The Incubus Club

[Isaac DeMorn]

Isaac glances at the long que that snakes beyond his view around the nearest corner of the club and a smile touches the corner of his lips. He was always happy to see the Incubus do so well, after all if his sire was making money then his life was alot easier and that was no bad thing. His smile broadens and he tosses the keys to his Aston Martin vanquish at the valet who had scurried towards him the moment he parked up.

Normally he would humour the staff and let them think he cared about thier humdrum little lives or was impressed that they knew who he was, after all who didn't know Isaac DeMorn? He was a renowned collector of the arts and trophy boyfriend of the Incubus clubs owner Susan Martel, atleast that's what he was in the mortal world. In the world of Kindred he was a little bit more, he was the one who controlled Ms Martel's operations during her increasingly longer absences from the public eye and an infamous businessman in his own right. And both of these things are what bring him to the Incubus club on a dreary Friday night instead of enjoying himself in sme run down sleazy club and sating his desire for easy flesh and blood.

He gives a curt nod to the two doormen and strolls past the front of the line into the entry corridor of the club, pausing for a moment to admire his reflection in the mirrored walls, his manicured fingers smoothing out his long black coat and brushing imaginery specks of dust from the frilled collar of his crimson velvet shirt. He wasn't exactly dressed to blend in but then he never did care for being one of the crowd, it was the reason he had come to the attentions of Susan in the first place and was probably why she had never grown bored with him, not in 50 years of financing his expensive tastes and disturbing habits. He grins broadly, exposing the finely wrought silver fangs that cap his incisors, a small parody of his own condition designed only to amuse himself and perhaps slightly anger the more uptight of his kind that he was forced to associate with.

He brushes a hand through his short, slicked back hair and then turns to walk down the corridor, passing through a pair of double doors into the gloom of the club proper and whincing slightly as the music assails his senses, throwing him off gaurd for a few seconds untill he can regain control. He utters a soft curse at the noise and then strolls through the crowds of people towards the large bar that dominates the far wall of this floor of the club, pausing to glance over a nearby railing to gaze in contempt at the cattle who writhe and gyrate with reckless abandon on the dance floor. The urge to feed rises up within him and he has to fight to mantain his self control, feeding on the clientel here was the only thing even he wasn't allowed to do although that hadn't stopped him in the past it wasn't something he ever did without a very good reason. Sighing he shakes his head and takes up a place by the bar, leaning against the counter top and waving away the attentions of the bar tender, glancing at his watch and then turning his attention back to the crowds around him.

It wouldn't be long now untill Merekkesh arrived, her call to let him know that she had something he would find very interesting for him had perked his interest enough for him to arrange a meeting with her. He would have preffered to meet with her somewhere a little less public but recently with the war between the different Kindred factions errupting nobody could really be trusted anymore and so he had talked her into holding their most recent meeting here, after all if it turned out his distrust was misplaced he could always make it up to her afterwards and still get to enjoy his night after all. He chuckles at this and settles in to wait, waving the bar tender over for a drink to keep up appearances as he whispers to himself.

I am the master of cunning.

[Anna Pryce]

My almost golden hazel eyes stare at the waiting throngs outside the Incubus Club through the heavily tinted windows of my limo. The warm May night is not too terribly hot for standing in a line outside, but I certainly don't envy these poor souls. My long fingers tipped in blood red nails clutch the Gold Card that had arrived earlier this week with an invitation to see the club as a VIP. In all fairness, I'd been looking to stop by soon since it was so new. The invitation just set my visit in stone.

The limo comes to a full stop in front of the club's main entrance and a very pleased Lyons jumps from behind the wheel to open the door for me. I just know he'll find a phone as soon as I'm gone to alert my parents that just maybe I'm finally giving in to their demands. They always insist that I take the limo everywhere I go instead of using taxis or walking. I think that's bull, and let them know by leaving Lyons and his limo behind whenever I can. I'll never give in to their demands. They might start thinking that I've released them from their duties to me. I just took the limo because it makes a bigger statement than a taxi ever could.

The door opens and I swing first one black leather clad leg out the door, then the other. The pants I'd elected to wear are by no means anything like what was 'good and proper' for a lady to wear, but I'd long since abandoned any desires of being what most people consider a lady. They are low riding, skin tight, and just a little too long for my already long legs, so that they hang over the heel of my strappy shoes a bit. Of course, what would give both of my proper southern parents heart attacks is the top I'd chosen for my ensemble. It really is only a wide strip of red leather that covers my breasts and has matching red leather ties that wrap from the back down and cross over my bare stomach to tie in the back.

I stand fully and send a sidelong glance at the men standing in line near the door before running a hand through my long dark brown waves. My full dark red lips curl into a pleased smile at their looks of interest and their female partners' looks of irritation and jealousy. The two doormen do their best to maintain a professional appearance, but I take note of how their heads move a little to casually scan me fully.

"Gentlemen," I murmur with a slight nod as I flash the card at them. They glance at it and nod when they see my name. One of them checks off my name on their little list as I walk into the door. I admire myself in the many mirrors that line the entry hall. I've always been a fan of my own reflection, though I rarely stare at myself for long. I try not to advertise my vanity too often. However, I take this brief moment to make sure that all the little details of my appearance are perfect. The seemingly simple silver barbell pierced through my navel glows red as it should, and the long silver handcuff earrings catch the light whenever I turn my head and move my hair from my neck. I look perfect.

As I pass through the double doors into the loud music, I run my tongue across my lips. I can already tell that this club could very well become one of my favorite places to spend my nights. The lighting is ideal, there is plenty of room to dance, and loads of comfortable seating for those interested in sitting and watching the people who twist and contort on the dancefloor. For now, I content myself with moving to the bar for a drink.

"Something fruity with rum in it please. I'm not too picky." I flash the bartender a smile and slip a twenty into his tip jar before he begins making my drink, then turn my attentions to the people already flocking to dance. As soon as I finish my drink, I fully intend to join them, but first I want to get a better feel for this place. There are several men attached and unattached exploring the grounds and oggling the various women that pass them by. 'I'm going to have so much fun...'

[Jonnalyn Savoiz]

Her method of reaching the door wasn't as easy as driving up in a limo and flashing a card, as she'd noted some doing before she went to the end of the line, but it was effective. A dazzling smile and a pretty face went a long way to getting people to talk to you- and in the process let you join their group. One step at a time, she'd slowly weaved her way through the line until she was charming the ones near the very front and was the next in line to enter. No. It wasn't as quick as a limo and a card, but 15 minutes wasn't a bad time considering.

When she finally stepped up to the door, she smiled at the doormen.

Good evening, fellas. Nice night out, isn't it?

One of them gave her a slight smile in return, before she gave a little wave and waltzed into the club, quite satisfied with herself. It was an active club. Which was perfect for her intentions. She hadn't been to a club for several months now. Not since....

Her smile almost faltered before she forced the memories from her head and walked to the bar. The past was the past and as long as she could get what she came for tonight, it could remain there. And what she wanted was some fun. Some fun and some company. Especially the company.

Licking her lower lip slightly, she watched a couple grinding against each other in what could only be thought of as a mating ritual masqueraded as a dance. It would be so much easier if they would just cut to the chase and stop pretending that they weren't after sex. Laughing softly to herself, she turned to face the bartender.

Caipirinha, please.

Waiting for the bartenders nod that he had her order, she turned back to continue watching the dancers. The love birds were gone.

Must have gone looking for a restroom... she muttered under her breath.

[Luriel]

She crossed the street and approached the door of the club as a woman with hair like a dark brook poured from her limo into a sea of lustful stares. Luriel reached up with timid finger and tucked the strands of her own ginger locks behind her ears self-consciously. She would never have the confidence of a woman like that, that sort of beauty is inherited by generation of beautiful genealogy. Luriel could be described, at best, as hauntingly pretty. Her pale skin and emerald eyes stood out under the red hair. Typically, and in fact this evening, she wore light, billowing dresses that hid her figure and moved with each step as though a child's breath might blow them away.

She tiptoed to the doorman, and peered up at him timidly. With a slender finger she pointed to her name on the list and smiled. Her wide eyes were met with a roll of the eyes. The first time she had arrived she whispered her name to the door man. Ever sense then she refused to speak, only pointed to the spot she was always listed. Luriel had a knack for remembering things like that. She remembered how many steps it took from her door to the door of her office, to her cat's vet and to the club. She remembered the names of all the Kindred approved to be in the city, whether she had actually met them or not. Luriel remembered anything she was told to, and several things she was told to forget.

She made her way through the door and several nasty stares. She glanced around and made a quick inventory of who the voice that called her a "line cutting whore" belonged to. That would be important later. The woman was short and blonde. She wore entirely too much make up, appearing almost clown like. The low-cut shirt and miniskirt ensemble she wore looked trashy as it clung to her body in the most unflattering ways. Perhaps that brunette who had passed by could wear such things and still look graceful and lovely, but this woman looked like one of the women who stood outside Luriel's building promising love and devotion for $50 an hour. Luriel just smiled shyly for now and continued inside, walking behind a group of girls to avoid the mirror which hung in the lobby.

She slipped past the women, unnoticed, making her way to the bar. It was time to go to work. Luriel had two jobs; one, her mortal job, as the overnight forensic crime investigator, but her other occupation was to keep an eye on who was going where. Those who looked to her for guidance often benefited from her awareness of who was still around, who was new and any changes in demeanor. The last was very had to distinguish at times as she was generally regarded as a bit daft by most of her kind, they always spoke to her differently. She had to watch from a distance and often found she was unable to follow when privacy was called for and security was well measured.

Tonight though, she was at the Club, one of her favorite places to people watch. She made her way to the bar, counting her steps as she went. She settled down seated between two men. One was a large man with breath that smelled like bad oysters who was slurring into the ear of a lovely twenty-something. The man must have had quite a bit of wealth to back up his flirtations, because the young woman giggled and flashed him with encouraging glances. The other was very well dressed, impeccably well groomed and went by the name Isaac DeMorn. She had met him once or twice, he seemed like the sort of fellow who also kept tabs on who was who and what they wanted. He wasn't so bad for being so stuffy.

Luriel smiled up at him shyly, ordered a cup of coffee from the bartender and set herself to organizing the mixed nuts into sorted piles on her napkin as she watched the dancers surge to the next song as the heavy base kicked in.

A lithe blone woman approached the bar, her eyes following a pair of youths dancing liciviously. Luriel watched her place an order out of the corner of her eyes, continuing to sort the nuts without flatering. This one was new. She had to be, Luriel had never seen her face. After a few moments Luriel sniffled slightly and turned to the woman.

Hi, she whispered, sucking her lips in as she smiled and looked up at the woman.

[Vincent Diorm]

I swing my silver Ferrari 360 up to the curb outside the busy Incubus Club and sit back in the disgustingly comfortable drivers seat for a few moments, listening to the strains of "Pretty When you Cry" scream from the upgraded speaker system and reveling in the feeling of the base shuddering through my body. I'm debating shutting off the CD changer when there is a sharp rap on the window beside my head, turning slowly I smile at the valet, Brian I think his name is, who stands by the door of my car waiting impatiently. Shrugging I shut the engine off and swing the door open, smirking inwardly as he is forced to hop out of the way or be struck by the metal.

Watch yourself Bri, dent it and you pay for it sunshine!

I chuckle softly to myself at the barely disguised look of anger that flashes across his face before he remembers his place and gives me a curt nod, knowing his place doesn't stop him from back talking though, and I'd be impressed if I had the time to waste.

My name is Gregg, -Mr- Diorm

The contempt oozes from his voice and I arch a finely plucked eyebrow as I throw my car keys at him and turn to walk away.

That's great, maybe if you wear a name tag I'll care enough to get it right.

I chuckle again and make my way towards the entrance to the club, sometimes being the ghoul of Isaac DeMorn had it's great perks, and free room and board in New York and the opportunity to verbally abuse stupid Americans were certainly the best amongst them. Free entry into the Incubus Club didn't hurt to sweeten the deal either, since it was always a great place to find suitable marks for my side business, which is nice.

I step ahead of the que, stopping beside a well dressed young couple who are trying, without much joy, to convince the doormen that they are on the VIP list. I cast my eye of the woman first but quickly dismiss her as not my type, the man, however, is a different prospect and a slight smile plays along the edges of my lips as I cast my gaze over the lovely suit that he is wearing, a three piece crimson number made of a silken effect material that is most pleasing on the eye. Reaching inside my jacket I click my fingers on my free hand and retrieve my members card, flashing it at the ghouls on the door.

Mind if I pop straight in lads? Got a meeting with Isaac and I don't really want to keep him waiting, know what I mean?

The one nearest to me clocks my card before he realises who I am but once he does he's practically falling over himself to usher me inside and I flash him a smile and head into the club, blinking a little at the lights that bounce of the walls of this stupid mirrored corridor before my vision adjusts to it. I hope the young couple can get into the club but I guess it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, the Incubus was always packed with people who I could see myself waking up with the next morning and I doubt tonight will be any different.

Smiling once again I make my way down the corridor and into the main body of the club, taking a step to the side and pausing as I always do to take in the club itself. It was pretty large building, lots of room on all of it's four floors which is probably why it had beome so popular in its short time of being open. I cross the first floor slowly and lean against the rail to gaze down at the dance floor, it was packed as always, people filling everywhere from the DJ station to the smaller bar area with its seating arrays for those who can't take the pace anymore. Everywhere that is except for a rough area around the furthest wall where an alcoved door is flanked by two Kindred doormen, the door leads down to the basement but I don't know what goes on down there since even I'm not allowed in there, that area was only for Kindred VIP's and their "special" guests...and that term makes me very glad I've never had the opportunity to get past the door.
I shake my head and turn away from the railing, giving my attention to the floor that I stand on now, really it is little more than a vast balcony overlooking the dancefloor below however it does house the main bar of the club and is littered with tables and chairs for those who wish to mingle and risk attempting to get to know one another over the din of the pounding techno music. Still smiling I head to the bar, debating for a moment taking the spiral staircase up to the VIP lounges but then deciding better of it since I'm here on business and it wouldn't do to be caught upstairs if I am needed. Once at the bar I order a mineral water and let my gaze wander along the rest of the patrons untill I spot Isaac at which time I shift my body to be able to keep one eye on him without being ridiculously obvious about it.

[Merekkesh]

From her loft above the street, she can hear the rythmic pulsing of the music. She can see the line of people pouring around the corner, through her floor to ceiling window at the front of the studio. Grabbing up a handful of clay, she adds it to the piece she is working on. Moulding his face from memory, she adds a questioning rise to the eyebrow line, the last look he ever gave. The last question as his mind screamed it's release. As his heart pounded out it's hungered tattoo beneath her delicate bite.

Mmmm, he was delicious.

With his Adonis face and his fierce feather touch. It became almost too easy. These street urchins with their sex appeal. And they were always so shocked when their explosive end, was not the end. Always so surprised when she nuzzled at their neck and sought her own explosive release as they faded. The pounding still wringing in her ears, she considered it to be the most effective end for all involved. At least they can say they died in bed...should there prove to be anyone after this world to tell.

Long dark eyelashes drop in thought over smoky eyes. The smudge of clay on her chin begins to tickle as it dries. Mindlessly she raises her forearm to swipe it away. The pulsing music still thudding in her walls, she smooths the clay-perfected cheek of her latest "model" and grabs up a tool to give his hair the rich texture she had felt under her fingers only hours before. God but he was gorgeous. Angular lines and sultry curvature. Slightly rumpled form passion, sated look on his perfect face.

To see her you would not think much. Neo-pagan artistic schmuckette in appearance, paying the price for her muse with late-night sculpting. She was tall and gaunt, looking as hungry as she had been when she had been embraced. Large dark eyes. In oversized overalls and a thin white "wifebeater", barefooted and long limbed, she looked like some half-oriental country girl. Nipples erect above the overall bib, poking at the thin men's T-shirt, the caress of the strap only enhancing the effect her erotic art had upon her. Her dark hair piled up and crossed thru' with chopsticks. She could feel it slipping but did not want to stop working long enough to refasten it up.

Her leg kept jostling with the beat of the music. Sort of a backward knee press making her hip jiggle. Her hands flew to create this latest piece. She had to work not to move too fast. People could see her from the street. Someone would question her ability to work so quickly...faster than their eyes could really follow.

She was often asked what she did with these clay beauties, by those ignorant to her true nature. She had to tell them she had special buyers overseas and that they were not for sale. Those of her kind knew where the statues went. Only they were allowed to purchase them. Should some unsuspecting steak-breath drop one, she would have to move. Better her kindred have them and know better should one crack. Know what to do with the Cracker Jack Prize they contained.

A sound from the sidewalk below had her turn her head to look toward it. Her curtain of dark hair swung down in a heavy rush to brush the backs of her thighs. The chopsticks had lost their precarious grip on the mass of black and clattered to the floor.

Someone watched her from the street. It happened often. She turned back to her work, unmindful of the hair spilling down her back, slipping around and over one shoulder. Little by little it gathered flecks of clay as she wet her hands and added more.

She looked to the street to see a few more people gathering to watch her. With a careless shrug she wet her hand and returned it to the piece to mold the neck to perfection.

Mmmmm, he was delicious!

She shivered a little as she smoothed the place where her bite had entered.

[Sylandra]

~remove~

[Jonnalyn Savoiz]

She turned her gaze toward the woman next to her and smiled back, before carefully taking her drink from the waiters hand. She was fortunate she could drink, she supposed. Most could not, but she had practiced and now she could control the illness that she should have felt. Taking a sip of the drink, she answered the woman.

Hello.

She smiled again, then adjusted her position on the bar-stool. The woman in front of her wasn't made up to try and attract the hordes of men in the club- but she wasn't ugly. Ginger colored hair and interesting eyes. Her own eyes glanced over the woman's shoulder and noted the other men and women at the bar, before turning back to her drink.

A really busy place, isn't it?

It wasn't a surprise how busy it was, really. It also wasn't a surprise that there were others like her in the area. If mortals only knew how many of the clubs they frequented, were frequented by what they termed as monsters- well, nothing would be this active at night. Even so, having a stranger looking at her as if trying to size her up, made her nervous. She hadn't presented herself to a Prince yet. Some areas considered that a big breach of conduct and respect and could make unlife miserable.

Sipping her drink again, she pushed a lock of her blond hair behind her ear, and shrugged off the misgivings. She was here to have fun, and to take care of one small yet important need. She wasn't going to let someone else spook her out of her intentions. Especially not when she had faced much worse in the past, than a ginger-hair framed, green-eyed stare.

[Merekkesh]

Merekkesh finished up her work and stepped into her shower to rinse the clay off. She loved the visceral feel of clay but she had a meeting to attend.

Stepping out and drying off, carefully toweling down her long black sheet of hair, she again hitched it up with two black lacquer chopsticks and stepped to her closet. She reached in and selected a red mandarin dress, sleeveless, entirely see-through but for the embroidery on it. Frog clasps running the length of it's front, from the neck, cutting left and down the left side. The embroidery was delicate and exquisite workmanship. It featured subtle flames around lotus blossoms down the front and a large dragon on the back with it's luck pearl clasped tightly in one claw and the dripping body of an oriental man in the other. She stepped into a black g-string and a set of black satin ballet shoes.

This seemed fitting. Snugly fitting in fact. As the gauze silk slipped over her head and slipped down her body to her ankles, the rustle of the fabric against her skin gave her a shiver. She was such a slave to the artistic sense of touch.

Grabbing up a small pocketbook she headed out, not bothering to lock up behind her. Two steps from the loft and she turned back.

I almost forgot!

She stepped back up to her work area and fished around in an old earthenware vase. Her hand clasped around the object and she slipped it into her pocketbook.

Well, now it is off to The Incubus.

[Jonnalyn Savoiz]

She'd finished her drink and still not made a move. She'd come in with a plan, but once inside, realized that it would not be as easy to implement as she'd hoped. The place was too crowded and the people too distracted. Of course, she could have taken care of distraction easily ilenough. If she didn't mind drawing the wrong sort of attention to herself. She had been lucky, no one had noticed her outside when she was "taking care" of getting in. Or maybe they had noticed and were choosing not to let her know they noticed.

Yet again sliding the lock of silky hair behind her ear, she glanced around the club. She wouldn't be hasty in her choices tonight. Haste had almost been her death and she would not fall prey to the same fate twice. Even so, she knew what she wanted. It only remained a matter of time till she found it. And then she had to get it out of the club so that she wouldn't be watched.

Then again- maybe she should just not be careful and let the chips fall where they would. It would certainly be entertaining.