café

@◇ ﹕ riot. He’s dealing with a rather bold one, isn’t he? His demeanour has garnered all sorts of reaction from people—some tolerating it for the sake of his services, some outright demanding him to show more professionalism (what is he, an office worker?), and some just like her: a risqué act of reciprocation, which Puppeteer has built a good enough tolerance for. Her foot lingers on his side under the table long and deliberate enough that he’d be a fool for pretending not to notice it, so he gives her what they usually want: a pleased exhale as it brushes gently against his leg, and an accompanying smirk curling on his lips. “I don’t know, Miss Riot,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet hers. He doesn’t miss the flicker in her eyes; perhaps he’s giving more than he would take from the whole ordeal, but if he’s already caught up in a dangerous game with the devil, he might as well have a little fun with it. “Are you going to tell me that I’m barking up the wrong tree?”

Riot’s question doesn’t take him by surprise—he’s seen enough (supposedly) mythical beings roaming around the city alone, with the vast majority of them having blended well into society, whether through appearance or a masterfully-crafted facade to mimic those around them, seamless enough that even he would not have taken notice at times. “As much as the average knowledgeable guy about the supernatural, I’d say,” he responds with a shrug. “But do entertain me if need be.” It doesn’t concern him much—certainly not more than the nickname she had bestowed upon him. *Mr. Puppet*, she calls him, and while he’s used to people butchering his codename to that (or worse at times), it leaves a slightly bitter taste in his mouth when it comes from her. He can’t argue with it: a puppet is exactly what he’d be reduced to once he lets her drain the blood out of him. He needs to make sure of a safety net should they proceed with the deal.

But of course, the world does not work as simple as his new contractor being a vampire and him being her livestock. Not a vampire, she says. He’s not too fazed at this as well— straight up vampirism wouldn’t explain the red horns growing out of her head. “Why’d you bring up vampirism then? What exactly are you?” he has to ask. A pint, huh? That’s as much as they’d need in hospitals per donation. That’s as much as he’s not allowed to give away for medical reasons, but screw all that—heroes like Riot, despite being upholders of justice, aren’t exactly the best role models for law-abiding citizens. And to be honest? Neither is he. It’s Puppeteer’s turn to glance around their surrounding; no one’s paying attention to them, but they will soon—if they see a young man become increasingly pale as a woman drinking the blood out of him like a starving vampire who hasn’t fed in a human lifetime. “Here, now, Miss Riot?” He raises an eyebrow. “First things first. How ‘bout you talk me through your”—he lowers his voice and leans closer to her as well—”…feeding mechanism.” A genuine request, but he does have to wonder how *desperate* she is for that blood.

@⬙ ﹕ puppeteer. His flattery prompts her to roll her eyes, especially considering she could sense his fear. Both in his pheromones and his scent. Her nose was sensitive enough to pick up on the slight shift as he took a seat. And as much as the predator in her wanted to pounce, she really had to reel it in. Stop herself from stretching across the table and sinking her fangs in his flesh... drink some of that oh-so-tasty blood she knew was just waiting to be drained from his body. Briefly, as she smiles at the other, a hint of her dangerous intent flickers in her irises, but she's quick to dismiss it just as fast. Reel it in. "What's this? You flirting with me, Mr. Puppet?" she playfully asks, leaning onto her hands as they're propped up on the table and join together. One of her feet slips out of its shoe and between his legs to caress the side of one, just to tease a little, and her head tilts as she fixes her stare dead center on his. "You sure you wanna bark up that tree?"

It didn't take a lot for her to get sidetracked from a goal in all honesty, but from the moment he showed that little hint of a weakness, she'd lost sight of the whole 'proper and polite' persona she had in mind. Maybe it was her instincts acting up or her bloodlust, or maybe it was because she hadn't fed in a while, but the urge to toy with him was growing and she wasn't sure she could stop it. "Tell me, Mr. Puppet," she begins, her eyes finally parting with his gaze to examine their surroundings before she leans in and continues. "Are you familiar with the concept of vampirism?"

The question was a rhetorical one, but she knows the answer was most surely yes. It'd be hard to find someone who hadn't, but that wasn't why she brought it up. "You see, vampires can usually tell when someone's blood might taste good. And while I'm no vampire, I know for sure that you—" she points at him, "have something delicious running through your veins. Even if it's not 'good, premium blood.'" Truthfully, his would be akin to junk food. Like a delicious donut or a nice bag of chips. He didn't have to know that though. "I want your blood for two reasons: you'll taste yummy, and i need to feed to survive. I wouldn't need more than a pint, but just to confirm, what do you say you let me have a little taste?"

@◇ ﹕ riot. “Ah.” He removes the shades from his face to get a better look of the horns and lets it rest on top of his head instead—he *knew* he shouldn’t have gone with it. Puppeteer has seen his fair share of… distinguishable features on others, so the red horns protruding out of Riot’s head wouldn’t exactly faze him even if he’d noticed it earlier. But when he ties it in with the nature of their meeting, a slight uneasiness starts bubbling up his chest; it takes a bit of conscious effort to not let his smile waver. He’s not about to make a blood pact with the devil, is he? “Well, can you blame me for missing them when there are so many pretty things about you to look at?” He flashes her a wink, mentally patting himself on the back for the save. “Not saying your horns aren’t pretty of course, but my two eyes aren’t enough to take it all in at once.”

He takes the seat across her and makes himself as comfortable as he could, but it’s not exactly an easy feat when he catches a glimpse of her fangs. See, the request for his blood itself is already a rather odd one, and he knows better than to accept it without laying out his own terms and making sure of his own safety. But a kindergarten teacher in Blackvale isn’t the most well-paying job, and while he does enjoy living on the down low, it isn’t the most economically feasible option. If giving blood (despite having actually been turned down in hospitals due to his health condition) means that he wouldn’t have to live from paycheck to paycheck, so be it. He only has one single thought in mind: this better be worth the damn trouble. “It’s nothing too formal, don’t worry. Usually people would come to me with a pre-written agreement and I’d just need to go over it to make sure I’m not being scammed, but that’s about it. Rest assured that I’m not too fussy about all those legal stuff.” In hindsight, he should’ve brought something to take notes—even he knows that verbal agreements don’t hold up too well. “But since we don’t seem to have that, I’m just here to make sure that we both know what we’re doing.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, however, at Riot’s admission. “What makes this time any different, if I may ask?” he voices out. This deal just keeps getting weirder and weirder, doesn’t it? “Okay, how about we start with this—full disclosure, I have not donated blood before. I’m not allowed to. I’m not sure how much you need or why you’d need *my* blood specifically, but I’m quite a ty candidate if you need some good, premium blood.”

@⬙ ﹕ puppeteer. Riot is pretty used to going around without cover, especially given it was pretty hard to hide the sharp red horns coming out of her head, but she figures this might help him feel more at ease. At least, when he got here. Speaking of— she was just starting to grow impatient while waiting for him, but as soon as he stepped inside the building her nose caught a whiff of his scent. She takes in a long inhale of it and practically drools behind her face mask at it, but she had to play it cool. She can't risk scaring him out of a deal.

When he finally finds her at her booth, she looks up at him and his "disguise" and blinks for a moment. It was even worse than hers... "Meant to tell you to check for the horns, sorry, but yeah. That's me!" she answers, standing to properly bow as she shakes his hand. She was never this formal normally, but she's trying to be considerate of the norms in this world. Regardless, she takes a seat again and motions for him to sit across her. "And don't worry about it, I didn't wait too long. Pleasure to finally meet you, Puppeteer! Have a seat and let's get started." She pulls down her face mask a bit and lets it rest on her chin, revealing a fanged smile before she sniffs the air around him again, trying to determine what she thinks he'll taste like when he finally lets her have a bite.

"What kind of terms and questions did you have for this contract of yours?" she questions, leaning back against the booth cushions and shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. "I'll be honest and say I don't usually make these kinds of deals with people, so lay it on me."

@◇ ﹕ riot. He’s running late to his scheduled meeting, and it’s only when he’s parked his car at the nearby parking lot that he realizes that he is still in his work clothes and not, well… *Puppeteer*.

To be fair, he’s ditched the costume for the most part ever since he resigned as a government hero, sticking only to basic facial disguises in the unlikely event he runs into a colleague—or even worse, one of the kids in his kindergarten. He rummages through his glove compartment, finds a pair of shades he forgot he had, decides within a second that it looks ridiculous (and ironic, given what Puppeteer is known for) with his dark green tartan button up and khaki slacks, and heads into the café with said shades resting on his lower nose bridge. He supposes it’s better than nothing.

He scans the room for his new contractor—*Riot*, she said her name was, and while the name does sound familiar, it’s not that much of a hint as to what she actually looks like. He narrows his search down to people who seems like they don’t want to be seen here, and only then he spots a young woman in a face mask by one of the more obscure booths, fiddling with her phone. *Bingo*. He walks over to where she’s sitting and peeks at her concealed visage. I’m undercover, her mask reads. At least he’s not the only one in the room with a less-than-subtle disguise. “Are you, uh, Riot?” he asks. “Sorry for being late—it’s rush hour and the traffic was awful. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.” Then, with a coy smile on his face and an extended arm for her to shake, “I’m Puppeteer, by the way. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

@⬙ ﹕ puppeteer. ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ • • • ㅤㅤ blood pact ㅤㅤ ╱ ㅤㅤ ft. riot & puppeteer

She enters the café alone for the first time in a while. It took her some time, but she was finally able to break away from her handler and get out and about in her "I'm undercover" face mask, navy blue bomber jacket, black skinnies and tennis shoes. What brings her out and about today though? She'd finally sniffed out (literally) a potential partner to help her with her feeding problem. His name was "puppet" something as far as she remembers, and he said they should meet up to discuss the terms of a contract that he wanted in place, but to be honest she didn't too much care for the specifics. She was very interested in actually getting to feed and very eager to get to that part of their potential deal. Especially with how pale and somewhat haggard she was starting to look as the days went on. Ever since she'd surrendered herself to the care of the government, her blood rations weren't really cutting it. Not only that, but they tasted like to her so it didn't make her want to consume the rations any easier. A sigh and shudder leave her at the thought. Hopefully never again.

Taking a seat at any old booth, she looks out the window for him and rapidly taps one of her feet on the floor. Where was this guy? He better not have stood her up. She's already memorized his scent, so tracking him down wouldn't be too hard to do. There surely would be hell to pay if he didn't show on her now. "Maybe I should call or text him," she mumbles to herself, whipping out her phone in thought... Perhaps a few more minutes would do.