[Ariyah – Fremont – Sean’s Clay Corner – BoL – NA]
[Wake roll: Success | BoL roll: Failed | Hunger: 1 –> 2]
Early evening pottery class at Sean’s Clay Corner. It was the usual crowd, so about six people sitting in a studio lined with shelves stacked with projects at various stages of completion. The lighting was kept bright but not glaring, to allow for proper illumination without eye strain.
The sounds in the room were held at a low murmur as most students focused on their work.
Ariyah kept her eyes on her wheel as she made yet another attempt at pulling up a wall. Throwing clay was certainly not her forte, but sometimes it was good to try different things.
The spinning column of clay collapsed between her hands.
Definitely not her forte.
A low chuckle came from behind her, “You nearly got it this time, but remember, there’s no bad try, you learn from each mistake you make.”
Ariyah smiled at Clarke, the instructor for the night, as she cut the toppled clay cylinder from the wheel. The middle-aged man walked away, and Ariyah sighed as she slapped another ball of clay on her wheel.
Throwing clay was not the only thing she was having no luck with tonight. She’d tested a couple of the other students tonight and either they were devoid of any meaningful aura, or their scent was so cold and bitter it made her nose sting.
[Bloodhound: Resolve + Awareness: 6 successes vs 4 diff | Success | Melancholy]
[Bloodhound: Resolve + Awareness: 2 successes vs 4 diff | Failed | 1WP]
Sometimes she wonders whether she should do what some of her brethren do; go to a club, wink as some unsuspecting kine, take them to the back for a make-out session, and bob’s your uncle, you’ve got yourself a willing midnight snack. Not to mention that most of them would be smelling of the nice happy stuff that Ariyah preferred.
But Ariyah was never a clubbing person when she was alive, so she’s never really picked up the habit when she died.
It’s one of the reasons she’s still debating on whether to attend the rave later that night.
On the one hand, she’s never been to a rave before, so it’ll be an experience for her. But on the other, she has nothing to wear. She’d been alive and breathing during the 90s, and she cringes every time she thinks of what constituted fashion back in those days.
After finally managing to shape a couple of non-collapsing cylinders, Ariyah took her clay scraps to the collection bin for recycling. Out of habit, she inhaled as she walked passed a curly-haired woman.
[Bloodhound: Resolve + Awareness: 5 successes vs 4 diff | Success | Sanguine]
Ah, that’s what she was looking for.
Just to make sure, Ariyah took a second breath. The mix of citrus and honey tickled the back of her throat as she continued her way to the recycle bin. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the woman intently focused on her clay.
The woman was solidly built and much taller than Ariyah’s petit frame. Although with her serious expression, she didn’t look like the stereotypically sanguine person, there’s no denying the scent of joy and happiness emanating from the woman’s blood.
And Ariyah wanted that blood.
She wasn’t starving, at least not more than usual, but this woman would be the perfect solution to Ariyah dilemma. If Ariyah was lucky, this woman’s blood might contain more than just a fleeting high, and Ariyah might have fun at the rave tonight.
[Scene Queen Hunting Check: Manipulation + Persuasion + Awe: 2 successes vs Diff 4 – 1 Fame | Failed | 1WP]
But tonight just wasn’t Ariyah’s night.
Ariyah spent the whole class keeping half an eye on the curly-haired woman, waiting for her to look up, catch her eye, maybe turn on a little awe. But the woman resolutely kept her head down, focusing solely on the clay in front of her.
Ariyah was so frustrated by the process, her own progress suffered, and she spent more time wedging her failed attempts than working on the wheel.
Ariyah held onto the hope that she might catch the woman at the end of class, maybe turn on her charm and ask for a ride back downtown. But when she came out of the building after cleaning up, she saw the woman get picked up by her boyfriend-maybe-husband-maybe-significant-other in his car.
There goes her meal for tonight, Ariyah grumbled to herself as she brought up the car-sharing service app on her phone. She didn’t have much time to try another place; she still had to go home and get changed for the rave.
Perhaps she could try her luck again later; there was the unspoken rule of no feeding at the rave, but probably on the way there…
[Ariyah leaves in a Lyft for her have in #chinatown.]