New Orleans is still lit, even after 2am. You saunter through the shadows, slithering slyly in between the lamposts and avoiding the brightly colored fluorescence given off by signs advertising many less than virtuous services.
This is the true Sin City, what from prostitutes working from the back of legal clubs to drugs being sold in dark alleyways; lust and gluttony are in abundance, as is the greed that swells inside the casinos and oozes into the streets. This is truly the perfect city for <u/>[[someone - something? - like you]]</u>. Your hunting grounds are overflowing every night.
You decide you better get to work and passively glance around you.
[[Go to your usual spot.|Scores Mansion]]
[[Go to the new place across the street.|Rick's]]Scores Mansion is it.
You move into the red light in front of the door of the infamous club, smiling at the bouncer as you walk past the line and through the doors without a word. They know you well here.
You move the back corner, scouting the room full of sweaty, intoxicated humans. The dancers perform on three different stages, some mingling with the crowd, as well.
The people in these kinds of places are the easiest targets. You watch for the telltale signs of your preferred victim - slightly inebriated, but not to the point where they look sick, and alone, with that melencholy look of desperation in their eyes that only you recognized.
You spot one man sitting at a table alone at the opposite wall, sluggishly sipping a beer.
[[Approach the man.|Charlie]]Rick's it is. *What a name for a club.*
You cross the street and move into the light given off by the flickering sign. There's only a short line at the door, but you pass them anyways, immediately moving to the bouncer.
When he sees you approaching him, he puffs up his chest and speaks in a gruff voice. "Hey. Back of the line."
You give a small smile, ignoring his command, and run your had through your hair. You'd let it grow out after all these years.
You fearlessly continue to approach him, until you are practically nose to nose with the large man.
You meet his eyes and he shivers - a human's first instict when they meet a creature like you, even though you may look human, is to run. You talk in a low, reassuring voice that sounds like velvet.
"I'm supposed to be here," you say with a slight raise of your eyebrows. "Won't you let me in?"
The bouncer stutters, and to the protest of the five people in line behind you, he opens the door for you without another word.
[[Enter Rick's|Inside Rick's]]This club isn't nearly as nice as your usual, Scores Mansion, but it'll do. You usually don't like to settle for dirty dive bars, but the desperation sweating from the pores of the hundred or so humans inside this one was palpable. You could taste it. You won't have a hard time finding prey here.
For a moment, you stand by the entry, casually leaning against the wall, scanning the large room. It's dark enough that these people most likely can't see more than ten feet in front of them, but you, with your adept eyes, can see across the room effortlessly.
A stage lines the wall to your left, where three dancers moved lazily around poles, taking the few dollars bills thrown at them and shoving them in their bras. Drunken men surround the stage en masse, shouting obscene suggestions for the dancing women. There are no security guards in sight in this place to keep them in line - these women would most likely go home with a few of these men to make a little extra.
There's a dance floor in the center of the room filled with young men and women, stinking the air with the tequila-ridden perspiration running down their bodies. At the far end of the club sits the bar, run by two scantily clad women, flirting with the men sitting on stools, no doubt trying to get better tips.
At last, your eyes fall on a woman sitting alone in a corner, sipping from a glass that most likely contained straight vodka. Her shoulders were hunched over, and she avoided looking at anyone. Instead, she stared at the table with an empty gaze, as if she were mentally elsewhere. Her sadness permeated the atmosphere around her.
[[Approach the woman.|We Meet Again]]*That'll work*, you think, as you glide to the man's table to quietly that he startles when you clear your throat to get his attention.
"Mind if I join you?" you ask politely. He gives you a look of apprehension, as most humans do when they first meet those of your kind. Their most primal, natural instinct is to run from predators.
But your inhuman charm gets the better of them the second they meet your eyes. He shivers as he looks into yours, and he shrugs, gesturing towards the chair next to him. You take it gracefully. *Hook.*
You scoot the chair slightly closer to him before asking, "So, what's your story?" Your words are silk, swallowing your victim in comfort. His shoulders relax. *Line.*
You watch him hesitate, perhaps from embarrassment, before he presses his bottle against his lips once more. You give him an encouraging smile, place your hand gently on his, and speak with your silver tongue once more.
"Come on, I won't bite."
He sighs and sets his bottle on the table. After a moment, he meets your eyes again.
"Well..." *Sinker.*You allow yourself to reminisce for a moment.
It was over 80 or 90 years ago - you'd stopped counting after about 50 years of this so-called "life". That had been about when you'd stopped letting it get to you - when you'd let your new way of existing take over completely. When you'd stopped trying to run and given up hope.
You had lost everything. *Your Everything*. Your love had been ripped, torn, wrenched from your life so suddenly that you had been left as practically a shell of a human. You had spent months and months trying to find a reason why - why they had left, why they had told you they didn't love you and never had, what they meant when they had said "*I'm sparing you. Trust me,*" when they left, why they had disappeared from the face of the earth afterwards. It had driven you mad.
Moving from town to shitty town, you don't quite remember what you had been looking for. Perhaps you had been looking for some sign - a sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a forgiving god somewhere out there.
You chuckled dryly at your past self's ignorance.
Then it happened. You had overheard some of the more cooky homeless fellows under the bridge where you had been sleeping talking about it fiercely under their breath, with such fervor that you just *had* to listen.
"...whatever you want! Just ask! Anything in the world!"
"I'm gonna ask to get rich. A millionaire, I'll be. No, a *billionaire*!"
You had listened intently as one dirty, stinking man described to the other how to find the one who could give you anything you ever wanted - money, power, fame, love... How anyone who had struck a deal with him was given whatever they wanted in the world AND was suddenly struck with insurmountable beauty, the odd ability to persuade anyone of anything, and, it was suspected, *immortality*. And how to get there.
You could see now that it had been a mistake to see the man. You've known this for a while. See, all of this came with a price. You had found him, begging him to find your love. The man had laughed quite loudly when you had given him your love's name, and said in a low voice, "Of course, darling. Anything. Just one thing."
He had pulled a contract from thin air, and you had signed it without a second thought, practically vibrating from the anticipation of seeing your love again. With a snap of his fingers the contract had disappeared and had been replaced with a tall glass of scarlet liquid, which he bade you to drink. You had.
Now, after all this time, you still hadn't seen your love. He had pointed out a mistake in your request - you had only asked him to *find* your love - you had never asked him to bring them to you, or send you to them. He knew where they were, but he would never tell you. They're long gone by now, anyway.
Now, you worked for him.
Now, your only job was to bring him more souls like yours. After years of trying to fight what you are now, you had finally succumbed. What else was an immortal to do with their time?
[[Back|New Orleans]](text-style: "shadow") [''//SINNER//'']
*Perfect.*
You make your way across the bar, moving nimbly through the crowd. You're only about five feet away from her table when she looks up as though someone called her name, most likely her senses telling her danger is near. Her eyes are uneasy and careful, her body stiff - the usual, natural, human response to sighting a creature like yourself unannounced.
But she doesn't see you - she's looking at something else, to your left. You turn and immediately you see the subject of the woman's caution and fear. You see them beginning to smile at the woman, approaching her in the same way you had been. An involuntary gasp of realization leaves your lips, and they jerk their head almost inhumanly quick to see the source of the sound.
Your love's eyes meet your own, and you see the similarities. The same dark crimson ring surrounds their irises, the same otherworldly beauty that draws humans in, the same elegant posture... How had you not noticed before?
↶↷SINNER
New Orleans is still lit, even after 2am. You saunter through the shadows, slithering slyly in between the lamposts and avoiding the brightly colored fluorescence given off by signs advertising many less than virtuous services.
This is the true Sin City, what from prostitutes working from the back of legal clubs to drugs being sold in dark alleyways; lust and gluttony are in abundance, as is the greed that swells inside the casinos and oozes into the streets. This is truly the perfect city for someone - something? - like you. Your hunting grounds are overflowing every night.
You decide you better get to work and passively glance around you.
Go to your usual spot.
Go to the new place across the street.