undergrounds | Backdated to 22 November

Natasha's never much been the sort to celebrate her birthdays. Wasn't even when she was alive and aging. Call it the result of not having anyone to celebrate with. Family had all died when she was young, and growing up in thin times, in and out of orphanages and boarding schools, there weren't many people interested in splurging to buy her presents or take her out to dinner. She could count the number of birthday parties she's had in her whole like—seventy-eight years today—on one hand and still have fingers leftover.

She's not sure why she's thinking of it at all this year. Maybe just because there's been so many changes. New city. New allegiances. New friends, maybe. New life, maybe.

Maybe she just didn't actually expect to live to see this one after she fled Russia.

Whatever it is, Natasha goes out drinking tonight with purpose, making the rounds and her regular bars and drinking a toast at each of them. Sometimes she drinks them to herself. Sometimes she drinks them to the people who didn't make it this far. If, along the way, she runs into anyone she knows? In the event that happens, they might find themselves with a bottle of beer or a glass of whiskey being set in front of them, a silent invitation to join her for this round.

If she doesn't, then she has her drink alone and moves on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Arthur sees Nat the minute she walks in the door of the bar he's currently posted up at, ever observant and alerted to the presence of attractive women that he already knows. He waits until she sits down on the bar before he excuses himself from his friends and joins her there.

She seems like she's already been drinking, which means this is just the next stop, and he can relate to that. He doesn't know that this her birthday but he did exactly the same thing.

"Having a good night?"

His question wins him a smile, not unmixed but welcoming. "Could be a lot worse." She tips her head in invitation. "Join me for a round? I could use the company. No one likes drinking alone."

"Of course," he says, slipping onto the barstool next to her. He still has a bit left in his current bottle of beer but he'll polish that off quickly.

"Are we drinking to something in particular?" he asks, wondering for a moment if she's celebrating the change in Islington leadership. He knows she's not aligned with them, but Harris certainly wasn't doing any vampires any favours for a long time.

"The fact I've managed not to die yet." Her lips twitch; she's not unaware of the irony of her answer. "Not and have it stick, anyway."

She motions to the bartender, getting his attention and a nod, a gesture indicating he'll be just a moment. Good enough. Natasha's not in a rush.

"I'm not taking you away from your friends, am I?"

"Oh, no," Arthur replies, glancing back in the direction of the group he left. A small group of hunters he met while he was trying to track down the best supplier for wooden bullets in the city. They're not close, they just happen to congregate and share trade secrets every once in a while. "They're more like colleagues anyway. I was thinking of leaving soon."

"Well, if you don't have any other plans..." The bartender joins them then, and Natasha asks for two whiskeys—raising an eyebrow in case Arthur would rather have another beer. She's not averse to getting him something else if he'd rather.

He nods at the order for whiskey, picking up his beer to finish it off quickly. When the bartender comes back with their drinks, he picks his up and offers it in toast.

"To not dying," he says.

"To not dying," she echoes him before taking a long pull on her glass. Her eyes half hood, a slight smile playing at one corner of her mouth when she finishes. "And maybe getting a little more than that out of the next year."

Arthur laughs softly before he takes another sip. "Birthday?" he asks. It sounds like a pretty common anniversary sentiment.

"A little obvious?" Natasha asks with a rueful smile, her voice gentle. "Can't blame me for not wanting to drink alone, can you?"

"No," Arthur says, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smirk. "I actually performed a similar ritual on my last birthday."

"Let me guess," she pushes a glass in front of him as she speaks. "Thirty? That seems like the sort of thing people do for thirty."

Arthur laughs, sounding a bit surprised at how accurate she is. "Exactly thirty, actually. I'll be thirty-one in January."

"Lucky guess." That and experience. But she'd own to luck. "Maybe we should run into each other like this again in January."

"So far my plans look... kind of like this," he says, gesturing vaguely around with his drink. It's been a while since he's actually made plans for his birthday - it's usually out for a few drinks and then home to reflect on the year or pass out.

"Not a bad plan."

She sips her whiskey, glancing down at the bar briefly. For a moment she feels old, but the moment passes.

At least he has the grace not to ask how old she is in return.

"I might get you a present."

Arthur knows that age is an entirely different matter to immortal beings than it is to someone like him, as much as he think he doesn't worry about it. Nat undoubtedly looks good for whatever age she is, and she probably doesn't need him to tell her that. She also doesn't need him asking period-specific questions that he knows he won't be able to help but wonder about once he knows just how long she was alive before the internet was invented. It's just a messy business, asking anyone about their age.

"You don't have to do that," he says in good humour. "I'd feel bad that I didn't get you anything."

"You didn't know," she shrugs, leaning in just a little, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Besides, you're here. That's something. Unless you were planning to leave me here?"

"Of course not," he says, equally as conspiratorial. He picks up his whiskey, swirling it around in the glass thoughtfully for a moment before he leans in, inviting her to take away whatever she wants from what he's about to say. "I'll stick around as long as the birthday girl wants me to."

"You sure about that? Seems like every time I think I'm going to spend the night with you... something comes up." He's smart. She figures he'll catch the invitation in her statement. She also figures he'll notice the backdoor.

"Not for lack of trying on my part," Arthur says with another laugh. He's not trying to pin it all on her, but that one time still sticks in his mind as a particularly embarrassing moment.

"I can't deny that." Natasha smiles faintly, not exactly embarrassed, and not exactly trying to deflect the blame. If she'd been honest with him, perhaps they wouldn't have ended quite so poorly. They had both had reasons not to tell the truth, though. "No surprises tonight, I promise."

He smiles like he's charmed by that, taking another sip before he speaks again. "You shouldn't keep promises you can't keep," he tells her, "but I'm sure if we work together we can at least minimize the possibility of surprises."

"I wouldn't make a whole lot of promises if I followed that rule." She doesn't make too many promises as it is—for that very reason. "I intend to keep it. That has to count for something."

Backdated to 22 November

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