World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - A Little Derring-Do [Complete]

[Vienne Carreau]

Summertime. Already one gloomy year from when Angela left. Why does it have to be this way? Vienne pined for Angela. She had since she left her at their haven for distant shores without even a goodbye. Vienne thought perhaps the longest days of the year did not agree with her. Perhaps she had gone somewhere slightly less sunny, somewhere in Europe, maybe. She had hoped for so long that she would return with the winter. After all, Angela might grow weary of "sunny California". Who wouldn't? No wonder it was a "free state". If LA's night life weren't so dizzying, she might have left already herself. It was so easy to get distracted. A year gone by and neither Angela nor her immediate circle of friends had shown their faces. It was time to move on. But where? Unable to return home, she left the empty daylight sanctuary beneath Cafe De'toile to the familiar comfort of the UCLA area. No one knew her there anymore, but she had memories of that place. She knew it well. At least she wouldn't be living on the abandoned cast-offs of Angela's party pad. She was known here by the regulars and people who had once known Angela now had questions regarding that sudden disappearance a year ago. Where did she go? Will she be back? Why did she leave so suddenly without a word? Have you told the police? She might be hurt or worse, to suddenly disappear like that.

Maybe so, but a year’s waiting and worry did nothing to reveal the truth. She’d had to fend off those questions by claiming to be as innocent as anyone on the matter, which was close enough to the truth. It was best not to stay here anymore. Every day that passed felt more and more unsafe. When you have nothing else, you have your instincts.

[Vienne Carreau]

Nearly pre-dawn. No place to stay. Have to go back.

No. Vienne remembered her resolve. She stood stupidly of the lawn of a residence hall on the fringe of campus. It was so late, there weren't many party-goers tonight. Everyone was gone for the summer. There were, however, late night arrivals at the W Hotel on Hilgard near La Conte. There were some student residences nearby on Tiverton Drive. It was a start and she had no time to lose. Pausing for a moment to ensure her facade of vitality was properly in place and checking herself in a makeup compact, Vienne guided her little red moped toward the W.

Petite in a Little Red Dress with dark eyes and loose dark hair, which tonight she favored in large flowing curls, she made her entrance into the quiet obsolescence of the hotel foyer. The female night clerk was sharp and alert for the hour. Vienne presented enough cash for two nights, stating she did not have a reservation. Oh look, a room is available. Good.

Reaching for the key card to the room, Vienne requested there be no room service. Distracted by a somewhat older man making his way into the 24 hour lounge & patio bar, Mojo, her head turned to follow him. She didn't even notice how the clerk's face watched her with suspicion when she stated she had no baggage. Without Angela to spot her on those little social faux pas, Vienne made many small cue mistakes without realizing. It was part of her charm. In her carefree way, she sauntered into Mojo despite the late hour. The Mexican gentleman she had seen earlier sat in the patio area, smoking a cigar. He had gray at the temples and the tanned noble cheekline of old Spanish blood. Not bad, old man. The lines of his face added character.

Well, it's never too late for a little late night snack... as she approached she sensed a weariness and the sky began to brighten in a false dawn. The dawn chorus began loudly to greet to false sunrise. False or not, Vienne was brought back to her senses enough to turn abruptly around and make a beeline for the elevator. It’s funny what she might do when thinking with her stomach. Hanging the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob outside and drawing the blinds and curtains, she threw blankets and pillows from the bed into the bath and locked herself in. Lining the bottom of the door with a towel to keep out unwelcome light and drawing the shower curtain for good measure, Vienne settled down for the day. It was humbling, but it worked. Gone for such a short time from the safety of her haven, already she began to learn new ways of survival.

[Vienne Carreau]

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2 years later

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Well isn't this a likely bunch of malcontents.

Blue light jazz. It's not bad if you can stomach the idealogue society that goes with it. It tends to carry smugness with it like smog, only holding your breath won't stop it from making you sick. Not that Vienne needed to breath, this being a good thing considering the immense amount of cigarette smoke drifting around the suffocatingly overcrowded club. It was a small afair below street level in an imitation sophisticat style to what might be found in San Francisco. Only this is LA and there aren't any Sartre berets. Yay. Poetry Night. With an inward groan, Vienna plied her charms on the emo guy that had just read off a particularly depressing poem to the sounds of a huge stringed bass and tom toms.

I hurt

I am alone

My boyfriend left me

My only friend

Hold me

Half his face was pierced and he wore black eyeliner. This wouldn't detract from his particular face so bad if he hadn't shaved half his head 3/4 of the way and stopped short with a jagged, amateurish chisel line. What a weirdo, but at least he was lonely, too.

Vienne lined him up a coffee and talked about anything but the poem. By the end of the night she had discovered Scott's convictions in sexuality were not solidly set exclusively on the male species. It might have been more fun otherwise, deliciously detestable though the thought was.

They didn't go to his place. They went to the park and talked. Scott dumped on her about love and friendship lost till nearly dawn. Vienne liked a slow seduction, but her choice in prey lately seemed to take a leaning toward the unideal.

Halfway through it, she bit him. Good enough. She just petted him in comforting ways a little, unable to keep her mind on anything he was saying. It was so boring. Poor Scott. Your world is over, but you can still do something for mine.

She fed on the insensible man until she was sure she shouldn't take any more. She did her little routine: lick the wound, walk him to the sidewalk and go on her merry way.

That's it, no more clubs for a while at least. She watched a traffic light, her eyes unfocusing deep in thought. But where? The red light district had lost its appeal, bars and clubs quickly lost their luster...galleries could be so boring; but then you never know who you might meet?

There was always the W. She'd been working there for a couple years now. The bellhop was a sweet little thing named Raphael, the senior manager's son. He had his own room and quite a lot of pull with the staff. He was attending UCLA for Business Management studies. And made an ideal thrall. Especially since she works lates at the W. There was always the Mojo lounge within the hotel, but sometimes the student crowd would come in masses around term break time. Sometimes she just wanted to be away from the student crowd.

There was always the university gallery nextdoor. They held events, but the art crowd could be so very overconcerned with connections. Always eager to network. It was hard to bluff how connected she was. She would have to seduce someone there that was looked up to by the others to be accepted in that social scene in order to break open the UCLA art hibachi door. Maybe Raph knows a good place. After all, galleries felt stale by now.