middaeg | what is the sesame street number of the day??

Makoto looks at the wine glass for a moment and then accepts it. He takes a modest sip and hands it back. The acidic sting of the alcohol feels good going down, and when it hits his stomach, it mixes with the warm, digesting blood in a way that Makoto can feel.

It isn't a weird feeling. He elects to ignore this unpleasant realization.

"Other things," he parrots, a hint of a smile creeping on his face. He sits back against the cushioned booth seat. "So... salt licks, then? Wolf-free zones. Tasty grass."

If she's gonna mess with him, Makoto is happy to mess back. This kind of game is fun. It gives him more time to stare at her face, too, and seriously consider what she's clearly offering. How old is she, anyway? Not that it mattered too much to him.

Ah, better and better. He has her interest and attention now - beyond what it was before. Now she covets him a little. Wants to see what else he has in store.

"No salt-licks, fortunately, although if I do develop a taste, I'll let you know."

She laughs aloud and takes her glass back, electing to savor another slow sip of it as she considers him. What sort of human boy comes out to a cabaret to meet a mysterious woman? The interesting kind, apparently.

"Tell me, how have you been, your first days here? Well enough? Aside from the blood?"

Makoto doesn't yet know the extent of Iramaat's sneaky tendencies as a member of the fair folk, but he is starting to catch on. Listening has always been his strong suit, not talking about himself, but she likes to ask a lot of questions. If she's doing that to keep Makoto from getting to know her too well, he can relate.

"Sort of," he says with a shrug. He doesn't mind talking about himself for now. "I've got some friends here, but there's been drama. I've tried to stay out of our house to keep from contributing to it..."

But he'd failed to do that today. He still owes Shinjiro and Fuuka apologies. He wonders when his wine is going to get here.

"I made some new friends too, I guess. One of them helped me out earlier today, with... you know."

"Drama...? What kind of drama?" Iramaat leans in - fortunately just then, the server returns with the glass of wine for Makoto. They set it down with a cheery smile and a wink and then vanish back into the rest of the crowd. Iramaat waits for them to be gone before continuing.

"Trouble from home? Or something to do with all finding yourselves here?"

Ah, wine. With a slight smile, he reaches out and takes it in one hand, the stem of the glass between his index and middle fingers. This would be a good time for a diversion.

"How do I look?" he asks, completely ignoring her probing questions. Leaning away from her, he sits back against the chair and strikes a little pose, holding the glass up close to his face and eying her knowingly. "I'm a vampire already. All I need is a black cape and a high collar and I'm ready for a Halloween party."

Boo. He's not being that fun, but she'll play along with him all the same. She shrugs and takes a drink, peering at him over the rim of her glass.

"I don't know Halloween and the few vampires I've met didn't wear capes... but I'll take your word for it."

A pause and another sip.

"What is Halloween?"

"It's a holiday," he says apathetically, similarly miffed that she's not being very fun, either. She asks too many questions, he doesn't answer any herself, and she doesn't get his humor. Makoto wonders if he ought to try salvaging this date at this point.

"I don't know much about it myself, but I think it has to do with spooky monsters and stuff like that. It mostly just seems like an excuse for foreigners to clog up the late night trains while drunk and wearing costumes."

But here he is, drinking wine, and wearing Aefenglom clothes that could easily be described as a costume back home.

"To be fair, wearing costumes and enjoying some late-night revelry sounds fantastic," Iramaat responds with a laugh, "So I think I approve of Halloween, even if I don't know all that much about it."

She bumps shoulders with him again.

"Hazards of coming from very different worlds I imagine."

The shoulder bump creates little red ripples on the surface of his wine. He glances at her, still pouting a little over his conflicting feelings about her, and then knocks back the rest of his drink.

...not that he can do it very quickly or something. It takes him several gulps in a row. Look, he's still getting good at this.

Bluntly, as he sets down his wine glass: "Is that why you're not telling me anything about yourself?"

Let's see if this works. He looks back to her, his bangs half covering his face again. "Other than your interest in late-night revelry, which... is fair. What's your idea of revelry? How about that?"

Iramaat watches him down his drink with a trace of amusement in her expression. She's still nursing hers, but it's unclear if it's her first glass or not.

"Careful. That wine will go straight to your head, if you drink like that..." Iramaat laughs, low and easy, but doesn't really try to stop or chide him. And then he starts asking questions and she looks a little shocked.

"Makoto, please - I am an open book. If you think I'm hiding something, I'll have to disabuse you of the notion and tender my apology for whatever made you think such a thing."

Iramaat clicks her tongue and leans back in her seat, although she's still cozied up to him in the booth they're sharing. Beyond the darkened confines, music is still playing, someone is singing. There's the buzz and hum of other quiet conversations. But all of her attention is on him.

"All sorts, really. Good wine, good company, a quiet conversation over candlelight - or a walk in the park. A wild run through the moonlit woods. A midnight hunt," Her teeth glint white as she grins, "A touch of romance, perhaps. Finding time to get to... know someone. Dancing. If you want specifics, you'll have to be more specific yourself."

The wine probably will go straight to his head, between Makoto's age, scrawny build, and his seemingly declining health as he creeps towards undeath. For whatever reason, he doesn't care at the moment. He's had a long first full moon.

When she leans back in her seat, noticeably leaning against him, he sits back as well and turns his head to look at her sidelong. From this angle, she might be able to see behind his bangs to look at his entire face.

"The same things, I guess, although it'd be the human versions of that stuff. Dinner, dancing, doing something fun together, conversation," he lists, studying her. Maybe he should tell her more about himself. It might get her to talk more about herself.

"I know you're not human. You said you were 'fair-folk,' right? But I got the feeling you're familiar with humans."

"Very familiar," Iramaat replies, voice dropping slightly. Almost a purr now as she leans a little closer and the long, dexterous, elegant fingers of her free hand slide against his shoulder.

"And very familiar with all that sort of thing. Dancing, music, laughter..." She smiles, teeth white, and leans in a little more, until her forehead practically touches his temple. She's getting very cozy.

"Fair-folk like me are made of dreams. Of magic. We are wonderful and awesome in the truest senses of the word..." These words are meant for him; loq and quiet and intimate, "Doesn't that make you curious?"

"Maybe," he says. He slides one palm on top of her thigh without looking away. With Iramaat so close, he can hear her heart beating and feel her warmth. It's a good thing he'd already silenced his cravings today.

"I mean, as far as I know," he continues, "you kidnap little kids and bake them in pies or something. You'd tell me if you did, right?"

The question comes with a little smirk. He still senses that she's still being careful - there were no details on how or why she's familiar with humans. But yet, he's still not scared of her - at this point, he's mostly teasing. Her hair smells good, and that look in her eyes is convincing, and that's enough for him for now.

"I mean, I'd tell you if I wanted some blood. It'd only be fair."

"Oh, light of my heart, I never lie," Iramaat replies with a little laugh, eyes glinting in the dim candle and lamp-light, "Nor do I bake people into pies. Far too much effort, for one thing. And very messy."

She's joking. Right?

The feeling of his hand against her leg makes her heart skip a beat and she feels a flash of warmth and inordinate pleasure that he's responding so well to all of this. She's not sure she's ever been in a place with quite so many people who are so receptive to her. She adores it.

Her fingers brush lightly against the nape of his neck now, teasing the skin with a feather-light touch.

"But fair is fair. And I'll tell you if I ever have an intention of baking you into a pie."

She nuzzles in against his temple now, placing a light little kiss against the curve of his cheekbone as she does.

The brush of fingers and lips on his skin makes him close his eyes for a moment, taking in the sensation happily. There was a time when his interest in girls was mostly about filling that empty space inside him where family and friends would've been. He's not so intentionally alone anymore, but this desire to numb away his bad day with a generous female sure feels familiar.

"And curse me, and steal my soul, and spirit me away to the fairy world..." he went on, his smirk rising into a grin. His free hand takes hers, pulling it from her neck and placing it on his hip instead. "Et cetera."

After another pause, he leans in and kisses her back, placing his lips on the side of her mouth. She might be able to feel his beginner's fangs underneath.

Bold, isn't he, for such a young human? Not that she minds. If anything she delights in it. Someone being active and responding to her and encouraging her is wonderful. Her fingers curl against his hip and grip as he leans up, her voice a low murmur as she replies, "I can't do any of that here, anyway."

Which isn't a promise.

Which perhaps doesn't matter, because she kisses him again in reply. And this time it's a full kiss, slow and gentle, against his lips. She's intrigued by the press of his fangs and she laughs softly, head tilting into his.

"Oh, you're sharp."

Makoto leans into the kiss, matching her tenderness with his lips, even as his hand squeezes her thigh. His thumb presses a extra hard where it grips... towards the inside.

He'd been trying to keep his fangs out of the way, so when she seems pleased by them, he can't help but raise an eyebrow. This date would be going significantly different had he not already satisfied his craving before coming here.

"You're into that?" he laughs. "What am I saying. Of course you are." He kisses her again, briefly, before adding, "They're not that sharp, though. Don't get too excited."

He had to bite his donor several times before he managed to break the skin and get any blood. He'll leave out those details.

"I can wait until they get sharper," Iramaat retorts, "If you would like-"

She's teasing. And she doesn't particularly want to let him go just yet in any case. One hand finds his wrist and drags his hand a little higher, placing it further up against her thigh. She's encouraging him and not being shy about.

"And who wouldn't get excited about a little danger, anyway?"

what is the sesame street number of the day??

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