Quid Pro Quo, yo (private)

Continues from Age Quod Agis

It may not have been chilly enough to be wearing her cap sleeved wool trench, but she loved the damn thing so Viv wore it anyway with a pair of matching fitted gray slacks and heels. Pairing the trench with a thin blouse underneath did make the warmth from her jacket bearable in the fiftyish degree weather. The whole point was to look casual, nondescript, and accessible - she was bait, basically.

Vivienne ran her fingers through her hair, from the back of her neck to the tips. It bugged her when her hair tangled, but she was also pulling out four or five hairs doing it. It was a natural thing she did and that's what she wanted. Her target was the Starbucks two blocks down; its sign hanging just above the green awning, mermaid tail and all. She really did want a cup of coffee, smelling the nutty aroma of the beans on the wind as it played with her hair, lifting it up in the almost chilly breeze. And she was starving, of course. Her appetite had gotten away from her, but everything tasted magnificent so she wasn't complaining and neither was her waistline, not yet anyway. The wind was not cooperating, what with it twisting all the scents in the air annoyingly, but once it died down, Viv inhaled deeply, searching the air for that one particular scent.

On a blustery day in October, as the sun's rays were blocked out by the tall skyscrapers above her, the smell of arid wheat fields and dirt drifted by her nose, triggering the mental picture of the individual to whom it belonged. Viv stopped on the corner, now a block away from the Starbucks, and grinned.

"Mr. Huntington, nice to see you again," she called over her shoulder.

Simon Huntington 13 years ago
Simon stood on the rooftop of a nearby business, his hazel brown eyes watching Vivienne as she slowly made her way Uptown. She was about as tall as Carol, but not wearing the break neck stiletto heels his ex lover preferred. Still, Vivienne's heels elongated her legs, as well as the gray material of her fitted trousers. Vivienne dressed nicely, if not moderately - he supposed werewolves didn't have as much time to cultivate wealth like vampires. Another weakness to their species, he decided.

Traces of the evening sun stung his face, but finally the rays were blocked out by the neighboring buildings out of courtesy. Dropping silently from the rooftop to the ground, Simon emerged from the alley and moved strategically to intercept her once she made it to the next block. Vivienne would know Simon would be watching her - he had sent the message - but he still moved swiftly within the soft shadows and mingled into the moving gaggle of humans on the street.

Now behind her on the sidewalk, Simon concentrated on his abilities and moved closer to Vivienne. His uncanny talent for subterfuge was a great tool as he moved barely noticed by the other people. Zeroing in on her heartbeat, he listened as it beat unfettered; the soft thump-thump-thump weeshing in his ears. He picked out her scent amongst the other humans, recognizing the sweet coconut of her shampoo. She kept running her fingers through it, twisting the ends. Simon felt the predator in him, rearing its hungry head when he came up behind her, and without looking back, Vivienne greeted him politely.

Narrowing his eyes, Simon couldn't help but smile. "I'm usually better at sneaking up on people."

Vivienne turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows, snorting softly. "You have a very distinct scent."

"Do I?" Coming up beside her, Simon gently took her arm and escorted her across the street when the 'WALK' sign blinked happily. "So where are we going?"

"I'm going to Starbucks. You're welcomed to buy me a Grande drip in a Venti cup for my troubles, Mr. Huntington."

"Do werewolves not carry money, Vivienne?"

"Not when they meet vampires upon their request, Mr. Huntington. Besides, aren't you all rich, in addition to being smokin' hot?"

"That really bothers you, doesn't it? Vampires being everything you werewolves aren't?"

"Nah, who wants to live forever," Vivienne asked in a monotone voice, taking her arm back from his grip.

Simon smiled at her subtlety. They entered the Starbucks, and true to, well at least Vivienne's word, he paid for her coffee and slice of pumpkin bread, which she did not plan on sharing with him, she added as she thanked him.

They exited the establishment, Simon holding the door for her, and with another polite nod and thank you, they were walking toward uptown again. He watched as Vivienne enjoyed her snack.

"So I was wondering something," he said, getting her attention.

Vivienne cleaned the crumbs from her lips, and without looking at him, asked, "What's that?"

"Have you considered my proposition?"

Vivienne looked at him now, a smile playing on her lips. "Which proposition would that be?"

Simon rocked slowly on his feet. "I help you...you help me." He shrugged, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets; he did his best to be as charming as possible, without sounding lecherous. "We'd help each other."

"Handy, for sure, but you can't help me. At all."
Vivienne Sena 13 years ago
Viv dispensed with the pleasantries and good manners as she took a huge bite out of her slice of pumpkin bread. The bread was moist and delicious - another surefire addiction since she had stopped smoking her daily joint and used mind blowing sex with Brig to relax her. She almost wished she had gotten another slice and stopped to actually consider it when she nonchalantly told Simon that he was as useful as a ferret in a skirt.

"I'm not sure how you think you can be useful. You don't have the blood memory, you have no idea when the blood memory happened, so you say, and you have no real reason to rectify the situation, real or otherwise."

"Just because we're mortal enemies, doesn't mean we can't be friends." Viv rolled his eyes at him, but Huntington held up his hands and continued. "I have resources."

Viv shrugged, "So? This type of information has nothing to do with money. Digging into pack history is a helluva lot easier for me than for you."

He was quiet, but continued staring at her. Viv found it disquieting. His eyes were hazel brown and she was unfortunate enough to be able to see the gold flecks in them, meaning he was taking up her personal space again. He was tall, slender, but had broad shoulders with an A shaped frame that Viv could eat up with a spoon. Why were all the good ones vampires or gay? Life was unfair.

Despite her attraction to him (real or something vampires could do), Vivienne took a sip of her coffee. Swallowing, she handed him her cup, which he took with a questioning look, and she wiped her hands clean. Taking the coffee back, she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Anything else, Mr. Huntington?"

Huntington blinked once, looked down at her coffee, and then back up into her eyes. "Have you considered all possibilities?"

"Such as?"

"Well - we both agree that it's starting to look suspicious. A 'blood memory' so real it transcends centuries, literally... centuries...but it's so vague that it's more of a feeling than a memory?"

"Yup, and before you ask, I've looked. There's no readily accessible written history of it."

"Do you know what that sounds like to me?"

"I anxiously await your thoughts."

He made a face and continued. "Doesn't sound like a Pack issue."

Viv took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. "What is it with you and these cryptic statements?"

"How much do you know about us? About our abilities?" Huntington said, changing the subject quickly.

Viv did not want to appear ignorant or uninformed, but she really was lacking in the vampire department. Her kind had only recently found out about the vampires, but in return, the vampires knew even less of the werewolves. Marthinus was so extremely tight lipped about his knowledge, and out of respect to a Pack member, they did not push - not hard at least. She should have talked to Marthinus first before speaking to Simon Huntington, but Viv shrugged out of frustration.

"Probably about as much as you know about us," she finally answered.

"It sounds like a fake memory."

"You can't fake a blood memory."

"I don't know about that, but I do know that there is an ability that can implant a memory by other means, forceful means, without the recipient knowing about it."

Oh what the fuck, Viv thought. If vampires could implant memories, what 'couldn't' they do? She fought back her irritation and glared off to the side. "Are you talking about nightmares?"

Simon smiled at her, showing her the barest hint of a fang. Viv would have given anything not to be right.
Simon Huntington 13 years ago
"So vampires have the ability to influence dreams?"

"Not all of us."

"Can you?"

Simon shook his head, but if he could, he'd be interested to see what Vivienne dreamed about. She was peculiar with her disdain for him. Vivienne seemed to tolerate him, which only provoked him further. He wondered if being with Ellis again wasn't influencing his personality. Normally he was the quiet shadow in the background, ready to manhandle and enforce, but even though part of Vivienne disgusted him, he still found her intriguing.

Simon leaned in close and whispered, "I can do other things."

Vivienne nodded, looking away and mumbling an affirmative. She blinked slowly and asked, "Does that actually work for you?"

"Does what work for me?"

"The innuendos and sexually charged body language. I mean, really?" Vivienne asked, incredulous. "It's almost insulting."

"You're insulted I find you attractive?"

"You're playing into the vampy vampire stereotype. I see you as more of a strong but silent type."

"What do you know about me, if anything?" Simon's tone was short and abrupt, surprising even him.

"I know what you show me, Mr. Huntington," she replied simply.

Simon took a step closer, looking down at her, and invading her personal space so that his next statement carried all the weight of what he implied. "You don't want me to show you what I am, Vivienne. I'm offering you a gift and you're not being very appreciative about it."

"You know, I'm not quite sure what makes you think I'm afraid of you. Or what makes you think I'm actually here alone." Vivienne looked up and around with her eyes, opening her mouth in a little 'o'. "Feel free, Mr. Huntington. Really." She paused, looking at him with the same deadly serious expression he had. "Please."

Simon looked up and around. There were people everywhere surrounding them on the sidewalk. In the early evening everyone was on the move, heading to dinner, heading home - a variety of body shapes, beating heartbeats, sights and smells. He straightened and moved to the right.

"Am I cold?" Simon watched Vivienne's now emotionless face stare at him. He moved back to her left. "How about this? Warm, maybe?" He walked around her and leaned down, his lips brushing up against her hair.

"How about here, am I hot?"
Vivienne Sena 13 years ago
Viv breathed slowly, keeping her heart from bursting out of her chest. It was a good trick, if she could pull it off. So, she sighed dramatically and turned her face toward Huntington's. Reaching out, she gently grabbed his chin, surprised to feel it soft and without stubble, and turned it slightly to their left and up.

"There, now you are. Red hot." Viv pointed with her other hand at the Piper behind the long range rifle pointed at Simon Huntington's head. "You're on fire," she whispered into his ear.

It was Red on the rooftop, rated one of the best sharp shooters in Australia, Europe, and the country formally known as the U.S.S.R. His one hand was on the trigger giving it the barest pressure, lighting a red dot in between Huntington's eyes. Red lifted his free hand and waved.

"There's a little red dot on your forehead right now, by the way."

"You know I could move you into the path of that bullet before it got halfway, right?"

"That one, sure. Not the other two pointing at you right now."

Huntington took a step back and looked down at Viv. His eyes searched her face, looking for the lie that wasn't there.

"Listen, I do appreciate your offer, Mr. Huntington. I really do. But I just don't trust you and a girl's gotta go with her gut instinct."

His eyes were cold and his face expressionless, but he did not interrupt Viv as she made their stance clear. Reaching into her pocket, Viv got out a pen and business card with only her name on it. Huntington's hazel eyes watched her every move, his lips twitching the tiniest bit.

"I owe you," Viv said, writing a phone number on the card, "for the coffee and pumpkin bread. You should really try the bread sometime. It's delicious." Holding the card in between her two right index and middle finger, she tucked the pen back into her trench coat inside pocket. Using sleight of hand, Vivienne made the card disappear and she reached out and adjusted Huntington's lapels on his dark blue blazer.

"Let's start with quid pro quo, Mr. Huntington. Build some trust." She put her hands flat on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath his jacket. "Call me. I'm in bed by 11 pm though. Beauty sleep and all," Viv said smiling.

With a wink, she turned back toward Uptown and walked away without looking back.

((OOC Viv out))
Simon Huntington 13 years ago
Simon watched as Vivienne slowly walked away until a car pulled up beside her and she disappeared into it. Looking back at the rooftop, he could no longer see the sniper or the other two, if there were really two more shooters, anywhere around him. He underestimated the wolves - their ingenuity and suspicious behavior, and they were right to be suspicious. Why would a vampire, the vampire in the center of their blood memory, care about the truth of it, if it didn't benefit him in some way?

Turning in the opposite direction, just walking to walk, Simon touched his chest, feeling for the business card Vivienne had written on. He reached into his inside pockets and found it in his left breast pocket. With a smile he thought about her sleight of hand and turned the card over in his hand. It had one line.

Vivienne Sena

The back had a handwritten number written in blocked caps. No feminine flourish when it came to business, it told him. He memorized the number and then ripped it up into a hundred little pieces, scattering them into the blustery wind.

((OOC Simon out))