||[Feb. 11th, 2008|04:26 pm]
Dead Soldiers: A 1920s Roleplaying Game
Who: Dorothy Campbell and Dante Antonelli|
Where: Dante's speakeasy
When: Around midnight. Who knows, everyone here's drunk anyways!
What: Dottie is flitting around Dante's speakeasy looking for something to occupy her time with when she manages to catch sight Dante himself.
There was nothing Dorothy Campbell enjoyed more than spending an evening at a speakeasy flirting with handsome, intoxicated men and, well, getting a little tipsy herself. Most alcohol had lost its taste since the little change in her life a few years prior but the appeal of a buzz still hadn't quit lost its flare for her. It was, in fact, still enjoyable enough for her to endure the unpleasant taste alcohol now left in her mouth most every night of the week.
And this night was no exception. Unfortunately it was a Sunday night, though, so all the handsome men had gone home early and the speakeasy was somewhat empty, at least as far as Dottie was concerned. Even her small number of friends had left early, leaving her to sit at the bar twirling back and forth on her stool as she daintily sipped her drink through the stirrer. A pair of pale blue eyes scanned the dance floor, the marked emptiness reminding her just how bored she was. Even the band was playing a dull tune at this point. Regardless of all this, though, she didn't want to go home.
And then she caught sight of him; Dante Antonelli, the head of the joint. She'd seen him a few times before, even chatted with him once or twice. By her usual standards, he wasn't particularly handsome but just having the knowledge that he was rich; rich enough to own this establishment to begin with, and smart enough to run it...that and, well, he was one of the first successful vampires she had run across...she was more than willing to toss that standard out the window for him. She squeaked and jumped slightly, taking one last sip from her drink before she set it down on the counter behind her and found a quick and light gait carrying her over to him.
"Hiya, Mister Antonelli!" She chirped as she managed to catch up just behind him. Her high voice was thick with her usual (and rather obnoxious) northern accent, and her skinny fingers reached out to grip his arm. She quickly matched his pace to bring herself to his side, "Gee, it's dull in here tonight. How can you even stand it in here on Sundays, huh?"
The giggle that followed sounded akin to a mule that had been sucking helium.