((Who are you asking.))

[Imogen. I'll be sure to be more direct with names in the future, apologies.]

Telepathy. A small smile tugged the corners of her lips. Oh, this was on familiar ground, once again... even though it was apparent that Isabell wasn't of the same creed as Imogen.
What was she, then? Right now, the woman truly didn't care; what she did care about, was knowing why Isabell stirred a strong sense of curiosity in her veins.
Raising the coffee cup to her mouth, Imogen took a small sip of the hot contents; a shudder of pleasure trailing down her spine as the warmth spread through her body.
Without breaking eye contact, the woman crossed her legs, shifting into a position that threw her face into the light; vivid green eyes were not as they seemed.... the pupils were slit like a cats; glimmering in the candle-light.

Need a name? Or have you seen enough?

While her silent voice, and strange gaze was directed at Isabell, the woman kept her more natural speech addressed to Margaret; the seductive tones remaining dormant, as always.
"Conversation starter? Well... why don't you talk first... though I can't promise I'll listen..."

_________________
Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

[Waiting for Mari..]

Margaret sipped her tea. "Not much to say. I'm an Orphan. I grew up with my Grandmother who died 3 years ago. Since then I have been working here and there. And i was fired from my last job."

So she was not a vampire, that much was clearly apparent. But niether was she human. And what was more, this creature took obvious pleasure in Isabell's own curiousity, feeding off of it like a game.

Isabell's expression seemed to flare with more enthusiasm, yet it could only be detected in her lucid optics. Pale marble, otherwise, her skin was unmarred by wrinkle and its poreless sheen reflected the flickering of the candles.

She rested her spine 'gainst the back of her chair with a regal air, calmly, gracefully. And as she did so she let her head cant to one side, small blonde tendrils falling into her eyes, which were fixed as if they peered out a window in deep thought, on Imogen.

A rose by any other name would be as sweet, however in this case it would be of some courtesy to know.

No, not a vampire... though Imogen was well aquainted with the prospect the the undead, they were not her creed. Rather, she shared her strange secret with her step-brother; the platinum haired liar who had fled his true home, in a state of disgace.
Lowering the coffee cup from her coral lips, Imogen placed it on the table; long, gloved fingers still curled about its middle. Yes, she did indeed find this a game... it was more fun than she had had in months. Besides, it was apparent that Isabell was no human, either, so what did she have to lose by showing her?

A courtesy, hm? My... you know your way with words, girl... well, for sake of coursety, then, I am Imogen Mayair... or do you want a name for what I am?

All the time the silent confrontation went on, Imogen was aware of Margaret's speaking... and her apparent wish for Imogen, herself, to answer. Oh, such small talk she was not used to... indeed, she barely spoke with such people; spending more and more time with her brother, or lurking in the mens' club.

"An orphan? How sad... I lost a mother, but that was all."

_________________
Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Margaret nodded. "Yes, a sad thing. But I was too young to remeber them, so in a way. It is no loss."

Isabell paused, feeling a different gaze burning into her, that of a mortal man. He and his elderly companions had been seated in the middle of the cafe, the loudest of all the other customers, squabbling fruitlessly about politics. This man had only just concluded his statement about some well-to-do celebration concerning a new lord. Had he even mentioned a name? No..She couldn't catch it.

Isabell's wintry blue optics trailed with a sluggish human speed towards the man, noting that he was eyeing her full cup of tea with some scrutiny. Of course, why shouldn't he feel suspicious? She had been sitting there for nearly an hour and not once did she touch her tea.

A wry smile curved the corners of her sculpted lips as she lent the man a quick wink before bringing the cup to her lips and tipping it ever so gently. She hated tea, but her mouth was not open to invite the drink. And it was so cold! She could feel the heat from it only a moment ago, but then again..she had been slightly detained in conversation. The man snorted defiantly, and went on whining about the celebration. His comrads didn't seem interested with this subject, and one of them made it quite clear by out-right telling him to shut up about it.

Isabell laughed inwardly at the look that had been impaled upon his face, as if icy water struck him. She licked the liquid from her upper lip, wondering slightly for a moment how long it had been since she was last forced to taste tea. Some time ago...

Good evening, Imogen Mayair.

Her eyes were now locked back on this androgynous woman with a great deal more interest.

I had not asked for a name of what you are, but since you say there is one and you offer it, I shall take that knowledge.

Imogen's eyes drifted from Isabell, as the mortal man raised his voice; breaking off the silent conversation for a moment.
Ah, he spoke of a new lord? Imogen's hand tightened about the cup, lowering her head for a moment as she calculated things.. if she was right, and they spoke of her brother, the new lord, then merely sitting here, showing her secret could be dangerous... but then, they could hardly prove anything.. all Imogen was to politics, was the androgynous step-sister of Loclaen le Aneur. Security here, for the while.
While her eyes drifted about the cafe, it became apparent that night had truly fallen; only gas-lamps lit the boulevard outside, and the screaming children seemed to have been taken home. The rain, however, had not dissipated; it merely battered down relentlessly outside, hammering with a driving force, against the glowing windows of the cafe. The bald man, and his scrawny wife were getting ready to leave; she seemed flustered, her sallow cheeks stained scarlet, while he, on the other hand, was stern and almost livid.
Normal life... Imogen had no use for it.
Turning her face back to Isabell, who now seemed to have returned her attention back to the silent conversation, the woman leaned back in the chair; a slightly apathetic smile tugging the corners of her lips.

Good evening indeed... no, you had not asked for a name of what I am; yet I shall give it... but not freely.. tell me, who are you?

Smirking slightly, her feline gaze still trained on Isabell, Imogen continued the small talk with Margaret... after all, now she seemed to blend in with the crowd a little more...
"Ah, no loss then, cherie... a lucky child you must have been... how old are you, pray tell?"

_________________
Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Margaret smiled a bit, happy she had found a possible friend. "I'm 20 years old. I lost my parents when I was 3."

Tricky, this one. All the more reason to be particularly careful. And suddenly she felt restless. Uncomfortable, even; yet as ever, her porcelain angelic features remained unmarred by human expression, merely blank, yet seemingly contented.

Her head canted to one side, index digit tracing the rim of her teacup slowly.

Isabell de Rousseau, at your service.

Imogen arched a brow slightly, while an apathetic expression adorned her delicate features, adding to the somewhat unearthy aura that hung about her... hm, this vampire woman held more than what meets the eye.. that was apparent. And something about her stirred Imogen's curiousity; far more interesting than her days spent with Laen... or any other family member, for that matter.
While her gloved fingers curled a little tighter about the coffee cup, the woman caught her bottom lip between her teeth, studying Isabell before answering.. vampires' usually held some kind of power over others... yet her brother had no fear of them, whatsoever. So why should she?

At my service? I highly doubt that, darling... tell me, what do you find so interesting about me, exactly?

Her attitude towards Margaret was becoming extremely irritable... no time for small talk... Imogen just didn't do it. It was something that she had no time for, nor any inclination to even try... and she had no mind to answer questions about her childhood, or her personal life- which was where the conversation with Margaret was obviously heading.
"How awful for you.."

_________________
Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

'Ah-ah-ah. You still owe me an answer to my other question, quid pro quo. What are you?'

Isabell smirked, raising the teacup to her lips once more.

'In fact, why don't we take this conversation elsewhere. You seem as tired of this place as I feel, and your mortal friend is tempting me.'

That, of course, was a joke. She wasn't the least bit thirsty at all, but she assumed Imogen would be able to find the humor in it. It wasn't intended to be intimidating, and she hoped it wouldn't come across that way. However..musing now to herself, Isabell imagined that this character wasn't easily intimidated to begin with.
She shifted slightly in her seat, her angular face now absorbing a new hue of light from the candles, now shooting Imogen an expectant glance.


[Having difficulty with italics, sorry about that.]

Imogen fought the urge to laugh.. this was certainly the best fun she had participated in, in months... mortals just didn't have the same ability to stay calm, and take things as a game... and that became utterly boring.
Sitting up a little straighter, the woman raised the coffee cup to her lips; draining its contents, yet not really tasting it.. what lay ahead was far more interesting.
Remaining seated, she drummed her thin, gloved fingers on the head of the white cane, before reaching out to the tall hat that she had placed at the table, just next to her left hand.
It seened to Imogen, that Isabell was enjoying this little game, just as much as she was... maybe, anyway.. something in her voice seemed to give that away.

"Alright... off we go, then.. I do hope you have a place in mind, unless of course, you wish to spend the evening at somewhat dull gathering... dancing and such.."

Imogen smirked slightly, elevating both brows, again,

"And I would guess that isn't your taste..."

_________________
Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Ok, my charries name is Amber, any suggestions on how i should start??

_________________

<center>


~Thank you to Estë Undómë for the Beeeautiful Banners & Avvie <3 ~