A trickle of people slipped out before the end of the musical, to beat the crowd. Asher always stayed until the very end. It seemed unfair to slink away before you could applaud. Besides that, he hated missing the end of anything. He was convinced that the one part he missed would be the best part of the play. He joined in enthusiastically with the standing ovation. He doesn’t stand unless he means it. Justin was standing beside him.

Asher sat back down after the lights came back on. “I wish to wait until the crowd thins.” Justin sat. Asher chuckled. A low chuckle that brushed the skin like fingers. Jean-Asher was dressed in a black tux complete with tails, a black vest bordered his white shirt. The collar was high and stiff with ruffles of lace spilling down the chest, a cravat of black cloth tied around it and tucked into the vest as if ties had never been invented. Only a few men can wear lace and not look feminine. Asher is one of them.

His hair was fashionably long, the golden curls resting around the stiff collar. His eyes were midnight blue, like a really good sapphire. Never look into a vampires eyes. In his hands he held a pair of silk black gloves and a top hat with a white silk band. Over one arm was a Victorian style cap, black as midnight lined with red silk on the underside. The theater was now nearly empty and he got to his feet in such a fluid motion it looked like a puppets strings had been pulled. He reached a height of only five seven. Justin followed suit, standing exactly one inch shorter then his master.

Justin looked like nearly every other gothic teenager, except that he was a lycanthrope, not a boy. He was wearing a sleeveless shinny black shirt that melted to his body. His pants were a crinkly material, also sucking against his skin, with oval windows in the outside of the legs exposing half a thigh, half a calf, and when he turned, half a hip and buttock. A pair of soft boots reached half way up his calf. It looked like leather had been wrapped around his calf and the tied in place with a string of leather crisscrossed around it. On one hand was a glove, half the fingers gone to the knuckles and the top of the leather reaching half way to his elbow. The other hand had a blue arm warmer, crunched down to meet the same level as the glove. The arm warmer was cotton and matched Asher’s eye color with perfection. His brown hair was down and hanging around his shoulders, his brown eyes bored. He was cute, if the word could be used with the clothing he was wearing.

At the end of the aisle, Asher paused and bowed gracefully to an elderly couple. Justin cocked a hip and waved, grinning when the elder couples eyes drifted to his pants.

“Good evening, madame, monsieur.”

It's never seemed quite fair to Dave that no one pays any attention to the behind the scenes crew of the plays that are put on at the Bay Street Theatre. Everyone knows who the director was, everyone knows who the actors were. No one cares about the techies. But then, that's the point. When the techies do their job correctly, the illusion is seamless and the idea that someone might have actually put together the lights and the sound and the set and the props doesn't even occur to the audience as a whole.

He's come down from the booth as the theatre emptied and is now on his way to the green room; one of the mikes wasn't working properly during the show, so he's going to take it back upstairs and put a working one in its place for tomorrow's performance.

Unlike the vampire and the werewolf, Dave is rather boring looking. He's wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. Traditional techie attire, in other words. There's not a whole lot of art or fashion to it, nor to his hair, which is cut close to his head. He's grinning, despite his errand, because the show went well, with only the one malfunction of something he had to deal with. It's a pride thing, for the techs as much as for the actors, when they're favored with a standing ovation. It means that the team worked well together this evening.

And then his gaze was caught and arrested by the pair. Mostly by the boy in the ridiculous pants. Who let that kid into the theatre? (Okay, maybe there's no real dress code, but there's a certain etiquette involved in what one wears to the theatre.)

He scowled, across the heads of the departing people, at the boy and crossed his arms. He can't wait for this kid to get out of his theatre.

Asher's eyes drifted towards the young man. He was under dressed for a play and so very obviously not here to watch the play. Perhapes he watched, but that hadn't been his reason for being there. He wasn't one of the actors or Asher would have recalled his face, and Asher personally knew the director. That left a stage manager or a stage hand.

Justin's eyes settled on the young man as well, not out of personal interest but because his master had taken a special interest in him. Justin looked him up and down slowly, carefully. The guesture was smooth and gracful but standing beside his master, whom was doing the exact same thing, the guesture looked clumsy and stiff.

there's a certain etiquette involved in what one wears to the theatre.

Not when your Justin, but he knew that would be what the other man was looking at when his eyes fell on him. He wanted to say something smart like 'what? You want some of this?' meaning the naked flashes of calf, thigh, and buttock. But he didn't. His master wouldn't allow it. He turned his animalistic brown eyes on Asher, ignoring the stange hand.

Asher, however, did not ignore him. Asher graced him with an equally elegant bow as he had the elder couple who were now leaving the room. "The play went wonderfully," he comented, his french accent heavy.

Dave smiled. A little bit. Everybody loves being complimented, you know, and he did a great deal of work on this particular show. (But then, he always does.)

"Yeah, it did." Except for the things that only someone who had been at all of the rehearsals and had a prompt script in front of him would notice, of course. But that's what you get with live theatre. "Thanks."

He's only talking to the slightly taller blond, note. The kid with the crazy pants--stupid kid--is only getting a glare, if Dave is going to acknowledge him further at all. Dave likes to think that he's open minded, but he really doesn't like the way the kid's dressed, here. It would be different, were they somewhere else.

Probably.

He nodded watching the young man's gaze sliding to a glare at Justin. He glanced over his own shoulder to his werewolf, checking to see that he was doing nothing offensive behind his back to the young man, anything to receive that glare. And yes, Justin would do something like that behind his master's back out of spite. But finding Justin doing nothing and his eyes entirly sincere, Asher turned back to the young man, a perfectly beautiful frown in place.

"I'm sorry. Has my friend offended you?" Asher half turned so that he could see both of the young men. "Justin?"

The werewolf shook his head but still said nothing. He did flash a smile at the stage manager. It wasn't just a smile, it implied a lot. One of them was very flirtious.

Dave shrugged. It really isn't his business what the kid wears to the theatre, but as we've observed before, he's possessive about the place.

"I think he missed the turn on his way to the club."

In other words, he thinks that the kid--Justin, apparently--is dressed more appropriately for one of the many clubs and bars in Bayfield than for the theatre. Probably, he's right, since normal people dress nicely to go out for an evening of live theatre.

Then again, werewolves aren't exactly normal, are they?

Justin's smile widened.

"Implying that my clothing don't belong here." He turned to vampire in the antique formal wear. "You said I looked lovely."

Asher shook his head. At that one guesture the smile faltered on Justin's face and he abruptly stopped talking. Asher turned more towards the man, his back going to his werewolf again. Asher picked up the subtly meaning almost immeditaly. This young man saw the theater as his domain. Asher understood the posessivness of it. He nodded his head into a minature bow.

"Forgive my fledgling for his rash tongue. He does not think before he speaks." Justin flinched. "I am sorry that you disapprove of his dress." Though he did not sound very sorry. He didn't sound anything. His face was faintly amused but any other emotion was undetectable.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

There is one man in this city who can outscowl Dave. Something about the dark eyes and the dark hair gives the dark looks a bit more power and punch than on other people. Alexander is better at it than Dave, but he has more experience. They're cousins.

However, he's trying to tame his scowl, because if he's too rude to them, they may not come back. While this would not perturb Dave much, the manager would be rather annoyed.

"Glad you enjoyed the show." This conversation is over.

He turns to go.

And what the manager thinks about Asher's disappearance from the theater is important to Dave. Asher knows this because Dave takes pride in the theater. He also knows that his not returning to the theater would bother the manager. Asher donates to the theater, as well as many other orgignizations and bussinesses in Bayfield. And what Asher thinks seems to matter to the manager too. Influintual power. It's a wonder.

"I would like to speak to the manager this evening," he says to Daves back. Nevermind saying he'd like to compliment the manager on the evenings show. He knows very well that his wording will lead the young man to believe he may want to complain.

Dave's jaw tightens in that universal sign of frustration. He does not want to get in trouble right now, thank you ever so much.

"You know where his office is?"

He hasn't turned around again yet; he's got to get his face under control before he'll look the guy in the face again.

If he were anywhere else, with anyone else, and if it were anything else, he probably would have told the guy where he could stick his fancy airs. But he's not, and so he'll behave.

of course he knows where the office is.

"I'm afraid I do not." People can't lie to vampires. But no one said a vampire can't lie to people. And vampires seem to be the most convincing liars of all, at least this one is, what with his years of practice for schooling expressions. He smiled innocently without flashing any fang.

Justin turned his head to the side, letting his masters shadow fall over his face to hide the smile. He and his master both could feel the tension of the other.

Grrrrrrrrr.

"Want me to show you?"

Polite to a fault, this boy. Oh dear.

He's going to do his very best not to offend this particular fellow irreparably, but it looks like it's going to be an uphill climb all the way.

He turns around again, and his expression is not a scowl, but it's not much of a smile, either. Carefully blank, I suppose is the best way to describe it. Except there's obvious frustration flickering in his eyes.

"Please. It would be so kind."

He's not smileing. His face is equally blank but possibly more convincing. So many years of practice. It can become very frustrating trying to read his face. Justin however, had only seventeen years of practice under his belt...or should we say the tight leather pants since he isn't wearing a belt. His face was mildly amused.

He never ceased to have fun when with his master. Then, he never ceased to get in trouble with his master either. He just couldn't keep his mouth closed.

The young man in question did as he had offered and led the way to the manager's office. At least if he was walking in front, he didn't have to try so hard to control his face.

If Dave were magically inclined like his cousin, the air around him would be sizzling with irritation. As it is, it's only obvious to anyone who knows him--and probably anyone who doesn't know him too--that he's holding onto his temper, tooth and nail, and barely at that.

We must pity the boy. He's really in over his head.

Asher followed him through a route he already knew. He couldn't see Dave's face but he could sense the tension. This was becoming interesting. At the office door, Asher turned and handed Justin his gloves and hat. Asher knocked once on the manager's door once with a firm rap of the knuckles and entered without being invisted. He shut the door, leaving Justin standing in the hall, leering at Dave. Leering is the only way to put it.

Perhapes it was that he'd walked in without an invitation, or perhapes it was the friendly tones within the room but something might lead one to believe that the manager and the vampire knew eachother.

The werewolf put Asher's top hat on his head. The black of the hat matched the leather of his pants but that was the extent. Everything else was a contrast and the top hat set off how out of place Justin's clothing really was. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his stomach, and stared across the hall at Dave.

"Don't like my clothes then?"

Dave was tempted to answer with something rude and unnecessary, like 'Shut the hell up' but this kid was with the guy who obviously knew the manager--he heard bells tolling the death of his job in the back of his head--so he only answered with, "No."

He wasn't interested in having a conversation with this kid. At. All.

((Apologies for shortness and crappiness.))

Justin smiled again. It was a sugestive smile, one that would have made almost any girl blush. He could make the strippers at the club blush under that gaze. That's saying something.

"I like yours."

He made it carefully known that his gaze dropped down and then up the others body, taking in the clothing, among other things. He let his brown gaze drop again and linger in an area I'm certian is not appropriate to mention, but I'm also certian that you and Dave get the point.

With a werewolf's sensitive hearing, I'm sure Justin could hear Dave's teeth grinding against each other. He does not take well to this kind of flirting. (At least, not from another male. It's rather different when the one flirting is female.)

"F--Back off."

He wasn't going to cuss out this kid, tempting as it might be. He was going to keep his temper, ignore Justin as best he could, and get back to work as soon as it wouldn't be rude.

... why didn't the kid go into the office with the older guy...? It would have made escapting so much easier.

He raised his brown eyebrows in two arches that managed to be confused, suprised, and segestive all in one graceful guesature.

"I didn't move," he replied to Dave's scathing 'back off'. "But if you want," he stepped forward, closer, but not yet intruding into the other's personal space yet. "Now you may tell me to back off." He stepped closer again, treading a fine line of personal space and invading it. "Now, you may tell me to back off."

He moved the toe of his boot as though he were just about to step forward again but didn't move yet.

Why hadn't he gone into the office with Asher? Because, it's more fun out here. Because Asher knew Justin fancied the other through physical appearance. Because Asher has a sick, twisted sense of humor.

((*dies laughing*))

Dave was not amused.

This was made eminently clear by the further darkening of his countenance, the now audible to anyone not deaf sound of his jaw grinding together, and the way the veins in his neck suddenly stood out as he tried very hard not to hit the so-irritating boy in front of him.

"Fuck off."

Good manners have left the building.

Fuck off

Justin took that last threatening step into Dave's personal space and stood with the line of his body just hovering over Daves, the heat of his body pressing. Heat because his skin was not simply warm but hot. He slid his face close enough to Dave's that all it took was a really hard thought and they'd be kissing.

"So bitter," he breathed the words more then said them.

The door opened and Asher's short figure stood, filling the door way, save for what his height would not reach. A look of those true blue eyes sent Justin across the hall. The werewolf shifted his gaze to Asher, then to Dave, then stepped down, moving to stand against the opposite wall. Asher closed the door behind him firmly but did not take his hat, gloves, or cape from Justin.

"Now if you would be so kind, Mr. Tuckey, you will show me back down?"

Ah, nothing like knowing a name.

Dave does not handle close proximity of other men terribly well. At least, not when it's something as obviously sexual as what that stupid kid just pulled. It took him a moment to regather himself--and calm himself--and nod to the vampire.

"Yeah, sure."

He turned and began leading the way back down to the lobby, where hopefully, he would be rid of these so-irritating customers and could get back to doing his real work.

It was really too bad it wasn't strike, yet. Dave would have appreciated having something to tear apart.

"Thank you." His voice was smooth. It nearly touched ones skin, like a shiver. It was also faintly distant and muffled, meaning that something, or in this case, someone, stood between Asher and Dave's back.

Justin was shadowing Dave, walking almost close enough to put the line of their bodies togather. He still held Asher's cape which he let brush Dave's legs. Asher didn't comment but the glint in his blue eyes were pure amusment. He could smell Dave's blood and anger, but on top of it the blood. He was suddenly very aware of both Justin and Dave, of their heat, of their smell.

"How old are you Dave?"

It may seem a very random question but the moment it was asked, Justin fell away from Dave. His Master had just claimed him. You see, Asher never feeds on a child, therefore, knowing his potential prey's exact age is important to him.

Well... Dave is not a child.

He ignored the cape--no need to let that stupid kid bait him even more than he had already. As if it weren't too late for something like, say, prudence to enter the picture--but the question made him pause and glance back, creasing his forehead in puzzlement.

"Twenty-three. Why?"

That was the most random thing he's ever been asked, probably. At least, under the circumstances. And he's been asked some pretty random things, in his time in the theatre. Theatre people are a strange lot, as a rule.

And as a rule, Dave is most definatly old enough in Asher's eyes to feed from. As Dave said he was twenty-three, or anything over the age of eighteen, Justin stopped walking all togather, allowing Asher and Dave to put distance between himself and them. It is something he's learned after his time with his master, you do not impose on his feeding.

Asher nodded and seemed to just suddenly be in front of Dave rather then behind him. No, he didn't just appear there. He moved there. Yes. He did just move that fast. That in itself indicated that he was a very old vampire. Now he stood in front of Dave, his hands folded properly in front of him, his blue eyes intense, trying to capture Dave's gaze.

His blonde hair lay in curls around his face, only highlighting those pale eyes, husky eyes. Eyes that were safe, trustworthy. You could trust anyone with eyes like that. Beautiful eyes, lovely, appealing. Eyes that you wanted so badly to step closer to look into. At least, this would all be true if he's really captured Dave's eyes, rolled his mind. If he didn't capture his eyes then well, Dave wouldn't even be looking into his eyes. He'd have been looking elsewhere.

Justin wasn't looking at Asher's eyes. He pointedly stared at his feet.

Obligingly, Dave's eyes met the vampire's as his head swiveled back around to wonder how in the world this guy moved that fast... oh.

You've heard of someone with a 'deer-in-the-headlights' sort of look. That usually denotes fear, numbing, freezing fear, that keeps someone from moving or thinking, no matter what. This wasn't 'deer-in-the-headlights,' not exactly; Dave wasn't afraid. He wasn't angry anymore, either.

Perhaps it was akin to the way that a snake hypnotizes the birds that it catches on the ground. A glance into the serpent's eyes, and the prey willingly skips down the long throat.

Remember to breathe, David.

Justin shook his head, turned, and seated himself in one of the seats, settling down to watch his second show of the night.

The Vampire stepped forward towards Dave, raising his hands to slide them up along the man's arms, coming to rest on his shoulders. He pulled Dave towards him, folding him into his arms with a gentlness one reserves for precious items and beloved people.

Now that he's rolled Dave's mind, he does not need the eyecontact, he lowers his face near the man's shoulder, places a kiss. Such warm, comforting arms. The kind of arms you feel safe in, the sort you feel loved in. These are arms you would run to, sleep in. Such a light kiss, a gentle touch. A loving caress, so loving. No one else in the world could love you more. No one else in the world could kiss you like this, and this is just on your shoulder. Truthfully, his kiss is soft, gentle, appealing. But his arms are anything but warm.

Dave is being held in a circle of cold, bloodless arms, against a cold chest, a chest without a heartbeat.

Asher lay one kiss after another across Dave's shoulder and up the side of his neck, coming to the big throbbing pulse. He pressed his mouth over that pulse, savored it, kissed it. Then he drew back his head, bared his fangs and sank them through flesh. A sharp pain might come like a shock but also like a shock, it's gone before you can pull you hand away, melting into something pleasent.

The muscles in Asher's jaw and throat worked as he took blood, his blue eyes closed and his hands firmly around Dave's arms. The blood filled him, flowed through him, and his heart gives a sudden heavy lurch, then thuds in regular beats. When he's had enough, taken only enough, he drew back, liking away blood from Dave's neck.

He'd taken a good amount, but nothing life threatening. He drew dave out of his arms and stepped back.

"Wake up, me pomme de sang." His skin is flushed, less pale then it had been, there is a heart beat.

Voice... talking to him? What?

Blinking dazedly, Dave shook his head, as if trying to clear his head of the cobwebs that Asher had put there. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, then down to the strange ache in his neck...

... what the hell?

He repeated himself aloud. Twice, in fact, growing more agitated with each repetition. His hand came away from his neck with spots of blood on the fingers.

How did he miss getting cut like that!?

"You... you bit me."

He sounds as if he can hardly believe it.

Asher nodded. Now that he knew Dave could stand on his own, he let his hands fall away from Dave's arms, folding them properly in front of him again. So calm. So...perfect of a guesture. No, this time it was not Asher making this look perfect in one's mind, this perection came from over five hundred years of practice.

"Oui."

His nod had barely been a nod. It had consisted of one mere bow of his head, his blue eyes never leaving Dave's. Now that he's had Dave's mind once, he does not need the eye contact to gain access again.

The was suddenly clapping, a one man applause. Justin was sitting slouched in the seat, his masters cape, hat, and gloves aranged perfectly across his lap, his feet kicked up on the chair in front of him, straight legged. How can anyone be comfortable like that?

"Justin."

The one single word stopped the wolf mid calp. He let his hands fall to his lap.

Blank look. Dave hadn't expected the man--was this a man, even? It was obviously male, yes, but was it human...?--to actually admit to what he had done. He felt his neck again.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Dave is not particularly pleased with this, er, gentleman, can you tell? He's scowling that black scowl of his again, and it's going to take more than just pretty eyes to wipe it away.

That's the plan, anyway. Then again, Dave has no experience with anything older than a hundred, and Wick is hardly the same kind of threat that a vampire is. Nightmares are one thing. Major bloodloss is somewhat different.

Asher shook his head once, twice, and stopped, his hair floating around his face with the motion.

"There is absolutly nothing wrong with me. I am exactly as I should be."

In other words, sucking down your blood is what I'm expected, taught, and suposed to do. Besides the fact that he felt like doing it and wanted the taste of Dave's blood on his tongue. Asher would almost be certian right now that Dave's not put togather just yet exactly what he is.

Asher did not simply 'bite' Dave, as Dave so crudly put it. He fed from him.

No. Dave hasn't figured out what Asher is, and he probably won't, either. While he's a book enthusiast--when he has time, outside of his other pursuits, like girls, high speeds, and work--he never was much into fantasy type literature. Science fiction, perhaps. He would certainly choose Asimov over Anne Rice, if it came to a choice.

Pause, still glaring. Kind of a lot, too.

"Get out of my theatre."

And hurry up; if Dave doesn't sit down soon, he's going to be in trouble, of the fainting kind.

Asher shifted his hands from in front of him to fold them behind his back. This gueasture in itself clearly said he didn't plan to move. He raised a slim, shapely blonde eyebrow at the young man.

"Your theater?"

Justin snickered, stood, moved up behind Dave to stand very close to his back. Poor young Dave now stood between the heat of a seventeen year old werewolf and a five hundred plus corpse whose just taken blood of him.

"Tell me, when did you purchase the title to the building? The rights to the Plays?"

He'd like to move away from one of them, but if he moves forward, he'll be closer to Asher--which he doesn't want--and if he moves backward, he'll be in Justin's arms--which he really doesn't want.

Okay, so he doesn't own it, in those ways. It's still his.

"You show me one other person who knows this place better than I do, who spends more time here than I do, and who cares about this place as much as I do."

Scowl. He's shivering, slightly. That's from bloodloss, not from chill, by the way.

"Now get out."

Justin snickered again behind Dave, his warm breath falling over Dave's back.

"Your looking at him."

Alright, perhapes Asher does not spend as much time here as Dave does, but he certianally puts a lot of donation into maintaining the building, and he knows every rafter and every nook of the building, seeing as he's been attending plays, and even acted in a few, since the building had been established.

A faint smile flickered over Asher's lips, it reached his blue eyes but his face did not move.

"I will leave now. You should sit, but do not lie down, your blood will replenish itself in an hour, perhapes two."

He held a hand out around Dave and Justin handed him his hat, cape, and gloves. He swung the cape over his shoulders.

How recently has Asher acted here? Dave would recognize him, if he had done it in the past few years. Things change in theatres, especially when technology is making advances by leaps and bounds. Dave probably does know the theatre better than the vampire. Maybe only by a little, though.

He wanted so desperately to hit one--or both--of them. But he was kind of dizzy, and... Screw it.

And, since he was oddly afraid of Asher--how surprising is that, since the creature did something to his head and actually drank his blood?--he turned and slugged Justin. Justin was the more annoying one, anyway.

And then he wobbled. And then he crumpled.

There's a reason that they tell you not to exert yourself after you donate blood, or some such thing.

Asher may have been able to move fast enough to dodge the fist. And even a more powerful or more practiced shifter could have dodged. As it was, Justin watched the muscles bunch just before he got hit. He stumbled backwards with the force.

Asher reached out, reacting as quickly as Dave was falling and cought him beneath his arms. He held the man effortlessly, and then lifted him to his full height, half carrying him towards the row of chairs. The vampire allowed Dave to fall into a seat while Justin cursed and sweared, touching his fingers to his lip.

"Silence Justin, let us leave Mr. Tuckey to his business."

He topped his head with his hat, bowed his head to Dave, and turned to swopp towards the door, his cape flowing out behind him in a wave of black. Justin spat blood on the floor, glared, and stalked after his master.