Forging Ahead

[Trillian]

WHEN HE FOUND OUT HOW long he was going to have to wait before he could get a reservation, he hatched a plan for himself and Ami to enjoy the elite restaurant much earlier.  Bribery hadn\'t worked and neither had his mind-control, for the restaurant bookings were absolutely filled and there was nowhere to slip him and Ami in anywhere, for the next three months.

He wasn\'t going to wait three fucking months.  Trying to mentally manipulate the host while there was a lot of distraction and witnesses around proved to be not only difficult but potentially disastrous for him.  He didn\'t want to attract the attention of the politically inclined supernatural council who ran this city, for the sake of a dinner date.  There were other ways to get around this problem.

It took him a couple of nights of planning, because the restaurant wasn\'t the easiest one to get to - thanks to its location - but he eventually found a routine and discovered the restaurant was darkly silent in the wee hours of the morning.  It would make his timing rather tight for returning home, and he might be looking at sleeping somewhere else for the day (which he didn\'t care for).

The night he began to carry out his venture he began by renting a car with a deep and carpeted boot.  It turned out to be a luxurious sedan, which cost him more than he thought it was worth, (unless the renter happened to be a vampire who needed a safe place to sleep in the daytime).  He paid in cash for two days use of it and drove off the lot with a smile.

Arriving at the building where Echelon was located wasn\'t difficult, and if the place had available rooms to rent, his place of rest would\'ve been much easier and much more comfortable.  Of course he could\'ve mentally manipulated a mortal into letting him stay at their apartment, but he didn\'t trust his skills for such when he was asleep - and vulnerable.

Better the car.  He\'d always had a problem letting others know where he slept.  This was mostly why he usually didn\'t bring people home to his apartment and preferred to visit their home instead.

He arrived with a couple of hours to spare before the sun came up.  This time of night had established itself as the time the restaurant staff had finally left.  Even now, at this eccentric time of night for mortals, there was a possibility cleaning staff, or someone, would be at the restaurant.

He entered the lobby, crossing it and nodding to any staff that greeted him.  He wasn\'t concerned that they would know he didn\'t belong there, for he dressed as though he was, and he behaved as though he did.  The old skills hadn\'t been lost on him during his immortality.  They\'d saved him, in fact, when he\'d been very young and very hungry.

He\'d made sure to feed just before arriving here, giving him colour to his cheeks.  The young man he\'d fed from had ingested drugs sometime earlier in the evening, for Archer had felt the buzz and waited for it to pass (only a few minutes) before heading for Echelon again in his swanky car.  That would teach him to stop and drink from young men who sat on curbs.  Still, the blood letting had been enjoyable even though it had taken place in the back seat, and the fellow he\'d drunk from had been easy-going and trusting, and would likely dismiss everything as a dozing dream once he climbed out from underneath the hibuscus shrub that Archer had stashed him under once he was done with him.  He didn\'t know if the young man had been sitting on the curb in front of somebody\'s house he knew (or his own), but it didn\'t really matter.  He had a pink-cheeked complexion and was a little warmer to the touch now.

He pressed the button, felt like he was waiting a thousand years in the expectant silence of the hotel (and it wasn\'t sleepy at all, with the drone of a cleaner\'s vaccuum somewhere, a concierge behind the counter looking out at into the lobby, a bored bellhop looking through a display of magazines and two security guards chatting in a low whisper about last night\'s game).  The elevator doors opened and Archer found himself smiling tightly at the doorman within who greeted him and requested \'what floor, sir?\' before waiting to press the button with white gloved hand.

"Echelon," he replied, shooting the doorman a wary glance, to see if he would have to wipe the man\'s memory or enhance it somehow, but the doorman responded politely, \'of course, sir\' and pressed the button.  He didn\'t inform Archer that the restaurant was closed, didn\'t ask him what he was going there for, and didn\'t shoot him an odd look.  Archer touched his mind lightly to see if there was any potential trouble to find some recent thoughts about the man\'s wife and their upcoming holiday to Tahiti, and some older memories about the policy of not talking to guests of the hotel unless he was talked to himself.

Excellent.

The lobby of the restaurant was dimly lit, and Archer waited for the elevator doors to close at his back before he made for the host\'s podium.  Of course there was no reservation book out and open, but there was a lockable door set behind the podium and Archer figured the book was in there.  Pulling out a couple of instruments that he worked on watchmaking with but could double as wonderful lockpick tools, he knelt down at the podium and very quickly opened the door as though he\'d had the key.  He was right, it turned out, there was the reservations book as well as a couple of flashy looking pens.  He pulled one of them out (even though he had his own), as well as the book, opened it up to next week and got to work.

First he took a tour of the darkened restaurant, seeking out where he wanted to sit, found the perfect table for two with a view over a well-manicured garden park and the city lights beyond, couldn\'t find a table number but once he flicked to the front of the reservations book he found a laminated layout of the restaurant and found that his favourite table was table 10.

It took him close to fifteen minutes to undo the penmanship that spoke of Mr and Mrs Rodgers\' reservation, who had dinner booked for eight at table 10, and penned his own name; \'A.Sinclair + 1\' as was the manner of the host who booked, when comparing the other bookings.  He forged the handwriting style, using their black pen (and he\'d brought a couple of pens along, one black, one blue, keeping each other company in his inner jacket pocket, in case he couldn\'t find their pen).

He put the book and pen back as he found them, closed the little door and locked it again using his tools.  Satisfied, he returned to the elevator, had to wait a little while before it came, and made sure that he was holding a pair of sunglasses in his hand when it came.  He\'d taken them out of his jacket pocket, and they were merely a showpiece as though he\'d forgotten them after eating there.  The doorman didn\'t even glance at them, merely greeting him politely and taking him back downstairs.  Archer crossed the lobby again, out into the street to get his car (because he hadn\'t wanted it parked for him), and drove back home.  Dawn was approaching, but he had enough time to sleep in his own bed thanks to his little task going so well.

*

HE SHOWED UP DRIVING THE same rented car in front of Ami\'s place.  Wearing a modern cut black suit, he approached Ami\'s door and knocked solidly three times before stepping back and waiting for the door to open.  In his hand he carried a bouquet of orange orchids and pink tulips, to present to his date.  He didn\'t think she was a flowers kind of girl, but he was a flowers-to-the-date man, so she was getting flowers.

[Harlequin]

The next night, while Archer was likely still asleep, Ami was having a dilemma of her own.

Morgaine was sitting on her bed, idly picking at the strings of Ami\'s banjo as she got dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and studded leather vest, zipped up just so, to show off the round firmness of her breasts. The dark-skinned woman looked up when she was done, and tilted her head to one side. "Why are you all dressed up?" she asked, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Got a date," Ami replied, and Morgaine laughed. Ami looked over at her briefly, clearly not sharing her mirth, and the singer\'s eyes went as wide as saucers. Ami? Date? Unthinkable.

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"What the fuck man?!" Morgaine quickly set aside the banjo, "When?! With who?! where are you going?! Why the hell didn\'t you tell me?!"

"He\'ll be here at seven-thirty. Name is Archer. Some place called Echelon. Knew you\'d get like this." Ami turned to face Morgaine, resting her weight against the TV set, set on a bureau directly across from the bed.

If at all possible, Morgaine\'s incredulity increased, "Are you serious? Echelon? It takes like, months, to get on the waiting list for that place." She looked her bassist up and down, eyes narrowing, "You aren\'t wearing that to Echelon, are you?" As Ami looked down at herself Morgaine shook her head emphatically, then answered her own question, "You know what? No. No you\'re not. C\'mere." Before Ami could protest, the singer was on her feet, dragging her out the door, toward Vivianne\'s room.

The harpist wasn\'t in, but she\'d left her door propped, which likely meant she was in Joe\'s room. Morgaine immediately made a beeline for her closet, pulling something black off a hanger. Then, she ushered ami back into her room.

"Strip," she ordered once the door was shut behind her, arms crossed over her chest.

Ami just looked at her, brow quirked, in reply.

"Strip, or we\'ll play nothing but top 40 at the next show."

Ami raised her lip in a sneer, "You wouldn\'t." Morgaine nodded slowly. Oh yes, she would.

Looking thoroughly displeased, Ami did as requested, and Morgaine tossed the pilfered garment her way. "Now put that on. We have a lot of work to do in the next two hours."
~~

Morgaine was gone by the time Archer showed up, and it was Ami that answered the door. She wore a tight black dress that accentuated her curves; a delicate contrast to the tattoos on her arms. Her lips were painted a vibrant, rich red, and her green eyes were accented by a ring of smoky black eyeshadow, flaring out into a subtle cat\'s eye at the corners. Her short hair was combed over to one side, framing her face in a curtain of tight, slick fingerwaves. On her feet, she wore a pair of death-defying black patent pumps, and she held a satin clutch in her red-nails fingers.

She looked gorgeous; classic, but her expression was, for once, unsure. "Hey," she said after a pause, sounding as casual as ever.

[Trillian]

He was expecting her outfit to be different to the norm, but what he got was unexpected.  He wouldn\'t have believed she owned a dress like that, nor that she would wear it.  His gaze dropped just enough for him to see her shoes before he proferred the bouquet towards her.

"Good evening, Ami.  You look tantalising."

It was the only word that he could drum up that seemed to suit both her and the moment.

[Harlequin]

Why did he have to use a food word? He could\'ve chosen sexy, or hot, or a number of other, non-food related words, but instead he chose \'tantalizing\'. Nevertheless, it sent a tingle of Ami\'s spine as she accepted the flowers, unhinking.

At least he was honest.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, looking at the flowers dubiously, "My friend didn\'t like what I picked out. Threatened me." What was she supposed to do with flowers?

Oh right, put them in water, "Hey, thanks. Do you want to, like, come in, while I take care of these?"

Ami? New at this? Noooo...

[Trillian]

Archer didn\'t have to be supernatural to sense her unease and notice her awkwardness.  He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring before accepting her offer to go in and following her with less purpose than she moved in order to take care of the flowers he\'d given her.

He\'d seen her place already but he glanced around regardless, smelling the person she\'d had in here beforehand; likely the one who\'d chosen the dress for her.  Whoever that person was, they had taste.

"Is your friend also a musician?" he asked, noticing the banjo had been moved.  Either Ami or her friend had used it, and it could\'ve been Ami on her own, but it was a good starter for conversation either way.