Behind The Veil

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

Deitricha checked her teeth in the bathroom mirror. Her smile was Hollywood white, the sort of dental work that spoke of a trip to the dentist for a bleaching rather than to any attention to good oral care. A lady washing her hands caught a glance at the girl's red pumps and goggled slightly, Ferrgamo was hardly within the average teenager's price range. She had required them to match the red cabbage roses that patterned her white dress... everything had to be in exquisite alignment. The wolf shit the other diner a glare as she swept her shiny ringlets around one side of her neck, fussing with them until everything was just so. Her black little heart thumped a rapid tattoo of anticipation inside her chest.

Soon, so soon.

The girl knew a thing or two about devotion, understandably difficult as it would have been for anyone to believe. Generally the young full-moon felt very little outside of her own wants and needs, and things that supported that network of things that she wanted and needed. Her drives were a function of her nature, anything that went too far outside the lines of what the pristinely kept Spiral was... usually found itself listed under the heading expendable, sooner rather than later.

Richard made for a splendid example there... He was taking well enough to the bane that had wedged itself alongside his soul, but he was getting pushy with those newly discovered powers. The banker was balding, paunchy and old enough to be her father. The thrill of possibly being caught by his wife was gone now, she'd been dead over a month so there was also little need for Deitricha to pose as his niece. Another game down the drain. Boring. He was boring and sweaty and stupid enough to do as he was told about eight times out of ten... but he was useful so she showed the fomori what affection he required to keep him running, to make him believe as she believed.

There was her drooling, hair eating, random killing-spree prone little brother. In the Pit he would have been meat at best, with her her was cared for, fed, clothed and given the most interesting toys... once Deita tired of them but still. Gsssh'Nargh knew how to consume, and he idolized the redhead in such a fashion as to make her the very best big sister that she could be, because she understood what he was and what he could accomplish if properly utilized. It was nice to have company around, after all.

There had been others of course, dreams tall and pale with black obelisks for eyes, the charred remains of a love burned before it's time, the distant murmurs of family stolen away by the unworthy, and so many others, all lovingly tucked away in the fur-lined prison of Perfect-Creature's fractured mind. The pain, delicious and as vital as breathing, that these trysts had set upon the fostern had stolen from the night one of it's finest hunters... until Him. As she exited the bathroom and sauntered her way into the restaurant (the appropriately named Geisha House) proper she opened up her purse to peruse the face of her newest love.

Deita stroked the photo of Isaac as it lay in her hand, caressing the side of the writer's face with her little finger. She had suspected that he would be as handsome, everything she deigned to love was. The wyrmish garou had fallen in love with the man's writing from the very start, having stolen a paperback copy from her fellow mule's babysitter (being a big sister means responsibility, and responsibility means not having to spend all night chasing down an idiot cliath before he kills another ice cream man. The city only had so many of those.) and reading the romantic tome as avariciously as she consumed everything else that was set before her. She felt the author's longing and pain through every chapter and each word, taunting her with that promise of another who knew what it was to search for that perfection that brought on Oblivion. To covet not a person, or an idea but the world itself. To eat it's heart raw, just for the taste... to know it's flavor.

Just thinking about it she wet her lips, observing the kinfolk from across the restaurant where he sat waiting for dinner, one the waiter had assured the fostern was to be taken alone, glory and good omens. Slinking like the predator that she surely was the Spiral slid and slipped her way around to where Isaac sat, heels curiously quiet on the tiled floors. “Mr. Baucher.” She purred, sliding into the seat across from the man, elegant hands drifting across the table's surface delicately. “I know you were probably looking forward to a quiet evening of self introspection but I couldn't resist the urge to come and tell you how much I adore your work.” She confided with a whisper, not wanting to anger the gentleman by outing his pen name to any peers that might be lurking.

Tilting her chin up and leaning forward Deitricha set to combing his face with vibrant green eyes, searching for the soul that had written her precious words and finding it finally by meeting his gaze. “I know this is alarmingly forward but your writing has meant so much... it brought me through a very difficult time. I couldn't have lived with myself if I wasted the opportunity to meet you.” She gave him her most endearing look then, glazing the whole ordeal with a positively coquettish smile. It was perhaps laying it on a bit thick, though in her defense the redhead had been given plenty of time to think over what might come next.

In her mind the end was already clear, predestined. I want to peel back that lovely face and taste the flesh of your mind. I want to take my time loving you if you'll abide my affection.

[Issac Baucher]

Eating out was a nightly occurrence, not that Issac was the sort to show off his wealth, but mostly because he couldn't manipulate the tools of the cooking trade with any deftness, in fact, as far as means to take care of himself, there was little that the man knew how to do in the kitchen. He just took the yellow pages and played roulette until he sound somewhere that looked acceptable, if he even ate at all.

Even now he was picking at his soup, if that was even possible, moving the contents discontentedly with the tip of his spoon as he stared down at it. Thinking about eating made him think of everything involved: the movement of getting the soup in the spoon, pulling spoon to mouth...chewing, which was always excruciating, then the god forsaken act of swallowing...It made him wilt a bit just thinking of how painful the whole situation, giving up before he even bothered to start, the thin hypochondriac pushed the bowl away with a nearly skeletal hand sighing as he contemplated simply going home before they brought the entree.

He had better things to do than muse darkly over a bowl of soup, there were more productive things to do with his time, he had half of a very important novel to go home to. But he continued to stare at the bowl with a bit of scowl as his mind started to pass into imagination, fingers tapping against the tabletop on an invisible keyboard he wanted more than ever. He had work to do. The longer he sat the more antsy he grew, twisting a bit in his chair as he made a frustrated huff.

Maybe he'd have just rolled off leaving a wad of bills and call it a night, but shadow passed over the tablecloth, not the waiter's masculine figure however, but a slim feminine figure that...he looked up slowly as he heard his name called. Very rarely was it used outside of hospital wait rooms. "My work?" His hazel-green eyes glossed over the young woman, no girl, obviously a young girl who was addressing him. A pretty thing, bright red hair, sharp green eyes, no doubt the sort that would grow up to be a beautiful woman. Even now she was a beauty, of course he didn't dwell on it. Instead he wondered who she was. A fan? Of his? Well, no, a fan of Harmony's. Though a fan of his work none the less. But how she knew who he was well that was somewhat perplexing. Alarming even.

Sadly, Issac was simple, trusting man, lacking even the cleverness of people who grew up in sheltered lives, and he was a bit agape at the vibrant thing that had decided to chatter at him so cheerfully, like a beam of sunlight breaking the gloom. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Softly he forced a gentle smile, the slightest curl at the corners of his lips as he nodded in introduction. "Well, I am certainly glad my writing had helped you... Miss..." He rolled his hand a bit, hoping to coax a name. It had occurred to him he was at a distinct disadvantage, he wasn't aware of the young lady's name, maybe the president of some junior Harmony Heims fanclub or the like, he wasn't the best at keeping up with such things, which suddenly made him feel very guilty considering how excited the girl was to meet him.

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

She drank him in with her eyes. The smile was slight and ghostly, though she marked it for what it was and what it spoke of was pain... deep and abiding pain. That anyone, someone, this one, should force themselves through such agony in order to give herself a simple and delicate grace such as the expression had been... It felt right. Issac's pain was an airborne drug, and elixir that drew the redhead nearer, crept her closer at his table, as though she'd never belonged anywhere else.

Her affections, as they were, had always been simple and direct. Sometimes as her totem required she was subtle and quiet about them so as to tempt more prey to the watering hole, but there was no denying that Deitricha was the hunter. Quarry were fountains of blood waiting to be spilled and tasted, every inch of suffering that bled out before their expiration a blessed slice of hedonistic ardor. How long could a person suffer before their devotion gave in to their fate... how fortified was the soul of a poet? The Spiral watched the humility and uncertainty wash over the author's features and thought that she might like to find out.

The smile that she set on him was sweet and adoring, like bait on a fish hook. The fringe of thick lashes that framed her shining eyes fluttered with innoncent (however practiced...) ease, locking the kinfolk into her lovelorn stare. Real name, play name...? Her mind was made up in an instant, had been from the moment the writer had unwittingly set his lure down the fostern's hungry throat. She wouldn't dare to offer him a false alternative, to do so would be to deny the veracity of her claim on the man. Stretching her hand further across the table the pale creature... for surely she was no girl or lady but instead an artist's rendition of one, brushed the very tips of Mr. Baucher's fingers. Her touching told terrible lies about what strength they claimed to not possess or restraint she could have possibly learned. Like a penitent grazing the fingertips of God. “I think you've known too much about loss for me to not feel a kinship... Like you know what it is to have a promise and then have it stripped away... Sometimes it occurs to me when I read your work that you may have never known promise at all. Though that does sound silly, given your success.”

The girl's Father had always been most keen on lies, and affecting the illusion of civility. Unfortunately for some, luckily for others, the Wyrm had no qualms about who or what touched even the most alluring and youthful of his progeny. Vicious and ruthless, the corrupt could use honey to great effect. Dulcet tones and sweet expression dripped from the doll faced abomination, her mask telling a million stories about unrequited love, and longing, and somewhere underneath hope. Even if that was hope to be the one that did the leaving instead of standing in a place of desertion. “Deitricha.” Her eyes honed in on his, eager to drink in the smallest inflection from her newest beloved. “Though most people call me Deita, Mr. Baucher.” Their two names, so closely held, like lovers. They would find closer soon enough. The way the girl's chin tipped up exposing her collarbone suggested it, the way one leg crossed over the other promised it... but the siren's words merely held traces of all that. Temptation was a slow an arduous game to play, but so worth the wait. It might have seemed contrary for her to think of the author as something that she should have to wait to ripen, though she felt it so just the same.

“May I call you Issac?”

[Issac Baucher]

The way the girl looked at him, gripped him...it made his stomach tighten and his heart flutter, not in the usual way he typically behaved when confronted with a pretty girl, no, this harkened to days before, an animal fear, the sensation of being hunted down, like the day at the bus stop, that strange epiphany, the shadows coming to life... the hot predator breath down his neck...he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to bring though thoughts to the surface, and it gave him a terrified- glorious shudder.

There was something about this strange gir- Deita, she had said that her name was Deita- that brought the memory to mind, he looked at her strangely, as though trying to put some pieces together, but eventually gave up and shook his head. He had been moments form asking her if she had enjoyed the music of Creedance Clearwater Revival, but its seemed incredibly inappropriate, since he doubted anyone of her age knew of the band.

Though his imagination was still firmly tied to the past, the sudden brush of finger tips against his flesh nearly made him jump, a nearly electric tingle of skin touching skin, the instinct of something not completely human, or at least, he was, but there was something out there that wasn't..."You-you are a very odd girl Ms. Deita." There was nothing said there that meant offense, it sounded just a bit like a compliment halted in caught breath, especially given the sentiment of kinship. "However, I'm sorry, I haven't experienced much in the ways of loss." Which was true, he had never had much to lose, he didn't go on about things he never had, since he didn't know any better, but he looked almost apologetic to the redhead, his slow shaky hands reaching out to so humanly pat hers. An act of comfort.

It was the least he could do, since he didn't exactly see himself living up to the expectations she had of him. Issac sighed, "Are you hungry?" He wasn't, but he wasn't adverse to buying dinner as to make things better. "Promise? I doubt I know what you're getting on at..." but for now he was more than happy to converse, at the very least, it seemed some intelligent company, a diversion from the usual, without thinking, he slipped his hands away and reached into his suit coat pocket, and without a tick he popped something into his mouth.

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

She would teach him to embrace that exquisite terror. It would take time, but only mortals need worry about the passage of the seasons. Monsters were patient, immovable, eternal. Once Deitricha had set her eyes on a loved one, like the present object of her affectations, there was no turning back the clock. She would gladly spend years building the monument to their shared (as much as she was capable of sharing anything...) devotion. Like an over-eager child crushing a robin's egg in her delicate fingers, everything that she cared for was ultimately just as doomed.

Like the shell of that tiny life, Deita could see Issac's fragility. It called to her. With every shake and shudder it seemed as though the soulful kinfolk would rock himself apart completely. That might have pleased her if the ladylike ahroun wasn't already so set on devouring him slowly. To cherish every morsel of him she would first have to build the gentle author to his brightest potential... the very same way in which she had been constructed by her short-sighted parents. Praise blended to brutality, a relentless regimen of mind games and physical exertions designed to dissolve the man's resistance to her requests. To make obeying her seem the most natural thing in the world.

“I have learned to pride myself on my unique nature, Issac.” His name slid off of her pallet like liquor. Deep, rich, intoxicating. The beast within was hungry, and there was only one cure for the incessantly demanding void where her own soul should have been. The corruption and subsequent consumption of something that had been good. “I am always hungry, Mr. Baucher. My mother used to accuse me of having a hollow leg.” And a hollow heart. The girl smiled, a sad and longing expression this time, well suited to the comforting touch of humanity the kinsman lay on her perfectly pale hand. “Though you haven't any reason to be sorry for not knowing loss as I have, or as I had imagined you might have.” There is still so much time for that. She thought briefly of the many promises life had offered and then stolen from her and it bolstered her resolve to infect the gentle writer in front of her with passion. To hunger and want as she did.

“Don't despair for it Issac. There isn't anything you could do or say that would disappoint me. You are real and that is more than I can say for so much of the world. I didn't come over to speak to the charming little blurbs that they slap on the back cover of your novels. I came because of your words, and what they told me we must share. It's possible that I was mistaken on just what that might be, though I am no less convinced that it exists, this connection. If you'd care to have dinner while I figure out what it is instead, I would cherish the opportunity to get a little further inside your world.”

[Issac Baucher]

Issac pulled his hand back, scolding, not just because of his tattered nerves, but there was something wrong. He didn't know what, or how, but there was a reaction. The girl was toxic, it didn't take a genius to see as much, too young, too pretty, more importantly...too interested- a Lolita if he had ever seen one. However the lost kin was no genius, he wasn't one who had instincts of a proper sort, while he recoiled he lacked that spark of proper survival skills, too naive, too innocent.

Sometimes for truly trusting dinner was just that...dinner, sadly he was blissfully unaware that he was the one on the menu. "Oh please, help yourself to what-have-you." He rolled his emancipated hand with a shrug, laughing silently as he turned his attention back to his cooling soup. Maybe at least, for the good of appearances, he'd make the attempt again. He pulled the bowl close and scooped up his spoon, brandishing it like a weapon as he soldiered through his first mouthful as to say: 'See, I can be normal, truly, feel free to act normal as well...'

He peered up a bit put-off as she talked about his books, nearly, very nearly inhaling a mouthful of squash broth into his lungs as he politely and discreetly covered his mouth with a napkin. He was...surprised. To say the least, "Um...well, certainly." Issac cleared his throat, composing himself quite nicely all things considered. Though he still seemed...off, still spooked, a bit flustered, he wasn't too sure how to react, maybe leave, he considered that, but...where would he go? He didn't exactly make the most graceful of exits. She was very fetching, very clever, but also, obviously too young, and she had to be kept on track, young people often caught themselves up in flights of fancy, he often did at her age and he didn't want to add to her pile of hurt.

"But, Ms. Deita I don't want to give you the wrong idea." he gave her a very serious look, glancing up from his brows as he put his spoon aside. Already his mind was half-off, back into his stories in some places, which was probably why he couldn't see the danger signals...

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

Rejection didn't suit her. The corners of the monster's perfect pout turned down as Issac withdrew his caress. Her own forgotten caretakers had of course scolded her for this or that, though it was hardly the worst thing the the soft-spoken kinfolk could have done to her. Chiding the Spiral was one thing, something that slid off of her back as everything that she knew to be a lie did. Ignoring her and her affections was a one way ticket to a temper tantrum. Thankfully the writer kept on talking to her so in lieu of a physical explosion the fostern settled for fussing at the hem of her dress dejectedly.

The message wasn't the clearest, and wasn't meant to be. Someone would enjoy the girl's company, childlike and a harlot as she was. That same unflappable aura of animal intensity that floated around with her didn't just serve to repel. Drawing the eye of man was easy. To be counted among predators was a stamp of courage, a mark of worth. Everyone wanted to roll with the upper crust of reality, to revel in their cool charisma and feast on the world with them, rather than be feasted upon in turn. The supernatural made natural.

As the next waiter passed the fingers that toyed with the garou's dress flew up, seizing the man's shirt at the elbow, somehow effectively pinning him between forefinger and thumb alone. Yes. This is how easily I can get what I want. Mind it. Might have been the inference in the terror's gaze, but they had fled the kinfolk's face in search of her newer prey's eyes. “Pardon dear. Could you tell me... what is the sweetest dessert here?” The fostern asked with another flutter of her eyelashes.

Caught in her insistent stare, the server blinked several times, his mouth dropping open only a little as he noticed the view, the smile, the decolletage.. “That would be the Tiramisu, would you like me to get you some?” He asked, still oblivious to the fact that the table where both kin and garou sat wasn't his.

“Oh yes.” Deitricha purred delicately, then paused... stringing out the spaces in between what could have been, inflected differently, an impassioned cry. “Please.” No matter how alien the meaning of the word was to her, the ahroun's hungry delivery and subsequent release of the affected mortal sent the man rushing off to do as she begged, the faster the better it would seem.

Returning her attention to the kin who's supper she'd barged in on, Deita rolled her eyes playfully, at ease now that someone had at least had fallen prey to her charms. “Oh don't be silly. We've only just met ... how could you give me the wrong impression?” she murmured with intoxicating frivolity. Oh no, of course she'd never meant that, of course not. She was too innocent by half, naturally.

[Issac Baucher]

The Lady, or the Tiger.

For some reason he couldn't get the words of Frank Stockton out of his head. For no reason than for a moment he couldn't tell if this girl was one, the other or both. He sighed, The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door - the lady, or the tiger?

And as the little redhead pinned herself that frightened waiter, his mind was made. This was no lady. He knew stripes when he saw them. Deita was nothing sort of a force of nature, and he wasn't sure what her intentions truly were. A doting fan, or a dangerous predator. Both were, to some extent the same thing, either way Issac could see himself stung up either way. "Well, I am just trying to figure out why you're really here, is all."

He continued with his soup, looking up from it with almost some hesitancy, not wanting too look up, "So..." Really he couldn't help but knit his brows and frowned thoughtfully, running a freehand over his beard as he tried to explain himself, but there weren't really words he could find.

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

If she was not a lady (certainly not), then she hardly needed the same considerations as a lady might require. Her gaze was still predatory, still sharp, but as it settled on the writer across the table, Deita's eyes softened as though with some memory, something fond and hopeful suddenly so close that she could taste exquisite freedom. The kinfolk was a promise. Even if all she could manage was to use the tome to drive him mad, he was an author... surely he could not resist it's forbidden allure. And if he could not desist from crossing that line, then O Father, O Wyrm... what else might he be persuaded to....

The book Darling, I came because of the book.

Just thinking about it raised the delicate hairs on her arms, the nape of her neck. She needed another scholar, that much was true... To anyone sane (also hardly in attendance, but neither required given the unique circumstances.) what came next would have sounded like it was drawn straight from the beginnings of a tale of otherworldly horror. Only the beginning and nothing more. A promise, she was so good at making them. It was of course, mostly a lie, but when one lived as that Perfect-Creature had, ensnarled in layers of deception from birth, suckled on hatred and twisted lore alike... lying came as easily as breathing and like most lies it was best served up neatly between two seemingly weighty pieces of truth.

“I came because I know you. Have always known you, and the life you lost. I know the feelings that wash over you at night, the sensation that there is some dark creature,” The words was barely a whisper, liquid, potent. “...standing just behind you in the hall, the hot breath on your neck and the cold sweats that wake you from restless sleep. I grieve for your condition, I do Issac. Your proper family so close and all you have to do is reach out and touch...” She'd read the pain in the brush of his fingers to hers, drank it in, oh... “How cruel the world must be, when drawing things close causes such suffering, revelatory as I'm sure it must often be.” Leaning an elbow on the table, the girl stretched forward with catlike grace, more creature slipping through, and less of that lie of humanity to cover it.

Her face swiveled to pin the author down by looks alone, if he'd requested more blatancy then it was possible that this was Deitricha's way of obliging. “So is that clear enough for you Mr. Baucher? A cure for your pain, the answers to the questions that plague you? I'm here because you could benefit from knowing me, and your devotion to the written word leads me to believe that you might be able to help me. More still?” She smiled, a little like a cat whose mouse is almost all out of adrenaline. “Maybe I can't help you. It's possible I suppose that you're not interested, or maybe you were just born under a bad moon.”

[Issac Baucher]

The spoon hit the floor with a clatter, Issac's eyes grew wide as he looked at the girl with stunned fascination. It took his breath away, and for a moment he forgot that he wasn't breathing until the burn in his wanting lungs reminded him to continue. It was like the girl had slipped into his mind and spoke the secrets that were there. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, a strange shaky smile pulling over his lips as he tried to find words to suit how he felt.

Rarely he was ever without his precious words, but leave it to some precocious child to pull them from his mind and breast. There was something more predatory than this Deita than some mere tiger. And for a instant he found himself chuckling darkly.

Issac tilted his head, eyes slightly closed as he moved slowly, reaching out to pull his dropped utensil off the floor, wrapping it in the napkin next to him before reaching into his wallet and leaving an undisclosed bill in the black receipt folder. He was soundless the whole while through before finally nodding at the creature in front of him.

"Shall we?"

It was just about the only thing he could say in this situation. She knew something he didn't, something that haunted him since his youth and yet she was so flippant about it, it was almost infuriating. But Issac was too mild for all that, no it seemed the two of them should talk, she was absolutely right. But a crowded restaurant was hardly the place to do it. She was likely to be more specific at the very least...wasn't that how it always went in stories?

[Deitricha Perfect-Creature]

Deitricha drank in the writer's expression, not quite resisting the urge to lick her lips as the kinsman took care of the bill. That was as it should be, she had something he needed, so expediency should have been of the utmost essence to him. Need, and not to be confused with want, want could be held at bay, negotiated with, tricked. Need was a different animal altogether. His expression, fixed like a fish on a hook, was begging for something more to feast on and the redheaded terror was as eager to serve his curiosity as Issac was to slake it.

Oh, Mr. Baucher... I do believe that's at least the second time I've taken your breath away. Third time's a charm...

“Yes... my car's just out in the parking lot.” The accessibility of the virulent green VW didn't for a second dissuade the girl, she'd never had to attend to anyone but her fellow metis follower's special needs and those had a lot more to do with preventing the philodox from eating his seat belt than it had to do with anything else.

“Somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded.” The Spiral chirped coquettishly, drawing herself up from her seat with all the grace of a predatory animal, because.... well. She seemed to be taking Issac's change of heart in stride, and with about as much care as the pale demon had shown to disassembling the lost kin's slide of reality. If she'd thrown his world into a tumult then it was just as sure that she couldn't possibly care. She was getting her way and that was the only thing that mattered. “These secrets aren't for just anyone you know.”

With a generous swish of her dress Perfect-Creature swept in front her prey, boldly leading him to the kill after her own fashion, though what they were hunting and what they were going to kill was as of yet undecided. With all the airs of a wayward child, she led him on towards her vehicle, mindless of any looks of surprise the odd-couple may have drawn. There was dark work ahead, and the evening was at least as young as that Lolita that sauntered lazily out into the night.