Byran Strathin had gone all out. Puccini's La Bohéme was playing tonight and he had planned on seeing it since it's debut mere months ago. His tickets were penthouse specialty and he had ordered a fresh custom suit. It was the scholarly man's pleasuregasm. While some preferred pubs and others sporting arenas, it was the finer, more intellectual things in life that seemed to give him purpose. As he snapped a rare tome of fine poetry shut, he left his quaint small cottage in the better half of town, locking the door behind him.

After the opera was done, Byran was choking on his emotion. The conduction of Toscanini had been sub par to none and the scoring, riveting. He adjusted his glasses to hide his discomposure, enjoying the post-opera mingling perks. A fine glass of wine and perfectly aged cheese suited his palette just fine, but admittedly.. The people still frightened and bothered him alike. He fidgetted his slight frame in annoyance, both with the buzz and himself. He felt his ire rising as the illiterates with wealth spoke big words they knew naught of to make themselves seem important and powerful. How bothersome.

Pressing his glasses high on the bridge of his nose, he sighed heavily and rose, moving for the door. However, in his haste, he slammed soundly into the body of another being. He flustered deeply and genuinely, raising quickly and offering a hand. "Oh my goodness me. I am TERRIBLY sorry miss..?" Truth be told, he had merely assumed it was a female by the type of fabric that grazed his hand on the way down and the bone structure he collided with. His dwelling mind was often puzzling life out ahead of his tongue, and he could only pray it hadn't betrayed him this time.

Rossa di Morro held up a hand, gloved with white lace, which she waved delicately in front of her surprisingly-pasty complexion as though dismissing the offense completely from their minds. "Do not trouble yourself." The woman had a smooth, melodic voice...Not quite high in pitch, nor low. It fell in between. Feminine in sound, but masculine in tone. Sure of themselves. But, after living some two centuries, one had to be certain of their power. Said woman's brilliant amber eyes flickered to the man's face, clearly appraising him. Nice build, if not lanky. Glasses. Dark hair. Handsome features, although boyish. She allowed his scent to waft up into her nostrils discreetly, determining his blood perfectly desirable. And his person? Haughty. Sensitive. Naive. Inexperienced. Particularly where women were concerned. Elitist, intellectually, but shy. Socially awkward.

Having examined him thoroughly, all within the span of a second or two, the woman extended her hand for the man to take--either to kiss or shake, it was his own prerogative. With the other, she swept back long strikingly auburn hair, pinned up in ringlets with locks of them spilling down and framing her porcelain face. She wore some make-up, though not much. Perhaps a bit of rouge, a ruby stain on her lips. But otherwise, her skin appeared delicate and flawless without much effort. She had a reason for that, which would be revealed in due time. But for the moment, Rossa wanted to focus on securing her new prey. Bumping into one another had been a perfectly convenient excuse for her to hook the bait and take it.

"My name is Rossa di Morro, how do you do?" Rossa continued, a thin red brow quirking up. "Did you enjoy the opera? I must say, La Boheme is one of my favorites. Terribly tragic, but forward-thinking. As an Italian myself, I am partial to opera in my native tongue." Since she'd mentioned it, an accent underlying her speech became more and more apparent, yet not exactly pronounced. But it was there, despite her impeccable English. "And you, sir, what do they call you?" The woman cocked her head slightly to the side, flashing a winning smile. Practiced, and completely on cue. She had ensnared hundreds with simply a look many a time before.

Byran stood there flustered as she waved aside his hand. Etiquette books and even stories did not explain the embarrassed sensation one experienced when turned down by a woman who appeared to be cut from a much finer fiber then your own. Especially an offer of assistance after an accident you felt to be your fault. He pushed his glasses up higher still, clutching his book to his side and bowing before her. His baritenor voice lifted softly from him as he remained flustered. Instincts told him he was being scanned, but his mind was ever clueless. He awkwardly reached for the hand held out to him, debating what he was to do. His abnormally socially-slow brain finally acknowledge her voice was pleasant. Melodic even. It considered how she would've filled out the lead role from a vocal stand-point and he kind of stopped moving as his brain spun. It took her speaking again to snap out of it. He did not shake nor did he kiss her hand - merely, he lightly wrapped his hands around hers as if to kiss it, but gave a small squeeze and a light tug, as if to part the way down the middle.

"My apologies, Madame di Morro. An honor. Dreadfully sorry about the bumping business." He nearly continued blathering on, but his explanation might exceed the handful of seconds suggested by the great social scholars who were bound to know more than he. He tilted his chin towards the stage. "I found the character of Mimi and Rodolfo to be thin, however, it is in their mild transparency that their reality comes in. I feel that Puccini's created another piece where each set of eyes will see a different show. I favor that ability of his. Plus, his choice of conductor was magnifico." He immediately felt like an ass once the Italian word had left his lips. It came out with the learned accent of a fine scholar with years of dedication, but when stood next to a real deal, it appeared but a cheap knockoff.

He watched her body language, entranced for a moment, but not hooked. Her ploy fell as if a sweet note on deaf ears. You can not sing a seduction song for one who knows not what seduction sounds like. "Byran Strathin, madame. If you'll forgive me, your English is pristine. It's very refreshing to hear." He tried a shy smile, a different sort of fluster about him now. Maybe it was working after all. His young blood seemed to sort of bubble hotly in his veins and there was a slight rush to his head. He tried to adjust his glasses again, but if he did anymore, it would crush the bridge of his nose into his own face. He thought from books he should ask her for a drink but he seemed as if dumbfounded, despite his wealth of knowledge to draw on. The greatest scholars of all were indeed the simple men who wrote that you could read a book all day, but it would never compare to living that day outside.

Rossa pursed her lips in approval, noting the fusion between a kiss and a handshake. Awkward, to say the least. Still, ironically, adorable. Her mouth twitched a bit, almost forming a smile, but she smothered it down momentarily. For the time being, she wanted to remain cool-headed, because evidently...This man could not. He appeared flustered and shy by her unexpected attention, though the words that managed to slip out conveyed intelligence. Perhaps he had reason for his haughtiness. But he'd have to do better than that to impress her. What had caught her interest, however, had been his discomfort and flushing. How lovely it was, for her kind, to partake of the innocent. If he needed a woman to teach him the 'ways' of the world, Rossa would be ever so happy to comply...If he offered his neck to her in return. She knew she'd made an impression, however, because of the drawn out silence before his actual speaking. He apologized again, politely. And then the next moment bestowed to her the opinion she'd asked for about the opera, followed by an introduction and compliments. The first of many, she assumed. "Interessante."

She pulled her hand back, wringing it together with her other and regarding the man silently until he finished speaking. "I agree, on both points. Although one's performance is only as hollow as their personal experiences allow. Should the actors have experienced a deep loss, they would portray a character more effectively. Rather, the writing of a piece is not often responsible for what transpires on stage, but the failure of those who endeavor to bring that writing to life." The woman smirked then, her amber irises flickering with amusement as she lifted one hand to rest just above her ruby lips. "Forgive me, I tend to go on about things. That may not have actually been relevant, but I believe it to be the full picture, where theatre is concerned." She pretended to glance off into the crowd, at someone, but returned her intense gaze to...Byran, was it?

"No, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rossa said, stooping in an elegant curtsy, then straightening her back once again. "And I do not deserve such praise. My English, I am afraid, has reached this level only due to the duration of my time here. You see, I have been away from home a painfully long time. I long for my Sicilia so..." The woman smiled sadly, but made a motion to brush the subject away. "If I may be so bold, I have a carriage waiting...Time is pressing, I am afraid... I must return home promptly--I had freedom available to me with which to enjoy the performance, yet sadly not enough to engage in playful banter. I don't suppose you would like to continue this conversation over tea? The hour is not yet late, and..." Her eyes smoldered. "Something tells me that you will be a captivating conversationalist. I would hate for this opportunity to pass me by." The woman held up an arm, gesturing gracefully towards the exists. "Shall we?" She allowed her focus to travel along Byran's jawline, down the nape and curve of his neck, which disappeared under a high collar. Her acute hearing reveled in the throbbing of his veins and the racing of his heart.

Byran was too flustered to notice her near smile, grasping desperately to his tome, though the thought was forming in his small social awareness functions that words would do him no good here. He was however hanging on to each syllable that dripped from the woman's lips like a lifeline to a drowning man. He smiled at the ability to tell she knew her words, her knowledge far more than just the scan of a dictionary before the show. "Don't you trust Puccini to choose actors that portray his creation the way he saw it, though? It is the original run, after all. Though, perhaps again, a show where truly every eye sees something different." He chewed her point over for a moment as her eyes left him, but was instantly paying rapt attention when her eyes struck him again. "No no, please don't apologize. That's one of the most riveting statements I've heard all season." He finally managed an actual smile. It was stunning, if for no other reason than it's mere existence.

Byran bowed before her as she curtsied, maintaining eye contact. "I've been taught that we do not lower our head to an equal." He tilted his head slightly, as if needing to get a look directly at her around the frame of his small round spectacles. She seemed to glow still, perhaps a trick of the light. Glowing skin was a thing of faerie tales and mythos, tucked firmly away into his vault of books, scrolls, and tomes. He seemed to stiffen in both delight and fear as she mentioned Sicilia. Sicilia... But.. That's where the danger comes from.. I wonder.. Is she the danger, or has she been hiding away here.. Leave it to Byran to not notice she spoke as if she had been in England for decades, but looked no older than his fair 26. His thick-headedness was almost laughable... Almost.

He drew up straight and tall, offering his arm. "It would be most ungentlemanly of me to not see you home, especially after such a rude collision. I would hate to think I would've caused your household trouble by holding you after you were due." He would've sounded almost smooth, if it wasn't for the fact he sounded like he was quoting some armored knight in a situation more befitting a baron. A slight shiver ran through his body as she stared, but he assumed it was at his face rather than his neck. He was panicking a little underneath it all, but he tried to remain composed. "I wouldn't wish to overstep my boundaries by staying for tea if it burdens your time, but I dare say that sounds lovely. Shall we depart, Madame di Morro?"

Rossa di Morro found it entertaining to watch the young man, Byran, flounder in her presence. Not only did it seem to her that he had no practical knowledge of how to act with women, but that the words he did utilize in order to converse with her sounded... Not quite rehearsed, but as though he were reading a verse from a volume. Like the one he held desperately against his form as he spoke to her, as though it would protect him from all ailments and failure. Curious as to his preferred reading material, the woman tucked away a question for the carriage--'What is it that you are reading, sir?' And then interest. She could transform her whole face with it, and the young man would not stand a chance. What was it he'd said? Oh, yes, 'I've been taught that we do not lower our head to an equal'. A heavy compliment, in these times. Striving for equality to a man was perhaps as difficult as seeking the Holy Grail, in most instances. Due to her species, however, she had a bit of an advantage. Rossa could wreak havoc on every man who claimed to be her better, she being greatly superior in intellect and physical strength merely due to age. She had a calculating mind, among other things, and the appearance of an angel. All men were susceptible to her power, should she choose to employ it.

"Perhaps it is something that Puccini cannot see," Rossa replied cryptically, her eyes sparkling. "It is easy to deceive most people, when you act. That is the purpose of an actor--to be believable. But, try as they might, they will never seem genuine unless they can empathise. I believe, sadly, that a couple of his selected actors lacked that empathy. It is not their fault, of course. And I am grateful that they have lived such..." Her mind said 'inconsequential', but her mouth said, "...Fortunate lives. Lacking in true suffering." How amusing that Byran's eyes remained fixed on her figure. No other being in the opera house existed beyond her in this point in time. Rossa's gift, after her changing, that grew over many years, involved an acute empathy. This empathy sensed the sentiments flowing off of humans and others like her. Being able to see and feel their emotions allowed her to manipulate individuals with her words and actions in a way as second nature and simple as respiration. But she did not have to breathe, either, save for when she needed to fuel her speech and pronunciation.

Rossa felt Byran's rapture. She also felt his wariness and fear, underlying it. But mostly, excitement and nerves. This man found her captivating, if not only for the fact she resembled characters straight from the pages of Byran's novels. Byran did not realise this himself though--it was more of a subconscious reaction. Rossa was, by far, a living contradiction: a mythical being. "I am flattered that you would accept my offer," she replied graciously, curling her gloved hand lightly into the crook of the man's elbow, beaming in a way most befitting of a radiant woman. "And yes, we should. This way, sir Byran Strathin." The woman gave him a gentle tug, pulling him towards the large, mahogany doors that made up the exit. She paid one final glance at the proscenium stage and the guests that remained, chattering incessantly with one another. She would be free of their racket soon. And, tonight, she would be sipping from a fine specimen... And intriguingly naive one, at that.

The woman--no, the vampire--smiled at Bryan Strathin as they made their way out.

Byran seemed perplexed by the depth of the reply. He honestly never would've expected such chatter from this crowd. Perhaps he misjudged his town.. But as he thought of it, he never had seen her before. He mourned the lost time. Other then to express he felt that her eye of the work was impeccable and exposition deep, he was at a loss. It was clear, this was a new experience for him. As she pulled him lightly toward the doors, his heart was in his throat and he was having trouble swallowing it back down. Somehow, the smile she flashed him was both disarming and worrisome at the same time.. Yet, he couldn't help a gentlemanly smile back.

As he stood beside her awaiting for her carriage, he chuckled shyly. He had never been addressed as sir in any context other than work and professional before. It amused him, almost deeply. It took him a moment to regain composure, and he didn't offer up the reason for his embarrassed laughter, finding it inappropriate. As the carriage came around, he made for the motion to lift her into the cab, a soft smile on his face. "Madame." His attempt to be smooth was almost adorable, considering his earlier flummoxing and foundering. The way his groomed but shaggy hair framed his face made him look even younger than he was, and at that exact moment his glasses had slid down low. He appeared like an oversized child in a monkey suit, as unnatural in his suit as a child would be.. yet it still complimented him. His tome was tucked under his arm, the author and title still hidden, as he waited for her approval to life her. "I hope you don't find me lacking, it has been a very long time since I took tea with anyone other than a colleague or employer, and longer still since I escorted a lady home." And by that he meant he had never done the later. Ever. But he wasn't going to offer that willingly, afraid of looking the fool and missing out on the opportunity to explore this new mind and sharp tongue.

Rossa di Morro resisted the urge to chuckle herself, noting the way the young man’s eyes followed her movements. He hung onto her every word and gesture with blatant admiration. Did he not realise the depths of his psyche were visible to her through his shining eyes? Byran seemed captivated beyond measure. Simultaneously shocked and awed. Were intelligent women really so scarce in these parts? Well, she’d come to town three weeks prior to now, from the city. And, since then, she’d spent a great deal of time to herself, avoiding public scrutiny and judgment (save for her nightly prowl along the streets, seeking prey), until she’d gotten herself settled in her suburban estate. She’d purchase about thirty acres of land and a three-story stone manor covered with ivy. The property had been dilapidated, before her magic touch and considerable wealth. Through it, she’d reinstated the charming historical building and its grounds. Rossa would not admit to her nobility unless Byran asked of course, later on. It would be too inconvenient to speak of, while attempting to put the human at ease. If he felt nervous now, imagine how he would react knowing he entertained the company of a baroness!

Tonight would mark the beginning of Rossa’s transition from anonymity to recognition. On the weekend, precisely four days from now, she would throw a marvelous Italian ball—a masquerade, of course. The townspeople would grow to love and respect her…All the while oblivious to her true nature. The manner with which her kind had survived for thousands upon thousands of years had come with the innate ability to adapt…And hide in plain sight. Rossa would do just that. She would become beloved and enviable. Men would throw themselves at her feet, begging to be taken. She would have all the sustenance she needed, at least until she’d worn out the supply of the town. Rossa would move after that.

Mulling over these thoughts, the woman smiled as she accepted the man’s hand, allowing herself to be lifted into the cab of her carriage. "Thank you." The carriage was dark in colour, ornately carved with gold embellishments. The coachman wore a black velvet coat with matching gold buttons. Predictably, both horses pulling said carriage were also black, but with leather ties and reins stained with a gold paint of some sort. Once they cleared the lamps lining the town streets, no one would be able to make out the carriage and team from the other shadows of the night. Rossa settled in her seat, next to the window, and gestured for Byran to sit across from her. The coachman closed the door behind them and climbed up on front, snapped the reins, and the horses started into a trot. “Has it, really? I would have never been able to tell. You seem so smooth, Mr. Strathin,” Rossa lied, removing her gloves from her hands and dropping them into her lap. “Forgive me, but I have been dying to ask you—what book is it that you have there?”

Byran tried to smile charmingly, but it came out awkward on his boyish face. "A pleasure, Madame di Morro." Despite his uneven manners in public, he was surprisingly gently and light with his touch. Some things can be learned from books, apparently. The carriage was beautiful to him, unlike anything he'd ever seen. With his gloved hands he lightly traced the panels, embellishments, and velvet of the seats. He breathed out softly a single word. "Magnificent.." His deep crystal blue eyes were like stars in the moonlight amongst all the dark colors, his wonder childlike and painted on his face. The sheer craftsmanship... He envied the talent of it's maker. It was Rossa's voice that snapped him from his reverie once more. The compliment made him fluster pink and actually begin to stutter. "I-I-I.. Well I try, madame." He had resumed the process of shoving his spectacles into his nose when her question rung in his ears. He stared at her shyly. "Madame cares what tome it is I hold?.. I..I would hardly expect that." His ears darken as he realizes that sounds potentially sexist, backpeddling so hard he even scoots backwards into his seat. "That is to say, what I meant was.. I didn't mean to infer.." He took a brief moment to slap himself on the knee to stop his stammering. He cleared his throat and looked at her, genuinely apologetic. "Please, forgive me. That was most unbecoming. I merely was surprised... No one, lady or sire alike, seems to care whether I hold a book or not, it being just a pile of paper to them."

He smiled shyly and removed the book from beneath his arm to lay across his lap. "Obviously, I have found myself in the company of a far greater being though. So I shall share my tome with you." With a loving care almost like a father, he opened the cover. "It's one of the original runs of Paradise Lost, by John Milton. It's one of my favorites, as well as one of my grandest treasures out of my entire library." He gently stroked down the spine, many creases showing it was beyond well loved. It had actually been one of the first books he had attained... at a tender age 7 no less. He closed his eyes briefly as the smell of book raised to tickle his nose. This was his heaven, his sanctuary. Obviously. For the moment, he seemed to forget his enchanting and fearsome hostess.

Rossa rested her elbow on an armrest by the window, propping her chin up with it and watching the young man admire the interior of the carriage with mild interest. He need not be so impressed by something this insignificant, and yet he was. She wondered about Byran's class. Lower, middle, upper? His azure orbs sparkled so--certainly he had not been fortunate with monetary concerns, save being able to order himself a fresh suit now and then. Meaningless to her, of course. Rossa had enough fortune for the both of them, and then some. She possessed solely an interest in his boyish innocence, and not his social class or wealth (or lack thereof). She chuckled under her breath, biting down a devilish smirk that threatened to shadow her pristine features. "Oh, this old thing? I have had it for years. I would not stoop to call it... Magnificent. It is simply an antique that I refurbished. A hobby of mine, you see... Restoring old things. And acquiring new ones. To play with." It was a hint, towards the boy's fate. Sadly, he would never catch its subtlety.

The woman seemed to search for something, on her seat. Within a moment's breadth, she'd retrieved a Spanish fan, which she promptly tapped on the palm of her hand. If Byran had any previous interaction experience with women, particularly in Victorian times, he would have known that they had a secret language. Their language could only be interpreted by playing close attention to the movements of a woman's fan. This motion meant, 'Love me'. Baronessa Rossa di Morro had every intention of making this timid man worship her as a goddess on earth. And the conquest would begin and end with her expansive knowledge and experience, including her literary prowess. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Strathin. I am used to being underestimated. But, allow me to prove you wrong. I am familiar with John Milton's Paradise Lost. The man himself was blind, he dictated the entirety of it out to another who copied it down. An impressive feat, I must say." The woman uncrossed and crossed her legs, leaning back into the velvet seat, appearing completely at ease and in her element. "Amusingly, Satan is the most empathetic character... We have all been trained to loathe him, and yet... One cannot help but simultaneously like and pity him, hmm?"

Byran smiled at her, interpreting that she had a love of the craft from her words. Having a passion for passion, it excited him a little. He shifted eagerly in the seat, clasping gently the cushion. "What a marvelous hobby, madame. I would love to see your other restorations if I may. The work on this one is fine.. If not for minor details that clue it away, I would've never guessed this to be any older than myself." He beamed a winning smile in his enthusiasm. He was absolutely clueless that he might as well have dipped himself in honey then rolled along the anthills.

The subtle nuance evaded him entirely. He became concerned she was getting too hot despite it being a mild night. "Does madame wish for me to open a window?" There was an honest concern in his voice - he'd read about heat stroke before and would hate to be an indirect cause of it. As she spoke, he became flustered again. "I.. I did not mean to convey that I underestimated you.. That is that I.." He grabbed the rim of his hat and brought it to his chest, spinning it in his hands. "I have never met someone who shared my interest in books so. Even colleagues think me queer for having such an... Well, their word for it is obsession, mine would be.. Love, I think." There was crimson all the way to the very tips of his ears. What a fool he must sound, for confessing a love of books to a fine specimen of the grace and beauty that was female. Her words of Milton only provoked a mild amusement. "It is not unknown that he was blinded before Paradise Lost by medicinal disease, making it even more astonishing the simple size of it.. But few knew that he was an advocate of divorce and then later of polygamy." He thumbed his way to a passage of Paradise Lost without ever breaking eye contact with Rossa. "Making it curiouser still that Adam would choose to stay with Eve after he had chosen to blame her for the fall of man."

Byran leaned his face upon his gloved hand, staring out the window. His voice became soft, quiet, and darkened. "I have never blamed Satan. He was a byproduct of His Father, and His Father designed him to be as he was. Just as His Father designed Eve to be as she was, to fall for Satan's ploy... No, Satan is naught but like the Best of us.. He was built to want for His Father's love, and His Father denied him. How could he not act out?" He let out an almost inaudible sigh. "Perhaps the only reason we're trained to loathe him is we see ourselves not in Eve, Adam, or The Son... But in Satan. And we refute him."

Regardless of whether or not Byran Strathin wished to, he would see plenty of restorations upon arriving at Baraonessa Di Morro's estate. His enthusiasm was nothing short of refreshing, and the woman opened her fan, waving it in front of her face at an even pace--not too fast, nor too slow. To fan slowly implied disinterest, and fanning quickly suggested intense fascination. Rossa's newfound preoccupation with the young man fell somewhere in between healthy and unhealthy. He seemed so entirely dimwitted with females that the challenge of tainting him tantalized her beyond reason. "You are in luck," Rossa said with a chuckle, eying Byran lazily across the cab of the carriage. "My entire estate, grounds and manor, have been recently renovated from utter dilapidation. I am now certain that at least you, of all people, will appreciate my hard work upon seeing it. I am flattered." The vampiress inclined her head, before straightening herself and smiling. Byran then expressed worry about Rossa overheating, and offered to open the window. She respectfully declined, waving the fan dismissively. "I am simply occupying my idle hands, Mr. Strathin. Please do not think anything of it." (Although it would certainly be more beneficial to the young man if he comprehended what each of her singular movements meant.)

"Any true intellectual should seek knowledge whenever possible," Rossa continued. While she fanned herself, her free hand rested upon her knee where she drummed her fingers. "If your colleagues do not agree that a love of reading is necessary for building up one's intellectual foundations, then I should easily lose respect for them. They will develop terrible reputations as a consequence. In my years I have striven to read as much as I can and learn as much as I can... Languages, novels, poetry, science, politics, sports, war... I have studied everything. How else am I expected to entertain my mind, hm? I would just as soon end my own life than spend it wasting away in sloth and apathy." Byran did not know how Rossa's words rang true, in her particular circumstances. Because she held eternity in the palm of her hand, it became imperative that she find a means with which to spend her excessive time, money, and attention. If one of her kind was not creative, they would lose all sense of self and sanity, lost to an endless void of inaction and irrelevance. She nodded, only half listening, as he continued to speak of Milton and the character of Satan in the novel, as she'd already researched and pondered these things on her own. One could even make a comparison of herself to Satan--beyond the simple resemblance of humans to the fallen angel.

"Some say that Satan concocted a partnership with God," she said, carrying the conversation in a new direction. "Humans would not have the opportunity to prove their goodness and worth without temptation to sin. In this manner, Satan is in himself a necessary evil, and therefore not an actual opponent of God...Rather... He is, in fact, an ally." However, the two of them would be unable to dwell on the subject much longer. As Rossa glanced out of the carriage window, through the grove of trees lining the roads in the suburbs, she noticed her manor looming in the distance. The moon hung over the building ominously, its rays strewn over the grounds and reflecting shadows across the floor with eerie means. "Ah, well! Look at that," Rossa murmured, stretching her mouth into a thin line to avoid smirking as per usual. "It seems we have just about arrived." Her main gate came into view, an intricate ironwork that stretched up to enormous heights, while the other borders of her property with blocked with tall hedges.

Byran let out a sigh of relief as she confirmed she was comfortable. He put a hand over his heart in relief before looking back at her face eagerly. "That sounds beautiful. I am curiouser and curiouser." He lightly dragged his fingers over one of the embellishments. "Are they all of this style? Do you have a favorite period? Are they all English?" He flustered suddenly. "I'm sorry madame, the questioning was most inappropriate. I did not mean to make myself like a small child in your presence, most unbecoming. I have only seen antiques of the local variety and described in books. To gaze upon them would be..." He smiled at her charmingly, a sudden maturity about him. "A heavenly delight."

And all that maturity seemed to flush straight from his face as she supported his views. He was officially smitten with the dashing young woman, and completely at a loss. He shyly placed his hat upon his head and rubbed his arm, looking quite demure. "It's.. It's riveting to be in the company of a like mind, Madame di Morro. I feel this night shall forever remain one of my most cherished, easily." With a gentle hand he closed the tome once more, for once reality better than the weathered, beaten pages. This would be a turning point of his life, he knew it, even if he went home now. To live is to know, they said.. And finally, he felt like he knew more now than he ever had his whole life. Before he could comment on the pact theory she proposed to him, the carriage slowed and he felt his breath catch. He could never explain it, not in a thousand years, but he felt as if he would experience something here that he never could've dreamed of, not in his wildest of dreams. He lightly pushed the door of the carriage open and once more offered his hand to the lady. "Ladies first, Madame." Though it was clear, he had a childlike glee at the appearance of the gate. It did not appear threatening or terrifying, but tranquil and a silent, aged beauty seemed to drip from the air. Not unlike his companion, he thought. They were finally on her turf, and her's alone.

Rossa smiled, this time genuinely. "Not all. I am a collector. I have many items from my travels across the globe--Africa, Asia, the New World...Therefore not all my antiques are English. You may ask as many questions as you desire of them, and I will endeavor to answer as best I can." What a precious young man, hounding her with several inquiries at once and behaving very childlike indeed... She placed him in his mid twenties, at least. Or at most. But Byran had such a boyish face. True, that he possessed intelligence, and with it maturity on some level. But the overall inexperience caused him to act much younger than needed, as though he were simply an adolescent struck by raging hormones. And, she believed, with the revelation of her interest in his passion, Rossa had succeeded in hooking the young man after all. How convenient, then, that they'd arrived at her "humble" abode. "As for the periods I prefer, that is easy enough to determine," Rossa chuckled. "I enjoy the Italian Renaissance, for its artwork and various scientific discoveries... And also the French Rococo, otherwise known as the Late Baroque period."

She arched a brow. "The artwork and fashion of the Rococo have always been favourites of mine. Extravagance. Beauty. Perhaps a bit excessive, but... They knew what was aesthetically pleasing in those days." Rossa failed to mention (conveniently) that she'd spent a great deal of her second century wearing wide, beautiful gowns and sitting inside lavishly-decorated chambers with as many human men as she desired at once. The woman promptly dropped her fan the moment, however, that Byran uttered that 'this night would forever remain one of his most cherished, easily'. Oh, what a poor fool. Did he have the slightest, even the most minuscule inkling of what would happen to him tonight? Her melodic voice bubbled into laughter as she started to shake her head. "You give me far too much credit, my dear." Rossa allowed, as earlier, to be lifted from the carriage by the youth Byran Strathin, thanking the coachman and moving to the gate. She promptly unlocked it with an iron key that hung from a chain about her neck, that had been tucked out of sight in the bosom of her dress. "This way, Mr. Strathin."

The walk to the front of the manor was no large feat. The majority of her land was located to the rear of the building, in surprisingly wild brush not often found in England during these times. But the front had a fairly extensive English garden, whose blooms practically glowed under the moonlight despite the lack of sun. In fact, a great deal of her plants seemed to have white blossoms of the nocturnal variety. She did not comment nor explain to Byran. He would understand in time. Her manor rose to a height of three floors, and every inch of its stone facade had been covered with twisting emerald ivy. Lights shone from the house's windows, suggesting life within. And, at their arrival at the entrance (two double mahogany doors, ornately carved) and with a rapping at the wood from Rossa's fist, they were prompty answered and let inside by a strikingly handsome butler... Later in years than Byran, but still surprisingly youthful. "Claudio," she greeted. The man silently bobbed his head in response and closed the doors behind them.

A glow overtook the vampiress, and she swept around to face Byran with every last shred of her overwhelming charisma. "Shall we adjourn to the study? I have a table and chairs set up, and a collection of volumes that I believe will be to your liking, Mr. Strathin. We can take tea there, and I'll have Claudio bring a plate of fresh scones for you." Rossa gestured, leading the man to said chamber with long strides. She settled into a great velvet armchair of crimson, similar to the hue which she wore. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable." The baroness pointed out a matching armchair across from her, a small round table placed between the two of them. It was dressed with a crocheted tablecloth, a bone china tea set perched on top of it as though it had been expecting company. "I have tea here every night," Rossa lied in explanation. "It has become habitual for the servants to prepare it by the time I arrive." She reached for the pot, gracefully pouring the steaming fluid into Byran's cup without a single drop spilled. The concoction was richly orange in colour.

Despite his interest in her hobby, Byran knew nothing about it, other than periods of time. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, miss?" He was of course referring to the vampire's earlier reference to missing her Sicilian home. He was being sincere in his question, not aware how much it made him sound as if a child. He smiled charmingly as she unlocked the gate as well. "Too much credit, or perhaps, just enough?" He chuckled almost fondly as he followed her through. Despite some nerves over both the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind and his relative inexperience in this manner, he was looking forward to it nonetheless.

He whistled as they passed the manor, both it's sheer size and the amount of ivy over it impressive. The pale blooms seemed captivating like stars amongst a sky in the moon light. A sort of.. jealousy?.. filled him at the sight of the butler. After all, he could tell that though female, the lady he called company tonight was in charge.. And any servant were the pray of a lady in charge. That he did know.. But he calmed himself, reminding his petty side that someone had chosen his company, for once. He greeted the servant civilly and was about to tip his hat to him when Rossa turned her charm onto him. It was almost blinding in radiance to the poor young man and he turned shy before it. "That sounds riveting, madame di Morro."

As she prepared the tea, he stared in wonder at the volumes of books surrounding him. It by far outweighed his little library, both in size and quality. Reading just the spines tantalized his senses and made his mouth water at the gems amongst them. He dared to touch one in particular, reciting off a small quote. "In the highest civilization, the book is still the highest delight. He who has once known its satisfactions is provided with a resource against calamity." He turned back around to the gorgeous woman before him, his eyes shining brightly and his attitude obviously .. perkier?.. "Madame di Morro, you might as well have shot an arrow through my heart and scribed your name on it. A full Emerson collection? It really is almost too much, miss." The implications of his words were far beyond lost on the young man as he drew up his chair. Just when he thought he could not get any more smitten with the young baronessa... he inhaled the tea deeply. He blushed in pleasure as he adored his hostess. "Madame... Souchong?" As he sipped from the tea cup lightly, like a true gentleman, he found his nose not misleading. Indeed, this was the fruit-like but deeply rich and smoky tea that fetched the highest dollar. This led him to believe either Rossa was frivolous with her money or she found his company to be worth the pound paid.. He figured it to be of the last sort, being that she did not seem to type to squander, despite her obvious wealth. He lightly set his cup down and smiled charmingly. "So by what means, dear madame, may I entertain you tonight?"

The vampiress contemplated the boy's behaviour once more, replaying his words and facial expressions, from walking the grounds to entering the manor, in her mind's eye. How thrilling, she thought, to experience someone so fresh and new from what she had become accustomed to after all these years. She'd sensed the continual, childlike glee when Byran shared his passions and interests with her, as well as the blatant flash of jealousy towards Claudio. After examining her literary collection, Byran had all but sworn his heart to Rossa. But he said it so casually she wondered if he'd even realised the connotations of such a declaration. Either way, she reveled in his enthusiasm, perhaps to a point she had not yet felt comfortable with. If she was not careful, perhaps she would develop an obsession with him--it happened to her kind from time to time concerning humans. Rossa chuckled, pausing in sipping her tea in order to enumerate a verse from Emerson's poetry. The woman's eyes flickered with an implacable fire, while her flawless features became stoic and heavy with meaning. She edited it some to suit the situation, unsure if Byran would catch the subtlety. But either way, she felt, its message would go unnoticed to the young, naive man.

"Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
To report thy features only,
Thou hast touched for my despair,
And if I languish into dreams,
Again I meet the ardent beams.
King of things! I dare not die
In Being's deep past ear and eye,
Lest there I find the same deceiver,
And be the sport of Fate forever.
Dread power, but dear! if God there be,
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me. "

Rossa allowed the poetry excerpt to hang in the air before moving onto the next subject. She smiled, inclining her head slightly in a nod. "Lapsang souchong. You are correct in your assessment. I am surprised--I did not expect to have the company of a connoisseur. Really, Mr. Strathin, you have such knowledge of a variety of things... I am greatly impressed with you." Rossa thought that it could not hurt to stroke the man's ego before making an advance on him. Man's pride was a curious thing. Her beauty, intelligence, and amiability would assuredly pin Byran just where she wanted him. And, as she sat across from him in her armchair, admiring the gentle curve of his lips and the boyish-but-masculine silhouette of his jaw, it occurred to Rossa that she desired more from Byran than just his blood. (Though she admitted it smelt intoxicating to her at this time, after being denied sustenance so long this evening.) In fact, Rossa seriously contemplated having her way with him right this moment and separating him from his innocence forever.

It was this realisation that caused the female vampire to nearly choke on her drink, from Byran's final inquiry of her. 'So by what means, dear madame, may I entertain you tonight?' Best not to delve into it abruptly. But she could lead into it, in a gentle coaxing manner. Rossa set her teacup down on its saucer, transferring it from her hands onto the surface of the round table in front of her. She eyed Byran seriously, making a point to inject all the appeal she could into her movements, face, and mannerisms... Ooze with femininity, if only to tantalize his young mind. "To be frank with you, Mr. Strathin... Byran, if I may..." Rossa paused, touching her fingers to her ruby lips delicately. "...I invited you here because I..." The woman feigned hesitation. "...I found you captivating, and handsome. I only wish to spend a while longer with you, if you will stay after my earnest confession..." The woman waved a hand dismissively. "We could converse about whatever you would like--politics, philosophy, science, literature, morality... Anything. It is my desire to intrigue you, in the manner you intrigue me."