[open] Aces take your time

[falsify]

A;

You're at one of the nightclubs in South London; they're always best at this time of year in some people's estimation. Much livelier, better music, and the summer promotions are always better in July than in August. It's when the promoters are finally in the swing of things, but they still need to try that extra bit harder to entice people to come inside.

What might stand out to the keen observer, is a rather attractive woman sitting at the bar. Nothing so strange about a good looking woman hanging by herself in a club of course, but what might strike a person as odd is the wide berth people seem to be giving her. No one sat next to her, barely even anyone acknowledging her as she nurses her drink - glancing around the room on occasion.

But maybe there isn't anything strange to you about this, maybe this is just the person you're looking for. Following rumours or a tip about someone who'd be good business to get to know. Or maybe you just fancy talking to a pretty lady for a bit.

Have fun with that.

B;

There's a cool breeze on the air on this fine afternoon. Eames wanders through Camden enjoying it; London's humidity come summer has never been something he's overly fond of, but today it's tolerable. Lots of people out and about, sitting by the lock or dodging flierers on the street, but he moves through the crowds easily. A certain fondness for the area that sometimes makes him think - he doesn't fuss too much with who owns what borough, but this is one he'd certainly like to see taken from the Council's control. Honestly there's a sad kind of irony in one of the last homes of punk in London being beholden to the "protection" of such an establishment.

Never the matter, he supposes. Not much to be done about it right this moment.

He has an ice cream in his hand because he's a grown-ass adult and he can do what he wants, and he's currently engaged in a heated debate with one of the vendors in the Stables Market. A man selling vintage furniture who thinks he can get away with jacking up his prices because he's in a popular area.

In his wild gesturing-- well. Either you dodge it or you don't, but either way all Eames has now is a hollow waffle cone sans ice cream and a laughing salesman. What a day.

C;

Or, whatever! HMU on Plurk if you've got something particular in mind, or just. You know. Bug Eames.

Also brackets are cool, I can do either.

Comments

Closed to Nancy

[falsify]

It's frankly astonishing how rarely Eames' evenings seem to go as planned.

He doesn't deal overmuch with the hunts; regardless of the court leading them, in recent years (relatively speaking) he's come to find they're not really to his taste. Thinking of them as archaic. Boring. It's tough to describe a people as tied to tradition when the passage of time has such a different meaning to them, but Eames is certainly not one for it. It's like tourists wearing those garish union jack hats though, he thinks it's stupid but it's not like it affects him in any real way.

Whispers on the grapevine have made him aware that that might not be so true this year. Red things, beautiful things. He knows a certain witch who falls in that criteria, and he knows of a few fae who certainly have her in their sights. It'd be bad business to let an investment go and get murdered, which is why he's been keeping an eye on Nancy since he heard. And why he's knocking on her door now, looking a damn sight more uncomfortable than he usually ever is.

[stauncherhearted]

Fagin had been the one to tell her. She'd been stopping by his place on her way to start working when he let slip that this year, for the hunt, red was in. And the way he looked at her had Nancy convinced she was on at least one fae's criteria. Promising to be on her watch, she'd gone to work, only to be interrupted by what at first what appeared to be a very loud, drunk man.

No, that wan't right.

Interrupted by a very loud, drunk, and sporting fae. And he wanted blood.

Somehow, she'd managed to lose him as she made her way back to her apartment, taking every which-way she could. He pursued her, nearly catching her, but only getting away with a lock of her hair and a bit of blood in the process. Still, if that was all he got, she considered it a win.

The second she got to her flat, she was slamming her door, locking it, and beginning to reinforce her alarms. She was most of the way through it when the noise at the door came. Why hadn't- right. Only those who wished her harm would set off the alarms, but all the same, Nancy stood on her tip-toes and looked out the peep-hole.

"Eames? What are you doing here?" She hadn't heard her phone go, but she had been working diligently to protect herself. "Are you going to kill me?"

[falsify]

Really, Nancy? He's even not going to dignify that with a response. Honestly. You follow a girl home and maybe-maybe not kill a guy (no one can prove a thing) and this is what you get for your efforts. Why would he even come to her house to do it? He can't get in if she doesn't invite him. He rolls his eyes and looks at the peephole, sighing as if he's incredibly put-upon by standing here at her door.

"You're quite popular all of a sudden." He half shrugs, "personally, I'm not a fan of that kind of attention. Can't imagine you are either."

[stauncherhearted]

That's no answer, but, for better or for worse, she unlocks the door, opening it and gesturing for him to come inside. She's not at all surprised he knows where she lives.

"The hunt," she says by way of greeting. "Why?" It's so strange that he's here, and she nods towards the couch so that he knows he can sit. Juliet, her small grey kitten, looks up at him boredly from her perch on a sun-drenched pillow.

"Fagin said it was gingers what should watch out."

[falsify]

"Seelies love anything with red hair this year. Foxes, humans. The odd squirrel." He sits, giving her a look over as he does to see if she's taken any significant damage. She looks okay - physically, at least - but so long as she's not about to go and die on him he'll consider the situation satisfactory so far. "It'll be over in a few days, but until then I intend to make sure you don't end up mounted on someone's wall."

[stauncherhearted]

"Mounted on-" oh god. She pales and instantly makes for her kitchen, grabbing the first bottle of alcohol she can find. It's gin, and doesn't waste time pouring two glasses. One for her, one for Eames.

"But I've got to go out. I've got to work."

[falsify]

"I'll keep an eye out. None too invasive, I promise." He smiles at her and takes the drink when offered, "truth be told, I'm only telling you since one slipped through the net."

It's no coincidence she's only been attacked the once so far, but he'd rather not have to tell her at all. Eames doesn't like people to know if he elects to look out for them, both out of worry they might see it as some kind of altruism on his part, and because it's always more advantageous for people to know as little about him and his kind as possible. Those are forgone conclusions with Nancy given her experience with the fae, so he has to come at it from a different angle. So far she seems to respond pretty well to honesty.

B - open to attempted pick-pocketing?

[kleptofaeniac]

Kenzi was working - as always - on this fine sumemrs day. Lifting was always easier in crowds and while Kenzi had graduated to bigger and better things in the way of thievery, pick pocketing always had a special place in her heart.

It would have been easy. Keyword being 'would'. With the two arguing and paying little attention to their surroundings Kenzi could have easily lifted ice-cream guy's wallet and been on her merry way.

Unfortunately, the waffle cone had other plans.

"Seriously?"

She had jerked back the instant the treat had splattered on her chest, putting enough distance between herself and her intended target to make things look less conspicuous. The ice cream in question has made a nice mess down her front, getting her black clothes completely trashed in the process.

oh, absolutely!

[falsify]

Well here's a new situation for him to deal with. Eames waves a dismissive hand at the laughing salesman, (guess he's not getting that ottoman after all,) and turns to give his accidental victim his full attention.

He gives her a look up and down, assessing the extent of the damage. "Could be worse, eh?" He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to her with an apologetic smile, "could've been paint."

[kleptofaeniac]

From the look on her face, Kenzi might be thinking that comparing this to paint was like an asshole saying 'I'm not as bad as Hitler!'. Not a fantastic standard to be living by.

"Thanks," Kenzi smiles shortly and starts dabbing the kerchief on her torso - but it'll do about as good as a band-aid on a bullet wound. She busied herself trying to think of ways he could pay her back. Preferably with cash.

"Don't suppose you know the name of a good dry cleaners?"

[falsify]

He's trying to be nice here, it just doesn't come easy to him because he's a massive asshole, let's all just appreciate the effort, alright? Gosh. A man lost a tasty treat here today.

Anyway. Eames gives that some thought as he steps toward a bin, throwing his cone away with a tragic sigh. What a waste.

"One by the station," he points in the vague direction of Chalk Farm, "not too expensive, if I remember right."

[kleptofaeniac]

Instead of thanking him and getting on her merry (if not slightly filthy) way, Kenzi saw a new opportunity to get into his pockets. She smiled a little absent-minded-like and her stance shifted into something a lot less confident than it was two seconds ago.

"Mind helping me find it? I'm not from around here."

Which he could clearly tell by her accent, but she felt the need to point it out. Some guys would feel like they should take care of a foreign girl, even if Canada wasn't exactly exotic.

[falsify]

The way Eames wrinkles his nose might well indicate just how much he feels like he should take care of this girl, even if he did wreck her clothes. But the way she shifts her presentation catches his interest - because she must be after something here, and he has to admit he's curious.

He sighs and gestures for her to come with as he starts to leave the market, "it's this way."

[ B ]

[warmheartedly]

After the scuffle with the ice cream man has subsided, Clara huffs and shakes her head at the salesman's poor behaviour while she moves closer to check on these items of his. Rude or not, she is curious to see if the man's claims about them being one of a kind or not were true. That and a little lamp caught her eye for personal reasons. She was staring at it intently, expression a little sad, too absorbed by the lamp to notice the salesman rushing her way as he took a big gulp of his coffee.

It doesn't take a genius to realise what happens next. A spooked man from the sudden chill shrouding him. A dropped cup of iced coffee from said spook. A suit ruined and a very unhappy man, probably thinking karma got him.

"Whoops," is all she says as the man behind the counter curses his luck and moves away to clean himself up. She gives a side glance to the poor man who had lost his ice cream, grateful he didn't get splattered with coffee. Ice cream and coffee stains were awful things to wash out of clothes from her experience. "It could have been worse. I think that's the motto for today."

[falsify]

Eames snorts at the coffee incident, watching as the guy hurries to find something to clean up with. Good, he hopes it stains. And he hopes it's that guy's favourite shirt. Maybe it's petty of him, but he doesn't care. Really part of him is just sad it wasn't a hot coffee. That'd be brilliant.

"Almost a shame it wasn't," he says softly in response to the stranger who is definitely a normal human and not a ghost. Voice hushed just in case that annoying salesman is still in earshot.

[warmheartedly]

Drinking hot coffee in this weather would be just very silly. Thinks the ghost who is now poking at the salesman's lockbox to make sure it doesn't tip off the table. She felt rather bad for causing the clothes of the man to be ruined, she rather not make his day any worse.

On purpose at least.

When she hears a response from the man next to her, the one who lost his ice cream and the one she thought wouldn't be able to answer her observations, she looks up at him with a look of pleasant surprise on her features. "Ah. Someone else? It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Clara."

[falsify]

Judging by her surprise, he'd guess the circumstances surrounding the spilled coffee weren't a trick of the eye. A ghost here in this store? He'd think it a surprise, but they do seem to love their antiques in his experience.

"Eames," he offers with a smile, pretending not to note the surprise, "see anything you like?" And he gestures to the lamp she'd been looking at before, alongside a few other things that are pretty, though probably useless if he could tell what they actually were.

[warmheartedly]

"Pleasure to meet you, Eames." She looks back at the items when he gestures to them, her expression taking on a quality of wistfulness and a bit of sadness. "A bit. Just looking back at some things that, um, I know very well."

Seeing that the lamp happens to be hers, a wedding gift from a friend before it was pawned off for money. Not that she holds it against Francisco to sell it. But-- "As pretty as it is, the lamp was never valued at that much. I'm surprised he's trying to hawk it off for so much."

[falsify]

"Welcome to Camden," Eames says with a smile, gesturing broadly to all of the overpriced, second-hand furniture. At least the guy running the place has decent enough taste to get away with charging so much for all this stuff. "He makes a fortune off people with more money than sense."

A

[acrookedchild]

Single girls out at a club like this have to stick together. At least, that's what Abigail figures as she approaches. Besides, she needs another drink. Her martini glass is completely empty.

"Cosmo, please," she says, leaning against the bar. "Widdowson card." And she retrieves her wallet from her small clutch and shows it to confirm her identity. As the bartender begins making her drink, she smiles at the other woman. "What're you drinking? I'll order the same again if you want."

[falsify]

Well isn't this an interesting turn of events, Circle Midnight's new coven leader come to say hello. Eames smiles, eyebrows raised in surprise at the greeting. It takes him a moment to answer, resisting the urge to look around for other witches or... Something. But nobody seems to be paying them any mind, just two girls talking at the bar, right?

"Gin and tonic," he answers softly, voice smooth and low, (he'd picked it to be attractive, you see,) "but you really don't have to."

[acrookedchild]

"I'm glad to," Abby says with a smile. "Better than some creep seeing your glass empty and sending one over then figuring you owe him the time of day for him to make some awful play." Because that's never happened to her, no.

She shakes her head a little. "If you want some company for a friendly chat, I'm totally game. Or I can leave you alone with your drink."

[falsify]

"After you bought me a drink? I couldn't send you away." He takes his bag down off the stool next to him with an inviting smile, "Let's talk a while. Until a better song plays, at least."

[acrookedchild]

"Then let me start by introducing myself," Abby said with a grin as she sat down. "Abigail Widdowson."

[falsify]

"Alice," he offers this character's name with another easy smile, pretending not to recognise the name at all. "-Cartier. Alice Cartier." He adds, almost as an afterthought.

There's a slight stand-offishness to Aliceb (she's a business persona, afterall,) but one must make the effort for someone who so kindly bought them a drink. "Do you do this sort of thing often?" He gestures to the drink, "it's very kind."