"Ballerina, you must've seen her, dancin' in the sand~"
Remys soft voice could be heard throughout the place he called his home as he sang along to the record player in the corner of his room, moving his hips rather slowly to the music. He stood tall in front of a full-body length mirror which leaned against the dark purple walls of his apartment, the thick golden frame shining as a small beam of light from the low sunset outside the window hit its edge. it was nearly 8 PM, the perfect time for any Nightstalker like Remington to be out, and oh was he excited.
He danced around a little more while he spiked his hair up, soon moving on to his outfit. His makeup had been done for at least an hour now, all that was left was to pick something eye-catching from his closet. Though that wasn't exactly hard. Everything he owned was eye-catching, but then again, it's not like what he wore mattered much.
The clothes were being worn for the sole purpose of being ripped off later anyway.
With a quick look through his closet, Remy found what he needed; A black leather mini skirt, plain black crop-top, and thigh-high leather boots. He added fishnet tights and a leopard print coat to the outfit for a little extra style. Some would say he's crazy for wearing such a heavy jacket in the blazing heat of a Louisiana night, but what did they know? His skin was always so cold, a fur jacket would do him more good than harm.
Remy took one last look in the mirror, making sure he looked perfect before grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment. He took the stairs down to the lobby, he always preferred the stairs, and happily smiled as he passed the doorman sitting at the front desk.
"Hiya', John!"
"Evening, Remy. You headin' out?"
"Ya' know'it," Remy winked at the man as he jokingly added " now don't'cha wait up for meh!"
He exits the building, the sun now fully set. Remy had a special ring that prevented the sun from bringing him any harm, but regardless, he enjoyed being out at night much more than being out during the day.
The night was when things got interesting.
He's well on his way now, walking the short distance between his apartment building and the old bar he spent most of his nights at. The Carousel Bar; Remys favorite place on earth. His heels click against the pavement, and he sways his hips ever so gently as he walks. He passes by countless people on the street, though he speaks to none of them.
He has no time to speak.
He's already late as it is.
Remy enters the Carousel just as elegantly as he always had, catching the attention of a few strangers. Perhaps he liked the attention. Remy was known to be quite the attention whore, or just a whore in general, really.
He gave a friendly smile to the bartender, a tall brunette known as Ronnie Crew, who was decked out in leather, chains, and a torn-up New York Dolls shirt. Remy admired his style, but Ronnies fashion sense could wait to be addressed another day. Remy had something much more important on his mind.
The man sitting on the other side.
A scrawny, blue-eyed, blonde-haired man, couldn't possibly be any older than 22, with a nervous look in his eyes. This man knew exactly who Remy was, and that was exactly what Remy needed from him. He didn't need to know anything other than the fact that Remy was more than willing to take him to bed, and Ronnie had warned him as he always does, but the warnings were never quite strict enough, because in the end Remy always got what he came for.
Dinner and a show.
Remy walks over, his smile turning into a smirk. He sat up on the bar, rather than in the seat provided; Ronnie always hated that. Perhaps that's why he did it so often. He crosses his legs, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop as he leans slightly forward, eyeing the blonde man like an animal getting ready to attack their prey.
