Pragmatic - 8.24.2013 [Bertram]

Bertram Kohl

The problem with a new city, regardless of which city it might be, it took time in order to get a feel for the place. Only a fool would relocate move to a new city and then neglect getting the opportunity to get to know it.

So he found himself pulled towards the arts district. It had far less to do with art, appreciation for art wasn't exactly something he was known for, it was more a pull to understand exactly where it was he lived and exactly who made it home.

Betram was well dressed, his suit tailored to fit his figure. He wasn't precisely large, or particularly tall, and to be honest he didn't really stand out in a crowd apart from that suit of his, which he seemed in ridiculously good shape!

He made his way into one of the many galleries that lined the streets here. He might have little interest in the art, but the artists were more than enough to draw him off the street and into the gallery so he could take the time to better familiarize himself with the denizens of this city. He was slow and casual as he made his way around the gallery, giving each piece equal concentration except for a few which happen to stand out for whatever reason.

Apart from the suit there wouldn't be much to separate him from any of the dozen or so collectors who happened to be out and about tonight, a few of them are also wearing suits to it'd be just a little more difficult. Still there was something about him, an air of confidence, command. The way he held himself was proud and certain... First impressions are always important.


Molly Toombs

Molly wasn't the type of girl to come to art galleries on a regular basis.  She didn't consider herself a very cosmopolitan girl, and she didn't come from a background of wealth either.  She hadn't build herself a vast fortune in business or fame, so she certainly couldn't afford to bring home anything that was hanging in this gallery tonight.

She was on a date.  This was something she'd agreed to about two weeks ago, before things started getting strange in her world.  This was before she encountered the oddly compelling man with the pale gray eyes at the bar-- before she'd nearly lost her life to gun violence in an alleyway.

Before she was walked home by a corpse.

She was dressed nicely, in a navy blue dress that was cinched with a thin braided brown belt at her waist.  The skirt on the dress was cut to mid-thigh, with a higher neckline and short sleeves.  Her hair was left down, curled and kinked, and her make-up was done nice.  She wore a matching necklace and earring set of coral-colored glass, and had sandals tied about her feet.  She stood beside a plain looking man somewhere in his late twenties with a mildly receding hairline and straw colored hair for what remained.  He wore slacks and a button up shirt and was talking with two other people with a glass of wine in his hand.

Molly looked distracted.  She was hovering near the man's side, but barely paying any attention at all to the conversation happening in front of her.  It wasn't her date's fault, really.  He wasn't the rude one.  Molly had been distant all night, so she didn't have hard feelings to the fact that the man, after about forty mintues of trying to keep the curvy woman he'd brought with him engaged, gave up and decided to spend the night talking with the friends he'd brought them here for anyways.

Soon enough she excused herself from the conversation, politely enough at least, and walked away from them to the small bar they'd set up to serve complimentary drinks.  She obtained herself a glass of red wine and started moving toward the back of the gallery, hunting for a door to let herself outside into the back.  There she could get some quiet, some peace, and work out the odd claustrophobia that had settled in over the last couple of days.

There she could stare into space, sip her wine, and churn new knowledge over in her head until the turbulence abated.

Bertram Kohl

He wasn't here for anyone in particular, so his eyes darted about as he took in faces, listened in on conversations from afar, and quietly started sorting the groups, as well as the individuals within them, into categories.

People tended to have a finite number of archetypes, so it was easy enough to catalog them and file them away  and forget about them!

Molly, however, stood out. It was hard to say if it was her appearance or just the fact that she seemed to dismiss herself from the group in order to wander off on her own. It was that little fact that separated her in his mind. Over time people blended together, cattle, food, tools... Little more. So when she took the time to separate herself from the crowd she came to life right before his eyes, and those eyes followed her all the way across the room as his curiosity got the better of him.

It wasn't exactly hard for him to peel himself away from the crowd and wander in her direction. The honest truth was that these people were just as disinteresting to him as they were to Molly. So he took the time to wander towards the door, and a few minutes after Molly left he slipped out the door himself.

He leaned back against a wall and drew in a deep breath and then gave a little sigh. "Not much of an art collector?" He asks the woman while keeping his attention towards the sky. He was clearly speaking to the only other person who happened to be out there, but his eyes licked elsewhere for the moment.
Strike up a conversation, that's it, get to know the locals. It certainly can't hurt anything to know the city in which you live. Especially if you intend to live there more than a couple months!


Molly Toombs

By the time Bertram had exited through the back door as well, Molly had made herself comfortable sitting on a short stack of pallets a couple yards to the left of the door.  When the door had opened to allow a man in a fine suit to exit, Molly's head had snapped up and her eyes had cleared of the clouds of thought.  Sharp was the focus of those distinctly blue eyes on Bertram's profile for the first few seconds as he stepped outside, processing that he was a person, a man, and not whatever specters were haunting her mind.

Content with the fact that it was just an average looking dude dressed for his art crawl, she looked back to her glass, took a sip, and turned her attention up the alley.

Then he spoke, initiated conversation.  He'd asked if she wasn't much of an art collector.  The woman's eyebrows, penciled to look darker than what they naturally were (you see, she was clearly a natural redhead, given the freckles splayed across her face), raised with curiosity as her attention was focused on the man once again.

When she processed his question, she chuckled politely and shrugged her bare shoulders.  "You caught me."  The hand that wasn't holding the glass of wine was moved and held out from her body, palm up, in a one-armed 'what can you do?' gesture.

"What about you?  Just out for a smoke break?"


Bertram Kohl

He wore a smile on his face, he wore whatever mask he needed to whenever it was necessary, as his eyes drifted over whatever happened to draw his attention off in the distance. He could even be downright civilized when he needed to be. He let his eyes wander from the sky to glance in her direction and nod his head slowly.

"Well... Not a smoke, just a little fresh air. Get me into one of those places and it doesn't take more than a couple minutes and I feel like I am suffocating." He pauses a moment and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know what drew me in to begin with. Just getting to know the town I suppose." He says as his attention pulls away from her.

She was pleasant to look at, and it wasn't as if he was afraid of being "found out" but why ruin the fun so quickly? It ruined the fun, and he was in no particular rush to cause any damage or harm anyone. These things have their time and place now was not it.

"It seems like there are so many more entertaining ways of passing time, it leaves you to wonder why people would choose this one in particular. Not that I have any particular problem with art in general. Collecting, however, always seemed to be an empty hobby. Something about purchasing something someone else created because you lack the confidence to create something beautiful of your own I suppose." Casual conversation, there was another one of those talents he hasn't quite forgotten. The art of striking up a conversation about nothing in particular. It beat sitting around in the darkness dreading the inevitable, it helped to distract and pass the time.


Molly Toombs

Molly was a relatively average looking girl.  But she dressed in clothes that flattered her curves and didn't squeeze her stomach too snugly, and she was pretty good about applying make-up when she bothered to sit down and put thought and time into it.  That is to say-- Molly Toombs, when not dressed in blood-splashed scrubs from a busy night in the emergency room, cleaned up nicely.

Nice enough, apparently, that this man in his clearly expensive looking suit thought it appropriate to strike up conversation with her in this alley behind the art gallery.  She took another sip of her wine and adjusted her position where she sat on the pallets.  She turned her body so she was aimed a little more toward Bertram, and crossed one leg over the other at the knee, letting her foot bounce loosely in the air.  She wrapped one arm loosely over her stomach, just under her bust, and the other hand cradled the bottom of the wine glass, from which she still took occasional small sips.

"I don't disagree with you, stranger."  She nodded her head back inside.  "I'm not usually in this part of town unless there's a festival going on.  But I was invited out tonight."  She smiled, and the expression was a mingled touch of embarrassment and guilt, both of which she shrugged off easily the next instant.  "He's a nice enough guy.  I should feel bad for leaving him in there, but at least he has friends to talk to."

Another sip of the wine glass was taken, and she leaned forward just a little.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but this begs the question:  If you can't be in an art gallery for more than a few minutes, why were you in one in the first place?  You just said yourself that you don't even collect art."


Bertram Kohl

He nods his head slowly as she speaks about the man she came with. "It's no one's fault, really, not everyone's interests converge as we'd like them to. Still, you can't feel too bad, you're being honest with yourself, as well as him. A little honesty now and again is refreshing." He says back to her.

It'd be easy enough to end the game. To simply reveal what kind of creature she was dealing with, to do what his kind was so well known for doing. Bertram, however, found unnecessary acts of violence greatly diminished the power that such acts had in asserting control. None of that was relevant to the current situation, however, he wasn't here to assert dominance! He was here to learn, and little more.

Her question gets a little smile and a nod of his own. "It's a great answer... It's kinda like walking into a Pizza Parlor and then complaining about how much you hate pizza right?" He asks her softly before shrugging his shoulders. "I was just walking past and I saw people inside, figured I'd see if I still felt the same way after all this time. You never know... You get older, you mature, tastes change, all that..." He laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders as if he really didn't have much of an answer for it.
"Can't hurt to give things a second shot now and again. You never know what might happen." he pauses a moment then continues. "Bertram..." He offers over to the woman. An introduction seemed... Appropriate at the moment.


Molly Toombs

"That's fair," Molly had to say to the answer he gave.  "I had the same experience with celery not that long ago."

She smiled, and the expression was full of wit more than anything else.  She seemed sharp as a tack, intelligence brightened her eyes and the promise of intellectual conversation perked her interest.  It was nice to talk to someone that engaged her.  He pulled her mind away from the vast amount of studying that she had done two days before, from the experiences she'd had three and five days earlier still.  To say that this week had been a painfully hectic, world-wrenching one would be accurate, to say the least.

He offered his name, and she answered it by rising to her sandaled feet.  The back of her dress was swept with her hand a few times, knocking dust free from the dark fabric.  Her arm unfolded from her waist, and she walked the few steps it took to close distance between herself and the well-dressed man.

"Molly," she answered, and stuck out the hand that wasn't cradling the wine glass.  If she was gaining the name of a man who wore clothes that probably cost more than her month's rent, she may as well be a little more proper about it than calling her name back across their distance and supplying him with a nod as though he were just another dude at the bar.

"Bertram," she tried the name out, then inquired:  "Where does that name come from?  I don't think I've ever heard it or anything like it before."


Bertram Kohl

"It's German originally... Or at least, the name as it was given to me came out of Germany. I can't say where it comes from beyond that. It was my grandfather's name, he died when my father was fairly young and I guess he wanted to honor him." Of course now he found himself sounding like the pompous little creatures he had followed her out here to avoid.

He shook her hand firmly, not attempting to crush but certainly not taking it easy on her because she was a woman. It was something about respect, at at least the closest thing he could give a mortal woman to respect, and he saw no reason in denying it to someone who had managed to capture his attention.

Molly might detect that his hands were cold to the touch, in fact when you consider it's not exactly cold outside that might stand out as his hands were clearly a bit colder than they should be considering the temperature. This was something Bertram could have easily avoided by wearing gloves, but this was of little concern to him tonight.

"Are you native to the area? Visiting? Or a newcomer like me?" He asks her curiously. "If you don't mind my asking, of course." He concludes, not wanting to be overbearing or overly direct.


Molly Toombs

[Perception 3 + Medicine 3:  Goodness, those hands are but cold.  Whatever for?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )


Molly Toombs

The explanation he had for his name was a reasonable one.  Old German, she would take his word for it, she didn't to go college to study cultures or history after all.  When he grasped the hand she'd offered, he did so firmly without crushing her fingers.  Her grasp wasn't nearly so forward-- it was loose and gentle, a far more ladylike thing than not.

Or, it was at first at least.  But his hand was cold, astoundingly so.  The way that his skin responded to pressure and human touch wasn't what it would be if warm blood pumped regularly through those veins.  The smile slipped away from her face, and she squeezed his hand just a little bit harder, hunting for a pulse along the side of his wrist, within his fingers, between his thumb and forefinger-- anywhere that there ought to be one.  And there was none.

She realized when he asked if she was a native that he didn't draw breath between the punctuations of his sentences, as most people would.  It occurred to her that he didn't blink nearly so naturally as a living man would.  These things were uncomfortably familiar to her from a recent encounter, and her face was as serious as the grave when she let go of his hand.

The pleasantries were dropped like they had scalded her hands and done her a personal injustice in the process.  There was distrust written all over her face, her heart hop-skipped a little bit, but its pace was found again.  Her breathing stayed level, and she made sure her head did too.  She was good at that.  And after all, the tall handsome man from the other night hadn't come back to kill her in his sleep, had he?

His question was swept aside, ignored outright, and she instead asked of him:  "How many of You are there?  And why," this last one tastes rhetorical, "do you keep finding me?"


Bertram Kohl

Bertram would have been happy enough to make idle chitchat about the weather and sports teams and careers and anything else she wanted to. Conversation was a skill which needed to be practiced regularly if you're ever going to make any use of it!

Certainly there were those among his kind who frowned upon it. There were those of his kind who outright detested him for it but Bertram was a pragmatic sort and to brush the entire human race aside because they happened to be "lesser" would be throwing away a potent and powerful resource that would be far better suited in his hands than his enemies.

So conversation, it seemed, would be the direction the evening would take. Until she speaks, until she reveals the fact she knows exactly what he is, or at least she has a strong impression. The conversation went from friendly to wary to accusatory in the blink of an eye and it only seemed to lift his smile and his spirits.

This one was a little more clever than most. He knew there was a reason he was drawn in her direction from the start.

"Dozens..." He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Hundreds, thousands, it really depends on the region specified and the time of year. If you're wondering how many in Denver? Well, I'll be honest with you and admit that I honestly don't know." His eyes shift away from her a moment as if in thought before letting his eyes snap back to her own. "Though, to be honest even if I did know the number I would probably tell you that I had no idea as I did just a moment ago, so to be honest I probably wouldn't be the most reliable person to be asking that question." Still he smiled, seemed to put on a friendly enough demeanour as he studied the woman before him.

"I can't honestly say how we keep finding you either! I will admit this seems to be just a matter of random chance, though you have me curious as to precisely who you've met before! Do you meet others like me regularly?" He asks the woman in a curious enough tone. He was definitely very interested in this woman suddenly.


Molly Toombs

The nonchalance of the man's -- no, she was having problems perceiving him as a man.  Men had pulses and warmth to their skin.  Men blinked and drew air and relied on oxygen and other bio-chemical reactions in order to sustain life.

These things, though, they didn't even need that.

Well, wait.  To call them 'things' was being unfair.  They came from somewhere, they were men once upon a time ago.  They held conversations and had thoughts and interests.  She was fairly sure they could even sense guilt-- she thought she might have perceived that (in retrospect, of course) with that one who called himself 'Flood'.  They were not men, but they were definitely people.

She was still cautious with Bertram, though, even though he didn't miss a beat and answered her question with full honesty (or, if you took his word on it, it was full honesty) and a chipper, upbeat kind of tone.  Rather than being upset with her knowing what he was and calling him out on the facade that he was playing for that night, he seemed downright pleased with her for it.  Like he was going to reach into his wallet, pull out a gold star sticker, and press it to the breast of her dress and pat her on the head.  Such a clever girl, this Molly!

He said he didn't know how many there were here, but there were thousands at least around the world, possibly even in just specific regions of the world depending on the time of year (whatever that indicated, maybe they had holidays or festivals or giant conferences?).  Even if he did know, though, he wouldn't tell her.  He was curious to know how often she ran into people like him, though.

Her answer was slow to come, and she took a slow and easy step back away from him and sipped her wine as she did so.  The arm not dedicated to the wine glass crossed her stomach and the belt that was tied to create a waistline on the garment, and her hand cupped the opposite elbow.  Her posture switched so her weight was leaned more dominantly on one foot than the other, and this caused a hip to cock out further than its partner.

"Just the one so far.  But that was only just three days ago."


Bertram Kohl

She wasn't fleeing, despite knowing what he was, despite knowing what he could do... She sat there in front of him and answered his questions like a true trooper. This impressed him more than anything, the woman was brave and courage was a trait even his kind could understand.

"We can be a fairly varied lot, that much is certain, though I am curious as to the impression this other one left. What I mean, is that I'd actually expect you to be running, fleeing, throwing your drink in my face... Something along those lines, and yet there you are... That isn't to say you need to be afraid, If I was going to harm you I'd have done it already, so we can safely put that little concern behind us. I just find myself curious." He pauses to think for a second or two. "What do you do for a living?" He asks her as he turns around and walks slowly away, he wasn't leaving simply moving. His shoes tapped lightly against the floor, echoing getly against the buildings around them.

"Oh, and did this other one leave you a name? And where did you..." Another pause as he ponders how to phrase the question. "Encounter this other one." He turns on a heel to face her again. Smile still curious and friendly.People had utility and so far this one had a little bit more potential than most, and nothing that had utility to Bertram was ever wasted!


Molly Toombs

The man with the dark hair, plain face, and expensive suit turned away from her and walked a short ways, putting some distance between himself and the simple mortal woman who stood before him like a pillar of defiance against his very nature, refusing to be shaken by his presence or rattled by the potential danger that he promised to her.

When he turned about to face her again, he'd asked several questions, and Molly shook her head just the tiniest bit at him and tipped her head back so that she could finish the wine that she was carrying with her in two quick gulps.  With the drink consumed, she set the wine glass on the lid of a large plastic garbage bin that stood beside the gallery's back door.  Her throat cleared some and she settled her arms to rest in a loose wrap about the bottom of her rib cage.

"Well, running away wouldn't do me any good.  You're faster than I can probably even imagine without seeing first hand.  And to aggravate you would be doing myself no favors."  That is the plain explanation she gives for not running or yelling or trying to escape him.  She was treating him kind of like a bear encountered in the woods-- acting chill is probably the best thing you can do, because anything else would either pique its interest or antagonize it.

He wanted to know what she did for a living, and she answered simply:  "Nurse," before letting that topic drop.  She didn't want to talk about herself all that much, because she didn't want this strange new vampire to become too interested in her.  That was the last thing she needed.  He wanted to know about the other vampire she'd encountered, so she let that be the focus of conversation instead (even if she was glancing past Bertram, plainly looking for an opportunity to leave).

"He called himself Flood, and I met him downtown a bit southwest of the city center.  I wouldn't know where to find him, so I can't really point you in the right direction to go shake his hand or anything."
She shifted her weight some, and without taking too much pause to give him room to ask any more questions, continued:  "Bertram, you're a pleasant guy and all, but I'm sure you've got to understand that I'd like to cut our conversation short and take myself home.  Self preservation and all."


Bertram Kohl

The fact that standing still was probably better for her was a bit of an understatement. Bertram tried not to be unnecessarily violent but cowardice was something that he didn't abide easily. So, as luck would have it, she picked the right night to stand her ground and confront him rather than flee into the darkness.

"It's true." He says in agreement. "I mean I couldn't say it was universally true, but for your own sake I wouldn't advise running from any of my kind. While many will be more than happy to let you, there are plenty who are just as likely to treat flight in the same way any predator might, and the last thing you need is to find yourself chased down by someone running off pure instinct. Better to confront your fears directly, and hope that the one you are speaking is polite enough to leave you unharmed." Advice, it would seem, from one of his kind to a woman who appears to have knowledge of their kind.

She mentions being a Nurse and he purses his lips in thought and nods his head. "Nurse? I would have expected Navy Seal or Martial Arts instructor. You don't typically expect a nurse to hold her ground in cases like this. I'm impressed!" He adds.

She mentions Flood and his head nods slowly. Not seeming to have any problem with her response. "Well if you don't know... You don't know! What more is there to it?" He asks her with a shrug of his shoulders.

He finds himself taking a seat just before she asks her question, and he looks her over very slowly. She was asking his permission to leave, and he couldn't help but find that amusing! He pondered her words for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Oh I don't want to keep you any longer than you need to be here. However, there is that little matter of what needs to be done about you. I mean, you have names and faces and that could make you an annoyance." He says softly to himself.

"I'm not like the rest of my kind. There are many who would look at someone like yourself and see nothing but a snack..." He trails off a little and laughs softly as he continues. "And that'd be if you were lucky enough to get one of the softer sorts." He says this with a look of amusement on his face as if there was something worse than being treated as food. Indeed there were far worse fates, but that is a matter for another time! Right now the woman wishes to leave and Bertram doesn't want to keep her any longer than he needs to.

"I consider myself a bit more pragmatic. When I look at a thing I like to ask what it can do for me..." He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "If someone knows my name and my face and they're of no use to me, well... I think we both understand what that means, am I right?" He offers her a moment to ponder that, a moment to think it over, sure it had the hint of a threat behind it but Bertram was also trying to be realistic here! He was a vampire, she knew he was a vampire... Problems could arise from such a situation! It only seemed right.

"I think the two of us could benefit one another." He says as he pushes himself to his feet. "In what capacity, precisely?" He asks her. "That'll have to be seen, but I figure the details of a mutually beneficial arrangement are something we can work out over time.  You're tired, and doubtlessly have to worry about work tomorrow... So feel free to head on home, just let me leave you this..." He says before reaching into his chest pocket and pulling out a small pad and pencil. He takes a moment or two to jot down a phone number before ripping the paper loose and closing the gap between them slowly enough to present it to her.

"That will get you into contact with a business associate of mine. If you find yourself in any trouble with one of my kind... Simply call that number and inform the man on the other end of the line. He'll take care of the rest." He says before offering a smile and a wave of his fingers. "You have a wonderful evening Molly! Sleep well!"


Molly Toombs

He would have guessed that she was a martial arts instructor or a military careerwoman, and his confession of this had Molly raising her eyes in surprise and skepticism.  He wouldn't expect a nurse to stand her ground like this!  That is left alone.  She could have gone on to tell him that you needed to have steely nerves and a strong stomach and a lot of patience to work in the emergency room during the swing shift, which was prime time for victims of violence to come through the doors.  In the last month especially, for some reason she couldn't identify, things had gotten worse and their beds were full almost every night and she couldn't even find time to get herself a drink of water for hours at a time during her shifts.

If that didn't strengthen your resolve, she didn't know what would.  But she let that go in favor of disengaging herself from this man and trying to bow her way out without treading on the man's good manners and want for conversation.  She didn't want to piss him off and change his mind about leaving her unharmed that night.

She was about to try and cut in and wish him a good night, but the man was circling back around and sitting down nearby so he could be comfortable while he explained where he was coming from, and what terms he felt their encounter should have.

The fact that she knew his name, his face, and what he was posed a problem.  He couldn't very well just let her go running around with that knowledge unchecked.  At this point in the conversation Molly's lips pressed together and her heartbeat picked up faster, but she didn't say a word.  She let him finish.

He said that he felt this could be balanced if they came to a mutually beneficial agreement with one another.  Then he jotted down a number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.  She took it, glanced at the number he'd written, and held onto it without stashing it away anywhere.  She wasn't carrying a purse or a clutch, so she had nowhere to put it but her bra, and she didn't think it would be most appropriate to dip her fingers down the front of her dress in front of someone who would literally eat her alive if tempted to do so.

He bade her goodnight, and she nodded slowly, cautiously, and turned to take a few steps away to leave.  But she paused, and turned back to ask him a question in turn:  "Bertram, I don't want to call on you if I'm gonna be looped into owing you a favor.  So, I'm probably not going to call you at all.  I want you to know that right out the gate.  ....Are you gonna make me worry about you coming after me for that?"


Bertram Kohl

He took the time to glance down at the paper and then back up towards her, his eyes seeking out her own. "I am leaving you the number in case of emergency, and I'd advise you to keep it on hand, my kind can be..." He pauses a moment and takes in a slow and deep breath as he searches for the right word. His eyes drifting up into the sky for several beats of her heart, before letting them snap back to meet hers. "You will just have to trust me that there are those among my kind who you do not want to get a hold of you." He says before pointing his finger towards the paper.

"That number, right there, may one day be the only course of action yo have to avoid that fate." He says with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's your emergency contact, just in case..." He says with a little smile. "I didn't give it to you so we could casually chat over coffee." He adds a soft laugh.

"As far as anything else goes... I suppose we'll see about that. I just want you to be prepared for whatever you might find on the road ahead. It's an interesting new world you've found yourself taking part in. I'd hate to see you go to waste as little more than a late night snack." He adds with a nod of his head.

He was trying his best not to be directly threatening, but there was a seriousness in his tone that implied she would want to keep that number on hand... Just... In... Case.

"I'm keeping you, though, go on... Get yourself home! I'll make sure your date knows you're safe."


Molly Toombs

He dodged her question.  He wouldn't tell her if she needed to worry about him coming for her later on.  Instead, he just insisted that she keep that phone number because he felt strongly that she would need it.

His kind weren't nearly so generous as he was, after all, and he might end up being her ace in the hole if she found herself in some sort of trouble with his society.  That's what she figured it was by now, by the way-- a society of vampires, not just errant disorganized monsters in the night.  Why else would he be so curious to know who she had encountered already?  Why else would he be so aware of the typical habits of his kind?  They must spend plenty of time around one another, the vampires of the city.  She assumed that they had some structure to their world behind that of the city they lived in.  She wasn't very eager to know all about it, though.

So, when he urged her to leave a second time, she nodded to him with a look of confusion, conflict and caution smeared all over her face.

"Alright," she conceded finally, and added:  "Thank you.  Good night, Bertram."

And with that said she picked up the wine glass and entered back in to the gallery.  Once inside she would be quick about finding her date, letting him know that she was feeling unwell and tired all at once and that she would like to go home.  To err on the side of safety, even though their date was a clear bust that wouldn't be happening again, she accepted his offer to drive her home, knowing full well it was an offer he made only to be polite.  She wasn't going to be seeing him again, after all, so what did it matter if she was taking advantage of a socially contracted offer?  As long as it got her home safe.