Beautiful and Dirty Rich{Damien}

[sante]

Sante was sitting in a booth reserved for him by the owner who happened to be a member of the congregation. He was on his fourth Amaretto sour and it hadn't effected him. Mainly because he had invoked Marinette earlier that evening and she was curling inside him. Purring like a cat. this was the time when she needed to be let out, to curry her favor. It was the dark side of the moon.

Much like the shifters had to turn into their animal form on a full moon, Marinette needed to be let out of her cage for a night of frolic once a month. Though the black moon gave Sante a little more control over her. Marinette. She was rumored to be the Priestess that sacrificed the black pig at the culmination of the Haitian revolution. She roiled inside of him.

There was something or someone here that she liked. It had to be a Lycanthrope. She was the patron saint of Shifters. Which meant there was a particular shifter in the Grey Cat Club that she wanted. He didn't see any harm in it, unless the shifter in question was a leader of his kind, in which case. This could get ugly. He gave her the leeway and used her power. The power to Call.

He Called to the Golden tiger like a master Vampire who had that Animal to Call. The sudden scent of tiger and home filled the air. It pulled gently at first. It said come to me. Come to me. I am what you need. I am what you want. In me you will be free. In me you will find happiness. I am Streak. I am Chang. Golden stripes and Sunset eyes. Come to me. The Call was insistent and this wasn't even trying hard.

TAGGED + Damien
NOTES + <3's for Tigers!
NOISE + Cee lo Green~Fuck you.
CREDIT + Sante Dede

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[Damian Grímur]

and soon you'll lose the will to care

Damian was walking along New Orleans red light district known as the Tenderloin. He knew that he shouldn’t because he would find trouble when he didn’t want it. But a small part of him wanted to find trouble. Because he was told by someone a lot smaller and a lot weaker than him that he couldn’t handle himself because he was a ‘rich boy’ he wanted trouble. He was dressed in an expensive three piece suit though it was a suit for everyday wear – four hundred dollars. His most expensive suit was a one of a kind hundred thousand dollar suit which he had purchased due to all the publicity around the suit.

With his right hand in his pocket and his left hand exposed he walked down the streets. There were prostitutes lined everywhere and Damian would have taken the opportunity to break in any new ones as their first customer yet spotted no one new. Passing an alleyway Damian caught someone having sex with the prostitute in a wheelchair. He turned his head and kept walking. Anything that freaky was not his business. He was a gentleman of sorts or perhaps he was the worst gentleman of them all.

Suddenly though he stopped mid-step and paused. A weird sort of feeling raced through him. It was the sort of feeling that one got when they just bid twenty million dollars over the estimated auction price (something his father was furious about) and impressed everyone in the room, a combination of your legs going from numb to having the blood rush through your veins shaking you up, and all the pretty girls in the room trying to go home with him at once. It was more than a weird feeling it was an odd one. It was actually sort of lulling and comforting but since it was something that Damian had yet to experience all at the same time it was an odd feeling (though Damian had come pretty close to experiencing it at the auction when everyone was impressed with his deep pockets – or his father’s at least).

The feeling sang to him and then the blood rushed off Damian’s face and he became as white as a crayon. Every emotion he had felt at the feeling turned to something worse than anger. A terrible rage of sorts. As Damian had never come into any sort of contact with any sort of vampire except one most recently he had never experienced a call. Some little blood sucking leech thought that they could own him! They were the ones singing their wonderful song of wonders, calling and beckoning NO…ordering him to come to them.

Damian was a proud were-Tiger. He was no one’s fool and everyone’s master. He had two kept lovers. The strength to fight any battle and win dominance if he so wished it. How many people could say that? The smart thing to do would be to pack up immediately and leave New Orleans. He could take one of his lovers and leave the other behind. His father would absolutely kill him if he didn’t leave immediately. He wouldn’t care less about the million dollar apartment. But Damian didn’t want to leave. He wanted to see America. It was the perfect spot, far enough away from both his father and his clan and far enough away from other clans.

He was forming a plan instantly in his mind. He would go there, find the vampire, and then kill the vampire. It was so easy he could foresee no complications. Damian began to walk, following the lull but only because he wanted to. He easily had the power and deposition to turn away and leave. It was only because of his will and desire to kill the vampire and put an end to it did he follow it.

It seemed that the lull was taking him to one of his favorite places. He frequented the Grey Cat Club often. It was where he mixed with cats that were not tigers. Where you could have sex and grab a drink at the same time. Also where he hired his last mercenary. Sex, assassins and drinks. Of course his mercenary failed him but he paid with his life. But the lull coming from this club was another insult upon Damian’s person. “That rat bastard,” Damian said under his breath letting his Romanian accent loose.

He entered the club with a glare in his eyes. He followed the lull like it was some sort of road map out of the desert. He found himself before a black man who was no vampire. He turned his head to the right and then to the left. Was it possible that he was wrong? It felt like he should be here.

TAGGED: Sante WORDS: 798 OUTFIT: CLICK

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.

[sante]

Sante let his darker than dark eyes roam over the people in the room. He could spot the tourists that had wandered in off the street almost immediately. They were having the sphagetti. No cajun man or woman would willingly eat any sphagetti but their momma's or their girlfriends. And then depending on
commitment issues he might not eat the girlfriends. It was an ancient spell that almost every creole woman of color knew.

You take your menstrual blood and mix it in with the sauce while your cookin. A small but guarenteeable trick to keeping your man forever. Creole men always wary when they get served red sauce. But it was a tried and true trick. Coarse with the african and french background of the cajun people most didn't realise it but Italians had a big hand in the flavoring of that little cultral melting pot too.

Coarse the sphagetti was really just used cause it was red. He shook his head. You could take the same Vaginal secretions and dry them in the morning light and they flake to a much lighter color that can be used in almost anything. Now that was a trick used only by the real hoodoo women. Any conjure women worth her salt might know that trick, And if they didn't best believe they had their own tricks to it.

Marinette was getting restless inside of him. She wanted to be let free. To act like a tiger and crawl through the Moonless night, But more then that she wanted the other. The one That they were waiting for. When he entered Sante's eyes leveled on him, sizing him up. He was More then Handsome. That boy had muscles to take Charles Atlas by the hand.

But it was Marinette in his eyes. The Silver of a Full moon in those black depths that flickered with pleasure. She wanted him because he was the Salt of the earth. She wanted to possess his white flesh and ride him as a stalking horse. She wanted Sante to suck his dick and take his seed for a spell. She wanted to Possess him. Simple and true. Too bad she wasn't getting what she wanted.

Sante gave a soft but sweet smile as the Anger leaked away from the Golden Tiger for a minute and he looked around confused after coming to stand in front of Sante "What's wrong bebe'. Wut? You thought I was a vampire? Go On then. Have a seat and tell me bout youself." His dark smile widened the slightest.

Sante smoothed down the black wife beater. His finger glittered with gold jewelry and gris gris bags hung from about his neck. His head was wrapped in an intricate piece of gold fabric. It wasn't expensive but it was original. Beneath the table he wore camo capris and flip flops. There was a gold fur stole on the back of the booth"They is dark forces at work round here, You best mind you manners kitty cat." The smile disappeared from his face as he picked up the amaretto sour and drained it.

NOISE + Adele, Rollin in the deep
CREDIT + Sante Dede

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[Damian Grímur]

and soon you'll lose the will to care

Damian had no idea what was going on. When he entered the club and bar he had thought he had gone straight to the vampire. But then he realized that there were absolutely no vampires in the club – that he could smell. There was the usual club crowd – the drunks and the whores and then there were some very obvious tourists. Which made Damian believe that they were extremely lost.

At the sound of talking Damian turned his head to look at the man before him. He had an amaretto sour before him which he downed. He stared at the orange and the cherry for a moment before looking at the man. “I would prefer to stand.” Damian said harshly. The words practically came out of his mouth in a harsh growl most befitting a large beast such as himself.

“How did you call me?” Damian replied his voice full of anger. This man was one hundred percent human. How could a human call him, he being a tiger? “You’re no vampire!” He was quite angry about everything. In fact, he wanted to snap the man’s neck until it cracked. He wanted to make him bleed. He wanted to make him suffer. But he wanted to know how the man did such things, and then and only then would he kill him.

The man had the look and accent of someone native to New Orleans. Was it possible that he had maybe gotten hold of some hair of Damian’s and had had a voodoo doll created? Damian didn’t believe in magic and he certainly didn’t believe in any such mumbo jumbo.

TAGGED: Sante WORDS: 798 OUTFIT: CLICK

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.

[sante]

Sante Dede wasn't a particularly ill tempered individual. But he had certain things that just flat out pissed him off, and the young gold tiger was treading far close to it. Rudeness. Intolerant behavior, and flat out disrespect were his three little breaking points. In this case the male didn't seem to hate him on sight, Well not in the traditional that's a cross dresser sense.

He wasn't Being flat out disrespectful either. Then again He wasn't being particularly courteous neither. The fact was that he was treading real close to rudeness, but Sante could hold his tongue and be nice for a moment more. After all, he didn't give a shit what the Tiger did. But Marinette wanted a look at the rare breed. It may have angered the young stallion to be called but He considered it harmless.

Especially when the alternative was a battle of wills between Marinette and himself over his body that could result in the black robed priestess walking the earth and using him like a skin casing. Indulging her though. just the slightest wasn't such a bad thing. He gestured a waiter over and smiled, ignoring the were tiger for a moment standing there "Listen suga, I wants me a big ole glass of red wine, and don't keeps me waiting all day or your tip is gonna dwindle. ya hear meh? Something for Tiger here too on me."

He had used the word Tiger as a pet name, and the waiter had taken as such and depending on what Damien said ran off and got the order.Sante leaned back and leveled his gaze on the tiger with discerning taste. "You right, I ain't a vampire, My name is Sante Dede, I'm the Voodoo Queen of N'olens, Thats how I calls you." He casually gestured to the other side of the booth then clasped his hands back together. The look said stop acting like a child and have a seat already.

NOISE + Adele.
CREDIT + Sante Dede

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[Damian Grímur]

and soon you'll lose the will to care

“Wild Turkey, two fingers.” Damian said to the waiter. He looked at Sante Dede and added, “Straight.” He usually had a water back but that was only if he wanted to stay for a bit. The brand Wild Turkey was bourbon and it was top shelf. One of the best bourbon brands. Sante didn’t look like he could afford it but that wasn’t Damian’s problem.

Damian took a seat as he was formally introduced to the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. He didn’t give his name. Instead he said, “I think I’ve heard of you. You’re that queer that tries to run for Mayor but always loses?” He knew that he ought not to insult someone with the power to call his Tiger yet he was planning on killing Sante Dede.

“What do you want from me?” he asked. “Is it money? You want were-tigers?” He demanded. “You want my vote?” he asked in a mock laugh. Damian tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. His eyes shifted around on the table. This club used to be his favorite hang-out, he wasn’t in here every day but he usually stopped by at least once a week. It was his place. But now he would need to find a new place. He certainly wouldn’t visit here if they catered to men or women like Sante Dede.

He spotted several regulars he usually bought drinks for – or they sometimes bought drinks for him. The only new comers were the tourists and Damian could easily spot them though he was new to New Orleans himself. Many natives in fact could call him a tourist despite the fact that he tried to assimilate into New Orleans and its fine culture.

TAGGED: Sante WORDS: 286 OUTFIT: CLICK

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.

[sante]

Sante Jerked hard enough with the power to Call to cause physical pain enough to clamp a jaw shut and cause Charlie Horses on the body. Depending on how hard the Shifter was sheilding. He had very few things that set him off But being referred to by intolerant names was one of them "You muster up some respect. I been perfectly respectful to you, And for your information i don't want shit from you Understand.."

"They is powerful forces in this world and one of them That I happen to serve wanted a gander at yous. So I called you here, and It wasn't like I yanked you here with enough power to knock that perty mouth from you face. I 's gentle bout it so keep your rudeness to yourself and I's keep mines." The look of unhappiness faded from his face as he spoke the next little bit.

"Now how bout we just have a nice conversation. No I ain't never won but it'll happen one of these days, you don't think? We could be friends bebe'. Why you so upset anyways? I ain't gonna divulge you secret. I might could help yous if you wanted." a soft smile lit on his face as he watched the other man. the sound of the waiter arriving back at the table with his glass of Merlot and the other man's Wild Turkey.

He didn't do Kentucky bourbons. they burned his throat, Unless he was channeling Samedi. Samedi loves his whiskey. Then he preferred a Gentlemen Jack. it was less obtrusive then the Wild Turkey. A glass of which was only 10 bucks in The Grey Cat Club. A bottle was much more expensive. 30 dollars in a liqueur store but with a three hundred percent mark up in a bar. Making it much closer to a hundred dollars.

Sante sighed as he gulped down the red wine "I know yous got problems being a Gold tiger and what not. Normally i don't like Shifters. A lion killed my Momma. You may notice they ain't no more Lions in N'olens. Thats old business though.I got friends on the other side if you interested." he gave a soft chuckle and set the glass back down pulling two cigars from the inside of his bolero fur. He passed one to the Gold Tiger and kept the other for himself.

CREDIT + Sante Dede

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[Damian Grímur]

and soon you'll lose the will to care

Damian had no idea what he was still doing here. He knew who the man was. It wouldn’t take half a second to find out where he lived. The big bad were-Tiger Damian felt like he could kill the man with impunity. The police might squabble around like the headless chickens Sante probably owned but there would probably be many enemies for the police to check out that they wouldn’t even know where to begin. Sure, Damian might be seen drinking with the man but he’d only have one drink and he would leave right after it.

He was doing his best to shield himself from Sante. He didn’t want to be exposed to that lulling call again. He felt something out of anger, and then nothing else. "You muster up some respect. I been perfectly respectful to you, And for your information i don't want shit from you Understand.." Damian just looked at the man as if he was a hundred percent serious. Sante wanted Damian to respect him? Did Sante not see what Damian saw when he looked at the man? His clothes looked like they were something out of the Wal-Mart rag bin and not designer nor expensive like Damian’s own clothes.

"They is powerful forces in this world and one of them That I happen to serve wanted a gander at yous. So I called you here, and It wasn't like I yanked you here with enough power to knock that perty mouth from you face. I 's gentle bout it so keep your rudeness to yourself and I's keep mines." “You just said earlier that you wanted nothing from me. And now you tell me you did want something from me. You just told me some sort of force in this world wanted to see me up close and personal like someone inspecting the lobster they eat before the cook boils it alive!” Though Damian was powerful he was almost having trouble keeping the petty fear out of his voice. Forces in the world? Wanting a look at him? Calling him? It would have any self-respecting were tiger freaked out.

Damian knew that in New Orleans it was the place that vampires congregated most. It was where families went on vacation to see their first vampire before returning to their vampire free neighborhoods. New Orleans was also the place where rednecks lived in and above the swamp in shacks snacking on alligators and snakes and probably each other. But it was the place most known for Voodoo, in fact there was some silly Voodoo Museum around. Damian didn’t believe in magic. He didn’t believe in magic! “I don’t believe in magic. And I don’t believe in powerful forces!”

"Now how bout we just have a nice conversation. No I ain't never won but it'll happen one of these days, you don't think? We could be friends bebe'. Why you so upset anyways? I ain't gonna divulge you secret. I might could help yous if you wanted." The waiter arrived after Sante spoke and placed a glass of Merlot before Sante and Damian’s Wild Turkey before him. It was honestly just about time because Damian needed something to steady his nerves. And since he didn’t have a IV with Wild Turkey entering his veins a glass half full would just have to do until Damian found a Spirit Shop around the corner. “You may be human but I know humans don’t have a problem killing anyone that can do,” his voice lowered to but a small whisper, “magic.” In fact he was hearing some disturbing rumors about Marshal’s that went beyond their pay grade to kill whatever they wanted to kill when they wanted to.

“I don’t need your help!” Damian replied as he let the Wild Turkey burn his throat on the way down. A nice glass of bourbon always felt good on the way down. It was so nice that it would feel grand on the way up. Damian didn’t need Sante’s help for anything. He had no problems in his life expect for occasionally getting tiger napped. But even they if he cooperated he was usually allowed to go. Or at least he left before any such official ‘good-bye’ could take place. Damian emptied his glass and immediately felt his nerves calm. ‘Good ole alcohol,’ he thought to himself.

"I know yous got problems being a Gold tiger and what not. Normally i don't like Shifters. A lion killed my Momma. You may notice they ain't no more Lions in N'olens. Thats old business though.I got friends on the other side if you interested." Damian turned and really looked at Sante. He had heard that there was a whole pride of were-lions here. Lions didn’t bother him, it was the Tigers he needed to flee from. But when he had got to New Orleans there were no Lions to introduce himself to. No one. Not a single one. He had thought his Intel was bad but…. But his Intel was usually good. “What happened to the Lions?” Damian asked, feeling a strange feeling of sorrow for the Lions who he was neither kin to or knew personally.

Damian took the cigar and then looked at it. “It’s not some weird Voodoo cigar, is it?” He asked wondering if the cigar was stuffed not with normal cigar things but with the hairs of his enemies and maybe the fingers of dead enemies. He realized that he knew the cigar brand. Damian could use a cigar and another drink after putting two and two together. The Lions were wiped out like cockroaches because Sante’s mother had been killed by a lion. If all the lions were wiped out like cockroaches then one little tiger could be wiped out like…. Damian took a large puff of his cigar.

TAGGED: Sante WORDS: 972 OUTFIT: CLICK

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY WILMETTA OF CAUTION.