Whirling Dervish

[Existentially Odd]

Tom struggled to open his eyes, finding the floor beneath him far less accommodating than he had the night... day... before, despite its plush carpet covering. He peered along his own naked body, seeing the wall that his legs were crunched up against and (travellng up it) the garish six by four metre mural hanging on it. He appeared to have passed out in the lounge room. That also explained the leather sofa just behind him; he tilted his head and gave it a foul-tempered glare.
 
Wiping a weary hand over his face, he struggled into a sitting position, swivelling and using the wall to lean against. He drew one leg up and rested his elbow on the knee, the hand that was connected to it holding his head in a more or less upright position as he blinked at the expansive room now in front of him, and scratched his exposed balls.
 
Fuck. I think it\'s time to move on from this shit. Bitch is gonna\' kill me at this rate.
 
The bitch (which he\'d ended up calling her because her name was too complicated and the crude nickname made her horny, anyway) had been a fantastic idea for nearly two weeks now. She was tall, blonde and had a body that was far from the skeletal look that so many women worshipped these days; she had curves in all the right places and enough meat for him to hang onto when he was screwing her. She was also insanely rich and lonely. Her husband was much older than her and went away on business trips for weeks at a time, as frequently as it was called for. Tom had met her when he and Reed were exploring one of the more normal clubs in this weird-ass city (though he had developed more than a passing fondness for Risk, Reed had started balking at going there nightly) and a beautiful - well, convenient - relationship was born.
 
The trouble with Bitch though, was that she liked to drink. A lot. He\'d never seen her sober and doubted she had been for years - not since she was married, at any rate. What she did to herself normally wouldn\'t bother him, except the frequent drinking from her was beginning to take its toll; he would wind up a blood alcoholic if he continued in this way. Plus, the lethargic feeling of waking up achy each dawn... well, he was no fucking fan, to say the least. Since it was Bitch\'s house, she wouldn\'t go. He and Reed would have to.
 
Reed... Tom couldn\'t quite pin down the last time he\'d seen the mortal but he was pretty sure he would be nearby. He had a room somewhere in this fancy house, the vampire could recall (through the haze of thought that had invaded his brain)... he just had to find it. Lurching to his feet with none of his usual vampiric grace, Tom peered through the gloom to ascertain the exact direction the bedrooms lay. Bitch had kept the curtains permanently closed for him since moving in - it meant she could take full advantage of his persistent stamina in any room in the house - but he could tell the sun had only just set, because of the awkward quality to the light and his vision. That could also be the alcohol, he supposed.
 
Shaking his head to get rid of any remaining cobwebs, he began searching for his friend. They\'d been here in the city for about five weeks now, but since establishing the situation with Bitch, he couldn\'t recall all that many conversations with the man. Hopefully he was liking it better... had got laid a few times... something to improve his mood, because the last time they\'d talked, it\'d been more of an argument than a discussion.
 
Put simply, Reed didn\'t want to be here any more; Tom did. Tom told him he wasn\'t bound to him, he could fuck off any time he chose; Reed had said... the vampire wasn\'t sure, but Reed didn\'t want to go for some reason. He\'d turned the argument to how Tom was going to get them arrested by the mysterious Oligarchy (which the vampire had not yet managed to locate) because he\'d killed indiscriminately (only twice) and revealed himself as a vampire to Bitch (well... he hadn\'t had a lot of choice when he\'d wanted to feed from her, had he?). Nothing much had been resolved, anyway. Now seemed like a good time to make peace... he just had to locate Reed.

[Harlequin]

Before the poor man could go about the task of locating his buddy – or even a pair of pants, for that matter – the sound of a doorbell was heard chiming through the house.

Nimm had been sent for by the lady of the house for some discreet electrical work. The LSG lighting in the bedroom had, as she\'d been told over the phone, gone haywire – too much use, perhaps.

When he got to the door, he\'d find the fixit girl on the front doorstep, Red toolbox in her right hand, dressed in jeans with huge canvas inserts and holes in the knees, workboots, and an untucked man\'s workshirt of the sort found most commonly in auto repair shops – only in a garish shade of lime green –bearing her first name on a patch over the right breast pocket. Her gaze had wanderd upward, bicouloured eyes inspecting what they could of the lavish home\'s exterior.

Nimm was not an impatient sort of person, so she only rang the doorbell once, trusting that someone inside had heard it. After all, it was quite a large house, and if there was only one person home, and they were at the back of the house – or on the third floor, perhaps – it would take quite some time to reach the door. and, in the event that no one came to the door in twenty minutes, she would leave a handwritten note on the back of a business card, slipped in between the doorframe and the door, saying that she\'d been there and would be happy to reschedule. She liked to consider all possibilities, in any situation, and come up with solutions for each. These paricuar solutions were rather mundane, to be sure, and she had come up with them some time ago on an assortment of different jobs, but it never hurt to go over her options again – just to stay sharp.

As she mulled this over in her head, still waiting for the door to be answered, she took a purple plastic chopstick from her back pocket and used it to fasten her short black hair up into a messy bun – which is why she had it in the first place. It would be rather silly, just to carry around one chopstick. Even for someone who liked so very much to be prepared for all eventualities.

[Existentially Odd]

Tom stuttered to a halt not far from the front door, then drew himself back.  There was a lot of glass panelling around the wood and... well, he was still naked.  It was dark inside, though.  He wasn\'t sure whether he should answer the door, but the fact that Bitch had locked herself out of the house twice since they\'d been there (fuck knew how), had him leaning towards opening, rather than running.

He glanced down his long, muscled body, scratching one hand through the mess of hair on his head and the other negligently through the gold hairs across his chest (following the line down to - once again - pay homage to his balls).  He was still very fuzzy about what had happened to get him out here naked and alone, though he was certain sex was to blame and surmised he should have clothes somewhere nearby.  Looking around, he couldn\'t locate any, though, so he grabbed a cushion off the nearest sofa - it was a nice green suede covered number and felt lovely and soft - and held it over his genitals as he walked to the entranceway.  He flicked the light on considerately - it was dark now (just) and Bitch would be grateful, he figured.

He opened the door expecting the little pillow to be an unnecessary adornment, only to find that it was a good thing indeed.  The woman he was expecting to see on the front landing was not the one he was looking at.  His bleary expression melted into a scowl and he forced himself not to readjust the cushion, so as not to appear nervous.  He preferred to act like he answered the door naked on a regular basis, rather than let some (he sniffed a little deeper) human think she\'d rattled him.  "Yeah?" he demanded, looking her over.

[Harlequin]

This was not an eventuality Nimm had worked into her action plan, but she handled it well, considering the situation. Her eyes widened slightly as he opened the door, but she quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat.

It took her a full two seconds to collect herself, bringing her mismatched eyes back to his face, though her gaze rested somewhere in between his eyes and his mouth, instead of locking gazes, "I\'m sorry to disturb you, sir," she apologized, tones even despite the uncomfortability of the situation, "But is this the Chamoix residence?"
Mrs. Chamoix was certainly expecting her, but everybody else in the house couldn\'t be excpected to have been warned of her arrival.

She had checked and rechecked the adress, and there was almost no way she could have gotten the wrong house – but, there was always that small chance.

[Existentially Odd]

He looked from her funky eyes to her weird shirt to her tool belt suspiciously... the red tool box was a nice touch but... surely someone dressed so outrageously couldn\'t be a real tradesperson?  It had to be a costume, leading him to the conclusion... that he was being treated.  Bitch had hired him a stripper!  Trust her to up the stakes on the kinkiness scale - another woman was definitely an acceptable progression. A grin split his wide mouth and he began paying more attention to how her breasts filled out her shirt - Nimm, the pocket label said... short for \'nimble\'?  Fwoah! - and the shape of her legs outlined by her pants.

"It sure is," he purred, having no fucking clue if it was or not but stepping back and opening the door wider.  "Come on in, darlin\'."  His gaze was roving over her like a caress now, and he was ready to have his hands follow suit as soon as she was through the doorway.

[Harlequin]

The way he looked at her did not escape her notice by any means, and in fact it made her singularly uncomfortable – but, she stepped inside when the door was opened for her, careful to keep her eyes from going in any direction that was near downwards.

She took a moment to scope out the entryway – Big – of course – all marble and banisters, as befitted a house such as this – before turning her eyes back to Tom, being sure to discreetly step out of arm\'s reach. She didn\'t want to be rude, in case his behaviour wasn\'t what it seemed, but she also didn\'t want to send the wrong message.

Which, in her distraction, she completely ruined in the next thing she said, "I\'m here to do some routine repairs. Could you please point the way to the master bedroom?"

[Existentially Odd]

"Routine repairs, huh?" he murmured, checking out her ass as she sidled it away. He threw the door closed enthusiastically.  Apparently she was playing coy - though the master bedroom request was a bit of a giveaway. Everything was working just fine in there, as far as he knew. Since Bitch hadn\'t been at the door and it was just like her to stumble off to the bedroom and leave him to sleep it off in the lounge the night before, he began to suspect that there was a grand scheme at play here - that Bitch had called this chick and they had it organised that he\'d answer the door, follow her requests and then be ambushed in the bedroom. He\'d get his show, then he\'d get the pair of them. He was twitching behind his cushion just thinking about it.
 
"Sure, the bedroom\'s right this way," he said warmly, deciding that the little pillow was unnecessary now. The stripper was no doubt interested in being properly appreciated so he tossed it on the sofa as he led the way to the bedroom, unashamed of his burgeoning state. He even gave her a wink as he turned to go up the stairs. He could feel her eyes on his ass the whole way there (he was certain he could) but he was somewhat confused when he entered the main bedroom and there was no saucily-grinning blonde sprawled out on the enormous, satin-sheeted bed. Only momentarily fazed, he went and sat on the end of it, leaning back on his arms, legs spread and in a prime position to enjoy the show he was more than ready to see (Bitch was obviously going to enter at a later stage... hopefully in something lacey).

[Harlequin]

Nimm was completely at a loss. She had absolutely no idea, for once, of what to do with this situation. On the whole way up, she had not been, in fact, looking at his ass, but instead frantically going through all the possible explanations for this man\'s lewd behaviour.

She tried not to let her anxiety show on her face, but that was getting increasingly difficult, from the point where he discarded the pillow. She liked to know she was attractive, but this was just unneccesarry, and really, really creepy.

Once they reached the bedroom, and he adopted his pose, she couldn\'t take it any more, "Sir, what are you doing?" she questioned, managing to keep her voice level, while she promptly turned her face away from from the bed, afraid to look at him, and blushing a deep scarlet.

[Existentially Odd]

He chuckled, rather liking the coy thing.  It worked on her, turning her cheeks a lovely shade of pink.  Her dark hair was very pretty up, as well (but he couldn\'t wait to pull it down and feel it all over his body, swishing...).

"Call me Tom," he told her, wanting to hear the name cross her lips.  "I\'m... waiting.  For the show to begin," he grinned, leering at her and feeling he needed to give no more explanation.  He\'d figured that the tool box held her CD player and as soon as she put it down, the music would go on and all bets would be off.  He was glad one of the bedside lights was on, so he could see her cast in such intimate lighting; he licked his lips in anticipation as he looked her over again, wondering if she was one of those strippers that didn\'t like being touched during her dance performance... or if he was free to grope.  Maybe he\'d just touch himself until he was sure.  His dick twitched again, but he didn\'t start yet, waiting for a little more inspiration first.

[Harlequin]

Her normally well-equipped brain was absolutely stumped for an answer to this conundrum, and it showed in the way she breathed – the rise and fall of her chest quick and shallow with the breath of panic, "Sir," she told him firmly, "I don\'t know what you mean. Maybe you were expecting someone else. But I can honestly say that I am completely mystified as to what it is you expect of me."

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her thoughts, "I\'m sure that this is a simple misunderstanding, and maybe something we could easily resolve if you put something on."

Her grip on her toolbox was white knuckled, and her gaze resolutely aimed off to the side. If he didn\'t cooperate this time, she was going to make a break for it.

[Existentially Odd]

The slightest bit of doubt began to enter his mind at that moment.  Mainly because she was looking like she was about to swing that tool box at his head.  Then there was the fact that she\'d asked him to put something on... something that sounded more along the lines of clothing, rather than her nice little body.  His smile faded slowly.

"You\'re not a stripper?" he asked evenly, considering the possibility.

[Harlequin]

"What?!" Wide eyed, Nimm\'s mismatched gaze swung around to look at him in disbelief, forgetting for a moment his state of undress. When her brain began to work again, she looked away hastily, blush climbing up to claim her ears. "No," she told him, rather relieved, "I told you, I\'m here to do some routine maintenance. I apologize if I led you to believe otherwise."  That was one possibility her mind had blanked on. Of course, her mind had blanked on alot of things, in those five minutes – Tom should be proud of himself; he\'d managed to rattle her simply by being himself.

She coughed into her hand, "I\'ll, uhm, step out, if you\'d like to put some clothes on," she added, hopefully.

[Existentially Odd]

His expression matched his emotions; frankly, he was fucking disappointed.  "Nah, it\'s alright," he told her sadly, sitting forward and giving his flaccid cock a forlorn look as he waved her offer aside.  "It\'s a shame," he said then, giving her a sincerely appreciative look, "you\'d make an excellent stripper, considering that... " he realised he shouldn\'t insult her outfit - now that he knew it was a genuine one - so he cleared his throat slightly over the speed bump of those words and found some other, less offensive ones to say instead, "tool belt of yours."

He stood up, ruffling his red hair into a greater state of disarray and looking about the room as if he wasn\'t sure where he was or what he should do with himself.  He\'d been about to go find Reed but... he wasn\'t quite up to to facing the mortal now.  And where the Hell was Bitch anyway?  "You say you were told to fix something in here?  Go ahead.  I\'ll go have a shower," he decided morosely, and headed for the ensuite.

[Harlequin]

Nimm\'s face mellowed to it\'s normal expression of half-lidded, gently smiling contentment immediately after the matter was closed, "No worries, friend. Now I know I just really have to start dressing more proffessionally." She didn\'t bother to remind him that she wasn\'t wearing a toolbelt.

She rubbed a hand over her face, sighing and shaking off the whole encounter with a roll of her shoulders. Cleansing complete, she turned her gaze onto the ceiling, locating the broken lighting fixture  at the back right corner of the room and heading over to it purposefully.

Once there, she removed a number of small electrician\'s tools from her toolbox, as well as a discman, connected to a pair of miniature speakers, and a clear plastic dropcloth, neatly folded. Following a cursory examination of the fixture, she turned on the Discman to a low volume – playing Frou frou\'s "Shhh" – and set to work, hoping to be finished – if not gone – before her host finished his shower.
[/FONT]

[Existentially Odd]

As he flicked on the shower water and adjusted it to be nice and warm (the thought of making it cold to stem errant drives was brief at best), the vampire noticed a post-it note on the black marble tile at his feet.  It said, \'Gone shopping - be home late! xoxo\' and had obviously been stuck to the shower door - the one place Bitch could guarantee he\'d go once he woke up - until gravity or moisture in the air had got the better of it.  He grunted, scrunched the little square of paper up and tossed it towards the wastebasket (pleased that it went in, even though it was a left handed throw) before he stepped under the spray and closed the glass door behind him.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his palms flat against the wall ahead of him and leaned in under the spray.  This shower\'s nozzle was situated at a generous height compared to most... but it still wasn\'t quite high enough for him to stand straight beneath it.  The water pounded onto his rather weary skin in a satisfyingly strong and steady stream, making him almost reluctant to move around in order to soap himself up, but eventually he did and was out quite quickly afterward.  He dried himself off vigorously - feeling quite revitalised - then hung his towel up, applied deodorant and went back out to the bedroom to get some clothes on.

The handywoman - whose name was obviously just Nimm - was reaching up to a light or something.  As he walked over to his bag, he watched her, noting the way her untucked shirt rode up a little and wondering about that body, despite it not being for him.  He pulled on underwear and then a pair of black slacks, zipping up the fly and buttoning the waistband as he followed the compulsion to speak with her (whether it was inspired by guilt or genuine curiosity he didn\'t bother to examine).  "What\'s broken?" he asked, stepping over to stand slightly to the side but mostly behind her, peering interestedly over her shoulder as his hands went to his slim hips.