[open] somewhere after midnight

[outstandingbalance]

I. Drinking, Conversation & Light Blood Sport

It's not strange for Natasha to end up in a bar at some point in the evening. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, but at least a couple of times a week she ends up in one. Tonight is notable not because she's found herself in a new bar—that could be any night—but because she breaks out of her routine of taking a seat at the counter and nursing a drink or two for hour or so, maybe chatting with a regular, then going on her way.

This time she's found herself in a bar near the institute, and she has a drink sitting on the a table off to one side, sure, but instead of sipping it without appetite, she's standing facing a dart board, throwing set after set of darts and landing them in tight clusters in the cork. First around the bull's eye then the triple twenty, the triple nineteen, eighteen, seventeen... and so forth.

Maybe she's relaxing. Maybe she's getting used to being in London and the new job. She'd like to think that's the case, though mostly she's been keeping her head down and her eyes open.

It might be going a little too far to say she's in a good mood, but she's starting to feel a little more outgoing. Enough to turn to someone near by and ask, "Care to give me some competition?"



II. Light Blood Sports & A Drinking Problem

Another night, another bar. This time Natasha is more to her normal script. Or at least, she was for about the first third of her whiskey sour. That's when a disagreement down the bar turns violent. At first, Natasha isn't too worried about it. It isn't her problem, just a couple of drunks knocking over stools and raising their voices.

Then one of them pulls a switchblade and it goes from not her problem to to very much her problem in a matter of a fraction of a second when the blade slides through the other man's jacket and into his forearm. The smell of blood fills the bar room, stronger and more intoxicating than any of the alcohol on the shelf.

It's been over two months since Natasha had human blood, and all in a rush it seems like every second of it was screaming at her. For a moment she freezes, afraid of what she'd do if she moved, afraid of what someone might see if she drew their attention. Her jaw tightens and her nails drag across the top of the bar in a slow, tense scratch. She stares at nothing, her attention narrowing to pin point.

The fight doesn't last from there. The bartender yells at both of them to get out, the bouncer appears. Both of them are kicked out.

And Natasha covers her mouth, shaking.



III. Streetlights, Shadows & Night Owls

Let's call it work. Natasha thinks of it that way. It's not exactly patrolling—nothing that formal. It's more just being out, keeping her eyes open, paying attention and being around. Most nights, it doesn't lead to much. Not wasted time since she's getting used to the city, but she doesn't accomplish a whole lot.

Sometimes, though, she runs into something interesting. Someone she can help? Who knows.



IV. Wildcard

((Don't see something you like? Hit me up at sarosaron and we'll figure something out.))

Comments

II

[falsify]

He doesn't pay a huge amount of attention to the vampire at the bar - vampires exist, and as much he might like to, Eames can't do anything about that. And besides that he had meetings to attend to, information to exchange. Things to think about other than how annoying it is when the closest thing to one of your natural predators is in the room.

His contact has left and Eames has relocated to the bar when the fight breaks out. Mostly he looks annoyed by the whole thing, it's annoying and ruining his attempt to wind down after a long day, but his eyes aren't on the obnoxious neanderthals knifing eachother when blood gets spilled.

Eames watches Natasha out of the corner of his eye, and the way she reacts is extremely telling. Hasn't had blood in a while obviously - at least, not human - and she's clearly putting her all into not giving in to the bloodlust. And it'd be better for everyone if she didn't, which is why he orders her a gin and a slice of lemon once the bartender's attention is free. He figures it's probably not quite enough to block it out entirely, but gin has a strong scent, something more pervasive than other liquors. It'll help dull things a little, at the very least.

[outstandingbalance]

Normally Natasha would have more attention for the other patrons, but she's still struggling with herself and the hunger-heat rising in her chest when the bartender sets a drink in front of her. At first, she doesn't quite understand it. She just stares at the bartender flatly, her expression enough to make him squirm uneasily and tip his head back toward Eames as though passing on the blame.

Then she blinks, realizing what's happening instead of listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

She shakes her head a little, taking the lemon and squeezing it into the gin. The smell sticks to her fingers, not quite covering the lingering scent of blood, but at least taken with the gin it gives her something else she can pretend to pay attention to.

Hands still shaking slightly, she takes a drink. It's not what she wants. Not even slightly. She refuses to let herself turn her nose up at it though, drinking deeply, her eyes on Eames the entire time as she does.

[falsify]

Eames watches her back, not attempting to hide the look on his face. It's neither flirtatious or judging, like one might expect in this situation, but assessing. He's not an idiot, he knows better than to get close to a vampire in the throes of hunger; the risk is too high. He's seen other fae get torn into and is pretty keen not to meet the same end.

A man who loses interest in boring conversations astoundingly fast, but his ability to watch is something else entirely. And that's what he does, eyes on her until she seems stable again. Until she's not an immediate threat.

[outstandingbalance]

If there's one thing that Natasha's good at, it's control. For as strained as she was when she first smelled blood, she collects herself reasonably quickly. It's not a hundred per cent thing—tonight's not going to be her easiest. Once she trusts herself a little more, she'll be looking for blood. Animal blood.

Hopefully she won't be stooping to rats or stray cats, but it was too early to rule that out entirely.

By the time she finishes the gin, she's visibly more steady. Her expression is grimmer than it was a few moments before, paler and looking more tired, but she's not about to lash out. She doesn't stand until she's sure she trusts herself to regulate, especially approaching someone as tempting as her benefactor.

That is a rabbit hole she doesn't intend to go down.

"Are thanks in order?" she asks, her voice low; a little raspy, but that's how she usually sounds.

I

[protagonized]

Simon has been watching his new...comrade? Associate? Coworker?...throw a perfect game of darts for the better part of half an hour with a not-quite-present expression on his face. It's almost soothing, the way she seems utterly in control of herself as she throws, and his mind is wandering back to his long-neglected dissertation. In just a matter of weeks, he will be a university graduate. Not that he'll end up doing much with his degree; he's long since disabused himself of the notion that he'll be doing anything in science or biology. No, he's stuck as a supernatural policeman until he can prove his incompetence once and for all and end up as a statue in Sylvia Redbright's office.

It's not a comforting thought.

Still, he's sufficiently occupied with his thoughts about chromosome abnormalities that Natasha's offer comes completely out of left field and he chokes on his drink.

"Fuck, no," he splutters, laughing. "Not really my area of expertise."

[outstandingbalance]

"So? You're not going to get better by not trying." Natasha smiles as she says it, her tone just slightly drawled. She wouldn't say she feels at ease with her coworkers—if that's what they're calling them—but she's willing to fake it until either it's true or they part ways.

"Besides," she adds, "it looks like you could use a distraction."

[protagonized]

Simon laughs. "I'm not going to get better, period," he points out. Who knows how old Natasha, being a vampire, really is? She's had decades to perfect her aim. Simon's a far better sharpshooter with an Xbox controller in his hand, and if things were different and he were actually allowed to live a normal life he would be perfectly fine with that.

But, alas, it's not.

"My hand-eye coordination's pretty shit," Simon cautions, but he stands up anyway and takes a dart. It's not completely true--he was reasonable enough at sports--but he's got no innate talent that even approaches the kind of precision he'd just seen from Natasha. (Or even from Illya, the mysteriously well-armed werewolf. Christ, his life.)

The dart hits the board. It's not particularly close to the center, but at least he doesn't miss it entirely.

[outstandingbalance]

"That's not a bad start," Natasha says, picking up her drink and forcing some of it down while he takes his turn. She licks her lips, considering. "Room for improvement, but that's what practice is for—trust me, everyone needs practice."

Not that there's not inborn talent or advantages that come with inhuman physiology, but Natasha's aim hasn't changed much from when she was human, and any natural talent she might have had was only a springboard for more hours of training than she can estimate.

"Just try to relax and give it another shot."

II

[akillersmile]

Kyle wanted to enjoy a nice beer in the chill pub not far from his place, to have some time to himself this evening before returning home to wake up to another day of frustration and confusion with the whole damn city. His desires are interrupted when a fight breaks out between the two guys beside him. He minds his own business until the blade comes out, at which point he jumps up with a couple other guys to start breaking up the fight, dragging the unarmed drunkard away from the antagonist that the other guys are grabbing. He passes off the guy as soon as the official security is there, all too grateful to return to his drink.

That is, until someone- something down the bar catches his attention. The woman is a complete stranger, but he recognizes the slight widening of her eyes and the way she seems to react to the fight, not afraid of the conflict but of the result of it. Kyle grabs his drink and walks over, taking his seat beside her instead of where he was.

"You should probably go," he says easily, looking behind the bar instead of at the woman as he takes another sip of his beer. It's as amicable as he'll get with what he's pretty damn sure is a vampire.

[outstandingbalance]

She glances over at his words, but her gaze doesn't linger on him. Her hand stays firmly over her mouth, playing the part of the prissy woman shaken up by violence to cover the darker reasons for her reaction.

For a few seconds, she wasn't sure she trusted herself to respond, let alone to leave.

Her breathing comes a little faster. On some level, Natasha would love to turn this into a fight, but she tamps down on that instinct. She can't give into that part of herself now. That was a person she was trying very, very hard not to be.

Finally, after too long of a pause, she replies, "That's going to take a minute."

[akillersmile]

Kyle takes another sip of his drink during her silence, but finally turns his head just enough to take in her expression. There's something off about it. The woman looks more ill from the experience than lusting for blood, though the physiological signs still point to vampirism. It gives him pause, enough that he's not trying to get her thrown out on her ass just yet.

"I heard The Jolly Roger is more for people with your.. tastes. Maybe you should try there and leave this place to the locals," he suggests. His tone is light enough, even as the words are intentionally rude.

III

[baisant]

Jean-Claude has been a creature of the night for a long time. He recognizes the sort of look about her even without really knowing who she is or what she's doing exactly. There are those who have a mission, out and about at this sort of time. Those who are out to pick up their newest trick, those who are on the hunt for something more. She does not strike him as the sort of type for that.

No, there is something more casual to her than that. And yet he knows without having to ask that she is vampire. Not new -- she would look hungrier, more desperate if she were. But vampire nonetheless. She is a curiosity. And exactly the sort of thing that Jean-Claude himself is out for a stroll on the intention of bumping into.

"It is a beautiful night, is it not," he comments, as he steps from the shadows towards her. The air is still crisp, and thus he has a velvet frock coat mostly buttoned over his customary laced-front shirt. Though he is still baring a decent amount of chest, not to worry.

[outstandingbalance]

He certainly cuts a figure straight off a bodice ripper, dressed like that. Combined with the fact he's a vampire and the sense of age around him, it gives Natasha an idea who he might be. Kenzi's description had been... evocative.

"Is it?" she asks in return, Russian accent subtle but present. It's a split second judgment call how to respond to him. Hopefully it's the right one. The last thing she needs is to stir up trouble with older vampires, and she's banking on the fact she thinks he's Kenzi's maker to mean that he won't stand on status or formality. "I suppose it could be worse. It could be raining. Still damp, though."

[baisant]

She might have some idea of his identity, although Jean-Claude is not surprised at that. He does run a fairly popular club, as far as the underground circuit is concerned. And besides that, he is the Earl of Poplar, for all a title that is. Still, he's certainly not going to complain about any way she might respond. Doubtfully so, anyway.

Jean-Claude's French accent is perhaps a bit thicker than Natasha's Russian, but he's still easy to understand. He's been speaking English for a long time after all, he's just stubbornly hung onto his accent despite it all. He shrugs slightly in response to her words, smirking slightly before commenting, "Any night England decides upon fair weather is a good night." Fair weather of course meaning that it's not raining. Not at the moment, anyway.

"So. What is it that brings you out on the streets at such a time, chérie?" he asks. "Clearly it is not the weather."

i

[itsconceptual]

She tries to keep to herself, most of the time -- not so much shy as guarded. Work, home, sleep. Some drinking and dancing with strangers is peppered into that routine, but she tries to keep them just that: strangers. The anonymity is nice.

But she, too, is getting more used to things in London. She's starting to be able to change who she thinks she is. Effy Stonem, a human. Effy Stonem, a faker. Effy Stonem...a fae. It doesn't sound natural --it doesn't feel natural-- but it does seem a little less foreign. She's no longer looking over her shoulder for a doppelganger ready to destroy her and take back their own name. So she allows a faint smile to cross her face as she watches the woman --familiar, she realizes, though she was pissed at the time-- at the dartboard.

An even less faint smile at the invitation.

"You want me to follow that?" She nods at the board. "I'd be more of a joke than competition."

[outstandingbalance]

"C'mon, it's just for fun," Natasha counters smoothly, her smile encouraging. "No one likes to play alone."

She holds out a set of darts to Effy, wiggling them in mock temptation. She doesn't really know if the girl will go for it, but judging from her smile, Natasha thinks she might have a chance.

"I won't even make you buy me a beer when I win."

ii;

[iustitiae]

Connor goes out precisely to have exciting things not happen. This? This display of male superiority and dick comparing? Uncool. Some people are trying to avoid their problems, here. Some people are not looking to get caught in someone else's drama. But at least the guys are kicked out pretty quickly, small blessings.

Natasha does a pretty good job of making herself seem, well, missable. But she saved his life, hers is going to be a hard face to forget. He slides into the chair next to her, reaching over to place a hand on her arm. Maybe that's a bad idea. Maybe he should've announced himself with how wrapped up in herself she is. But he doesn't.

"Hey, uh -- are you alright?"

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha draws a deep breath from behind her hand. Someone who didn't know what she is was might take her expression as squeamishness when faced with blood and violence, though nothing could be further from the truth.

Her answer comes a moment late, when she trusts her voice. Even still, there's a catch in her throat from thirst.

"I will be," she says. "I might need to get some air."

She doesn't move though, unsure she trusts herself just yet.

[iustitiae]

"Let me go with you, then." He touches her gently, guiding her like he'll lead her out if she needs. It's all about the buddy system - even if they're both well aware that she could take him and like four other guys all at once in a fight if she had to. "What's going on? I mean - we can talk outside if you want."

[spionin]

There's no harm in stopping for a drink on her way home from Redbright -- most days, Gaby finds herself staying late, shifting through her books and lesson plans like it all means something... like her father might have done, once, when he was still teaching alongside his research.

The best thing that can be said about the bar she enters is its cheap drinks and the fact it hardly seems overcrowded. Gaby saunters up to the barkeep, bats her eyelashes and emerges with two half-price drinks and some comments she'd rather forget were ever said.

Her plan? To empty both the glasses in quick succession and be on her way. But that plan is interrupted when she notices someone throwing darts (showing off, more like)-- and she smiles when she realizes she recognizes the person.

"That is very impressive," she comments as she walks closer, not bothering to speak any louder than her usual, conversational tone.

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha recognizes the shapeshifter and smiles. She hasn't expected to run into her here, even though they both work at the institute. Natasha doesn't actually spend much time around the students and the teachers.

"This?" she says lightly. "This is just practice. I have the feeling you'd do pretty good yourself."

[spionin]

"I'm good at throwing things, yes... it's the accuracy I still struggle with," Gaby quips, nonchalant as she shrugs lightly.

"Long day at work?" It's funny, in a way, that they both had ended up working in the same place, if on very different duties... though had her mission been different, perhaps Gaby would have taken up the same job as Natasha did, instead of pretending to be a teacher.

1. let's call this a late date

[devilsavocado]

With Redbright the way it is, Matt doesn't have to act so much when he's in the area. Most people know there's folks out there who can do more than the usual, and no one asks questions when he stands and cuts around people without so much as having to bump anyone with his cane. He'd heard her from across the bar, of course.

"Sure," says the blind man, but they both know there's more to him than that. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

[outstandingbalance]

Says the blind man she's fairly sure is one of the people in the bar she thinks could give her a challenge. She's seen a little of what Matt can do. Wouldn't mind seeing more.

"You might be getting a little ahead of yourself if you think you're getting lucky," Natasha teases, not quite able to let his turn of phrase go without making a joke on it. "Maybe we can talk about that if you manage to win."

[devilsavocado]

Matt laughs. "Didn't quite mean it like that, but I'm not against it."

Look, sometimes he talks and everything just comes out flirty. It's a curse that manifests itself around beautiful women (and sometimes hot guys.) He steps up to the board and feels his way around for the darts. Of course, touching the board also helps him 'see' it better, too.

"I'm a few years out of practice." He takes a few steps back to join her, weighing the darts in his hands. They don't usually let him throw sharp objects. Bit of a safety hazard and all that. He hands her the darts. "Can't tell the colours apart for one thing. You mind splitting 'em for me?"