| Remy walked the near-empty streets of the docks, for the most part, unconcerned with the passing shore-men, and whores that seemed to litter the harbour come the night. Creatures of the night, he thought to him, then grinned. His casual stride betrayed no drive, or rush. One hand held the top of his smooth, black cane comfortably, the cane moving in stride with his legs. His other hand was placed behind the small of his back. In all, he appeared to be of high class, aristocracy, though, few would even know that to be truth or not. If it were not true, he acted the roll well. If so, then it would not be so unthought of. Either way, Remy was confident.
He slowly made his way from the docks of New Orleans, moving more in the middle-class district of the town, full of Creole blood. Gradually, Remy watched as the amount of shore-men and whores decreased, to be replaced only by the night life that accompanied the Creole culture. The smell of cajun cooking was thick in the air, with the brisk feel of the cool air only seeming to amplify the smell. He came in search of a meal, and this district never dissapointed him.
He passed by several small shops and restaurants before finding something that caught both his eye, and his desires. He stopped outside a small restaurant. Leaning lightly on his cane, and crossing his legs at the ankle he watched it for a moment. The floor was full with a mixture of Acadian and Creole people, all enjoying their meal. The staff seemed busy as well. He watched as the side door of the building openned, and a young woman, no more than twenty, came out, holding a large canister, and appearing to have some difficulties balancing it. Remy was on the move immediatly.
"Here, amour," Remy said as he came near the woman, a hand reached out, taking hold of the canister. Glancing inside, he saw the contents full of the nights refuse. He offered a slight cringe, and then turned to the woman. "A petite femme should not be made to do such labour." He flashed a smile at the woman as she relinquished the canister.
"Monsieur, You needent worry about me." the woman said sheepishly, not quite sure what to make of Remy yet. As she spoke, Remy took the canister to a near by pile of refuse, and emptied its contents.
"Nonsense." He turned and set the canister on the ground, and then closed the minor distance between him and the woman. "Besides, mon amour, lovely hand such as your should not have to touch such filth." Remy smiled again, and took her hand. Then, with the grace of an aristocratic man, he kissed the back of her hand. "Come, tell me about yourself."
With his free hand, he slowly placed his hand on the small of her back, but instead of turning her back to the building, or even the open streets, he began to lead her deeper into the alley.
"M-monsiuer!" the woman said sheepishly. "I must be getting back to my duties." He voice quivered slightly as he continued to lead her.
"Soon enough, cher. Soon enough." As he spoke, he slowly angled his body behind the womans. As he finished his sentence, he lowered his lips to the base of his ear, and gently kissed the skin, slowly moving down the edge. This seemed to pacify the woman a bit, taking some minor pleasue for the feel of his lips, though she still was tense.
There was something about this man, the woman thought. A part of her wanted to scream for help, and run, but the other part told her to stay put. She let out a small sigh of pleasure as she felt him nip slightly on the base of her neck, and as the sigh faded, so seemed her concerns. The two remained that way for several minutes, a silent expression of joy on the woman's face, Remy keeping his lips locked onto her neck, almost in a deadly embrace.
After some time, Remy gently pushed the woman away. The estatic look on her face hadn't faded, but she had little strength to stand. She lowered herself slowly to the ground, dizzy, and seemingly unaware of her surroundings. Remy raised his hand, and wiped the corner of his mouth slightly. "Mes mercis, chers. Vous étiez délectable". He smiled again, and turned around. The woman lay on the ground, sound asleep, completly unaware of the two small puncture marks on her neck, nor the small line of crimson blood that was now rolling down her soft skin.
Remy began to walk out of the alley, but stopped slowly as the silhouette of a man was before him, a smaller man, who's face was framed in dark black hair.
"Oui, monsieur?" Remy asked casually...  |