Issy's Adventures in New York

[isabeau]

The club was so tightly packed, that she had to move to the rhythm of the beat in order to get her body between the writhing, jumping strangers who crowded the rectangular room with drug-infused enthusiasm.

Fingers wrapped around the necks of four bottles, Isabeau wriggled through the crowd, shouting and cheering with the rest as the DJ paused between two tracks to encourage the adulation of the pressed throng. Smoke and lights made a galaxy out of the silver beads scattered through her hair, spiral arms of light in tiny fragments of mirror.

The bottles went down on the table before she flopped onto the couch, reaching for her own selection and raising it to her mouth.
"Salut!"

Jamie beside her, grabbed another and studied the label with a snort, his free hand already sliding around her shoulder in familiar affection.
"What is this shit, Issy? Alcopop?"

"Its vodka and cranberry and uhhm something I don't remember. Its nice," she pulled a face at him, taking a swig from her bottle with a wink, feeling the pressure of his hand slide down her back, intimacy conveyed through the thin fabric of her tshirt.

"Yeah, what is this shit?" Alex's tone's were darker, as he stared at the bottles on the table, before looking up at her with a glare. "Fucking hell, we should be drinking the floorshow, not this shit."

"Behave," Rachel said with a warning glare, her long braided hair flicking as she turned her attention back to the dance floor, her next words amused. "Besides, the floorshow aint your type."

"Yeah but this Cammy 'lets pretend we're mortal' shit ..."

"Leave it, Alex, either drink it or don't. But spare us the rant." Jamie's fingers pushed slightly against her spine in reassurance, and that annoyed her more than anything else. Leaning forward Isabeau put the bottle down with a clink audible over the heavy bass and drum of the track that was moving the people around them like puppets.

Eyes locked with Alex, she parted her lips enough to run her tongue across the so-sharp point of one of her eye teeth, cutting it open and allowing the slow dark blood to well up onto her lower lip.

"Want some of this instead? Huh?" the sensuality of the invitation was unmistakeable, vitae bright to their other senses even in the chaos of the club. Alex stared at her for a long moment, and then dropped his eyes, looking away pointedly. Beside her, Jamie stirred in discomforted jealousy, and with barely a flick of her eyelashes in his direction, Issy licked her lip clean.

"Coward," her tone was icy.

The movement from Alex's chair was instant, a coiled spring unwound as he leapt to his feet, six feet and more of well-muscled masculine angst.
"Fucking Ventrue bitch!"

She was far more graceful, but no less aggressive when she stood, her head level with his chest, the tension between them entirely conveyed in the stare between their eyes.
"As Ventrue as you are, Alex. Don't forget it, not even for a second. The same blood is in our veins. You want to call yourself an anarch and lord it over the people around us who can't defend themselves? Why don't you try on with someone who's at least got a chance," Isabeau hissed, her accent making the words beautiful, like a venemous serpent.

His eyes flicked past her to where Jamie sat, and then with a low growl of fury, Alex turned away, grabbing his jacket from the chair. Without a glance in the direction of the other two, he took a step towards the door, only swinging back at the last moment, striking faster than she expected to place the tip of his finger perfectly on her lower lip, where that droplet of her blood had been a moment before.
"One day we're going to see exactly how much of a chance you have, little bitch."

She was still standing there, spine rigid with fury and shock, when he walked away.

Check

[isabeau]

“Issy! Issy, its okay!”

The lamp on in the room now, her body sprawled in tangled sheets across Jamie’s bed, feet imprisoned in ropes of cotton. Jamie leaning across her, his hand on her cheek. Eyes wide, she stared at him for a long moment, listening to the noises in the apartment around them.

“Jesus fuck not again,” Alex’s voice bitching from the kitchen. “Fucking neighbours are going to get the police here if she…”

“Will you leave it? Its bad enough that she…” the slam of the door, cutting off the argument.

She closed her eyes, took a breath that should have been the first of the night but the rawness in her throat confirmed that it wasn’t, swallowed, opened her eyes again.

“You were dreaming. Well… screaming actually…” Jamie sounded embarrassed, his hand continued to stroke her, moving down to her shoulder where he rubbed her with well-meaning ineffectual strokes.

Isabeau nodded, struggled into a sitting position, pushed her hair out of her face and pulled the sheet up over her breasts.
“Sorry…”

His arms enfolded her now that her body was available, holding her tight for a moment.
“You keep having them... You can talk to me about the dreams, you know you can. Its okay, Issy, everyone gets scared.”

Her eyes gleamed like polished verdigris in the dark for a long moment before she answered, turning her face towards him, nestling against him as if for comfort.

“Bad people, Jamie. They killed my parents.”

“In France? When?”

She nodded, arms tight around him so that she didn’t have to look at his eyes as she told him.

“The war. They were just looking for fun I think, just to see what turned up. My father was worried that they’d hurt my mother. Hurt me. He showed them where everything was, let them take it all.” Breathing now just to keep the words flowing. “They shot him in the back, and then when my mother screamed, one of the boys he shot her. I think he wasn’t expecting the noise.”

“Oh god…” he sounded sympathetic, but she wouldn’t look at his face.
“They were angry with him, she was a beautiful woman. I think they intended to … play,” a swallow, another breath, “They found me not long afterwards. To play.”

She felt the tension take his body like rigor mortis would have taken him once, stiffening to insensibility as though that could wipe away the notion taking place in his mind.

“Oh god, how old…?”

“Not old enough,” this time the sickness in her voice wasn’t for his benefit. He pulled back as though to look in her eyes, but she ducked her head, holding him close, almost as strong as him.
“Oh god, Issy, oh god, I’m so sorry…”

Murmuring words that meant nothing to her, Jamie cradled her close, arms tight with survivor guilt and relief.

Isabeau’s eyes were dark, chartreuse wine as she blinked slowly, running through the dream in her mind.

Blood running over ancient flagstones, the sounds of violence loud in the air, sudden and shocking to both of them. The uniform stained by blood that neither of them had been expecting. The sound of surprised pain. The fall to the floor.

Herself, younger, staring at the fallen body. Staring at the blood which welled up and would not stop from the terrible wound.

The room coming into focus around her. Dark soundproofed walls, a viewing mirror darkened for this occasion. Trembling in the corner, wrapped in a cotton shift she had borrowed only hours earlier for the amusement of a BDSM session in a London club.

The man on the floor in his faked SS uniform, the handcuffs tossed to a corner, unused.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, crawling to the body, stroking his face, tears dripping onto his face as he looked up at her in astonished agony. “I’m sorry, you scared me. I was scared, I didn’t mean to.”

He coughed, blood welling up on his tongue, eyes uncomprehending as he looked up at her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

There was blood on her shift now, so much blood, and she was watching it ebb out of his eyes as she looked down at him.

“I’m sorry…”

Jamie held her as long as she needed. Long enough to push the memory back down, to control it, to make the appropriate noises when he murmured sympathetically about her parents. Long enough to let the small truth eclipse the larger one.