How Many Strikes Until You're Out?, TAG: Jayme Tisdale & Claude Lorette

[Vanessa Lee]

The young woman was no longer who she used to be. Oh no, times had changed and with hit so had she. Gait was long and elegant as she walked along the city street. Stiletto boots clicked along the asphalt, stopping just inches above her knees before revealing a small expanse of flesh before a miniscule denim skirt covered her lingerie. She had recently become acustomed to such seductive wear for before it had just been an enamored pleasure. Opening the door to the club, giggling amongst her friends of the pard, she slipped into the shadows. After many times being asked for ID, she didn't bother any longer and simply befriended the guard. He was a vampire and admitted her with a flash of fangs and a once over with his dark saphire gaze. Walking through the door effortlessly balanced, she made sure to make a show of her curves while sauntering in through the door in the mini skirt and high boots. Black fishnet stockings gave a naughty appearence, dark smoky eyeshadow and bright reddish gloss the flavor of raspberrys completed the appearence. She was wearing a black haltertop with a low neck line and a rather short length. A large emerald was worn on a tight collar necklace of black velvet, a gift from her Nimir-raj. Waiting for her friends just inside the door, the young woman guided the group to a small booth right up close to the stage. There was a small reserved sign on the table, written neatly in the Master's script. So he knew she would be here... smart man he was. Letting the girls seat themselves first, she sat on the end, crossing her legs in front of her and gazing up at the stage through a shroud of ebony tresses.

Ordering herself an apple martini, she placed her palm around the knee of the newest addition to the pard. The tension evident within the other woman's body was obvious, her aura tense and sharp around the edges. She was a new shifter and had just learned to tame her beast. Not bad for a new one. Purring deeply, she tried to soothe the others aura and settle the stirring beast. Running her fingertips along her thigh soothingly, she pulled away from the warmth of the woman as she returned the low purr. Following the other's gaze at the stage, she joined in the applause as the next act came on, a vampire by the cool prickling sensation of his approaching power. He was the newly dead, a faint youth softening the rouge edges of vampiric power. Wrinkling her nose, she scented the air, the new leopards following suit, thinking something was amiss. The tingling sensation of familiarity, the sweet scent of cologne, of soap of Jay- no, it couldn't be him.

Low snarl fell from her trapt, emerald gaze glued on the curtains that revealed the entering and exiting acts. As the figure slowly made its way onto the stage, the familiar taste of Jayme flooded her mouth, a shiver running down her spine and tightening things low in her stomach. The other girls were sexually turned on by him, vampire glamour and his sheer appearence. Each layer of clothing fell from his body and the girls were attentive. The glamour didn't work on here- she knew the real deal, she knew what it was like to run her fingers along the tattoo just above his groin, to fondle his gems hidden by the g-string and to taste those warm succulent lips. Now they would be cold, for he was the undead. It was amazing how things could change so rapidly. Hairs raised on her arms, the beast within her pacing, craving release as were other parts of her mind, body and soul. The other leopards glanced at her, nervous looks on their faces for they felt her power rise. She was the oldest one out of the group and by far the most powerful. They feared her, but they trusted her... that alone meant a lot. Shaking it off, she stared at the stage, just beneath where the floor lie. Trying to soothe her aura, she felt the tugging of his power, naturally drawn to hers. The swirling warmth of her aura mixing with his, letting the two powers cross, mold indefinately before hiding from the other. The audience broke in a sudden uproar, the act must be over. The vampire on stage collected the money that fell from his g-string and grinned that devious smile that Jean-Claude's line could master so effectively, and Jayme both before and after death. Silent tears fell within her soul, daggers penetrating her heart indefinately. The clapping ceased and various female [and even male] audience members thrust themselves to the stage before being pulled off by not exactly the most delightful of vampiric guards. A series of hands were felt grabbing her clothing and flesh, the girls pulling closer, a pleading look on their eyes. "Can we PLEASE go try and find him? Please?!" She wanted decline, to say no and to crawl deeper into the hole she dug for herself. And in this hole lie Vex, and clinging to her breast their baby.

The moments from which the girls made their way back outside to when they hurriedly stopped at the door passed in a blur. There was a small crowd around the young vampire with a bodyguard off to one side, just outside the doorway, arms crossed in a look that was not meant to be pulled off with that much muscle. The crowd grew as the wereleopard females joined the group. Shields were locked tightly in place for the leader of this particular place, ensuring her aura was as locked as it could be. The group got closer, a few daring of the cluster running their palms along the young vampire's chest, tracing his neckline, the tattoo sleeve and even teasing him with their necks, pulling down their shirts a bit to reveal even some bare breast. Low snarl escaped the woman's lips, subconciously, quiet, warning to the leopards to control themselves. Clicking her tongue she kept her head turned away from the vampire, though no doubt it wouldn't make a difference. Coming to his side, she gently ran her shaking fingertips along his jawline, breathing ragged, shaky and coming in sharp gasps at that gentle touch. Her raspberry tainted lips mouthed a soundless word, "Jayme..." before pulling away. A single tear fell down her perfectly made up cheek, arms wrapping around themselves in the cold. The lycanthropes didn't feel the cold like humans but a sudden chill got to her. It wasn't on the surface, but rather deep within her soul and the melting shell of her heart.

The lycanthropes pulled away, feeling her power rise as emotions flared within her. Love, hate, pain, guilt.. everything all in one. A deep inhale was taken inward, the scent of another female lining his body. It wasn't just the customers that were groping him, but it was something else she could clearly distinguish. This scent wasn't that of Storm Crauford, but another feminine, recent, dark, powerful. Another shudder ran through her spine. It had been years, he had the right to move on. Oh how part of her wished she could've moved on, to have slept with other males for sex, for leisure, for pleasure. The only sleeping she had done was with the Nimir-raj, with the leopards for comfort, for others to catch her falling tears as they appeared night after night when her dreams stirred her and brought her. Pulling away from the vampire, the one she knew before death and as he faced death of a different sort, she couldn't totally handle it. Putting her hand on the hip of one of the leopards, the woman was engulfed in arms. Her beast settled instantaneously, scenting another of its kind and rolling around in the scent before falling into slumber. Nodding as she pulled away from the other woman's grasp, she stood before the vampire. Blinking deep viridans that had turned a bit brighter, the slightest bit more catlike before that disappeared and returned to their usual viridian selves. "Oh what time can do..." the woman muttered helplessly, coughing on tears before forcing them to stop. Brushing them away with the back of her wrist, she settled her gaze on the vampire's, avoiding mindtricks artfully, but somehow wishing he'd bespell her, to make the pain all go away and to start anew. Yes, she still loved him.


ooc// done- 1,451 words.

[Jayme Tisdale]

So, life as the undead wasn’t as good as it was cracked up to be. Well, it did save on groceries and electric bills for household appliances such as your typical oven, microwave, refrigerator and freezer. As well as freeing up lots of cabinet space for random items such as clothes. Hey! It saved the young vampire from having to buy an armoire or dresser. But, beyond that, Jayme was begrudged to stay within the recluse of his apartment during the daylight hours or the Circus of the Damned, dead to the world until the golden sun vanished behind the horizon.

But when he did rise, Jayme had to give up his human job as occasional bartender, well, he had sort of been fired from that job before he had been turned for drinking behind the bar… but, lets not get technical shall we? So, after becoming one of the undead, Jayme had to find a job, which wasn’t difficult seeing that his maker and Sourde de sang was Jean-Claude, owner of Guilty Pleasures, yes, the strip club.

Jayme admitted that the first few nights of ‘stripper boot camp’ were interesting, and wholly embarrassing. Jean-Claude had sent Jayme to try-out just for his desirable appearance, and somehow had thought Jayme would mix well with being a stripper. Well, going from a broke, struggling musician who wore rags for clothes to a man who took his clothes off in front of an audience wasn’t exactly appealing.

Smiling to himself, Jayme stood in the dressing room backstage in Guilty Pleasures. He spent the last ten minutes of his freedom before going onstage in complete solitude, unless he needed help with his outfit which was more common than naught. Sitting on the stool in front of the brightly lit mirror, the lithe vampire applied the last touches of his stage makeup which consisted of merely liquid eyeliner the hue of coal. Jean-Claude had said that it brought out the green even more so in his eyes, as well as matching his raven locks.

Jayme had become a pro at the routine after only two years of performing in front of desperate woman, professional enough to become the most requested of the performers, even those who had been on stage for years before he had come along. So much for practice makes perfect, when he had first started his career, he took the stage by storm his opening night. Nervousness and all. But strangely enough, Jayme felt at ease on stage, a soft calmness, a wave of ease and so much else.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Jayme rose off of the stool to look at himself in the full length mirror on the other side of the room. In the silence the leather creaked ever so slightly as the boots clicked along the surface. Black boots, leather pants so tight they looked painted on and a black fishnet shirt finished the ensemble. But what lay underneath was what had caused him so much trouble fitting in the first place. Glimpses could be caught under the matte black, slotted shirt of thin strips of leather strung over his shoulders and along his abdomen, it was sleeveless. But where the bits of leather criss-crossed, silver studs were riveted, and small spikes peering out through the webbed fabric in a shimmering display. Weaved through holes around the leather pant’s waist was a silver chain sash.
Sighing some to himself, Jayme got up from the stool as Stephen, a fellow stripper, walked into the room. “Its time for the crowd to see Valo perform, Tisdale.” Stephen’s voice teased slightly. Jayme smiled and nodded, turning sideways at a full length mirror one last time and walked out of the dressing room to the hallway which led to the stage’s door. Thoughts passed through Jayme’s mind like a blur, this wouldn’t be like just any other strip, someone he cared about would be in the audience, someone who had seen the whole package and seemingly liked him enough to come and watch him perform before their date. Yea, he had asked Claude out on a date just after they had had sex, strange isn’t it? Sex before the date? Well, one would have thought it would have made things less awkward, but Jayme felt the exact opposite. How do you have a quiet chit-chat at a café after the other person had seen everything there was about you? The vampire wasn’t used to actually talking to, or going further with the woman he had had a one night stand with… this was a first. Not only had he taken Claude’s virginity, but he had asked her on a date, and she had accepted. Hell, even before the date she was going to see him strip in front of a crowd of unruly, lustful women all ogling him. But, at least she got to feel that he was hers afterwards, not theirs.

Parting the curtains gently with his fingertips, Jayme’s jade hued eyes peered through to see the announcer call out his name and heard the ear-piercing shrieks of the woman he couldn’t see in the mass hysteria. It was dark enough that he never knew who was yelling his name, except those trying to grab at his thong, that’s sorta hard to ignore. When the announcer left the stage, Jayme heard the music start to thrum, and the curtains spilled open as he practically danced out onto the stage. Looking at no one in particular, Jayme winked and gave the crowd a sultry grin, all masculine and knowing. Finding a rhythm with the music’s bass, he began to dance across the platform, and down the lit runway to the edge where he seductively began to rub the course, fishnet shirt up his sides, eventually removing it with ease. The leather creaked as he grabbed a chair and used it as a prop to his best advantage. Oozing sex appeal with his aura, Jayme allowed his powers to glide over the crowd wave after wave, the ardeur nibbling on it like a pretzel with a rabid like abandon. Falling off the stage with a fluid ease, he slid to the floor with a mock after orgasm glaze upon his eyes, his mouth parted as he ‘made love’ to the stage in the shimmery black thong. How did he lose the strapped shirt, pants and boots? Illusion my dear Watson. Illusion.

The shrills of the audience were almost too much to handle as he drew himself up to his knees, back bowed in faux orgasm as his lips parted to reveal fangs, a silent scream. It was almost an art-form, stripping was. Crawling along the stage as if he had muscles in places no human had, Jayme worked the crowd and felt fingers grasp his last strip of clothing just enough to place bills before he started the rest of his dance. Taking the time to search the room, he let his aura reach out and touch the audience…. A cool power was felt in the far corner. Using his excellent night vision, Jayme spotted Claude sitting as far away from the sex-crazed fans as she could get. He saw her spot him, he gave her a wink and licked his lips seductively, running the tip of his tongue across his fangs suggestively. But then, he felt another power brush his own… this was warm… unlike Claude’s or his power. Definitely not vampire… but lycanthrope. No lycan he knew came to Guilty Pleasures for viewing.. just for work. Who could it be? Shrugging it off, he felt a hand get a little too friendly with his bits as he felt a hand close over him he pulled away gently and smiled at the random fan who’d touched him, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth he admonished her, but instead of anger in his eyes, he held the sexy, “im thinking wicked thoughts about you” stage appeal to mask his discomfort. All in a days job, right?

[Claude Lorette]

When you enter a strip club, you expect to see women or men of all ages, shapes, sizes and variations of beauty at tables, watching men or women in various stages of undress, dancing around a stage. You expect to see dollar bills, c notes and more thrown to the performers by lustful women and men. You expect to see them standing up, as close to the stage as they can get. You usually see them trying to touch the performers in more private areas. You expect scanty clothing on performers and customers. But what do you not expect to see? You don't expect to see a girl, barely 19, sitting in a corner, as far away from the stage as possible, reading a thick copy of Harry Potter. She would not be wearing a Pirates of the Caribbean hoodie with a light shirt beneath it. Nor would she be wearing camouflage pants, both sets of clothing left everything to the imagination. She would not be keeping her vision pointedly away from the stage, especially when Jayme Tisdale did his performance. And yet, there she was. A petite redhead with a copy of Harry Potter on the table in front of her, just waiting for his performance to end. She sat far away from the stage, but as his aura tugged on hers, she looked up just in time to see him wink. She smiled and flushed, then returned to her book.

She hated this place. Generally, the petite redhead was singing in a nearby club, because strip centers had no place for a teenager who needed to make money to survive on. All money from her parents and her aunt had left her in their wills went towards her college tuition. It covered all of it but not a penny was left for her. She barely made a living with her singing and usually didn't make enough to buy any comfort items. Her apartment was small, well, no it wasn't. Her parents had owned the studio and left it to her in the will, rent paid off in advance. I twas like her father had known he would die soon. And so he had left her an apartment. She bit her lip again as she felt a warn power enter the club. Lycanthropic. She frowned but returned to her book. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. She had read it hundreds of times before. She frowned again as she continued to read. Igor Karkaroff was dead now. It was Harry's birthday and Mrs. Weasley was frowning because of Lupin's bad news bringing. She laughed lightly, attracting glares from the more enthusiastic slu...customers. She stayed back as Jayme's show continued, barely watching. She'd seen enough of him to know things they never would.

[Jayme Tisdale]

Collecting the fallen bills that couldn’t fit inside his tight G-string, Jayme strode across the darkened stage, swaying his hips just so as he left. After passing through the velvet curtains, Jayme let out a sigh of relief. Looking at the neat wad of cash, he counted the bills as he walked back to his dressing room. In total, he had raked in about a hundred bucks in mere tips, nothing compared to his actual salary, but it made nice spending cash. It wasn’t like he had to buy food or anything along those lines. Just laundry detergent and clothes for the most part, occasionally some earrings for his pierced lobes.

Crossing the threshold of his dressing room, Jayme flipped the light switch and eyed some of his wardrobe that he had brought with him for the date with Claude. Leaving the G-string on[yes, it was very comfortable], he grasped a pair of his favorite jeans. Slipping on the tight, dark wash denim, he buttoned them and fingered through the clothes rack for a top. If he had his choice, he would have just worn a vest or gone topless. But, he was playing human tonight for the public eye, so going out in 25 degree weather shirtless wasn’t very convincing. Picking out a worn band tee shirt, he slipped it over his head and grasped for his heavy, black leather jacket he donned it. Fetching his favorite red guitar pick necklace, he slid it over his head and looked for a pair of silver loops. Once found, he took a silver needle and pierced his already healed earlobes and slipped the earrings into the freshly made holes. Shaking his hair some, he ran his fingers through it a few times and pronounced it acceptable.

Walking over to the mirror he removed his eye makeup with some water and toweled his face before tossing on a pair of black doc martin’s. Looking in the mirror one last time, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself, and think, “My god.. I’m such a pre Madonna…” But it was true, when he stepped outside of the club, he would be met with a crowd of raging teens and not so young females out for his autograph and perhaps a little groping. Smiling, he walked out of the dressing room, money in his g-string for safekeeping, hey, he needed that for the date. Its not like he would be eating or drinking, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to pay for Claude’s dinner whether he could eat it or not. All he could look forward to was watching her eat and wafting in the-oh-so sweet odors of fries and perhaps a hamburger at the Lunatic Café.

Hesitantly he opened the door knob that led outside, putting on his famous stage smirk he greeted his fans with a fanged grin. Ear piercing shrieks lit up the otherwise peaceful alleyway. Buzz and some other security were there to help escort him amongst the raging estrogen. Before he could think, he had been shoved a pen and numerous pads of paper. Dutifully, Jayme scribbled his signature more times than he could remember on pink, purple, lined, unlined and scented papers of various sizes. Well, not his REAL name… his stage name, Valo. Which meant light, how ironic right? He thought so. Every so often a few exuberant fans would request a hug, which he gave obligingly, but also, a brazen one would reach to pinch his ass, or run their fingers down his chest. At first, it had overwhelmed him, but now, it was all apart of the job description. And the ardeur sure as hell wasn’t complaining with the opportunity to feast upon such endless lust.

The sea of human admirers was soon tainted with the taste of lycanthrope. Before he had a chance to search for it, the group of young female lycans were right in front of his face shoving more paper at him. As he signed dutifully, he grinned wryly at their compliments and reviews of his performance. All the while, Jayme stretched his aura’s finger tips out try and feel for Claude’s. He felt it at the edge of the crowd, he didn’t blame Claude for staying as far away from the stampede as she could. It was better for his image anyways. Allow the fans to think that he was available… it made the experience all the more dazzling. Just a few days ago, the image had been the truth. But now.. he didn’t know. Just as he had finished doing the lycanthrope hoard’s autographs, the most of the crowd had filed off into the alleyway to see the other performers or to party. Handing the last autograph to a blonde lycanthrope with iceberg blue eyes, he felt a slight caress along his jawline. At first he just thought it belonged to an overzealous fan, but when he turned to see whom the finger belonged to, Jayme dropped the pen.

No.. it couldn’t be.. could it? The young vampire caught himself staring at a blast from the not so distant past. How had he not noticed her before? His aura poked at hers unconsciously.. oh.. that was why. Eying her carefully he backed up a few steps. Buzz gave him a bewildered look and started to step forward to tell the fans to back up some.. but Jayme touched his arm and said it was okay. Furrowing his brow some Jayme stared at Vanessa. Her espresso hued locks, golden skin, and dazzling emerald eyes. Her raspberry lip gloss’s scent wafted to his acute nares, it was her. But how had she become one of the ‘lunarly challenged’? Jayme had adopted the term since befriending Nathaniel, Jason and Stephen. After two tries to find his words Jayme uttered softly,

“V-Vanessa? H-How? Why are you here?” Had she seen him strip on stage? Did it bother him? Yes, it did. Somehow the first time after seeing your exwife, being seen onstage stripping down to a g-string didn’t exactly strike him as on the top ten ways to make a good impression. And beyond the fact that became furry at least once a month, what the hell was she doing in St. Louis? How long had she been here? Shit.. Claude was still back in the corner waiting for him to come down for their date… figures that Vex decided to poof out of thin air just as he was beginning to move on.