Preston’s Sunday evening odd encounter(Jeremiah)

Date: 2025-11-16 20:42

(Preston’s Sunday evening odd encounter(Jeremiah):Jeremiah)

[Sun Nov 16 2025]

On Colonial Avenue/span>night, about 34F(1C) degrees, and there are clear skies. The mist is heaviest At Constitution and Sidney/span> There is a waning crescent moon.

(A demon from hell has become interested in your target, they decide to see if they can tempt them into becoming one of their instruments on earth.
)

It’s a typical sort of night, Preston has seemingly returned from the Nightclub, drove home, and looks to be not doing much in general. He’s outside a store, mainly a loft on Colonial Avenue, where he’s got a pack on – that’s got his weapons attached and tied to it. Mostly though, he’s outside getting some air.

It’s a chilly night, and there aren’t many people on the streets. Preston is getting some fresh air, seemingly alone, when he suddenly hears a sound. A sound he’s heard before, certainly. It is the scrape of a high-heeled shoe on pavement, followed by another. Someone’s approaching, though he doesn’t see them just yet.

There isn’t a tensing of Preston form at hearing high-heels scrape on the pavement, no, it’s not uncommon in these parts. He steps from the sidewalk, backing up, just in-case. Putting the door to the loft, at his back. Eyes lift, scanning, searching. Careful, but not seemingly threatened. Something about the way he is, seems to have training in this situation. Giving himself an out, both left and right. And the jingling sound from his pocket might be clear he’s got keys on him to the loft door behind him.

The sound is coming from the south, and as he glances that way Preston sees a woman. No, she’s more than that. She’s A Woman. Tall, and lean, with curves in -all- of the right places, wearing a form-hugging red dress that stops just below the Danger Zone, she’s got legs that go on for days, capped in a pair of clearly expensive blood-red stilettos. Her ink-black hair looks windblown, but also like there isn’t a hair out of place from where it should be, framing a heart-shaped face, with full lips in the same shade of blood as the shoes. Deep, dark brown eyes look out from under perfectly arched brows with a hint of challenge and a dash of amusement at what she sees. She’s getting closer, and has clearly seen Preston. When she’s about twenty feet away, she stops. “Hi there.” she says. “Nice night, hm?”

Trailing his eyes southwards now towards the sound, Preston turns a little to bear witness to the Woman that’s before him. Eyes trail her, briefly, the red dress, the shoes, the perfectly kept hair, and his eyebrows go up. “Hey,” Preston replies, keeping his eyes settled on her. “Depends on your definition, I suppose.” A hand gestures, “Bit chilly, but otherwise, nice, yeah.”

“Is it? I didn’t really nice.” She gives the sort of casually disdainful shrug that is a national trademark of France, and her subtle accent seems to back that up, too. Further accenting the Frenchness, she opens her clutch and takes out a pack of Gitanes, pulling one out and settling it between her lips like she was born with one there. A flick of one hand, and her smoke is lit. Did she have a lighter? It was really small, if so. “Want one?” she asks Preston.

“Is it? I didn’t really notice.” She gives the sort of casually disdainful shrug that is a national trademark of France, and her subtle accent seems to back that up, too. Further accenting the Frenchness, she opens her clutch and takes out a pack of Gitanes, pulling one out and settling it between her lips like she was born with one there. A flick of one hand, and her smoke is lit. Did she have a lighter? It was really small, if so. “Want one?” she asks Preston. (repost to fix spelling)

“Nah,” Preston shakes his head at the woman. “Don’t smoke.” Lifting himself up, he stretches, letting out a grumble as something clicks into place. “What brings you around at night like this?” Preston asks, gesturing towards her, and watching her smoke that cigarette. “Not cold, and dressed for what looks to be a fun night out?” He hazards a guess.

“Oh, yeah.” Another shrug. “I was just checking out some of the… clubs.” Her tone of voice, and the shrug, would seem to indicate that the nightlife of New Haven is less than impressive to her. “And… I guess I just don’t really notice the cold. It’s kind of nice, after the stuffiness of the clubs.” She lets out a long stream of smoke. Longer than should probably be possible. “I’m Genevieve.” She says it with the French pronunciation, Zhohn-vee-ev. “What’s your name?”

Peering up the street, towards the Ambrosia, one of the nightclubs of Haven, Preston turns back towards the woman, Genievieve, a little look in his face as if he doesn’t believe her. “But yeah, that’s fair enough. Clubs get stuffy, hot and sweaty.” Breathing out, he exhales slowly, “Cold air’s nice. And Preston, nice to meet you Genevieve.”

“Preston. Ah, that’s a good name.” she says, pronouncing it as ‘press-TON’. “What sort of work do you do, Preston? You’re a big man, and you look like you can take care of yourself. Such a man might be good to know.” She looks down the street, taking another drag off her Gitane. She lets a stream of smoke out from her nose, and this time there’s no mistaking it. She didn’t inhale nearly long enough to blow out that much smoke. A small cloud partially wreathes her head, the scent just reaching Preston. Something smells… off, about it. There’s a faint trace of rotten-egg smell.

As that smoke cloud hits his nose, it wrinkles up in distaste. Trying his best to not visibly react, but failing. A small shift in his posture, more guarded now. But he still chats casually. “Private security,” is his reply, “So, yeah, generally can take care of myself. And others.” Preston mentions.

“I like that. I’m new in town, and could use someone to show me around, help me get the lay of the land. And maybe even protect me, if it comes to that. Is that something you could do? I can pay -very- well.” she says. There’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, then she says, “In fact… you can name your price.”

Preston thinks it over for a moment, head tilting, “Protection from what? Strange men?” A laugh escapes him, “I’m a strange man. I can’t imagine you’d need protection from them.” Arms fold over his chest, waiting.

“Protection from those who might wish me harm.” Another shrug. Then she gives him a radiant smile. “It could turn out to be nothing, and then you would be well-rewarded for just… showing me the city. What would you want, in payment?” Her eyes bore into his, a seductive smirk now playing across her lips as she drops her cigarette and stubs it out. “Think on it, and tell me. I’m… wealthy.”

“Uh-huh,” Preston mentions to the woman, keeping his arms folded. “What exactly do you want a tour of?” A lift of his hand, “It’s dark, and it’s late.” Glancing around, “Plus, it’s a Sunday, most of the nightclubs aren’t going to be that interesting.” Finally though, he lowers his arms, “I’m not too concerned with money, ma’am. I make a lot of money myself. Rich people pay well to be protected from their grand delusions.”

“So… not money. What, then? Power? Drugs? Weapons? Cars? Women? What is it you want, Preston? Because I can give it to you, and all I need from you, is to help me.” she says, still smiling. But now there’s something else in her eyes. Something calculating. Maybe she’s not used to being rebuffed, even this much?

There’s a snorted laugh at Preston, “Look, lady,” he says, “I don’t need weapons, or cars, or drugs.” Thinking it over, “And I have a very wonderful girlfriend, so, no women either.” Inspecting her though, eyes dropping to the hem of her dangerously short dress, just briefly, out of wonderment for how she’s not cold. “I’ve got a pretty good life, I’m not really tempted by things like that.”

“So, what tempts you? What -do- you want? I can offer so -many- things. Do you want to stay young and healthy? Or live for a thousand years? What drives you, Preston?” Her voice is lower, almost a purr, and he can hear it clear as day even though she’s still twenty feet from him.

“Drives me?” Preston lets out a laugh at that, and because it seems like this man is a bit of a shithead, he gestures to a car on the side of the road. “Me, I drive myself. I’m already young and healthy, I don’t need to stay that way. I’m entirely good there,” thinking it over, “Mmm, hum… let’ssee..” All said together in one word. “Nah, living for a thousand years would suck. I’m driven by trying to be a better person, and doing good things.”

This brings a sneer to her sensual mouth. “I’m offering you the chance to have anything you could want. And you’re just pissing it away. Why? Afraid it might be too expensive, Preston?” One hand raises to the neckline of her dress and stays there, holding onto it. “Where I come from, that’s just bad manners, to refuse a lady. And I’m not someone you want to be rude to, Preston.” She gives another shrug. “But I am feeling… generous. So I will ask again. I want you to work for me. What do you want, to do so?”

“Afraid it might be too expensive? No,” Preston assures the woman. “I just don’t need anything. I’m absolutely, perfectly content with my life.” A hand drops to his pocket, sticking it inside, all casual like. “And, I know all about bad manners. I don’t really need anything, Miss. But, if you want me to work for you, you can just pay me in money, sure. That’s how general business opportunities go.”

Now she smiles again. “Money. I offered that already, and you said you made enough. But money is easy. I can do that for you. I can make you rich enough to never need to work again, nor the next ten generations of your family. There would just be a matter of signing a contract, of course. My lawyer would insist on it.” Her eyes are locked onto Preston’s. A car passes, and as the headlights illuminate them for a brief moment, he’d swear that her shadow looked… wrong.

Preston shrugs, “I don’t need it, but sure, that sounds nice. Not having to work?” A little whistle escapes him. “Yeah, yeah, lemme read the contract, and we’ll see if I’m gonna sign. I make no promises to being able to work with you.”

She looks at him, from head to toe. She shakes her head. “You know… I think I will just find someone else. Too bad, Preston. I could have given you the world.” She turns to walk away, and just before passing into a patch of shadows from some trees, he hears her say, as clear as if she’s whispering in his ear, “Maybe I’ll ask Navessa…” and then she’s gone, as if she was never there at all.

There’s a snorted laugh from Preston as she walks away, “Fair enough,” waving to the woman in the night. Though, hearing the whispered words he frowns, just a bit. Looking around. There’s some words he murmurs, “Touch her and you fucking die,” but she might be long gone.