It was a Friday night, and it had been a damned long week. But it didn’t matter. It never mattered on the last night of the working week. It was on that night that every real-life dilemma disappeared in the swirling masses of perspiring bodies all pressing against each other in an excited, sexual manner. It was that night that one could drink away their quandaries and lose touch with reality in an upbeat, eccentric atmosphere and not feel guilty about their intake. It was that night that everything that seemed wrong and forced just faded into a vast oblivion.

And so that was where she went; Faded.

Click-Click-Click. Stiletto heels of black silk struck the pavement as she followed the familiar route of pavement and flashing lights to her escape. The straps wound up her smooth calves and tied just below and behind her knee. A seemingly expensive, black skirt sheathed her legs. It was low slung on her hips and in a slant that began half-way down her thigh on the right side and finished at her left knee. A red jewel gleamed from her naval that was exposed before another tight article of barely clothing clad her upper body; an off-the-shoulder red shirt. A red jewel, that matched her naval barbell, shone at her throat. All in all, it was quite clear that this was not a modest girl.

To be more accurate, the women had no qualms about exposing a little flesh. Her theory? Why hide your naturally given assets? They did her well. It was generally once to twice a week that her better ‘assets’ allowed her to score, or at least a proposition of some enticing, imtimate activity or another. Either that or her quick wit. But then, who had the time to talk in a nightclub? She supposed that she could chat on the way to whosever house was decided… but it just seemed strange to talk to someone she didn’t know. At least she got their names, right?

The upscale nightclub was before her. This proven by the glow of the five-lettered name on the sign. A lineup, not to short and not to long, was down the street. Luckily she knew the doorman. His name was Thomas and, in exchange for a sneak peak every once in a while, he allowed her entrance without the wait—much to the vocalized disagreements of those waiting. He hollered at them to shut up and she emerged herself into the dark aura of Faded.

Some underground alternative band was playing on the stage. Cammeo Mocenigo, as that was her name, didn’t recognize them. However, a sign stated who they were—something she didn’t bother to read. They weren’t bad, but she knew they’d never make it mainstream. She shrugged, and went straight to the bar. A flick of her wrist brought the bartender to her aid and she ordered a drink. Eyes, currently grey, glanced around the familiar setting to see who else had ventured out on a Friday night.

An alluring sillouette at the bar waves her hand impatiently. This fleeting motion catches a flickering eye, eliciting a shudder from the young man whos gaze is suddenly fixed upon her back. What is this reaction, fear? Desire? Disgust? Or... relief perhaps?

The creature who has espied Cammeo tenetively weaves his way through of the squirming masses, the fetid human ocean gyrating and bobbing on the floor. Disengaging limbs from the tangle as delicately as possible, he gracefully slips his slender body through the crowd, dancing all the while with hips twisting suggestively and arms raised above his head as he moves himself in the direction of this evening's target. She turns after a moment to cast smokey eyes about the crowd, and Samael turns his own away quickly, a calculated draw. She'll likely notice how his misty eyes flashed so quickly askance just as her own passed across them, and how his graceful neck turned sidelong as if embarrassed at his staring.

Looking about 19, Samael strikes a sensual figure with a lean, smooth body, almost androgynous. His misty, grey-blue eyes are round and shinning, his lashes so dark that one imagines he must wear mascara (though, upon closer inspection, one will find that the length and color of his lashes is entirely natural.) Downy silver-blonde hair whisps in his eyes, the style feathered to just below the base of his neck, bangs long enough to just barely be tucked behind his ears. His lips are plump and flushed, nicely shaped, and his nose is enviably cute. The man (kid? He looks young, but it might just be babyface syndrome) wears a brilliant blue babydoll T-shirt, with a triangle of black lace over the center of the chest, and close-fitting, thin, black leather pants. A long sliver dogtag-chain hangs about his neck, it's charm, an antique looking silverish key, dangling just above his belly-button. A blue, white and black patterend scarf, possibly silk, tied to one of his belt loops secures a half-empty water bottle.

This body is designed specifically to be enticing to the sexually dominant, a great indignity in Samael's eyes that he, never the less, knows well how to take advantage of. Demurely, he lowers his arms and makes gentle, catlike movement of his body, throwing back his head and casting the barest of nervous, sidelong glances to Cammeo, as if to see if she's watching. He is testing the waters, to casting out bait to test her temperment as he slowly moves himself nearer the bar, making it look as if he's naturally being pushed that way by the others dancers. A flush has formed over the bridge of his pale nose and spreads over his cheekbones; it might be caused by anything from mild inebriation to shyness to the heat of the dance floor, but whatever the cause it gives him a wanton sort of expression.

The servant to her will, clad in a tight black tee, disappeared for a moment. His voice floated over the pounding bass of the current music to her, and she knew that he was talking to another customer or two. A clink of her glass being set down, and words spoke in her direction tore her eyes away from the grinding scene of adolescents deprived of the once-sinful physical contact. Gaze flitted across his face, a flirtatious smile making way on to crimson lips. She hadn’t heard his words, though figured he stated the price. This she knew, as she always ordered a Red Diamond.

The concoction before her fitted it’s name, a red liquid within an elegant glass. And what went into such a marvelous appearance? Simple. Haphazard amounts of bourbon, lime, sugar syrup, grenadine and maraschino syrup all added to the taste that disguised how potent the stuff really was. A straw fitted on full, scarlet lips as she took the first sip. Satisfied, she handed the payment to the man behind the counter. A tight squeeze of his bicep and a husky thank you made him flush as he walked away. A soft finger tip traced the rim of the crystalline glass as grey eyes turned back to the dance floor.

And there, she found, was a young man who quickly looked away. Of course, she caught this but feigned either indifference or ignorance. Never the less, sidelong glances her way persisted and she was obliged to allow him to watch her watch him. After all, the boy was undeniably cute. Eyes roamed from his face, to the blue clad chest and lower… then returned the like-hued eyes with a pleased and enticing smile.

Legs crossed over one another within their tightly wrapped sheathe of black. Stilettos dangled in just the right way that made the opposite sex groan with want. She knew she was being watched by him, and others, and was hardly coy about it. Her glass raised to lips again, thick lashes closing a moment and hiding her smoking orbs. Tongue flicked out to catch the sweet drops that lined her lips and gaze returned once more to the boy who watched her as he seductively danced in his agile and suggestive ways.

An idea struck her and she offered yet another seductive smile. Taking one last sip to finish the Red Diamond, she placed the empty glass on the counter and stepped down off her stool in an oh-so-graceful manner. The beat of the music, slower and more sensual now, caught her hips and she swayed to the music as she followed steps into the crowd. Hands raised above her head, allowing her to pass past the sexually charged creatures. Breast brushed against the one who had been watching her. She feigned coyness, though a suggestive look gleamed behind it, as she glanced up to meet his.

However, she didn’t stop. She kept going through the crowd, still swaying her hips in a way she knew would keep him staring. Make him look. Make him want. Make him wait until he couldn’t take it anymore. That was always the way. And so to make him wait, she entered the bathroom and wasted a few minutes at the mirror. A light perspiration from the humid air of the club had formed on the bridge of her knows, flushing her cheeks a bit and making her skin glow. Comfortable with her appearance, she decided she had made him wait enough.

Sure steps brought her back to the dance floor. Her disguised, grey gaze swept the crowd to see if he was still watching her.

As she moves off into the crowd, Sam gives every appearance of being in a state of shocked, residual bliss from her touch until she disappears from view. Then, recognizing the varying levels of jealousy infecting those around him, he slinks quickly away, emerging from the press of bodies into a dark pocket of unoccupied space along the bar.

His spine going limp as a rag, Samael sprawls over his isolated stretch of bartop and, head lolling back, drains a half of his remaining water. He swishes that last swig of it about his mouth a moment, before wiping his forearm across his lips and swallowing.
She went into the bathroom, he is fairly certain. To prolong his misery, no doubt, let the lust simmer a little. She knows what she's doing. "...this is twisted." With this utterance, he rubs the nape of his neck for a moment and winces as the taught muscles are massaged, before shoving off into the crowd again.

Pushing and ducking his way around mortals, Sam makes a minor show of getting over toward the bathroom. As Cammeo exits he's not more than fifteen feet in from the edge of the crowd, watching the bathroom doors with longing and embarrassed glances as he dances distractedly. His eyes widen in something like recognition and relief as he first spots her, and cautiously he begins to approach.

Gaze locked on gaze. Smoke and mirrors, or so it seemed, with the hues of eyes compared. Like a scene out of a movie; his eyes found her, and she him. He moved through the crowd, swaying his hips to the sound of the music while throwing shy glances her way. She had to wonder, with the suggestive ways his body danced to the music was he just playing coy?

It didn’t matter, really. He was attractive, young, sexy… and headed her way. Generally, the thought of a man approaching would bring a knot to a women’s stomach. Make her gulp, or blush or shake a bit. Shivers went down her spine with anticipation of what might be the outcome, but she wasn’t nervous. Come to think of it, she never got nervous. She shrugged off the thought, must have been good breeding--- thanks mom, dad… wherever and whoever you are.

She helped him out a bit and took a few steps in his direction. Finally they stood before each other. Close enough, now, to see him better. He was only an inch or two taller than her, even if she wasn’t on heels. He wasn’t that tall for a man, but not overly short either. He looked innocent, with an almost feminine frame. Bright eyes added to this possible illusion of ingenuity. Light hair contrasted her own. Full lips gave her a sudden urge to kiss him, which she resisted without a sign of the thought. He was almost too submissive for her tastes—it took the fun out of the game.

Before he could speak a word to her, she leaned in close to him. Hips swayed slightly to the rhythm, though this seemed an absent moment. Sensual lips parted as she raised on the tips of her toes to get closer to his ears. In as husky a voice as could be used while trying to yell over the beat of the bass, she spoke a four word invitation; “Care to dance, Darling?”

Samael smiles, secretly, as he leans over Cammeo's shoulder to put his own lips next to her ear. "I thought we already were, Love."

Dancing is hardly more then dry-humping here in this den of hormones, and one would expect little better from the man-slut that Sam is currently a perfect illustration of. He lives up to expectations.

But after a few minutes, he draws back, twisting his body against- past- hers. Slipping by, he turns to view her expectantly, drawing toward the bar.

"Buy you another drink?" he calls, making a face that suggests he'll just burst and die if she refuses.

{ Sorry I took so long, I'll be quicker next time. }

His words flitted from soft lips to open ears and she flashed a feigned look of a ductile girl that would normally befit her place with in a club. That is, a stereotypical girl with obvious intentions, flirtatious tones and an easy disposition, not to mention already half-drunk from a meager single drink. This hardly befitted her. While playful, and open-minded... she was far more that a pretty face-- she was a pretty face with a clever game that was so discrete that she didn't even know she was playing it. Not to mention, she could hold her liquor well.

Hips swayed in that same way that she knew made her legs look long and brought provocative suggestions to a man's mind. Lithe body twisted in his, pressing against him and pulling away to tease. She knew she brought the stares of other men, but that was the point. Make him want, make him beg, make him jealous of the other stares. That was the way, wasn't it?

It wasn't long before he pulled away. A puppy face befitted his own, and there it fit. A soft laugh ruptured from graceful throat. An invitation, more a of soft demand, was laid out before her and she could hardly refuse. She slipped her soft hand in his and allowed herself to be pulled to the bar. Instead of shyly accepting his offer with a thank you, voice raised over the sound of the club stating her choice.

"Red Diamond." She replied, biting her bottom lip and looking at him with suggestion written in her eyes.

(OOC: >.<;;; Wazzat about taking long?)
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Samael patiently flags the bartender and orders, for both of them. His requested drink is hard liquor, nothing fancy of fruity. It seems a break in character, but he doesn't make anything of it.

Brushing his knee tenetively against her thigh as he half-leans on the bar, Sam smiles coquettishly. "You always get that?"

"I've tried most, and it seems the only fitting one." She replied, a tongue darting out to moisten lips. They gleamed glossy in the flashy lights of the club. It was a brief answer that hinted at so many unasked questions. Keep them guessing, they'll always come back for more.

She felt the contact to her thigh. Him against her again. It was a fleeting touch, but she was nearly positive that it was intentional. Whether they, the males, realized it or not the majority of their reactions and responses were intentional; conciously or otherwise. Attraction. Domination. Impression. It was all in their nature. Habitual instincs reach back to ancient times. Still, they always attempted to make believe that it was all an accident. She scoffed at them all.

Vision drifted from the man at her side, to the bartender, then strayed to the crowd. Eyes stopped on a few certain males in the crowd, wondering if she'd have better luck. No, of course she wouldn't-- they'd all have the same out come. Besides, this male seemed to have fate on his side as she was drawn to him instantly. Why? She didn't know... but she intended to find out.

When her eyes come back around to the boy, she finds that he meets hers directly. An expression flashes away, replaced by dim admiration. Perhaps this was jealousy, or insecurity? It was only there for an instant, so hard to tell.

"What's you name, by the way? I'm Sam." He smiles half-sheepishly, mussing his hair as he runs his fingers over his scalp. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

He wonders what she would be like, in bed. She's only technically half, after all... It would be so delicious if he were to draw from her.

{ No clue what you mean by " She's only technically half, after all... It would be so delicious if he were to draw from her." He shouldn't know she's a succubus-- she doesn't even know right now! }

A flicker through his eyes inadvertantly caught her attention. Jealousy... Insecurity? Not the most flattering of traits, but acceptable. It was gone as fast as it appeared. Good. At least she was still making him wonder. Thoughts drifted; would she score tonight? Did she even want to with him? She was loosing interest in him. It was the take it or leave scenario and she could go either way. He attempted conversation again and her attention was torn away from her contemplations.

"Sam, is it?" She asked. That was a friendly name. A submissive name. It reminded her a dog. You know, the family kind that never got agressive? "My name is Cammeo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Would that be what he'd be like in bed? Friendly, slobery, submissive?

A sleek, graceful hand extended to his. She didn't shake hands. If he accepted, she'd sqeeze it as if she were being friendly and withdraw. She found that it did the job nicely and wasn't quite as brutish as a handshake. After all, first meetings shouldn't be like a buisness deal.

"Really? You must have not been here while I was. I come her frequently-- probably more than I should. I don't recognize you either."

"

( Heh! Well, he means what he means. I thought I told you when we started out that he was going the stalker route? He's been watching her for weeks. He never would have payed her any attention at all if he weren't aware of her linage... and now he's making his move. Whatever that may be. XD )
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She doesn't seem to be taking the bait. That won't do at all.

He accepts her offered hand with a faintly sly, pleased expression, slipping his fingers underneath Cammeo's. Gently he turns her hand over and, bowing at the waist, presses a delicate kiss to the flesh of her wrist.

Straightening, he quirks his eyebrows pleasantly and withdraws his hand. "I just moved. Only been coming a few nights now. I suppose that'd explain it." His smile broadens a little. "It's just as well. I didn't get any of my furniture in the apartment till yesterday..."

{ Bah humbug!}

He slid his hand into hers, trying to be smooth and casual. Guys were always trying to be smooth and casual. The ones who actually were the duo combination used to make her heart flutter. They were few and far between. She squeezed his hand and let go, but he caught hers, bent and planted a kiss on her wrist.

She smiled, and it was genuine. That was original. Then again, these guys always had their one gimick. She should have expected it. She didn't. It was a pleasant surprise. At least it wasn't lame, again, like the one guy last week. The dude actually carried a carnation around to each girl in the bar. Loser. Of course, she got drunk and slept with him. When she woke she was in her own bed, alone. She didn't remember the night, but she figured that the bastard left in the middle of the night.

He was speaking again, about personal things. Once more, she feigned interest. "You just moved here? Cool. I move constantly, I suppose it's just in my nature. Where' d you move from if you don't mind me asking?"

Was he tryign to pick her up by talkign about his apartment? Oh, please.

{-poke?-}