Business is Bumping

A dark laugh fell from her lips, "No one has me all to themselves, Jersey Shore." She reached out to lightly tug at a bleached lock of his hair. "I'm a one woman show.. I just need your kind ad food."

Blake blinked.

"Jersey whot?" Blake frowned. "I do not think you know who you are bloody dealing with luv," he said, a little miffed. "I... they called me Blake the Boody, I was the scourge of Europe, ran with the baddest of the bad two hundred years before you were ripping off Jessica Rabbit," he said, raising his arms in a gesture of presentation. They dropped all at once, and he jabbed a single accusatory finger first in her direction, and then his own.

"And I'll have you know I don't spray on tan. Strictly my natural glow here."

She put a hand to her chest in a mock admiration. "Oh, Blake the bloody. I had no idea you were that Blake." She rolled her eyes in some contempt, "Listen blondie, I have a feeling you're speaking out of your ass without knowing what your talking about. Which is fine. Your kind stereotypically sees someone squishy and assume they're a babe."

Blake put a hand on his hip and regarded her a little more shrewdly than he had earlier.

"Ok luv, I'll tell you what I see. Woman in a man's world, Ghoul in a Kindred's world. You play it close to the edge, knowing there's a dozen fangs around here what could take everything you've got in a Port Saint Lucie minute," he looked up at nothing, thinking, "Which, granted, seems like about a half-hour around here," he conceeded, "But still, you're living on the edge of legal and illegal, dead and alive, in control and totally bloody out of it," he chuckled, "And I kind of like it," he said, seeming to just come to that conclusion.

"But you've got to know luv, that it won't last," he said, seeming almost sorry for her. He seemed to really take in the shabbyness of the booth just then, and her, as if she had wrapped the old strip joint around her like a threadbare blanket.

"Sooner or later someone will come and take it for themselves," he said, "Just because they bloody can." It wasn't a threat, just a slightly sad statement about the way of the world. "Or worse," he said, noting her glamor in the slums look.

"I've lived an awfully long time for a mortal," She folded her arms over her chest, "I've got nothing to fear."

"Hah!" Blake laughed, "Oh luv, you are a bad liar when it counts," he said, continuing to chuckle behind his hollow cheeked grin, "There's so much bad going on around here right now that it's a wonder any human survives at all," he smirked, "Though I guess Godzilla's just a bloody big lizard if there's no little Asian people to run away from him screaming," he reasoned. "Still, girl like you could really use some protection. Especially with what's coming." He sat back down on the chair.

"And what do you think is going to happen?"

Blake was far away, lounging on the chair, musing at the shabby booth.

"Can't you smell it luv?" he asked, though he didn't sniff the air. It likely smelled of dried sweat and cheap candy flavored lube in here anyway.

"It's in the dancers' shuffles out there," he said, indicating the world outside the little sex crypt they shared.

"It's in the squeal of tires, it's in the rustle of the old palms out here. The devil's in deep down here," he said, "And he's comin' up for a bite of what's his I imagine. Soon. Something in the wind. Something in the restlessness of women thinking of old lovers, of the howls of dogs what lost their way home cuz the rain washed away all their familliar scents."

She quirked a curious brow, walking back towards him.

"And what's he gonna do?"

There was a certain skepticism in her eyes, though morbid curiosity easily overtook it.

"Devil's gonna get his due luv," he said, pulling her back toward him with his eyes. "Devil's gonna get his due."

She moved back into his lap, her head tilted. "And what sort of protection do you suggest I look into?"

"Something skin tight I'd say," he said, running his hands over her body, enjoying it more now that he knew there was fresh warm blood inside of it, "For extra sensitivity."

She quirked a brow, seeming to pay no mind to his hands over her. "What? A Catwoman-style leather suit will protect me from the devil?"

"Right," he said, "I suppose that metaphor was a bit of a stretch, 'eh?"

"Look," he said, levelling with her, "I'm an Anarch, you know what that is?"

She shrugged, leaning comfortably into his lap. "Sort of. You're the guys who don't give enough of a fuck to dedicate your life to Camarilla politics, but give enough of a fuck that you and the Cam can be civil to each other."

"It's more than that, it's about going where you like and doing what you please, but also, protecting them what want to do the same from the Man. The actual, real, honest to bloody Goddamned Man, capital M, those that want to manipulate, those that want to take whatever they want, those that are threatened by live and let live. Anarch's know that one Kindred living free is a target, but a movement can't be made to submit. You're an independent operator, or so you claim, that means you're a target too, just for doing things on your own terms."

Blake grumbled as he gestured like a Maestro missing his baton. It'd been ages since he'd smoked, and the little room was too small to do it effectively.

"This isn't a recruiting thing," he said, "I don't do that. But here's what's what: You're either going to be someone's slave, or you're gonna pick a side sooner or later, and for the first time in this time, there's something more than your earlier two aforementioned choices. I'm just sayin'."

Her eyes narrowed a bit at what he was saying, her head tilting. "Reiterate what you're suggesting.. talk straight."

"I'm saying," he said, "You're a woman of the world, and you've managed to stay independent a long time, even knowing what's out there. When inevitably someone comes to take that choice out of your hands, you might not be able to deal without friends, even if they're friends in low places. The Anarchs believe in standing on your own feet until somebody gets into a pinch, and then you help 'em out. If that sounds like you more than blood bound servitude or being treated like food only, well you should give it a thought, luv. That plain enough for you?"

She chuckled at the thought, crossing her arms over her chest. "An Anarch Ghoul, hm, Blakey?" She grinned dangerously, "And what, if I get in a pinch are you gonna come to my rescue me? Amazing jaw line and all?"

He smirked. "You do for me luv, and I do for you. That's what it means. You've got an ear to the ground, you share what you hear. I've got blokes what like to pound sense into people without any. No need to bring my amazing jawline into it unless it's absolutely needed."

She smirked, "Sorry, I couldn't help it. It's just calls for attention.

"Now, look. I don't think Ghouls can claim a sect - in fact, isn't your group against Ghouls? And who will feed me?"

"I prefer not to keep slaves, yeah. And most three steps are bloody impossible to deal with, needy, psycho, crazy half the time..." Blake paused. "Ok the crazy part I actually kinda like, but you get the point."

Blake shrugged.

"Where d'you get your blood now?"

A smirk once again grew over her lips, gently touching her fingertip to his nose.

"Ra'idah Tahan."

Blake cursed under his breath.

"Bloody hell, the bleeding Sherrif?" He shook his head. "You've gotta be kidding me..."

She shrugged. "Recently. Originally it was Antoinette most of my existence, then Marvin for a minute."