A sweet smile greets your appraising gaze; long-lashed emerald eyes drift half-shuttered to appraise you in return, a sly look settling uponhis beautifully masculine face. A tilt to his head, a characteristic gestureof curiosity, as he silently regards you. Then that smile that could charmthe devil again appears as he holds out a slender, elegant hand. "I'm Zoisite de la Vega but you can call me 'Zoey'," intones his melodic,tenor voice -- a voice built to sing, to entice, to enchant. "And yes,that's Zoey, not 'Joey'. You wouldn't believe how many people I have to say that to. However, you look to be a bit more of the intelligent sort.Good for you." Slender, willowy, with an elegant grace usually seen on women, his beauty seems quite natural for him. Wispy golden hair, wavy and as fine as spun silk, frames his youthful face and is caught neatly at the nape of his neck to form a waist-length ponytail. Black boots, tight-fitting denim jeans and an emerald green T-shirt cling lovingly to his gracefully muscled, 5'8" form. A soft chuckle and he takes his hand from yours, turning away to look upon the others observing him. "I see it's a bit of a busy night. That's not surprising." Another soft chuckle as he turns his emerald gaze back to you. "There are all sorts of things that go on at night. Things which most people never see. They're the lucky ones." "What's that? Say a bit about myself?" A sly grin curls across his sensuous lips. "Tell you what . . . Let's go somewhere and sit. I'll even buy you a drink, if you'd like." He leads you over to a place that seems eerily distanced from the rest of the club, despite the loud noise and the frolicking crowd that surrounds you. Gracefully taking a seat, his slim hand gestures at you to sit in the chair opposite him. As you settle into the offered place, he leans forward, golden ponytail slipping over his shoulder to gleam against his green shirt. "I suppose I ought to start with the basics. I'm twenty-three years old, born on October 30. That's right, the day before Halloween. Rather fitting, all things considered." "De la Vega? Yes, it's Hispanic. My family is a splinter branch of old Spanish nobility that's thoroughly American. We've been over here for a number of generations now. But Mom was into Zorro and our heritage, so I grew up Catholic and learning the ways of 'genteel' folk, including fencing. I'm not that bad at it, actually." "Yes, I do have an unusual first name. Mom again; she was into gems and such stuff as well. For whatever reason, she liked the mineral named 'zoisite' so much, she gave the name to me. No, I really don't mind, actually. It's fun to have a memorable name, especially when you're trying to be famous. That's right, trying to be famous. I'm a musician by passion and by trade. That's why I'm here. Checking out the hot spots to see where our manager ought to try to get us gig." "The name of the band? Ravensblood. It had the right feel we were looking for." He softly chuckles, leaning back in his seat, still that observant gaze fixed upon you. "Besides, it was the only one the four of us could agree upon. Me? I'm the lead singer and the lead guitarist. The other guys are good, but they don't quite have what I have to be the front man, even if I do say so myself." "Yes, I do have a bit of an ego. Happens to be one of my flaws, and no, I'm smart enough to know that I'm far from perfect. So . . . Let me catch this lovely waitress's attention and order us something to drink, and you can decide what I should talk about next."
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