It perplexed her how the wizard did not seem to acknowledge her true nature, all too concerned about the piece of metal she carried on the curve of her lower back. In her eyes, he ought to be powerful, it did not make sense if he weren’t and her quietude served nothing if he weren’t capable of obliging to her demands. Victoria was an officer, someone who carried not only a pistol, but a badge as well. If he knew about her clear morals, the blond certainly wouldn’t expect that weapon to become threatening to him. She would never shoot, unless strictly necessary to preserve someone else’s life. Besides, she was a vampire. She could leave the gun and still murder him.
Victoria said nothing, remaining in silence while her azure orbs analyzed the man’s features. He didn’t seem to be bothered by her presence once it had been noticed, and he easily brushed off her closeness. Her gaze scanned him from head to toe, challengingly, after hearing the suggestion about leaving her working tool behind. Her expression was serious, neutral, and hands rested behind her figure, fingers intertwined of each hand. “Gonna be in the coffee shop next door.” That’s all she said before turning on her heels and striding down the corridor, toward the exit.
As stated, there was the blonde, sitting at a table, lonesome, eyes lost somewhere beyond the street. Her gaze wasn’t brave anymore - differently, her eyes carried a sorrow in the sapphire pool of her irises, a sadness infused in her soul. That’s how she felt since transformed: as if discouragement were engraved in her DNA and she were cursed with the destiny of always missing the glow of life. There was a coffee cup on the surface, untouched. No matter how much she drank or ate regular food, there was always this burning thirst in her, insatiably frustrating.
Distracted, she took more than usual to realize the man had arrived. The deputy snapped out of her thoughts, straightening herself on her seat. Without any warnings, she pulled out her gun, settling it on the center of the table, halfway from both of them. It wasn’t a threat, she was just unarming herself, as requested. Victoria couldn’t ‘get rid of the gun’ just because he asked, she had to have it with her at all times - it was a natural need, developed over years in the police department. “You gotta help me,” she said, leaving no space for second thoughts. Her elbows propped on the table as she bent slightly forward, eyes piercing into his. “I’m a vamp,” plain and simple, Vic shared the information, voice not too high, not too whispery, not wanting to catch anyone’s attention. “And I gotta find my maker. But before,” she paused, “I need to find out who the fuck are them.” Focused on nothing but her conversation, she pulled the coffee cup aside, lacing her fingers together before her. “If you help me, I won’t give you to Marcel. And you’ll use my blood for your creepy voodoo - no more humans. I know it’s stronger, so it’ll make us find them faster.” Once she was over, she was again lying back, eyeing him from a distance, only one hand at the table, while the other picked her thumb under it. She was anxious, nervous, afraid that might go wrong. But he wouldn’t see past her brave façade, if it was up to her. “What ‘you say?”
As she turned and walked away, her close proximity finally came of use -- and Donovan thought, ah. It made a lot more sense to him why she had left after their meeting the night before, letting him go back to what he was. He had assumed she had knowledge of the supernatural, but he never thought anyone was the supernatural until he had it confirmed. The chills ran down his back and Donovan smiled, to no one but himself. It most likely wasn’t the best situation that a vampire was coming to search him out, but if she hadn’t already tore his head off his neck, then he could guarantee this meeting was going to be fun.
Donovan took his time making his way to the coffee shop. Whatever she wanted from him, he needed her to be as desperate as possible in the short time frame. He wanted the option of telling her no, if it came to that. The man had an odd fear of guns, but that wouldn’t mean anything if she decided witch blood was on the menu today. He walked into the shop and spotted her out instantly, but instead of heading straight towards her, he went up to the counter, ‘hmmm’d’ to himself for a moment, and then ordered a hot chocolate, getting the weirdest look from the barista. Donovan gave a weird look back and took his drink when offered, making sure to stick two dollars in the tip jar; he wasn’t a total monster.
Finally, he made his way over to the table and not two seconds into his first sip, the woman was setting a gun on the table. Donovan choked, having been the few moments he was taken by surprise, and reached out to push it back at her. “Christ, woman. I said get rid of it, not show the entire city of New Orleans you can pop off at any moment.” He shook his head and glanced around, keeping an eye out for any of Marcel’s day walkers. This woman had no idea who he was; he didn’t know how in the loop she was with Marcel, but Donovan didn’t know how she’d react if she knew how pissed Marcel was about his sister being taken from her prison.
He crossed his arms and looked out the window as she spoke, his mind turning where his eyes wouldn’t. Donovan could already tell her: no magic of his could tell her who her maker was. Maybe there was some spell, somewhere out of reach that did that, but nothing in the Leonhart history. Donovan had spent his better childhood memorizing every spell in them; or, at least, the ones his parents let him have. He was sure they were still keeping a few spell books hidden away, but that was all in due time. And he still didn’t care when she offered not turning him into Marcel. He was on that shit list already. Then she mentioned her blood and Donovan perked up, meeting her stare for the first time since reacting to the gun. His eyebrows raised and he leaned forward in his chair, his interest the most obvious thing about him. “You’d give your blood up, just like that? You’re a fool,-- what is your name? I’m Donovan for the record,” he smiled, letting his arms hold themselves on the table, “if I’m going to be using your blood for my voodoo, we should be friends.”
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