Cor Aut Mors. (Demery/Lillith)

[Demery]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHtDvXU10Wg#

It is late now, though I was up before the sun had set, waiting, biding my time. Tricky thing the sun for us vampires. One must be careful to avoid it, lest they wanted to be reduced to nothing. No matter though, I work better under cover of darkness. The hotel where my mark is supposedly staying is right across the street from where I am currently stood on a vacant rooftop, watching the people below as they amble down the streets. My mark left the safety of the hotel briefly to venture lord knows where, but it was no concern of mine. She had to return sooner or later, and I had plenty of time on my hands.

The mark was brought to my attention by someone I've never worked with before. Most of my assignments are through an old friend, Finnvid, who I have known for well over six hundred years. What started out as simply bounty killings back then has turned into an actual legitimate business for him now and I'm one of the few people he uses when people come to him in need of...lets call it help shall we?

I can 'help' in a number of ways, as can my friend's other hit men, and not all of them involve killing and dismemberment. But for a generous fee you can hire our services to carry out whatever task your little heart desires, within reason. This was a last minute contract, and the only way I got wind of it was I was already in the city on similar business. Apparently the person hiring was rushed and panicked I was told. They gave hasty details to Finnvid who passed them onto me and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less. Apparently this was a contract that seemed quite spur of the moment and I might have hesitated had Finnvid not said he vaguely knew of the man. Normally I like to go into details about contracts but I had no time to do so, only a quick call on my way over and being told something about embezzlement, fraud and this mark trying to kill the contractor. Good enough for me.

I am unsure if she knows she is being watched. If she does, she hides it well. Normally people are easy to read, but she seems rather tricky. Cool and collected, much like myself and it's no surprise that she is a vampire. It makes things slightly more tricky, particularly since I do not know just how old, nor how powerful she might be. Looking at physical age does nothing when faced with my own kind, but I can tell she is older than most. She seems sure of herself, confident without being egotistical and something which sparks my interest, is that she appears to be a day walker. Now that is a pretty trick she has. I know many a vampire who would dearly love to have that skill. I myself would have wanted it at one point, but I find myself liking the night more and more as I grow older. I like the solitude, the utter quiet when all the humans have retired for the night.

I stand up from my low crouch, casting one last glance at the hotel before smoothing down my suit, and picking up my briefcase. The business man is always a good way of entry into the more high class hotels, and the one my mark is residing in is certainly not shabby. She has taste. Expensive taste I'd wager, not that I would blame her if she did. These days you get what you pay for, and you have to be willing to spend some money to get the best.

I make my way out of the building, ignoring the confused expression I receive from one of the young office workers as I leave in a decidedly more expensive suit than someone who worked there might own, and cross the busy road to the hotel, smoothing a calm, pleasant smile onto my face as I approach the door man, who opens the heavy glass door at my approach, giving me and equally pleasant smile and a polite 'good evening', which I return. I do so love manners and I can't help but smile indulgently to myself as I make my way to the large, open lobby, where a young woman sits behind a sturdy and expensive looking, high oak desk, her whole image screaming, 'I am a professional and a big girl now and am trying too hard to fit in' and I set my briefcase down at my feet as I come to a stop in front of the desk. Oh look at that, she even has a set of matching pens to go with her outfit. How...utterly pointless and dare I say it, stupidly endearing, should you like that type of thing. I do not.

"May I help you sir?" her voice is sweet and there is just a hint of shyness there, and behind her expensive looking glasses I can see she is blinking repeatedly, a sign that she is nervous or perhaps worried. She is looking at me from under immaculate, perfectly coiffed bangs and I can't help but smile at her softly, making eye contact for several long seconds, before she lets out a soft giggle and her pale, peachy skin flushes delightfully under my gaze.

"I was wondering if you might help me.  I seem to have misplaced the key card to my room while at a meeting and now I fear I might be stuck outside all night." I tell her, my voice low and seductive, a quiet, tinkle of a laugh colouring the end of my sentence, along with a slight widening of my brown eyes, which gives off an unobtrusive air of, 'please help me, I'm just a typical forgetful male.'

She gives her own little laugh, like little bells ringing in my ears and had I the time I might even try and take this further, just for the hell of it (I do so love teasing the 'fleshies' as it were) to see what she might do, but right now is not the time, and I give her another slow smile, this time more friendly, less seductive as she asks me what room I am staying in and now is my time to play the klutzy male once again.

"The number just escapes me, but it was uhh...one, two..." I count it off on my fingers, leaning one elbow on the counter and leaning inward, my body posture open and friendly before I smile again and then shake my head, "It was the last room on floor six, right near the hallway window, you know the one." I tell her, shaking my head again and giving her a sweet smile, again returned by her and she tells me with a little breathy giggle that she knows which room I mean, and sets about activating another key card for me, handing it over to me as I watch her, leaning further on the counter and smiling almost predatorily at her, which makes her skin flush a deeper shade of scarlet, and I can almost see the pulse in her neck growing stronger, and I can most certainly smell the slight hint of endorphins changing, the growing arousal on the woman's part. The klutz of a business man always works. Just seductive enough not to frighten them away, charming enough to reel them in to the point of believing almost anything I say and I take the key card from her slowly, brushing my fingers over the pulse point in her wrist and giving her a slight bow with a deep and deliberate, "Thank you, my dear." as I pick up my briefcase and make my way to the lift, catching the little sigh that escapes her lips as I walk away.

While the elevator moves slowly up to floor six, I slip on a pair of black, fitted leather gloves, which are altogether too 'Hitman' for my liking, but are necessary. I do not wish to leave fingerprints, despite the police not even having me on record or even knowing I am in the country. It is just something I do not need nor wish to risk on the off chance I am caught out.

The doors slide open with a low, smooth ping, almost as classy sounding as the hotel looks (and isn't that just madness when you can say that about a damned elevator chime?), and I step into the hallway, pleased to find it empty as I walk silently down it, the thick carpet muffling any sounds I might make, not that I do make sounds. I am well versed in how to make myself undetectable to the ear.

I come to the end of the hallway, the large glass window to my right and glance out of it and down at the traffic below. It's a nice night. Cool and calm and I wonder if my mark knows it's about to get a lot less calm for her. I slip the plastic key card into the lock and watch as a green light flicks on silently, thankful for overly expensive hotels and their need for everything to be smooth and silent and overly efficient. I grasp the door handle, push gently with one hand and slip into the darkness of the room, thankful there is no light on in the small hallway that leads to the suite. I shut the door carefully and put my briefcase on the floor, making no sound and pull out a Ruger Mk. II rimfire from my shoulder holster (which is well concealed thanks to my suit) which has been modified to hold tranqs instead of bullets, Finnvid's work, not mine, though I had to laugh at the fact that he got inspiration from a video game. Still, it works. Totally silent, and the tranqs I used might not kill a vampire, but they definitely slow them down. I just need to slow her down enough to restrain her and then probably burn her in the bathtub. I don't care if the hotel staff find her, it's not my problem then. I am hoping that I might get the jump on her, but I am prepared for a fight. Most  non-humans never go down easily. Well, aside from that one time in Russia with that delightful young Lycan who went down so easily I thought I might have got the wrong target for about an hour or so. I try to avoid taking out the wrong target, since killing someone innocent isn't really much fun. I'm not a people hater, so really, I get no gratification for accidentally killing the wrong person. It's why part of me is slightly weary about this mark. It was rushed, overly hasty and it's making me pause and settle back in the shadows and wait, gun lowered in my relaxed grip.

[Lilith Divine]

Lilith

I am annoyed.

Not that this is exactly an unusual emotion for me, not really, but in this case, the particular source of my annoyance, has that line running up the center of my brow, has me walking in my 'agitated' way, which, for the record, are both things found terribly amusing, if your name is Fenris and you are a smug bastard. So it is, then, fortunate that I am madly, deeply in love with said smug bastard. And all the more ironic that the current source of my annoyance is related to him, as well. Well, it is not his fault...Technically, my annoyance is two-fold, one part his job, one part mine, both of which had the horrible timing to take us to entirely different places at the same time.

Myself, in Chicago, and he in Boston. Neither of us were pleased about this, when he got the call, got the assignment that would take him across the country from me for an unknown span of days. But rather than mope, when I myself received a call, from an old contact I sometimes work with, the choice between sitting around my apartment or office, alone, waiting for a phonecall, or sitting around a hotel, alone, waiting for that same phone call, and potentially getting some shopping and work done in the meantime...Well, it was hardly that much of a decision, not really.

Of course, Fenris was not pleased. My last couple jobs have...gone very much not to plan, and my last one very nearly ended with me dead, and may well have, were it not for his help. Ever since then, I suspect he has been waiting for me to take another job, worrying all the while. And the fact that he cannot tag along, at least be in the city, in the area if I need him, annoys him to no end. Rather...ironic, really, considering this is how I myself feel every time he goes on a job, and his own...employment...is much more high risk than mine. Those two botched jobs were related, not coincidental, and it was altogether a scenario not of the norm. I am a con woman, not a killer, I do not assault anything but the wallets and egos of my marks, so in general, it is rare, very rare indeed, to find myself in danger while on a con. The first job, I was simply an unfortunate 'casualty' in a rather messy assassination, and the second, was merely the assassins trying to tie up loose ends. There was and is, no reason any of my other jobs should go that level of bad.

These were all arguments I presented when attempting to appease my mate, to convince him I would be fine. I would take charms, I would tell Twitch to be beside her goddamned phone this time, I would take his private jet, stay in a very large and fancy hotel (not that I ever don't) and I would tell him when and where I was meeting my mark. All things some might consider overbearing, but when you have to abandon a job to go save a woman from several assassins...I suppose a certain level of paranoia is expected, for the future. And the truth is, he and I...Have a strange sort of bond, deeper than it seems most people want or desire to have. We prefer to spend as much time together as we can, and were it not for our jobs, both of the legal and not-so variety, we would very likely spend almost every second together. And while things are still...rather 'new' with us...We have covered all that ground quickly, and I now find myself entirely unable to sleep without him by my side. Without his smell, his touch. We went from staying between two apartments to staying exclusively in the one he purchased for me, and it has very much become our home. Standing in the Death Room, a wall to wall weapon storage and....play room...Standing there and watching him select his weapons for the trip, watching him set aside things he insisted I take with me, leaning in the door frame and just...just watching him, it was never more evident how much I have come to need this man in my life. In every way. All of the time.

So watching him leave, kissing him goodbye from the door of our apartment, to spare us both the pain of that airport goodbye...All I am thinking about at that moment is how I hope the days pass quickly, til we see eachother again. I am not thinking of my job, at all. And so, when I had to spend the next several hours packing and planning to be in Chicago, well...My mind was much, much less focused than I wanted it to be. It worried me somewhat, that I might not have my head in the game, that I might end up fucking this job up because I was too busy missing my lover. I had a moment of wondering if that makes me weak, but it passed when he called me from his hotel, just getting settled. The moment I heard that rich voice of his, everything, every ounce of self doubt and worry, vanished. All was well again and I knew, I just had to get through the next few days, and keep my head on straight in the mean time, as hard as that is where he is concerned...

And what better way to do this, then shopping?

The jet is...very lovely, and the flight was utterly pleasant, if not bittersweet, because the only times I have been on this jet previous to this were...well, with him, and therefore I am horribly distracted thinking of all the....fun we had....the last time we were on it. The trip to the Maldives, in particular, was a rather...interesting flight...

I make excellent time and I check into my hotel, The Drake, quite late that night, retiring to my room to relax, plan my con, and talk to Fenris, since neither of us seem to be able to sleep. I do end up getting some, passed out beside my open laptop, where we had been talking on that strange and wonderful invention known as 'skype'. Now, my screen is darkened, and we have been long since disconnected. I know he is doing his own job, and it is time to start on mine, as I have an 11am meet up with a woman I know as 'Theresa'. She is...I would not go so far as to say an old friend, merely a woman I have known for years, who runs in similar circles as I myself do. In other words, she is a criminal. A thief, actually, and quite a good one. I occasionally come to her for some intel, or she will, as is the case at the moment, come to me with some on her own. Today, the mark is a man we have both been eyeing for years, her for the collection of jewelry in his mother's estate, and me because...well, it is a long and sordid list, but we shall just say he is a bad man, in some of the most insidious ways, and he deserves to be taken down a peg. Several hundred thousand of them.

I very rarely work 'with' someone on a job, but on occasion, I will take a partner with me, like I did with the Vegas job I brought Twitch along on. She was to be mostly 'arm candy', but when I made my move, she went and looted the mark's safe. It was quite the pairing, her and I, and I'll admit, I've sort of missed it. So when Theresa asked me to work with her on this job, to go in, charm this man and keep him well distracted while she broke into and looted his home, well...I suppose it only took a little bribery in the form of some of said jewelry, to get me to agree. You see, while I may liberate rich men of some of their assets, I never keep more than basic expenses, maybe a new pair of shoes. I dump almost all of the money into various places, charities and organizations, mainly, especially those that benefit the type of victims my marks tend to prey on. Fancy murdering young sex workers? Well then all your lovely cash will be going to the rehabilitation of said young sex workers, former, at least. I tend to enjoy setting things right, whenever I can, however small a dent I may make.

Theresa has hacked into the mans schedule, somehow, and I have to say, technology these days has certainly made it easier to be a criminal...She knows he has a lunch meeting, and then a two hour gap in his schedule, which, according to his habits, he will likely spend sitting outside a cafe on his computer. She provides me with an address and map of the area, and gives me the rundown on how long it will take her to get in and out of his home. She is by now well acquainted with his security system, alarms, and the overall layout of his home, including the location of the jewelry, which sits in a very nice, very old safe. Theresa loves safe cracking, and I believe she is as excited to see the safe itself, as she is to remove it's contents.

I will have two hours, if I use my charm and time wisely, to get what I need from this man. I plan to do it quick and dirty, without the usual finesse I enjoy, without the slow build of trust before I surgically remove their manhood through their wallets. Or, really, bank account information, as it were...But still, it will be an easy enough job, she assures me, as this man seems to be a sucker for certain things, tall brunettes being one of them, and charming, wealthy women being another. And I certainly am all these things. All I have to do to get his attention, is be sitting at a table in his line of view, wearing a lovely but somewhat casual Dolce & Gabbana dress, one leg crossed over the other and my Jimmy Choo's in plain sight, as I smoke and work on my  own laptop. Or pretend to, at any rate.

It takes no time at all for him to start watching me, and he sends a drink over, a glass of very fine wine, as this is a terribly upscale cafe we are seated outside of. When I smile a thank you over the rim of the glass as I take a sip, it is all the invitation he needs to come and join me, and within minutes we are engaged in a pleasant but superficial banter. When I begin with the subtle touches of his arm as we laugh and talk, I can see he is dangling on my hook already. I still have an hour to kill before Theresa will be done, unless something goes wrong that is, but she is to text me, either way. So I suggest a stroll, and we end up in a nearby park, in a secluded little spot near a fountain. My phone buzzes in my purse about ten minutes earlier than expected, but the text says that she's done and will meet me at the place we agreed at, in another hour. My mark has things scheduled soon, and will be needing to leave, himself, so I do not waste anymore time. I could have done this the hard way, but I choose the easy one, and use nearly every vampiric trick up my sleeve to have him rattling off numbers to me while gazing adoringly at me like a lovesick puppy. When I leave him sitting on the bench, he still has no idea he has been had, and is staring pleasantly at me as I tell him I must leave, and give him an entirely fabricated phone number.

There is something I dislike about doing things in this manner. It seems unfair. There is very little skill or sport to it, it is simply deceiving someone, manipulating their mind, and getting what I want from them. It takes out the challenge, and I feel very little pride in having to do things like that. But the job is done, I siphon all his money into other places, until I can find a proper home for it, and I head out to meet Theresa. By the time we have settled up, it is early evening, and I stop back at my hotel to change, this time into a Herve Leger dress, and yet another pair of Jimmy's. I love my Choo's, what can I say? And this is all just so I can leave, again, and go traipsing around what is known as the "Magnificent Mile', a sort of paradise for people like me. I spend the next several hours shopping, then I stop in for dinner at a lovely restaurant, but I do not enjoy my food very much. It seems yet another thing I have become used to sharing with Fenris, that just...loses some of it's luster without him across the table from me, waiting for me to take that first bite, so that he may take his own. So I pick at my food more than truly dine, and I find myself counting the time until I can go back to my hotel and speak with him. He is likely still 'working', and I have not received a check in yet, so I imagine he is quite busy.

We had a sort....loose 'date' for a phone call, by around ten pm. So by nine, I am well on my way back, arms loaded with shopping bags, ready to slip into something comfy, preferably one of the shirts I have stolen from Fenris, so that I can smell him against my skin. Funny how you grow so used to that, to a scent on you, that you only really notice it's absence after a time. As if it has become a fragrance, a perfume I wear daily, just another part of my own scent. I slipped another of his shirts into his luggage, while he was in the other room, one I had rolled around in all morning while he was away, because I know he finds as much comfort in my scent as I do in his. Sometimes I wonder when I became such a sickening romantic, but then...Really, I believe I likely always was...Perhaps it simply just...needed the proper outlet?

By the time my cab deposits me outside of my hotel, I am rather exhausted, both mentally and physically. I have not slept, and I could really stand to feed. I will have to order in, it would seem, and my options are bottled or donor, neither sounding particularly appealing at the moment.
I ignore the offers of help with my bags from over achieving hotel staff, smiling and moving to the elevator, stepping inside and pressing the button for the sixth floor.

My room is at the end of the hall, and I pause to get my keycard out, shifting my bags a little as I do. It is only as I am swiping the card through the little electronic locking device, that I catch it, and pause, my hand mid-motion. There is a scent on the door, not a terribly strong one, but it is there, and fairly recent. I frown for a moment, as this scent is very definitely not human, it is a vampire, and male, and therefore not what I would expect of hotel staff who may have come in to tidy up the room or turn down the bed. I specifically requested no maid service unless I call down for it, so to smell a scent on this door now, when there was no such scent earlier...I am puzzled, and a little concerned. I move the keycard away, and take a silent step back, very carefully setting my bags on the floor. As always, I have a blade slipped into garter of my right stocking, and I slip it out and up the sleeve of my jacket, a black leather Balmain biker style jacket, so that I may easily slip it out and into my hand if I need.

I shift all my bags to one hand, tricky as that indeed is, and now I make some noise, cursing softly as if I am fumbling, and swiping the key card, opening the door as if I have no idea there could be someone lurking inside.

The hallway leading into the main room is dark, as is most of the room as it was daylight still, when I left last. But I can see just fine, as I walk in, still pretending as if things are normal. But they are most definitely not, as now that I am in the room, I can smell him even stronger. He is here somewhere, very close by. And he is very old, and from the feel of it, fairly powerful. I set my bags down, slipping a smoke from my jacket pocket and lighting it, and in the glow of the lighter, as I still have yet to turn on a lamp, I catch a glimpse of something, in the shadows farther into the room. I am still very near the wall, and I lean against it a little, letting my eyes roam to the spot I believe him to be in, the knife in my sleeve sliding down to my palm, ready to be thrown at a moments notice, as I keep that arm dangling casually at my side. When I speak, my voice is neutral, casual, perhaps oozing with confidence I do not completely feel, but I have become quite good at faking.

"You know, it is terribly impolite to sneak into one's room and lurk about in the shadows..." My nostrils flare slightly, taking in his scent, and all the things layered on it. There. I can smell a gun. A very well maintained one. I smirk, taking a drag. "If you intend to kill me, I believe you have lost the element of surprise..."

On the outside, on the surface, I am calm, cool. On the inside? I am wondering why I did not just call someone, or better yet, turn around and leave, instead of just walking into what I knew was likely a trap...

I suppose I will have to just hope it is a decision I manage to live to regret.

[Demery]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wOXsvVfgyU#

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There is something about this job that I can't get my head around. Why did he want this person taking care of so suddenly? Most people do not call in for a hit man and just ask for 'which ever is the best' like they're ordering from a menu. I take my phone out now as I casually walk through the dark room to an overly plush armchair, the type of arm chair most people in these hotels will never use, save to throw a coat over the arm haphazardly, and sit down slowly, flicking the phone open and looking through my contacts until I reach F.B - Answering machine, and press the call button.

It's something Finn fixed up for his own use, and has no idea that I have access to it. It's not actually an answering machine, but rather a piece of software that he uses in conjunction with an online call service so that he's untraceable and can record his clients conversations. I have no idea how he'd feel about me using it so casually like I am about to do, but I decide that I do not particularly care. I am his oldest and best contact and also his oldest and dearest friend, I'm sure he wont mind if I just...check in. After all, he was the one who hacked my phone and put the software onto it. It would be a crime not to use it.

"Yes?" Finn's typical one word greeting is the first thing I hear when I tap in the four digit code to the recorded calls and navigate my way through the options to find my current client's call.

"I need a hit man. I need one now, as in, right the fuck now." It's rushed and there is heavy breathing that just boarders on laboured, the client is probably walking somewhere quickly, clearly in a hurry which makes it even odder. I have never, in all my years of doing this, had someone call on a spur of the moment like this person is. Clients usually call up weeks, if not months in advance, full of details and information for both Finn and the hitman, giving an ample opportunity to watch our intended target, learn their ways, find the optimum kill place and time. This call left me only a few hours to get myself from one point to the next and gave me very few details. Which I do not like. I  only agreed to take it one due to being around and also because Finn told me he'd been promised a much larger sum of money than usual. Several thousands more, which he assured me he'd split with me. Now, I am not the type of person who can be swayed by money usually, but I have a lot of fledglings and I need to keep them in all those fancy shoes and clothing they wear. Honestly, sometimes I feel like one of those...sugar daddy type people. Of which I am not. Oh they have their own money of course, but I admit I do tend to house them all like an overly large family back in England. They are the family I made, quite literally, for myself, trying to make up for the lack of family and friends as a child really. I suppose it's a bit of a weakness of mine.

Regardless of that, this hit was sounding all together too strange, and I curse myself for only starting to get suspicious now. I could easily leave and slip off, but then what? I have already agreed to the job and unless the circumstances are beyond my control, then I always finish what I start.

I listen to the rest of the conversation, not hearing nearly enough to make any more sense of this hit. The details the man gave are vague, just that the woman in question is in a hotel in Chicago, an address to said hotel and the agreement of a wire transfer of cash, which is done over the phone, and once he hangs up with a huffed, "Thank you, thank you" I end the call and flip my phone shut, sliding it into my inner pocket. I'm not that much more informed than when I began, but now I am suspicious, more so than earlier. Not only does this feel off, but it's so vague I can't even be sure if this is a set up or not. There are plenty of people who dislike me, and even more who dislike Finn, so it wouldn't surprise me if this was a set up, it's happened before, only the last time was a little more well thought out, to the point where I never suspected a thing.  Needless to say I only just got away once I figured out just what was going on. But that's a story for another time.

I sit there now, pouring over the facts in my head. Could this be a set up? No, the logical, rational side of me tries to say, and that if it were indeed a set up, it is a bad one, for I have been suspicious for some time now, which means I am more on guard than usual. Infact, the reason I entered through the actual door and not by some other means, such as one of the large windows (which are shockingly easy to open, I've seen the same ones used in other hotels), was because part of me was suspicious and was actually expecting to be jumped in the hallway, again, something which has happened before.

I decide to wait it out however, sitting in the chair, sliding my palms over the arm rests to let them hang casually over the ends, my legs crossed one over the other, looking relaxed, yet poised, my gun hanging from one hand limply, as if I were merely holding the TV remote or some such nonsense, and it is a while until I hear the faint click of plastic sliding into the key card holder, and a moment later the sound of fumbling, a faint curse and I can sense she may be putting it on. It doesn't matter how old the vampire, she'd know I was there. Or at least have the slightest inkling. It's what makes taking out fellow vampires so difficult. Normally, had I been preparing to kill her, as I had intended, I'd have simply waited by the door and shot her when she opened it, probably dragged her into the room and held her in a choke hold until she lost consciousness. Fortunately for her, I have decided to hold off on her impending doom for a little while. I am still struck by the notion that this could be a decidedly clever ruse, despite having all the feel of an amateur. Was her fumbling and cursing meant to make me think she was off guard and had no inkling of my presence and in turn make me divest myself of my own guard? If so it was a poor attempt, and now that I am no where near the door, an attack, if any would be harder to achieve should I have actually played into someones hands.

The door's been opened now, and she's moving further in, casual (though I suspect she is anything but, and is no doubt just as ready as I am), staying close to the wall and I don't need the lights on to be able to get a good look at her, all dark hair and expensive clothing, though it's a little more...rock and roll, as it were, than most female marks. A lot of the time they are overly made-up women who think that covering themselves in jewels and expensive perfume makes up for a lack of personality. This woman is different, I can't smell that overbearing perfume, nor is she dripping in jewellery to the point of looking as if it might weigh her down, and the faint rasp of metal sliding across skin can be heard, though just barely, and I watch her with a sense of amusement at how seemingly casual she is attempting to be. There is something else there, something which tells me she isn't as calm as she lets on. Perhaps I have caught her at a disadvantage not being by the door, if she did indeed know I was in here, or this was indeed a ruse and I smile in the darkness, setting the gun across my lap and flicking on a lamp that sits on a small table by the arm chair, and get a good look at her features.

Pale skin, typical of most vampires, green eyes, quite tall as far as the average female goes even if you do not take footwear into account. And she looks young, though I can tell she isn't. She may have been turned young, but she is well over a hundred years old, though I can't put my finger on just how old. That's the thing about being a vampire, you can, in some cases, feel how old someone is, just be concentrating on them long enough. Perhaps not an exact number, but older vampires just seem to feel different. It is a strange concept and even harder to explain.

I finally look at her properly then, several long seconds having gone by since she spoke to me in the darkness, and I tilt my head slightly and give her an indulgent smile as I speak slowly, smoothly, "My dear, I believe the element of surprise went right out of the window as soon as you opened the door. Lets not try and be cute here." I return her smirk, finding myself more intrigued. This not the usual type of target I deal with. All the more reason to be suspicious. In my line of work, you often got the same type of target. And the hit was always from some rich, hysterical woman, or some rich, arrogant man wanting to take down another rich, hysterical woman or another rich, arrogant man. She didn't seem like either, "Should I be asking if you're going to try and stab me? Because I assure you, it wont do much, aside from perhaps angering me." I tell her, my voice deep and even. Even if she does manage to hit me, it's no skin off my nose and right now I am quite interested in trying to get some answers before I decide my next course of action.

[Lilith Divine]

Lilith

There are several things going through my head at present. Not the least of which is what I will be doing to whoever stands in the way of my phonecall to my love. But also, there is...Apprehension, worry that all my jobs seem to be going so spectacularly wrong lately, and that this one appears to be no exception.

I hear his movements a second before a lamp in the corner comes on, leaving a moment where my eyes are fighting to adjust to the sudden brightness, and I fight the urge to blink rapidly, instead leaning even more against the wall, crossing my non-smoking arm sort of lightly across my frame as I imagine, by this point, he would expect me to throw a knife and it would be futile. Indeed, he is sitting calmly, a gun resting casually across his lap, as if he was simply waiting for me to come home, to talk, and not to likely kill me, or worse. His expression is pleasant, and not easy to read, though there is not the measure of malicious intent in his eyes I expect to see, when mine find his. There is something else there entirely. Curiosity? Perhaps the barest flecks of confusion? Perhaps he was not expecting me when he took this job. As it clearly was, the gun in his lap leaves no illusions to that.

When he finally speaks, after several seconds of us both sizing eachother up, me smoking and remaining where I am, my expression neutral, a brow quirked, when he finally speaks, his voice is rich, accented and deep. The kind of voice you could get lost in, want to hear more of. Most men wouldn't know what to do with a voice like that, but he seems the type to be in full control of his...resources.

He informs me that the element of surprise has, indeed, left the building, and asks that we not be 'cute' about it.  He smirks as he says it, and I smirk back, flicking ash onto the carpet carelessly. He goes on to ask if I plan to stab him, and I smirk more as he informs me it will only piss him off. I shake my head, then, dropping my arm from where it has been resting against my stomach, and letting my blade slip into my hand, glinting in the light as I hold it up.

"What, and sully my blade on your wretched self?" I scoff, looking a bit haughty at the idea. "I think not." As much as it annoys me to be, at least partially, unarmed, I toss the knife across the room, closer to the bathroom door, and on the entirely opposite side of the room from him. My cigarette goes next, crushed out in a crystal ashtray on the side table a foot or so to my left. I have to take a step over to do it, but as I have thrown down my weapon, I doubt he is concerned with my stepping to the side to put out my cigarette. In fact, he is sitting every bit as calmly, watching me, as I do. His whole demeanor in general is almost eeriely calm, as if he is not a man who has just been lying in wait to kill me, but simply a guest in my room.

Let it never be said that I do not enjoying pushing limits, or testing things. As this man is intent on being so cool and casual, well than I myself shall act as so. And as I have just come from a tedious day of conning and shopping, well what I desire most right now, is a drink. And to get my shoes off. As much as I do adore shoes, they do not always adore me, and as I have gotten rather used to foot massages these days, I am becoming somewhat of a baby by the end of the night, wishing to curl up with my feet on Fenris's lap and have him work his magic. And it is, indeed. The man is...very talented with his hands.

Once my smoke is crushed out, I turn to look at the man sitting in my chair, and smirk a little, as I slip my jacket off, moving over closer to the door to hang it on a coat rack. My jacket off, I turn and head for the bed, nearly completely ignoring the man, or at least creating the illusion of such. In reality, I am aware of his movements, his vibes, the gun still laying on his lap. But I do not look at him, opening my suitcase and pulling out a small nylon makeup bag, unzipping it and pulling out a pair of hairsticks. They are not the same pair I not so long ago embedded into the skull of a man trying to kill me, but they are built the same, their bodies hollow and concealing long, narrow, extremely sharp, needle-like blades. I stick them between my teeth, turning just a little to the side to give him a view of me, in case he thinks I intend to try anything, and I raise my hands to my hair, twisting it into a loose knot and securing it with the hair sticks. When that is done, I sit on the edge of the bed, and remove my shoes, standing and walking over to the suitcase that holds only my shoes, and slipping the pair back into their spot.

I grab the bags I had discarded when I came in, and set them on the bed, but do not mess with them beyond that. All settled, I turn and regard the man again. He is, for the moment, just staring at me, an expression a little on the curiously amused side on his face. I raise a brow, giving him a once over, and then I head for the bar, which is nearer to him, but still a few feet away. He watches me as I go, as I slip behind the polished mahogany bar counter and start looking through the bottles in the glass encased mini fridge therein. "I do not know about you, but I could use a drink. Do you mind?" I raise a brow as I ask, and am met with a pleasant enough smile as he informs me he does not. I smile back, and set about removing some bottles, looking up at him again. "Can I get you anything?" Because it is not at all unusual to ask your would-be attacker if he would care for a beverage.

He smirks again, that amused look in his eyes, and tells me he would like a whiskey, neat, and I smirk. "Ah yes,  you strike me as a...man of simple pleasures." I smirk deeply here, and set about making two drinks. A simple whiskey, for him, something rich and full bodied and expensive, and a whiskey sour for myself. Once the two drinks are finished, I move around the bar, holding them both, and step in closer to him, setting the glass down on the little table beside him, and then moving back to lean against the bar, sort of crossing one leg in front of the other as I take a sip of my drink and then set it down to light a smoke. Once I am all settled, I look at him again, exhaling slowly.

"So, darling, we can start with names, though we both know we likely would not give real ones." I wink, taking another drag, one arm crossed over my waist, fingers lightly touching the elbow of my left arm, which is bent to facilitate smoking, and holding my glass, which I do both of at once because I am that talented. "And I could ask you why you're here, but I wager I already know." I smirk more, gesturing with my glass to the gun in his lap. "Although it will take a fair bit more than that to take me out, I do applaud the effort." I grin, now, and I imagine it is a bit of a condescending expression.

"But yes, as we have established your intent, I would, perhaps, like to know what half wit with too much money to burn has hired you. I could, likely, offer you double whatever you're being paid, to go after them instead...Were you the kind of man to be interested in such things." I smirk again, but truly, I'm wondering, now. As he has had more than enough opportunities in the last several minutes to attack me, subdue me, even simply take me out, and has not so much as tried. He has, in fact, been polite and even pleasant, which is....odd, considering the circumstances. So either he is not all that committed to this job in the first place, or something has changed his mind, caused him to take pause. He seems to be sizing me up, and something in his eyes this entire time has seemed almost...surprised, in a way. Was he not expecting me? Or just not expecting the way I have been behaving? I suppose it is rather unusual for someone to offer their assassin a drink, and to carry on a polite conversation with them as if they are not about to be killed momentarily.

Of course, I am hardly a usual woman. And if he came here expecting such, well he is surely in for quite the surprise.

[Demery]

She is interesting to watch, I decide as she crosses one arm over her body, a gesture which might be purely out of habit, or because she feels nervous and wants a barrier between herself and the man with the gun. I haven't studied her enough to pick which it is, but there is definitely a sense of...something... about her. Her expression implies she doesn't care, a carefully neutral expression, a delicate eyebrow arched up, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in a show of nonchalance as she flicks ash onto the carpet, a clear display of 'I just don't give a fuck' when we both know she does to a point. She'd not have that knife in her hand so readily if she didn't care just a little.

"Oh no, we couldn't have that. Why, you just happened to have it to hand purely out of habit. I myself tend to carry a hatchet when I go out shopping. Never know who might be lurking." I reply evenly, giving her a slow smile of amusement, my eyes staying on her as she tosses the knife away, as if I needed that reassurance that she wouldn't attack me. I knew she wouldn't, she doesn't seem that impulsively stupid. I've dealt with the type of people that try and attack persistently and while she is different from my usual marks, she definitely doesn't fall into the category of a typical, panicky mark.

Her demeanor seems to shift slightly. The haughty and slightly rude attitude from a few seconds ago is replaced by one which is cool and and relaxed, though part of me thinks it's put on. It's different from her earlier demeanor, barely noticeable, but it definitely isn't the same. I've spent a lot of time reading people, years in fact and it's something I take great delight in doing. People are so unaware of how a tiny shift or movement can tell you so much about them.

She's moving about the room as if I am nothing more than a guest, someone she trusts to turn her back on, giving the illusion that she is in control, that she holds the upper hand and had expected me all along. She's going through the motions, putting her coat away, tying her hair up, putting her shoes away...this sense of non urgency about it all, as if she could care less that I'm watching her with feigned interest. Because truthfully while I am interested in who she is, I am not at all interested in watching her menial tasks, not when I know there is no threat in them and it was almost cute when she turned, hair pieces in hand, as if to show me she was merely tying her hair up and I let out a chuckle as she twists the hair up and secrues it in place, "Believe me, there is no need to put on a display for me, like I am some overly green trainee. If you wanted to attack me then you've had multiple opportunities to do so. I highly doubt you're going to attack me right now." Which I definitely don't doubt, even though she could very easily attack me, contradicting my words, though she'd be at a disadvantage I imagine. I am fairly confident I could empty a tranq into her long before she was able to cross the room toward me or the blade. Unless she carries another weapon, which I no doubt she does.

The offer of a drink does not surprise me, I've had this offer many time from marks, usuall high class business men who hope that by offering me alcohol they can talk me down or give themself time to gather their wits or a small armed force. It never works. I always get my mark, it just makes the experience that much more fun, so when she offers me one, I certainly don't refuse and I can't help but let out a soft laugh at her little quip, "Some things are better left simple, after all, who would want to complicate something already so fine?" I reply as I arch my eyebrow and eye her whiskey sour as if to make a point. She lights another cigarette, leans against the bar with all the grace I'd expect from someone in such an extravagant hotel and regards me with another haughty, admonishing expression that I can't help but find amusing.

"Who said I wasn't willing to give my real name?" I reply, picking up the glass she'd set down and swirling the contents before taking a sip. Its nice, as to be expected from such an establishment, with a rich, smokey aftertaste. Perhaps I should find out the brand before I leave, "I shouldn't disappoint you though, you're obviously hoping I'll give you some cute little code name or other such nonsense." I tell her, setting the glass down and reaching into my inner jacket pocket to pull out a cigar and lighter, "Do you mind?" I don't wait for an answer, simply lighting the cigar and slipping the lighter back into my inner pocket and taking a long, slow drag of smoke into my lungs, before exhaling on a long breath as I shake my head.

"I don't believe I said anything about taking you out with a gun." I state, removing my gloves and placing them in another inner pocket, before picking up the gun, holding the muzzle up the ceiling and regarding it in the dim light, "Who even said it held bullets?" I tag on, setting it down on the side table next to my glass. She either thinks I genuinely am an amateur, or she's being coy and it is not this that surprises me. What surprises me is i have a genuine desire to understand my mark. Perhaps it was the rushed orders. Perhaps it is because it's been so long since I've had a genuinely interesting mark, but regardless I will allow myself to idle for a time being, at least until I know more.

"While money is what makes the world go 'round, it isn't something that can buy me over so easily. Especially not from a mark. I might however be willing to exchange information. I admit I know very little about you." I give her that little snippet of information, knowing it wont go against me. If I want information I know I am going to have to give her some as well, in order to get my own and it's with this in mind that I take my cell phone once again, tap into the voice mail and play it loud on the speaker phone, "Tell me, who is this?" I ask as the man's voice plays, sounding obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the room. I'm assuming she knows who this man is, and I'm assuming I'll at least get some information. If I choose to believe it or not is a different story.

[Lilith Divine]

Lilith

This is a...curious little exchange, indeed. I suppose it is the situation itself, standing in a room with a man sent here to kill me, and we are behaving as if he is merely a guest in my suite, and not waiting for his moment to strike. And I have no doubts he still fully intends to. In fact, I am, honestly, confused by how he is acting as casually as I am, and seems in no rush to finish his job. I suppose this is not completely out of the norm for his line of work, as I know of at least one time my love took the time to speak with a mark, but that was....quite a different situation, and it ended with the mark's death, anyway. So that is...Something to think about, something that is sitting heavily in the back of my mind.

The men sent for me before were not vampires, and not old ones, at that. Powerful ones. So truly, if and when this man decides to strike, I may not fair terribly well. I know this. I'm quite aware of this. And I'm considering, as we drink, all of my options, each and every variable. Things like if I could escape somehow, or at least get out of the room, pretend to be a hysterical woman and cause a scene, making it very hard for him to do his job and giving me the time needed to get out of here and somewhere safe, and call my friends...Or if I could get to my phone, which is in the pocket of my jacket, hanging by the door, and send a text or a 'pocket dial' to Twitch. Calling Fenris would be needless right now, as he is very much stuck in Boston and would be unable to do anything but worry. If I have one moment to call or text someone sneakily, it would be the woman who could teleport in here and remove this mans head from his shoulders before he had a chance to stand up and greet her.

I am thinking of all this, as he answers my question about the names, implying he may indeed have given me his real name, but that he shouldn't disappoint me since I was clearly hoping for an amusing alias of some form. Which I sort of was, as I always, usually, have elaborate ones in place for myself. He pulls out a cigar, asking if i mind but not waiting for my answer, but I shake my head anyway, resisting the urge to ask if he has another. He takes a long, slow puff off the cigar, while I watch him, looking him over again. Nicely dressed, a large man both in stature and presence, the kind of man who fills the space he is in. He is handsome but distinguished, a man you would very rarely think seemed inappropriate in a place such as this. It is a talent I myself posses, the ability to blend in with various classes of people, both by poise and charm as well as just....style and the air of refinement, I suppose?  I could have passed by this man in the lobby or the bar or a fancy restaurant or upscale boutique and never thought twice about him being there. If he had been tailing me today, and he may well have been, I would never have noticed him, because in spite of his rather large size, he is not the kind of man who gives off that...I suppose menacing vibe that some very, very large men seem to.

Or perhaps it is that I am used to large men? This man is seated, but judging by his proportions I would put him close to, within an inch or so, of Fenris. They both possesses a sense of grace and calmness, and for a strange moment I find myself wondering if it is possible the two have met, or how they would react were they to meet. On, of course, better terms than this, because if Fenris were to walk into this room right now he would be growling and ready to tear this man's throat out. But in a different situation, the two, both assassins and very classy men, might be the type to get along. It is a funny thought, and one I am jogged from as the man speaks again, informing me he never said anything about taking me out with a gun. In fact, he questions that it even holds bullets, and my brow raises a tick higher as I take a drag, letting it out in a french inhale without even actually meaning to do so. Call it a habit, something I took to doing at work or just to impress in general, but now, I tend to do it without thinking, or sometimes while thinking...In any case, I am now wondering just what, in the absence of bullets, and knowing, as he likely does, that I am a vampire, he would have in there.

There's a few nasty ideas popping into my head. Various compounds and chemicals that can be quite unpleasant in the bloodstream of a supernatural. Or wooden bullets, although I wager those still count as 'bullets' but either way I am hoping against those, as picking the wood chunks out of a rapidly healing wound is....quite unpleasant. I speak from experience.
There is also drugs, those in large, very large doses can impair and even incapacitate a vampire. Perhaps he intends to subdue me and take me out slowly or by something thorough like dismemberment. In a room like this, a mess would be noticed, although not out of the norm, as I know someone who works in 'disposal' and have it under good authority that most hotels have a contract with the local disposal service in town for...situations just like this, really.

I'm thinking about this as he continues, informing me he is not so easily bought, especially not from a 'mark', and I take another drag to cover the little twitch of my lips, fighting to form into a sneer. Is this poetic justice or just bad karma? Me being someone's mark...I feel a sigh coming up, and I let it out under cover of a breath of smoke, watching him, my face neutral. He is willing to exchange information, as he knows very little of me. I smirk, then, wondering if he thinks I am fool enough to divulge any such personal information to the man waiting to kill me. But before I can say anything, he takes out his phone, causing my brow to raise once more as I watch him make a call, suddenly very aware of how far my own phone is and that it is growing ever closer to the time my love will be calling. I wonder, briefly, as he is fiddling with his phone, just how many missed calls it will take for Fenris to worry, and potentially call Twitch himself. He knows me, knows that unless I was in the middle of a con I would answer even long enough to tell him I couldn't talk at the moment, and he also knows my con was over hours ago. I sent him a text telling him the moment I was done. He might wait a few minutes between calls, but not much longer than that, I would suspect, and no more than three unanswered calls, possibly quite less. But I know I cannot rely on this, cannot hope that this will be my salvation. It may well be, but right now, I am, for all intents and purposes, on my own, and I need to think that way, until the situation changes in my favor, if it in fact ever does.

He holds the phone out, as a voicemail begins to play on speaker phone, and he asks me who's voice it it. I narrow my brows and watch him, listening to the nearly hysterical man on the other end of the call. He gives very little information, beyond the strictly vital details, my location, the pay, etc. His voice is, perhaps vaguely, familiar, but nothing that jogs my memory. He could be any man I have crossed, as the tone and urgency in his voice speaks of a man off his game, a man seeking revenge, potentially for a slain ego or a bruised bank account, which, all things considered, does not narrow down the list of men who could want me dead. I do not, now, suspect this to be linked to the other hits, as this sounds very...sloppy, to me. Not that there are not all sorts of jobs like this out there, but the man sitting here holding the phone does not fit the bill for this kind of call, not in my opinion. He is much too...powerful? Skilled? This was a rush job, and likely the man would not care if it was messy or quick or about any of the other details just so long as the victim is dead. So he could have hired anyone, really, and why this man was sent out on it, is a bit beyond me. Perhaps it was simply a matter of convenience on the part of the...people he works for. He was the closest or the only one available on such short notice, perhaps. A strange little thought occurs to me then; if Fenris had come with me on this trip, would he have potentially gotten that call instead? I admit that the actual inner workings of these services are a bit beyond my realm of knowledge, but I do know that jobs can be anywhere and that there are networks these services work in, so...I suppose it is possible, as anything is.

The call ends and the man is watching me now, as he has been this entire time. I take a drink from my glass and another slow inhale of smoke, breathing it out calmly, sort of tilting my head to the side a little as I shift my posture a bit. I'm sort of relaxed against the bar, and it is not truly an act, as I am in fact, calm, as the wheels in my head are doing all the work at the moment and my body is rather on autopilot in the mean time. I move slightly to flick ash from my cigarette into the ashtray, watching him watch me. I smirk, but it is not a haughty one, more of a 'you silly little man' but...not quite as condescending. It is an almost apologetic, yet amused sort of expression, and my voice slips from my lips with a matching tone.

"As much as I wish I could rattle off a string of facts as to the identity of the hysterical twit on that phonecall, I sadly, cannot. He sounds like every other foolish, cowardly little man I have met in my life, and trust me, that is a long, long list." I wink, here, taking another sip of my drink. "I have no idea who that man was. Nor why he so urgently desires my death. What I do know, is that you are being underpaid." I smirk. "He sounds the type to dial the first number he finds, for your...line of work. And yet, you..." I give him another slow once over, letting that smirk deepen, and reach my eyes. "Do not look like just anyone, darling. And I know a thing or two about people in your profession."

I contemplate, for a moment, whether or not to divulge the next piece of information. On the one hand, he could use it against me, later, if he decided to. On the other, it is a fact that will, likely, become evident soon enough, when my phone starts ringing. But does he need to know what Fenris does? I suppose it might lend some kind of weight to the situation. Taking out another assassin's woman...It would, realistically, likely depend much more on the man himself, then any sort of honor among his peers. Only a fraction of seconds have gone by as I am standing there, looking at this man, wondering what code of honor he lives by. What moral code, however skewed, he lives and works by. In the end, I decide to go for it, taking another drag and speaking as I exhale.

"I am engaged to one."

And in a wonderfully serendipitous moment, a loud buzzing sound breaks the silence of the room, from my jacket pocket. I do not move, do not blink, do not turn and look at the jacket, I merely smirk more, watching him.

"And that would be him now."