Paisley and Grier
[Upstairs]
Up the stairs in the quiet of the hall, Paisley encountered a handful of strong aromas. Some floral, others of husk and spice. She'd rounded a corner, just past the first corridor and saw a tall man wiping his hands free of animal fat, which undoubtedly was drenched in the scents portrayed. Green eyes met the rather intense blue of one of the
quietest customers of the Tavern, one who had been around for a year without as much as a peep.
His bills, as
@Dark Light Dorian would note, were always paid in full, on time, and the scents were never foul enough to raise suspision (unlike the skunk-like trail that weed left through the halls). The apron he'd wiped his hands upon rested untidily at his waist, tied from front to back and front again. The vampire stared, a bit awestruck from the stanger's appearance, how strong the beat of his heart was. His blood must have been as warm as a summer day...
Grier however, was unimpressed. The scent of death wreaked havoc on his senses. He did not speak, but his fair blue eyes shone with disdain, his lips pinned in a tight line. He moved past her without a word and went down the stairs into public eye, running a hand once through his hair, the scented fat creating a makeshift gel. He moved near the bar and gave
@Snarfulblast Snarf a kind look.
Perhaps they were familiar with each other. One of the rare faces that the bartender might have kept a quiet secret.
"
I'd like a bottle of white wine, I have a few glasses upstairs," He spoke with a crack. It was clear he hadn't spoken in days, if not weeks. Months?
Paisley stood there, a hand over dead heart, frozen in the hallway for a moment more before all brooding feelings were shaken. What a strange man. Of course, this was the
oddest tavern she'd been at in some time. And with much intent she looked both ways and tried the door to his room, gathering the remnants of his craft on the handle.
"
Oh," she voiced her disgust, but hadn't anywhere to smear it. Instead, she tried again. Locked. Oh well. She'd pick the key from him someday, or wedge her way in through his interests. There was a scent in there which reminded her of the thirst that never truly went away. It sated it, and quite frankly, Paisley needed it. Instead, she moved into an empty room. The curtains were drawn, elegant gown dropped and the blankets pulled over her head... It was then that Paisley slept.