One fine evening in the great American city of New York, I felt in my belly a tremendous thirst, one that only mortal liquid could satisfy. I needed blood, and I knew just where to get it.
At the edge of the city, there is a dancing club, and those who attend it are of the particular variety who will not be missed by anyone. I stride into the building, jacket flashing darkly behind me (If there is one thing I love, it is a dramatic entrance). The owner and I are well acquainted, and he knows when to turn a blind eye. Discreetly, I sign to him that tonight I will require a private room. Then, I survey the dance floor.
They are indeed a motley lot, druggies and goths, middle-aged women looking to stand out and be younger, college drop-outs looking to fit in and grow up. Suddenly, I see a jackpot: two girls walk in, obviously together, and stand awkwardly off to the side. I quickly make my decision and move in. Tonight, the males to females ratio is skewed towards the males, meaning that lone sharks circle the edge of the floor, looking for easy prey. A strapping young lad has already noticed my two girls, but I am too quick for him.
"Good evening my darlings," I say, allowing my natural British accent to assert itself. (Pro-Tip: American women are suckers for almost any accent, but Australian and British are the two best in my opinion) "I am here from the management of this fine establishment, and I regret to inform you that you two are in violation of club policy." Here I pause for breath and effect, and watch as the girls' eyes widen a little in panic. "It is the policy of the club not to have the two most attractive women in the club standing so close together. We find that it intimidates the male population overly much."
I know from their reactions that I have chosen wisely. The more attractive of the two giggles immediately, and the other one blinks slowly until the first one gives her a whispered explanation, at which she titters louder and longer than the compliment deserved (The actual two most attractive women were both dancing with their partners in an intimate manner that gave me the impression that they would have been difficult to woo).
"I am, of course, joking." I say, resuming my flattery, "Am I right in thinking that you two have not been here before?" The tall one nods, and I grin knowingly. "Of course, I would have remembered one such as you." (Pro-Tip: Women respond to flattery, even flattery that is blatantly false) In the aftermath of giggling, the girls introduce themselves as Kristi (The attractive and slightly smarter one) and Gabby (The oppressively plain and stupid one). My prey is hooked, but now I must reel them in.
"You know, this club is pretty loud and crowded, maybe we can find somewhere where we can talk more." (The club was neither noisy, nor crowded that night, but once again, women respond to flattery--even indirect flattery--whether it's true or not)
"Totally!" Gabby said. (People like her are the worst. They make you work both ends of the conversation; really, I provide a useful service to mankind.) I steer them both through the seething crowd, watched enviously by a group of young men.
A bold one, whom I recognize as the lad who also noticed my two girls, grabs my arm and breathes in my ear, "Come on bro, you don't need both of them." In response, I grab his arm right back and growl at him, "Back off, 'bro,' it's not worth your life." In a softer voice and with a softer grip, I whisper hurriedly, "There's a fine-looking trio that's just come in, if you and your friends move swiftly you will have an advantage while they are disoriented."
Then, I hurry after my intendeds, who are gesturing impatiently by the exit. When we arrive at the private room, they enter cautiously and explore the nooks and crannies of the room. Surreptitiously, I lock the door.
"Now to business my dears." I say, removing my jacket.
