Connor finds himself in a dive bar on the outskirts of town. One of those places where no one would take a second glance if strangers left together. Heartbeats fill his ears and the smell of copper pennies fill his nostrils, driving his actions as he takes a seat next to a reasonably attractive woman at the far end of the work wooden bar, eliciting a small shudder from the Kine. He can almost smell the alcohol in her blood, Vodka Crans if his eyes don't deceive him, and he knows he's found the proper target.

"Whiskey for me, and one of whatever the lady's having." The haunt calls to the bartender, purposely flashing the contents of his intentionally full wallet as he withdraws a 20 to lay on the bar. The bait is set, and Connor knows from the look on the woman's face that he has her hooked. He turns to the unsuspecting meal-on-wheels that the woman is about to be. "Hello lovely," he says, leaning heavily into his accent, "my name's Sean, wonderful to meet you." Momentarily the look on the woman's face is trepidation, a product of the Irishman's curse, but that flutters away as a full drink is placed in front of her. Forgotten in a haze of drink, lust, and greed.

The pair talk for the better part of an hour, small talk mostly, with Connor doing everything he's learned to draw the Kine in, make her drop her defenses. Then finally, the moment he's waiting for. She gets up, heading to the most likely worn down restrooms, her true intentions made clear with a wink to the haunt.

After a brief moment Connor rises from his seat, looking around to ensure that no one is paying attention to him, and goes to meet the woman for what she expects to be a brief moment of bliss. A moment that the haunt is all but happy to provide, though not in the way that she would like.

He makes his way in, meeting the woman just as she goes into a stall for what little privacy they offer. His feeding ritual starts with a kiss here and a kiss there, leading down to her neck where his fangs emerge and are swiftly sunk into the flesh of the Kine, a gasp of shock escaping from her lips before her body trembles with the bliss that the Kiss can bring. He drinks deeply, his best ever present in his mind. Don't stop yet, finish the job. The haunt hears, a small enticing whisper in the recesses of his subconscious. He snaps back to his senses just as the woman goes limp, though he can tell by the rise and fall of her chest that she's still breathing. Licking the wounds closed, he gently sits the woman down on the toilet and wipes his face on his black sleeve before leaving the bar entirely. Either she'll wake up and remember a simple moment of bliss, or they'll find her and assume she's a junkie. Either way, the Masquerade is safe, and the Haunt lives to hunt another night.