Thirst

...in spite of what was to come, Monroe Carter, whose name rhymes with martyr, would remember this as one of her happiest nights. She considered what she'd told Yan, that people were nothing more than miserable little piles of secrets...the thing is, that was especially true for the Damned, because the First Tradition and common sense demanded that the Kine, their livestock, their lovers and friends and shadows of their former selves, couldn't know.

She'd seen love between Kindred, forged over long decades of undeath but the nature of the Beast was parasitic, sick; to keep their inherent darkness from tearing them apart, some even exchanged a bond of blood but that was considered taboo.

Maybe that alone was the point; Kindred were inherently jealous of other people's happiness, and it would make perfect sense that a millenia old injunction against the sharing of blood between Vampires could be traced back to the simple envy of long-dead monsters.

What she was doing was far worse...more than simply breaking a taboo by commiserating with a Lupine (in itself a source of suspicion and a profound fear of the unknown) she was

enjoying his company

- and more than just that,

far

more than just letting herself, for once, be fully taken by his smarmy, confident charm...or sneaking kisses and intimate touches where she could

They transgressed. Utterly.

The Date of Utter Transgression - Part One:

Dinner and Drinks

" - this one here, I actually got lucky, it was the last job I ever worked." Monroe's gaze traced the starburst pattern of what were clearly bullet holes underneath his scapula. "I was doing night shift at this place - Red's Towing, you know them with the radio jingle?"

Oh how could anyone forget?

"

Illegal parkjob, tires gone a-blowing? Just give us a ring at -

doodlee-deedlee-doo -

Red's Towing!

Yeah yeah now it's gonna be stuck in my head all night, you better sing something else later." Her amber gaze watched with amusement as he pushed a paper plate laden with this...formidably large, bougie slice of pizza covered with sauteed chicken, carrots, peppers, some sort of...Thai chili something or other. She almost never

ate

food for its flavor, even if the Blush of Life restored her tastebuds because it was part of the show, just another lie to blend in.

Had she ever even

tried

something like this? Back when she was actually eating pizza for sustenance and pleasure, like all the actual food college students and GoPro-fessionals flourishing about her, options had been comparatively basic: sausage, pepperoni, green peppers or olives, anchovies if someone felt particularly adventurous...she bit into the end and marveled at the strange panoply of new flavors straight out of Chiang Mai, watching Mizrah's pulse, the little deathmetal drumbeat of his heart.

"So one night, it was 3am - yep, bad shit always happens then, hour of the wolf, and I was alone at the depot. Everyone was out driving or sick, whatever. So this guy who had a beef with the owner of the bar across the way - "

" - you're talkin' 'bout Woody and Fran's?" she interjected, swallowing faster than she needed; she'd fallen out of practice with chewing but he didn't

seem

to notice. Besides, there was something about the way

he

ate that was...

" - nah babe, they're long gone, a shady titty bar took its place. Bananagans Gentlemen's Cabaret." He had table manners, but...biting down into his own slice of pizza she couldn't help but notice the way he...savaged it, just a slight shake of his neck, his teeth flashing ivory white; marinara sauce painting them like gore. "Anyway," he swallowed it down like he'd torn it from some greater Pizza Prey-Beast, miming the whole incident using his hands. "This guy rolls up and gets out with a modded AR, starts firing full auto - doesn't hit a single person, misses everyone except me."

"What. You weren't even in the same building. Sometimes you're punchable but shootable?" Monroe reached forward and pushed her fingers into the little divots created by the hot lead

"Ricochet. Two of them, got me good." He returned to politely mutilating his food as she laughed at his expense.

"That is some poor luck Yusuf, gotta say. Least they didn't get that pretty face of yours, might not be into that if you had an extra set of nostrils." Monroe favored him with one of her rare smiles - the more time she spent around him, the more prolific they became. Her hand dropped down to caress his knuckles before snatching his...

very

pepper-dense slice and biting into it with a -crunch-.

"Oh so it's not my alluring personality and abundant knowledge that hooks you?" he teased, stealing his Scoville rich food back and finishing it.

"Hooks me he says," a slender brow forming a languid arch, running her tongue up and down a canine as she looked him over. "So hot stuff, we had our expensive-ass appetizers - you didn't have to pay for me you know, I got money." Still. It was nice, another classy thing that made her feel desirable. "When we gonna eat for real?"

Yusuf sipped from a bottle of water with natural cool and leaned forward on his elbow like he owned this table and the restaurant around him, his voice dropping down to a silky murmur that only another creature of the dark like her could pick up on. "Been choosing marks...you have too." He was right of course, as was her wont she'd been eavesdropping on the conversations around her with her acute hearing. Their fingers touched lightly as the processed, valueless human food in their systems burned away in similar fashion, leaving them both hungry: she for blood, he for flesh...both for the pleasure of each other's bodies, to watch the other enjoy the Prey; for sex was richly intertwined with the hunting habits of Clan Brujah and the Enkindled Strain.

"Yeah?" She took his hand into both of hers, turning his palm up and spreading his fingers to scratch her nails across the lines in his skin; it tickled, like she'd meant, and she kept her grip as he tried to pull away. "Who gets that cute lil' tummy of yours rumblin'?"

"Cute little tummy?!" he fumed with mock offense that made her smirk, his dark, intense eyebrows pulling downward stormily. She couldn't help but give a sardonic little titter at his expense because it was stupidly precious. He leaned back and flashed his abs at her, and she gave them an appraising stroke. "You have

no idea

how hard it is to keep an eight pack in the South, everything down here is fried and delicious." Not that it was a problem for him anymore, she'd never met a fat Lupine.

"Okay, okay Mister Abs-of-Steel," Monroe chuckled, leaning forward on her elbows and leering at him playfully like a spider admiring a shiny bottlefly. "So come on big stuff, who're you thinkin' of..." she quirked her eyebrows and snapped her teeth together in a way that got his blood pumping harder in his veins; she could feel it in his wrist, see it in the heat of his eyes.

"Well, I mean...I'm not gonna be," he dropped his voice lower, glancing surreptitiously at the banquet seated around them, "

eating

any of these people, they're just, y'know. Regular folks, I usually eat big game - damn, you thought I was gonna like..."

"Well I mean, we

are

..." Monroe trailed off with an incredulous expression, leaving the word unspoken; nobody actually wanted to

call

themselves 'monsters'.

"Yeah, but like, y'know. This is America's future around us! We need them to pretend to compete with the CCP and keep the working class in its place." His smile was charming like a crescent moon artfully gashed across a night sky.

"You just like makin' me ask don't you." She scratched her nails over his palms like she was testing the skin of an orange, turning his hand over to play with the bones in the back of his hand, enjoying the way his life coursed mightily through him.

"Hahaha okay." They leaned close to one another and mirrored the same conspiratorial smirk; those unable to resist glancing their direction would simply see a rakishly handsome, unusually fit, tawny-skinned metalhead who'd probably 'dressed up' in that white collared shirt, whispering something intense and heated to his hot date. Said hot date, in her tiger-print tank displaying the ripe curve of her chest, with her feline eyes and the commanding set of her shoulders, her rainbow braids and alluring collarbones, looked like she was enamored with him...and it wouldn't be far off to say that she was.

"That trio of girls with the dude who thinks he's gonna get laid...the ones a couple tables back to the right, over in that corner, you know who I'm talking about? Check out the one in the cornflower shirt." Yusuf's eyes darted surreptitiously over her shoulder and Monroe stretched her pretty arms up above her head - knowing that the lift of her firm breasts would draw his eyes as she casually looked behind her.

True to his word, there were three college age women seated with a college age man who thought he was gonna be getting laid, but definitely wasn't - she could feel the clay-weight of his awkwardness a mile away, out of place as a pigeon amidst meerkats and barely uttering a peep as he picked at his pizza...barely worth noticing. The pretty young Midwestern-blonde thing at his side looked like she was majoring in her father's credit card, mindlessly chattering away about some storied interaction with a boy unfortunate enough to cross her path. Across from them sat a skinny girl, mixed race maybe, her black hair falling about her shoulders as she ate her pizza like a starving wolf...the Brujah could smell the blood alcohol content from over here, already early in the night

It was their friend that interested Vampire and Werewolf. Her body, long-limbed and winsome as a doe's, was wrapped in a thin, long sleeved yellow shirt that clung to her slender arms; her black hair was tightly curled, worn in a bun with a cheerful, sun-gold bandana wrapped around her head. Something about her was...strung-out wasn't the right word, but any any Huntress who tracked the spoor of other's lust and desperation would be able to read the signs of an unbalanced, vulnerable mark. Her sleek, cocoa-dark legs were sliding smoothly together under the table, her fingers dancing at their own uneasy pace in her lap that unobservant Kine might not notice

"What do you sense?" Yusuf whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her hearing spread outward, like she was casting a net. Monroe listened to all the hearts racing around her and picked out the Prey's; its winsome, accelerated beat - that of youth in the grip of great emotion and longing - was the harmony of a song her Beast recognized. Monroe could feel her looking at them both from the corners of her cat-like, pretty eyes.

"Mmm...I sense a real handsome stud sittin' across from lil' ol' me, but I also hear a heartbeat saying...'I just got dumped and need a comfort fuck...I wanna get drunk and do something stupid tonight...'" Monroe Carter opened her eyes and leaned forward, the amber of her gaze contrasting the purple lipstick she favored. "'I'm shooting hungry looks at that hottie with the nice ass and rainbow hair, and her...ripped man with his juicy

bulge

and his

cute little tummy

."

"Oy, you think you're absolutely hysterical with that don't you," he deadpanned at her.

"Welcome to the Monroe Carter show, big boy." She kept

smiling

at him, and not because she wanted something or was trying to lead him on but because she couldn't stop. The reflection of her contentment and joy, writ across his dashing face, was hard to resist because he was so

cute

. Now that she had less reservations about him, about his intentions toward her, Monroe found herself looking at him in a different light and liking what she saw. She told herself she was just having the jitters, that this was just an inevitable curse of her Bloodline because she'd drank from him too often; happened a lot for Brujah.

She knew it was bullshit.

Monroe's heightened senses placed her right alongside the group, listening to the inanity of their conversation - they had no idea of their peril, like a school of self-absorbed, rainbow-bright fish leaving a trail of bubbles for two sharks.

" - didn't have any idea what he was doing and I honestly felt kinda bad for both of them, but I guess like, guys will just be guys? When the song ended I like, totally dipped from between them and could hear them all like 'yo mahn, back off mahn, she's mine mahn' and 'no way bruh, find your own girl'." The blonde born with an unearned silver-spoon clenched in her teeth is most certainly embellishing this story to the boredom of her friends, but she must be the type that bullies her way to the front of a conversation.

The hungry girl wolfing down pizza takes a break to stare down her friend, pushing her wavy black hair over her shoulder...an Asian parent and a Black one, perhaps? Not uncommon in Pomdefond Parish or Louisiana in general, ever since the white flight of the 90s. "Did you ever tell them you have a girlfriend?" she inquires with only a hint of a slur, provoking laughter all around at the ridiculousness of her proposition.

The girl in the yellow shirt with the sun-bright bandana doesn't laugh though, her eyes fixated on Yusuf's shoulders and jawline, on Monroe's chest and flat belly before they retreat back inside her head to watch whatever tragic video reel played behind her eyes. The nondescript fellow sitting next to her, with his blocky head and ill-fitting pinstriped shirt, clears his voice and mumbles to her...almost too low for Monroe's hearing. "Jess...were you still interested in shots and darts at Alchemy?"

Jess. So that is the name of the lost little lamb. He has to repeat himself for her to acknowledge him, and as she emerges from the darkness in her own head she smiles a non-smile. "Sure...ain't no difference to me." Monroe knows Jess wants nothing more than to either be home crying her eyes out, or up to her throat in something or someone that could wipe out any sense of reality outside of them.

"What else?" he pushed with a subvocalized growl that made her shiver as her senses returned to him, thoroughly enjoying his attention.

"They're...going to Alchemy after this for shots, and to play pool aaaand...uh-oh Mizrah, I think you might have some competition from stripey-shirt." Monroe reached out

"Oh nooo. Anyway," Mizrah smirked and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head as he rather unsubtly flexed his muscular arms.

"Givin' out free tickets to the gun show you damn peacock?" Monroe drawled, admiring the hard double-shape of biceps, the triple-line of triceps and those forearms...she peeked back and noticed Jess watching him again, her eyes crawling along his body like mercury droplets seeking their home. Monroe Carter let Jess know that

she

knew she was staring by running her hand up along Yusuf's thigh...her fingers circled around the impression of his glans underneath his pants, and she watched Jess' eyes widen - understanding she was caught, but unsure of how to look away from either of them. She could hear Mizrah's breathing grow lower through his teeth, felt her own loins grow warm with excitement as his sharp canine tooth trapped his lower lip.

"Works, doesn't it?" Yusuf manifested a white and red tin of Altoids (curiously strong) from his pocket, crunching down on one. She watched his eyes water and leaned forward to give her a minty kiss.

She nipped one herself, rolling the wintery peppermint around between her gum and teeth. "Alright, your turn Legolas, what do your Elven eyes see?"

"The nerdiest woman in US history," he replied dryly, staring directly at her.

They both chuckled quietly before he followed her in closing his eyes, and she sensed the blood flow to his ears, the crackle of olfactory alterations in his nose. She was among the few Vampires to get close to a Lupine without violence, and she was fascinated as he gently inhaled the air, tilting his head slowly to the right before it swiveled on his neck. His eyes opened, that ring of orange around his black irises twitching.

"Check it. There's two dudes, three chicks outside. Right there, grouped around that awful Camaro. I know you can hear them too - yeah, you see 'em baby?" Mizrah gestured with his stubbled, scar-nicked chin out the tall storefront window at a tangle of rough youth.

Hmph.

Baby

. She didn't mind it anymore...liked it now.

Monroe's attention zoomed in on them, and as the clattering cacophony of the restaurant receded, she eavesdropped on their conversation; it resolved for her like speech coming through one of those old ham radios she and her cousins played with, back when those were recognizable to folks around her...

...two girls lean on the hood of a silver camaro, both are probably little more than 20 if that; sisters? They got that cholita look with their long eyelashes, slicked back tight ponytails...one's wearing a white sports bra and the kind of low-rise skinny jeans Monroe was rocking back during the Uthman Administration, one's wearing a halter top and the mom-pant look that'd come back in style...big, dark, painted-up eyes, they're cradling 40s that look too big for their delicate hands. "...so I says to him, 'Sammy we're meeting at Pierrot's' and the guy waited there for like, three hours. We didn't even know until someone was like 'hey, where's Sam-Sam? Almost felt bad, haha." A clink of her bottle with her sister's.

"Ooooh that's brutal babygirl, at least Pierrot's makes a good Long Island ah?" One of the boys had the solid, open, honest face of someone who would have been doomed in The City, a khaki fisherman's hat sitting over the bluntly earnest shape of his forehead. "I swear sometimes that guy is such a fucking idiot - "

"Relax ese," the third woman said...she looked older than the rest, mid-20s perhaps, night black hair streaked with purple. A violet wife-beater sat loose on her frame, under which Monroe could see a black bra and a mess of ink...playing cards, candy skulls, names of friends and family consigned to the beyond - they spoke the same language. "Sammy Barca is a retard, we all know, case closed. He's our boy too, and we love him." There wasn't any area for disagreement - yeah, that one was in charge of this little motley crew.

There was one who stood with and yet apart from them, and in Monroe's practiced eye she could read telltale signs of loss haunting his deep-set eyes. His Mexica-warrior ancestry stood out like a subdued warcry, and she couldn't help but find herself interested and curious. His black tank top clung to a body that probably spent most of its time outside, and she didn't see booze in his hand or a cigarette nearby...sober, all of the soldier's emotions fully felt and carefully tamped down

He was staring right at her, and she stared back. Undaunted and curious, intrigued and more than a little aroused.

"Cleon you figured out where we're goin' yet? You doin' that thousand-mile thing again homes," the open-faced boy joked although to Monroe's trained ear his concern stood out like brail, reaching out to pound the other guy's shoulder. Shaken from his reverie, an easy-yet-false smile came across his handsome face...the patterns of vulnerable prey betrayed themselves in Cleon just as easily as Jess.

"Cleveland's. No BS there," he answered brusquely, finally tearing his eyes off of her...

Her senses refocused upon the man before her, watching her with baited curiosity. "They're Eagles," he pointed out like she didn't know that. Monroe pretended, just for fun for once, to be ignorant, curling her fingers against her chin lightly and leaning her elbow on the table.