He was no stranger to travel, but at this time in his life, the travel was becoming tedious. It was not serving it's purpose, that being to seperate him from his pains. You couldn't run from your troubles, or so the saying went. However, he was out of options, at least in the way he saw things.
The burning building, the blinding lights of police, ambulance, and fire crews... it was all still fresh in his mind. It all burned a hole in his head, as he saw that lifeless face laying in the streets. It filled his mind, even now, so vividly, that he didn't even watch where he drove, and simply blindly followed the voice of that GPS unit. Then, there was the sound of that phone; ringing to notify that another text message had been received. He heaved a sigh, as he pulled over to the side of the road, and pulled his helmet off.
As he sat on his bike before a dance club, with the music pumping out into the streets, he hissed at the irony of the situation. Of course, the message was from Catarina. Rodrigo was dressed in a pair of black khaki-style pants, and a red button up shirt. And while the shirt was unbuttoned, he wore a jacket over his shirt zipped up only halfway. He was used to warmer climates, and though the wind whipped over his body from the ride, he did not feel cold. Of course, his Lycan blood played a part in that as well.
"Come back home!"the text said,"Why won't you stay longer than a few days!?"
Rodrigo shook his head. "As if you need to ask, Cat." Rodrigo punched in a message of response before he heaved a sigh, and stuffed it back into his jacket's pocket. He looked around the city streets. This city was nothing like he was used to. Nothing like Mexico, nothing like Las Vegas, and definitely nothing like London. He had returned to Las Vegas for just under a week, though it had felt like an eternity. He didn't dislike Las Vegas, it had become his home after he and Lily left Mexico, but after that night...
The hunger set in, and so he'd finally shut off his bike's engine, and slip off of it. Helmet was tugged off his head, as he slipped into the nearest club, bar, restaurant, whatever was right there, to get something to eat.
~*~Being born and bred in Louisiana certainly had its' perks; food was never bland nor the same no matter what restaurant you went to, the weather here changed daily like people change their underwear, and the people here were so welcoming and warm that you would think everyone is related because strangers would call you "baby" or "darlin" or "sugar." Vesta never understood that concept, but it was pleasing.~*~
~*~One of Vesta's favorite past-times was walking on Magazine street. Magazine street had so much to offer with their rows of restaurants, bars, and locally owned vintage shops where she mostly adopted to her wardrobe. A pair of light and tattered jean capris encased her long, slender stems; the bottom hems were cupped over, stopping mid-calf to show off those black and white 1950s inspired heels. A black and white polkadot halter shirt squeezed her dainty torso as a silver humming bird necklace fell to flatter the swell of her breasts. Silver, small humming bird earrings hung from her soft lobes, but were hidden behind those bleach blonde, sunshine locks that cascaded down to the middle of her back.~*~
~*~She continued on foot, walking down Magazine street until the invigorating, intoxicating scents of Caribbean, Creole, and Latin American stung her nostrils, inhaling deeply that caused a bit of rumble from her stomach. This was coming from The Rum House, just a few blocks further down. Approaching the restaurant, she passed by a man that just hoistened off a very nice motorcycle. While walking into the place at the same exact time the man was, she accidentally bumped her head into his shoulder, turned towards the other side, and slammed her face into door frame.~*~
"Owwwww fuck! Son of a bitch! Oh! I'm sorry baby!"
~*~She first yelled, and then apologized to the man she bumped into, the one with the khaki pants and red shirt. Well, it was her fault, anyways.~*~
Rodrigo merely glanced at the small woman that bumped into him as he was slipping that helmet off his head. He'd tuck it under his opposite arm, as he reached an arm around her shoulders, to gently rest upon her opposite shoulder.
"Perdoname, señorita."
Since they were headed to the same place, he would coax her in ahead of him, and once inside, he would give her a smile.
"Sorry, I didn't see you. Allow me to make it up to you. Please let me treat you to something to eat."
He wasn't used to the kindness of strangers, but he wasn't a rude person either. Her kindness would be returned, and then some if he could manage it. He'd raise a hand to signal for a waitress. When the waitress came by, the two would be shown to a table together. He'd toss his bike helmet into the corner of the booth seat, and pull off his jacket, tossing it over with the helmet, before settling in and ordering a drink. As he settled into his seat, the open shirt parted further to display his cut form. He was no stranger to a gym, though he hadn't needed to work as hard in the gym as others to attain the sculpture of musculature that he had attained. Arms went up to the tops of the booth seats as he nodded to the femme.
"My name is Rodrigo, by the way, what is yours, señorita?"
~*~When his arm wrapped around her shoulders, Vesta flinched, not expecting such affection from a perfect stranger, but suddenly, this warm, soothing feeling enveloped her to her very core, and she found herself extremely comfortable in his presence. As his foreign spanish accent rolled from his lips, Vesta felt herself melt inside her body, as if her school crush had spoken to her after football practice. And when he spoke of treating her as an apology, Vesta smiled, and walked into the restaurant with him.~*~
~*~Immediately, the smell of exotic food intoxicated the atmosphere; Latin and Caribbean entwined with a bit of homemade Creole was a perfect mixture, and she even bet that the food was absolutely incredible. It was a four-star restaurant, or so she has read. When they were seated at a booth, Vesta slid into the leather cushion adjacent from him, traversing those long, slender stems beneath the table, and relaxed into the soft, welcoming cushion behind her. She ordered Abita Amber, Louisiana's own brew of beer, from the waitress, and then looked across the table. Those sparkling, crystalline blue eyes landed upon the smooth, tan bareness of his chest as it slightly peeked from the opening of his shirt. Her eyes quickly darted to his own when he spoke again.~*~
"Chesta....I mean...Hi! I'm Vesta. Vesta St. Noir. Nice to meet you Rodrigo. I seriously didn't expect this at all. Definitely a first for me bumping into someone and then taken out on a date...Well, I mean to eat. Wow...Anyways, are you new to the city?"
Rodrigo was definitely accustomed to the affect he had on humans, even when he supressed his power behind shields, his power had a way of weaving into the psyche of those humans around him, and helping them view him in a way that was pleasing. No amount of control got rid of it, really, though one could tone it down a great deal. She wasn't on her knees in seconds, and unzipping his pants, after all.
A wider smile was brought to his lips due to her response, for it was more animated that he was used to. And the slip of tongue was absolutely charming in a child-like way.
The scents and sounds around were taken in, registered, noted, but his attention remained on Vesta. His eyes looked her over casually, as she seemed to struggle every step of the way with the conversation and interaction. He merely smiled at it all.
"Well, Vesta. If it is a date, I am afraid I'd have to apologize again. I have no flowers for you, and I am dreadfully underdressed." He plucked at his shirt, as he looked himself over, as if to accent that he was no where near formally dressed. To be honest, he hated formal dress. The most formal he'd ever get would be buttoning up his shirt.
~*~As the waitress approached for their orders, Vesta ordered a Pain Killer for starters. The taste of the alcoholic beverage pulled her into a peaceful vision; laying on the beach in her sexy, polkadot bikini suit, her skin soaking up the warm rays of the sun, and listening to the beautiful blue waves crash upon the sandy shores. Not to mention, this drink had a little umbrella and fruit, so the vision seemed quite appropriate.~*~
~*~At the mention of this not being a date from Rodrigo, her cheeks flourished into a tint of red, the same color as the small marachino in her drink. A giggle vibrated from her slender throat, soon following the embarrassment blossoming from her now rosey cheeks.~*~
"Oh! No, I didn't mean this was a date. I mean....I've never had someone treat me like this because my clumsy ass self bumped into them on accident. Usually I got, 'oh it's okay,' or 'watch where you're going!' or no response at all."
~*~If Rodrigo considered himself under-dressed, she wondered what he looked like if he did dress up for a date. And flowers?! The thought of flowers kept that blush clear upon her cherub cheeks. Between the silences of their small conversation, Vesta would read over the menu, idly running her pink, wet muscle against her plush lips. Finally deciding on what grub to get, she handed the waitress the menu when she approached.~*~
"Yes I would like the taco trifecta. Ummm...jerk chicken, calypso beef, and chili glazed shrimp. So anyways Rodrigo, are you new to the city?"
The display she put on reminded him of younger years, and more carefree times. He felt like an old man when he thought that. Of course, he felt old. He was still relatively young, but sometimes felt at the least a good ten years older than he was. Her flushing cheeks, and embarassed and nervous behaviour made her seem absolutely adorable. Then her nervous and harried speech merely intensified this. It was all he could do to keep from laughing.
Rodrigo considered himself comfortable, and not over, or under, dressed by any means. Under dressed was another level beneath this, as he used such a term to make a joke. He hated dressing up, but was by no means a stranger to giving flowers to a lover. However, he preferred the more casual dress, for the desire of comfort, and the desire to show off some skin, so that he wouldn't feel as old. Of course, he had a different reason when he was younger, but that's how he felt now.
He'd watch as she ordered, chuckling ever so lightly. He would glance to the waitress, and nod.
"I'll have the same."He said, plainly. When the waitress left, he grinned widely."Hungry?"
He wasn't chastising, but merely poking fun. Had to have some, and hopefully she wouldn't take offense to it. She wasn't big, rather thin and very sexy. He had never been one to get any tattoos himself, but he did admire the sleeve she had, and noted how well it mixed with the rest of her appearance.
