Post by Erick Ganz on Dec 10, 2013 11:47:29 GMT -8
Oh, shall I do dossiers? How Ian Fleming of me. I suppose it could be of use to order my thoughts on the variety of flowers in the local garden.
Lydia – Lovely lovely Lydia. My Cleopatra. Sultry, coy and confident. She has been damaged by past experience, and this has created a firm but slightly transparent layer of callousness. Just enough of an obstacle to ward-off the weak-willed, which of course she neither tolerates nor deserves. She admires persistence and…perhaps requires an outlet for her otherwise suppressed passions. She has a smooth and smokey flirtatiousness that simply sets me alight! Combine all that with the slope of her nose, the tease of her knees, und oh ze fuffies! Decidedly one of my favorites in my new surroundings.
Skye – My Emily. Fearful of her forsaken femininity, forlorn for a former flame, and flagrantly flinging f-bombs. What can I say? I appreciate alliteration. She seeks a ‘daddy’ I think; clinging needfully to stronger male personalities. Jibran, Cortez, myself; I wonder if she has ever known true independence. She must find her own two feet – dainty as they are – and stand upon them without benefit of a shoulder. Perhaps I will take a note from the Gangrel, and find a way to abandon her to her own devices.
Cole – My Felicity. Still something of a mystery; aside from chit-chat, not much is known to me on which to form an opinion. Hung-up on the subject of sex of course; I imagine she comes from some repressed background; religious perhaps, or simply from a time of 1950’s America, or hold-over Victorian puritanical prudishness. I have to wonder at someone who wakes with a perpetually pure pussy each night. But then, she can forever be touched like a virgin (for the very first time). Though that gets old. I should know.
Octavia – Not one of my ‘Angels,’ unfortunately. Scottish if I recall, and confined of mood even more so then her bosom in its corset. Serious and emotionless, I have to assume she has shed her connection to the human condition. I have to wonder then at all the effort given to her appearance and ‘presentation.’ Merely habits from a lost age? A death-proof vanity? Or has she also learned the advantages of combining both desire and fear to slice her way through this society? I think the latter, given how in a very brief time she has both arrived and established herself – at least, observationally – as the resident Hausfrau of her pure-blooded betters.
Dragos – I should buy him a closet he can burst out of, and surprise no one.
Enough for now. Between the random rescuing of some street-walking Ghoul, and a clandestine meeting at a Jack-In-The-Box of all places, this night has given me far more than my fair share of cloak & dagger already. But then, I suppose the night is not exactly over, yet. I am told there is some grand posse of vampires hunting the wild Durante.
I do wonder how that will turn out. I hope very much that Lydia survives.
Such fine wrists.
