Treasure Island
Come fly with me, let’s fly let’s fly away
If you can use, some exotic booze
There’s a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me, we’ll fly we’ll fly away

She wasn't in Kansas anymore. Thank fuck.

That was such a mistake. As she was wont to do, Deanna tended to follow (a) her unbeating heart, (b) her momentary obsessions, and (c) the wind. She'd heard rumor of a newly called slayer kicking serious ass in America's heartland and decided to visit. What she discovered was a lot of corn, some wheat, and a shitload of people mired in the nineteen sixties, both in terms of fashion sense and moral sensibility.

It was almost as bad as Mormon country. Not that'd she know about that. Oh hell no. The redhead would never step foot in Utah.

Not again, at any rate.

Come fly with me, let’s float down to Peru
In llama land, there’s a one man band
And he’ll toot his flute for you
Come fly with me, we’ll float down in the blue

Her first night back in the city of sin, the vampire decided to re-immerse herself in proper culture. And skimpy outfits. She poached the tickets for Mystère from her early evening snack (and then upgraded the balcony seats for orchestra via a quick bathroom encounter, poor girl suffering with that sudden bout of anemia) and lost herself in the spectacle. Aerial high bars, Chinese poles, bungee.

And Clowns. Shudder. There had to be clowns.

Once I get you up there, where the air is rarefied
We’ll just glide, starry eyed
Once I get you up there, I’ll be holding you so near
You may hear, angels cheer - because were together

As the curtain fell on the last moments at Treasure Island, Deanna made her way through the throng and out the doors, around back to the stage door. To pay her respects and thanks.

And to give a little payback to a fear she'd yet to master.

One less clown in the world was a good thing, yes?

Weather wise it’s such a lovely day
You just say the words, and we’ll beat the birds
Down to Acapulco bay
It’s perfect, for a flying honeymoon - they say
Come fly with me, we’ll fly we’ll fly away

Out back dancers puffed at shared cigarettes, still in outlandish costume and with the flush of performance on their pink splotched skin. They smelled of sweat-drenched nylons and hairspray and cake makeup. What looked otherworldly onstage loomed garish under orange streetlamp and by the banality of city dumpsters and employee parking.

Dancers with their camaraderie of full-mouthed kisses and backstage, nude impropriety noticed the intrusion of others but were unlikely to comment upon it, other than by eye. Under a halo of rising smoke and a din of post-production chatter, they glanced openly at the performer who had gone to speak with a man in a suit. He was an audience member wanting an encore, maybe. Or the mysterious boyfriend behind Gabrietta’s slick, black Benz.

Whatever the case, the encounter finished amiably.

The door banged open and shut. Three went in. One came out in red nose and ruffled collar. Lit up a smoke.

"Send in the clowns..." The voice was sing-songy, low and throaty. On the surface it gave a sense of appreciation. A wide smile.

Peel back that layer and you discovered a mouthful of teeth.

Sharp incisors. "Maybe next yearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

Her movements were a blur. Her black DKNY ensemble a shadow against the night, barely a click of heels heard on pavement as a pale hand grasped at the throat and lifted the villain a foot in the air. Deanna continued onward, carrying the foppish goon into the black, away from the security cameras and lighting.

She lifted the steel lid of the garbage container with her free hand, tossed the figure over the lip.

A fingernail punctured the carotid artery. Crimson mixed with soiled bags of refuse.

The redhead wouldn't feed. Not on him. Not worth the effort.

She turned and strode back towards the stage door, absently licking the blood from her nail. A smile and small flirt and she was inside. Eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the pole dancers. There was a Chinese girl who'd provided some spectacular acrobatics during the show. Deanna could think of no better way to spend the rest of the night than to strengthen international relations.

Not one to be left behind, Darian caught the door on its outward swing. And while Security busied himself admiring the retreat of a vampire’s ass, his neck was seconds from being broken.

Snap. Entry automatic.

Backstage, a mélange of kinesthetic artists and musicians mixed with crew. The redheaded one, unlike them in profession, slipped through with grace matching the most former. Darian, on the other hand, found that simply barreling through a crowd with a confident eye on the prize left him unquestioned.

Deanna was that prize; he considered her to be an acquaintance of some importance. Furthermore, he was curious about how she’d spent her day in the sun, granted by him in a moment of rare generosity of spirit (or spirits… probably he’d been drunk). Also, he liked to test limits. In this case, how long he could carry on conversation with the woman before she figured out he sent Victoria headlong into World War II bombing territory.

The vampire wound a convoluted but specific path. It appeared she was on the hunt for an Asian contortionist of striking looks and critical acclaim. He couldn’t blame her. Whatever Deanna had in mind for the affair, he doubted it’d be as quick as the one-minute stand with clown out back.

“Deanna—!”

A passing body brought him up short – a collision with a male trapeze artist in Lycra leotard. Darian raised both arms to allow the guy through. Best make it a hands-free event.

She was four feet from her desire and closing when the voice carried over the din and pricked vampiric ears. Deanna planted her feet to avoid being carried by the throng and swiveled her svelte hips. Sharpened eyes caught the well-dressed figure from which the call had come.

Her smile widened.

The girl could wait. She had thanks to give first.

The redhead spun on her stiletto and sashayed through the crowd, a contemporary fluid dance as she walked through the negative space between bodies and up to her handsome benefactor. From what she remembered, he wasn't the touch-feely type (at least not to a vampire) but she couldn't resist a chaste kiss on the cheek as hello. "Stranger," she cooed in his ear, "you pop up in such interesting places."

Darian did the gentlemanly thing. He lowered his head to receive the greeting and added, in close proximity, “You’re not the first woman to say so.” Exerting a firm palm to the base of her spine, he spun her further from view of the tempting Easterner, lest she get any designs on leaving yet. Visual cues were hard to resist...

Such as the smear of white paint on the vampire’s sleeve. He fingered it and added in low voice, “I caught the encore out back. I’ve got to ask… what exactly does clown taste like? Would you say it’s more of a… hot dog with catsup or funnel cake with jam?”

Damn he was smooth. Already steering the vampire (willingly) in a crowded room. Deanna considered that Darian'd had a lot of practice at that. Hell, if she weren't gay, he might have tempted her with more than just sunlight.

"Cotton candy," she offered without hesitation. Vampiric taste buds sadly lacked. She'd tried funnel cake before. The idea of chocolate and all. The taste was blunted but its sugar-highs still held true. "Thankfully they have those plastic flowers, you get a convenient water-pick to clean between fangs.”

She grimaced at the grease on her blouse. That would cost to get dry-cleaned. "And 'catsup'? Really, Darian. I'd figure you wouldn't settle for less than grey poupon."

They walked to a relatively discreet corner. Slow, to avoid unnecessary contact with personnel that would recognize the intrusion. Darian held himself with the arrogance of an aristocrat but had none of the bloodlines to justify it. It fit oddly well with the pomp and circumstance of the Cirque du Soleil crowd.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been known to consort the common man. Or more accurately, woman.” The maker of deals looked over shoulder. “I suppose they’re the spice of life. It might explain why they’re somewhat… tangier.”

"That's the thing," the redhead nodded in agreement, "despite the baseless, inbred, Neanderthal-like nature, we need them to survive."

Deanna had long held the belief that theirs -- vampire and human -- was a symbiotic relationship. Mortal blood in undead veins ensured her existence while they kept the herd at comfortable levels. The threat of unnatural death over the centuries also ensured survival of the fittest.

Then there was the issue of creature comforts and invention. Vampires -- scratch that, the unimaginative of her species -- seemed locked in the timeframe of their rebirth. How many of the fanged gang kept up the appearance of their era, slept in crypts, kept to the shadows while the daylight-hugging terrestrials built gleaming towers to the sun and air-conditioned cars (yet favored convertibles) and one hundred inch televisions with six point five Dolby surround sound? Why would anyone want to deprive themselves of luxury? That was why the redhead survived the last two hundred years. She blended.

Much like her companion of the moment. "So what brings you backstage at Treasure Island?" Deanna enquired. "Digging for gold?"

Darian folded his arms and nodded at a diminutive female in blue sequin panties. “Well I hardly had to dig.” He watched as the exuberant newcomer mingled and jiggled and pranced on the heels of her open-toe shoes. Gabrietta’s excitement bubbled up, a veritable champagne explosion waiting to happen. Darian was bemused.

He ticked off offenses. “When we met, she was penniless, out of work, fresh off a disastrous turn on Broadway… did I mention she was a he?” He watched the supple set of breasts shimmy-shake another time. It reminded him of a woman who’d just had her hair done at a salon. No excuse was too flimsy to flip it around like Tawny Kittaine in a 1980s rock video. Which reminded him of the fancy car around back. A Benz funded by an amorous, out-of-town lover. “I wonder what her boyfriend would make of that. He’s a point guard for the Phoenix Suns.”

Gabrietta headed for the dressing room, already working the clasps of her earrings. Darian lifted his shoulders. “We had a fee schedule to arrange. What about you? I hadn’t figured you for a benefactor of the arts.”

Deanna watched as the... girl bounded off into the wings. And she suspected Lou Reed might've gotten partial inspiration for his walk on the wild side. The ass was particularly well-sculpted; if Darian decided to relocate to Los Angeles and open a plastic surgery practice, the redhead might sign up as a client. "You do good work.

"Speaking of good work, I owe you a huge thanks, Darian." Even the memory of her time with Krev, shopping, dining in the sun and his performance at Caesar's, gave the vampire a warm glow. "You're a man of your word and among our breeds, that's a rare thing."

The demon waved it off with a curt gesture. He was clearly uncomfortable with her gratitude. Or rather, pretending to be, and considering the hypocrisy of the moment it was the only thing he could do to maintain his ‘professional honesty’. “Consider it a complementary product demonstration,” he said. The words were magnanimous but crafted with little fanfare. “You’ve seen mine, I’ve seen yours. We’re both better for the experience.”

He gave her a smile. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you spent it. If it happens to involve a female friend, please, don’t skip details on my account.”

"Well it started with a girl," the vampire winked. "But not in the way you think. I scared the bejeebus out of a slayer. We were sitting on a bench on Las Vegas Boulevard waiting for the sun to come up and I think Rhiannon was licking her lips at watching me explode. You know, I fought her twice, did my share of damage, but that blow to her psyche was the sweetest of them all."

A small man hustled past, carrying a bucket of bottled water chilled in ice. Deanna purposefully stood in his way long enough to snag two, offering one to the demon. She considered stepping outside for a cigarette but didn't know if the security guard would let them in a second time.

"Most of it I spent with a dear friend of mine," the redhead continued. "Which you'd find entirely boring. Shopping, sunning myself on the patio, arranging for an impromptu -- to Krev anyway -- performance at Caesar's." Fingers pushed back hair from her face, stroking the long locks. "I hadn't seen the sun in over two hundred years. This is something I'll always carry with me."

The vampire de-capped the frosty beverage and took a long sip, then tilted the bottle slightly to the taller companion. "And what have you been up to, then? And if it involves watching two female friends, don't skip details."


[Thread: Open to Deanna and Darian]