic dividers shine enigmatically in the half light offered by the ambient glow.

In the dimness, his mouth is a line of white. "My dear..." He draws the Daeva into an embrace, completely ignorant that it is he who is the prey.

As discussed - to the green house!

[Yumyumcrow]

Moustachioed Man is lost to Vivian's charms.

The greenhouse is as one would expect: its long and thing, almost cottage industry in size. Trestle tables frame a central passage: on one side the vegetation is particularly bizarre; on the other it more natural with a large number of failing or dead plants surrounded by budding shoots and vegetables. Bulky shadows hint at larger plants and equipment in the area that is screened off by grimy plastic drapes.

Nothing moves.

There is only the scent of earth, bonemeal and blood, teasing at her noise.

[Yumyumcrow]

Clumsy fumbling nets a success. Fingers brush a worn pair of secateurs...