ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

[vampiracy]

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Sʏʟᴀʀ.

If he's honest, he doesn't exactly like being an errand boy for the nest. He knows that it's best to stay in the fold instead of break out of it, and his sire is quick to breathe down his neck if he's gone too long. That's why he's back in town, and picking up duties that he's neglected for a few months. He won't keep his seat if he keeps on that way, and he's determined not to lose his standing.

He has plans, and falling through the ranks is not going to get him there.

So when the topic of paying a new contract was raised, he offered to nail down the dirty details. If he's honest he's curious about this meta human they've hired to clean up messes left behind. The pirate honestly would rather his kind not leave a mess to be cleaned, but that's not a battle he's like to win today.

He helps himself into the shop, glancing around with at least a vague curiosity before he tings a bell hoping for attention. The man that answers seems rather ordinary, and Killian gives a smile that has too much teeth to be particularly warm. "Looking for the fellow that owns this place," he says, tone friendly enough.

ᴛʜᴇ Jᴏʟʟʏ Rᴏɢᴇʀ, ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ.

He's done a lot of running around since he's arrived back from his travels. He's invited a few of his friends round to his bar to check in with them, with a back room open for only those that have been specifically welcomed.

That doesn't mean that the place is closed to everyone else, though; it's a popular enough pub, and the prices are fairly low for a person that wants to get pissed and doesn't care too much about how fancy the drinks they're taking happen to be.

He's usually in the back, but, on occasion he can be found at the pool table. Who says you can't scrub your own patrons? If you manage to beat him, he might even get you a drink.

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Tɪɴᴋᴇʀ Bᴇʟʟ.

( it's a bit odd, isn't it, for a vampire to stay in? he supposes that's true enough, and he's out plenty of nights. and days, his ring grants him freedom most can't boast. still, even if he doesn't sleep particularly long hours, tonight he's in on his own, and there's a bit of relief in that.

it seems every time he comes back to London, a timer sets in his feet that demands he leave again. he can't keep picking up and moving where the wind blows, there are things that demand his attention here and he knows that the longer he spends away, the more he'll lose control. his sire is unhappy for how long he's been gone, things are shifting out of place and he'll never stay on top of it if he doesn't stay still.

if he's honest — and he never is, especially not with himself — the emptiness clings, whether he's in London or halfway across the world.

he doesn't expect much of the evening. it's dark and befitting of what he is, now, and he's nursing a bottle to try and get to at least a mild buzz. there might be a furry gray creature nestled on his chest, and since he's alone he'll even run a few doting touches over soft features as the demonic thing purrs with utter contentment. )

I used to be a bloody pirate captain, you know. ( the cat doesn't answer his bitter musings of spending his nights petting a cat and watching terrible television considering his epic past, she just tucks her face into her paws and purrs more. if the cat is meant to be frightened of him, either for his villainous past or his current state of undead, she must have missed that memo. he pretends he doesn't dote on the cat, but when he's alone, it's hard not to.

she'll go home soon enough, he's not sure when; just that when she does the place will seem even more vacant than usual. it's like he's forgotten how to make a place feel like home. then again, did he ever really know how to do that? )

Comments

ᴛʜᴇ Jᴏʟʟʏ Rᴏɢᴇʀ

[detectiveofthewest]

London never had a shortage of sloshed pub patrons, no doubt, but the small crowd that stopped in at the Jolly Roger tonight was a little stranger than usual. Men and women with an unusual amount of ruffles, frills, and the occasional fancy hat, all seemingly looking to have a good time and excitedly talking in vague terms about some sporting good chase.

...Illegal fox hunters? Murder mystery partygoers? LARPers?

Heiji was among them, dressed in normal street clothing, but in an equally good mood. "Alright, let's get this crawl started!"

[vampiracy]

Now, he's used to a bit of a colorful cast of characters. Used to be a pirate, it came with the territory. All the same, this cast is a bit off to him, though it is impossible to really name why. The crowd will be served just the same as any other customer, especially considering their boisterous mood. They should make a fair bit off the crowd. Killian does gravitate toward them, mostly from curiosity. Something is off and he knows it, and he wants to try and figure why.

"Celebrating something?" he asks the one nearest to him, who seems to be quite jovial about something.

[detectiveofthewest]

Someone probably should have checked to see if this bar was frequented or owned by any vampires. That would have been a good idea. Nevertheless, it seemed as though most of his companions were a little too sloshed to care already. Heiji made a note to tell them that the point of a pub crawl was to pace yourself so you could visit several pubs in series, not get falling-down drunk at the first establishment you came to.

"Aww, you don't need a reason to celebrate, do ya?" he asked, giving Killian a broad smile. "But hey, yeah. It's summer, the weather's fine, and it's a great night for drinking!" Quite possibly they wouldn't be the only group of suspicious folk the bar saw tonight.

Promptly, a man tried to pay for his drink using a gold coin.

[vampiracy]

It was a place known for his kind, yes, but it was safer than one might imagine. Hook didn't tolerate abuse of the fae, especially not in his own pub, and the vampires that frequented knew better than to test his rules, especially in his own bar.

He managed a laugh at that, and it's pretty close to genuine. That was a pirate mindset if he ever heard one. "No, I suppose not, mate." Hook didn't need any excuse at all to get drunk, summer was a better reason than that.

The girl running the bar hesitated at the appearance of a gold coin, and glanced toward the owner for a bit of guidance, one Hook didn't grant. "I'm afraid we don't take foreign currency," she tried hopelessly, and the coin didn't look foreign, but Killian wasn't sure it was real, either.

The Jolly Roger

[emotioneater]

Cooper doesn't look his best. He looks like he's slept in his clothes, with his pale skin a sickly color that's unhealthy even for a vampire. Fae blood has taken its toll on him. Still, he's like a cat. Give him enough time and he'll land back on his feet. His current coping mechanism: drink until the urge to drain everyone in the nearby vicinity dry has been beaten back. But drinking alone is for sad alcoholics.

So he's sitting at the bar, feet dangling down and his toes almost touching the floor. There's a beer in front of him that he's holding onto with both hands. Eyes looking downwards, he looks exhausted.

[vampiracy]

No, he doesn't look his best at all. Vampires are not exactly known for their sunny constitutions, but it doesn't take a lot of doing to note that Cooper looks even more drained and sickly than they are known for. Killian doesn't know the kid (he acts enough like a kid to merit it, whether he's the right age or not) perfectly, but well enough; he can't quite guess what is affecting him, but he's curious enough to draw closer anyway.

The former pirate (or current, at least in his grizzled black heart he still fancies himself one) takes a seat next to him, dark brows nearly in his hairline. "Christ, you look like death." Ha, because they're already dead. Funny, right? Not really. A drink appears at Killian's elbow rather magically, funny how quick service is when you own a place. "What've you done to yourself?"

[emotioneater]

Cooper's eyes flick over to Killian. He can't even bring himself to acknowledge the weak attempt at humor. That would require an expenditure of energy that he simply doesn't possess right now. "I had a rough week." It isn't exactly a lie. Most of the past week was a hazy, blood-filled blur, save for the part where Nancy had saved him from himself. He owed the girl a debt for that.

He drinks his beer and slams it back down on the bar before continuing. "I just need some time." More time to dry out and get the fae blood out of his system, time to get his head screwed back on right, and time to remember exactly what he had done and to who. He also needed to make sure the newborn he'd rescued from the hunters was doing well. He'd dropped him off at an Islington safehouse, his last clear memory before this whole thing had started.

[vampiracy]

"You're not wearing it well," Hook says, not particularly unkindly in tone, though the words are biting enough. A rough week is a rather lacking answer to his inquiry, and one might argue it's not exactly his business, yet being an earl does give him a bit of curiosity into what others in the nest are up to. It was certainly a bit more than a long week, and that he didn't get an answer frustrates him more than anything.

"Bite the wrong girl?" That was his first guess, that a bit of toxin had knocked him on his ass. Even Killian had felt that a time or two, it was nearly impossible to tell until it was too late. Before the bartender retreats, he notes, "Get him another." A drink on the house was likely not going to make him that much more inclined to talk, but it might make it seem like the pirate was sympathetic. He was more curious than sympathetic, honestly.

[ The Jolly Roger ]

[warmheartedly]

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!"

Not that the poor person can hear her as she winces while they jump at the sudden chill they feel as they go through her and nearly drop their drink. Oh dear. Maybe coming in here to hide for a bit isn't the best idea. But she wants somewhere to rest in between her track back to the coffee shop, the finding it exhausting at times to move about despite being a ghost.

Not wanting to be too much of a trouble for the patrons and the employees here, Clara moves towards the back where she sees a group of people excitedly playing pool. It seems like a bet is going on and one of the people playing/taking a bet is quite unhappy with how the turn of events are playing out.

That looks interesting enough to inspect and so she does, heading off to see what exactly is going on.

[vampiracy]

Unhappy indeed, but the man winning doesn't seem entirely repentant for it. Nobody made the lout bet the watch his wife gave him on the game, and Killian isn't an entirely heartless man. He'll sell the poor sod the watch back, for more than it's worth. Look, if he's foolish enough to make a bet, he needs to be willing to take the fall for it.

He's rounding the table to make his final shot, pale eyes sharp on the table, when he's slightly distracted by someone drawing nearer. He's leaned over the table to cement the game when he glances up to look at the figure joining. It was a mistake to shoot and look at once; he hits a bit too hard, and scratches on his 8.

The only hint he's annoyed is a momentary tensing of his jaw, but he brushes it off with a laugh and drops a few pounds for the loss, the man jubilant and suddenly suggesting another go. Usually he'd take it, but for now, Killian is a bit unsettled and waves it off. It doesn't make sense, even if that face was familiar—a little older than he remembers, yes, but familiar. He considers speaking to her, it just seems impossible, so he heads for the bar instead.

[warmheartedly]

The moment she met eyes with the man, just as he's about to cement his victory, her brain makes a quick connection towards him though its awfully faint and distant for her. Nevertheless the sudden moment is quite distracting, certainly for him it seems, and it leaves her a bit shock as she first simply watches him move away to the bar while she tries to collect herself and figure out what happened.

Something happened to make her pay attention more than usual. A push, a nagging doubt -- It's a little cloudy and a little difficult to connect but something about the man makes her go haven't we met before?

(And, in the deeper parts of her mind she can't access right in this moment, is a shocked you haven't changed.)

Of course she'll approach him when he's more or less alone, wanting to get to the bottom of this mystery. It's difficult for some reason, people acknowledging him or giving him a friendly compliment, but she manages to get a moment of peace between him before moving forward so they'll be able to have a quite chat between them. With no one, absolutely no one, eavesdropping on it.

"Excuse me?" A part of her doesn't want to do this for some reason. It's simply so silly of her to do, the logic in her head argues. That's why she feels so nervous to do this. It's probably nothing and she's making a fool of herself to someone who may not even really know she's there. Probably saw a glimpse of her and got spooked, nothing more. "Excuse me? Hello. Um... I hope this doesn't sound too strange but have we met before...?"

[vampiracy]

It's not quite as cloudy for him. Oh, he forgets things over the years, it's bound to happen with anyone that hits his age. He doesn't remember his birthday, he doesn't remember most of the people he knew as a child. Some things slip away from him, but they're centuries ago. Not decades. He remembers her well enough that the resemblance is too uncanny for him, because there are very few reasons for someone he met decades ago to not be far older than she appears.

He considers leaving, and honestly it might have been smarter. If she is the girl he remembers, and the chances are slim, it's a danger to meet her again when it proves that he's not quite the human he led her to believe. If she's not a vampire she might be a witch and not all witches care for his kind. In the end, his curiosity is stronger than his self preservation.

The fact she comes closer to inquire really seals that something strange is going on. He's not the only one left questioning, which means a great deal, doesn't it? He's almost nervous at the prospect, not that he lets it show. He looks up from the drink he's been trying to get down before the uncanny feeling overtakes him, tries to argue the best way to deal with their situation, and in the end only has one suggestion.

"Care to join me?" He rises and nods toward the office, which is only his on a technicality, but it'll work well enough to offer them a bit of privacy. It's not an answer, but he intends to give one if they have a bit more cover for their conversation.

closed

[trybelieving]

[ There's never much of a solid timeframe when she leaves Pixie with Killian. She thinks he might like having someone with him, no matter how much he refuses to admit to it. The kitten is a nuisance, a terror, all sorts of negative things until she leaves him alone with it. Then, Tink suspects that he might show her some kindness. When the fairy returns, the kitten expects affection he no longer gives, and while she feels sorry for the poor thing, she makes up for it with affection of her own - to less interest than Killian must get when he offers the same. The kitten has her favorite, but she can't say she's bothered by it.

Isn't the point of leaving her with him so that he'll have something to take care of while she's not around? For all his grumbling, he's never fought her on it. She comes and goes and leaves him with a friendly little pile of fluff, and it's some kind of assurance for him. For all of her time spent in the Other Realm, she'll always come back. He knows she will; she leaves the kitten.

Pixie is a new reminder of the fairy, though. She's young and small, a bit needier than Tink was expecting. When she lets herself in, she's excited to see how the little cat has grown, and while she's sure he's aware of her presence before she gets too close, she moves quickly though the place to get to the two of them.]

Killian?

[vampiracy]

( he's not expecting her. he's given up on that because there's really no predicting when Tink will come and go. she's not a creature of this world and she isn't in it always, so he keeps watch of the furry creature when she can't. he's had worse tasks. if anyone ever made it to his flat and found the thing, they'd likely think he was a bit mad; nothing about his personality really indicates he might have a fondness for cats. and he doesn't, not really, this one is a bit of an exception, and more or less because of who owns it.

the cat doesn't react to the door opening, but the pirate does. he's quick to put the kitten on the floor, which wakes her and confuses her enough to make her erupt in befuddled cries. the fact is he's got a gray spot on his shirt from where the thing was reclining, it's a poor attempt to hide what he was doing, yet he tries all the same. he's heard the hunt is over so he had been hoping that the green fairy might slip away from the world of the fae, if only for a bit. she had to come sooner or later, to see the cat.

because, clearly, all that interested her was the pile of gray fluff that was crying at his feet, because that was usually enough to convince him to pick her up.

it's not kindness that makes him do just that, he just figures he might as well bring the cat to the lady that wants to see her. he meets her before she makes it to the room still drowned in darkness, just as she's flicking on a light. she always seems to insist on lighting every inch of the place when she's in. ) I'm here. ( he smirks but there's a hint of fondness in his eyes. maybe it'll be harder to see in the dark. ) If you want the cat, there's a toll. ( he taps his lips, and generally his flirtation is utterly empty, but just because she's somehow become the frustrating statistic of the only person he cares to kiss, he can't quite stop making excuses to get them. just asking for them proper still seems folly, even after centuries. the cat is trying to simply go back to sleep in his spare arm, far too committed to her nap. Tink had gotten the laziest cat in the world, he was certain. )

[trybelieving]

[ It must be the cat she comes to see, not the man with all of that kitten fluff streaked across his shirt.

There's always a lingering sense of guilt when she reunites with him in this world. As hard as she works to be a good fairy, she has her secrets, and he's one of them. It's not all that unfair to her, she's certainly never dreamed of anything more than whatever this may be, but Killian deserves better. He must miss the things she'll never give him, and it's not necessarily by choice. Things would be much simpler if he was still a human, or if she wasn't a fairy. Her kind doesn't think highly of his, and most would consider it a miracle he hasn't made a meal out of her.

She's always been one to take risks, and he never feels like much of one. Get to know someone on and off for centuries, and it's hard to see them for what creature they identify with. He's Killian to her now.]

Can't even watch a kitten without being greedy about it, can you? [He's not asking for anything she wasn't planning to give. She greets him with the warmth of her touch, fingers reaching up to brush against the back of his neck, lifting herself on the tips of her toes to meet him in a kiss. It would've been smarter to wear heels tonight, but she finds her balance easily and pays her toll with a few extra moments of affection thrown in there. Then she reaches for the kitten - the one who doesn't seem too happy to be pulled away from her favorite person when she was having a lovely little nap. Out of the two of them, the vampire missed her more.] How was our girl?

[vampiracy]

( he'd likely laugh at the idea he deserves better. what led the fairy to that conclusion is a sign that he doesn't deserve her at all. she's always been too good for him, that'd be true even if he still lived and breathed a human life. as he sees it he's had love, he had a relationship, he had all of that and he knows he really can't expect that kind of connection again. even Milah had been limited in what she would grant him, so in the end he's really rather used to it. what they have is good, and he's not going to chance breaking the scales and being left with nothing at all.

really, is she surprised? she steps closer and his hand presses at the base of her spine instead. ) Some things never change. ( that being one of them. she's always been slight, so he knows the balance now of bending to catch her lips, the hand at her back keeping her steady if she needs it. even if she doesn't, it's nice to feel her under his touch, so it's both gentlemanly and selfish. like most things he does. she's always warm to the touch, not that it's surprising when he is generally the opposite. she grants him a kiss, and then a few more—but he's as greedy as ever and steals a few presses across her cheekbone as she gets distracted by the cat.

he releases the cat without argument, which is more than he can say for Pixie. she mews her discontent and eyes the fairy like it's the first time they've met. he doesn't think that the creature likes him better, it's just that during a gap an animal so young forgets. as she gets older she'll be better about it, even if cats were notoriously fickle. ) Slept for most of it, really. You should have seen the bloody looks I got on the plane. ( a man bringing a tiny ball of fluff with him to Belize, it must have looked bizarre. ) Through with the hunt, are you? ( being a fairy means that will always draw her attention, first and foremost; but he's curious enough about what she does when she's away. )

[grayatonement]

Sylar is in the back when the man enters and he assumes the customer will take time to browse. Instead, the bell rings not a moment later and he makes his way to the front of the shop, hiding his mild annoyance at being interrupted. Looking every part the mundane, normal shop keep, Sylar gives the man a light smile in return. He can't help that it's more smirk than sincerity.

"That's me. Is there something I can help you with, something that you need?" His tone is perfectly cordial. For now, he can't tell what the man is and this is a business he wants and hopes to keep running for some time. Unfortunately, having powers, for all its perks, doesn't pay very well. Except when accompanied by the occasional robbery.

[vampiracy]

"Apparently, it's more of a what I can help you with, mate." Hook regards him quickly, pale eyes looking him over and trying to size him up. He doesn't know enormous amounts about the man, just the contract involved with the partnership. If Killian had his way, the nest wouldn't be so damn sloppy to need someone to clean up their messes, he just knows there's no point in that fight. Not now, anyway.

"A friend told me you were hoping for a stipend, I'm here to discuss. Fancy a spot a bit more private?" Out in the middle of a shop, even an empty one, felt a bit exposed to him.

b.

[damnyank]

The later hours at a pub unsurprisingly bring out the rowdier customers, Captain Homer Jackson included. Not that intends to stir up trouble, but Jackson's got a holy talent for pissing people off without even trying. Some of the time it takes a few bad words. Much of the time, it's thanks to a game.

Tonight it's pool that brings a fight. He's all up in the face of a fellow player, fist clenching the man's collar.

"You callin' me a cheater?" The yankee spits out the words, letting spittle fly in the other player's face as he pulls him loser. "Now if that ain't a convenient accusation for a lousy player."

[vampiracy]

It's not his job to break up fights. In fact Killian would much rather stay as far away from them as he possibly can. Still, tonight the only barkeep is a girl that only started a few months ago, and if there's someone on security, he can't see them doing their job at the moment. He'd rather not be involved, but he'd also rather not have two frothing drunks taking the piss out of each other. So he rises to tug one free and force distance between, a rough enough tug the shirt rips in protest.

"Break it up. It's a game of billiards." He's a man that values honor and even he isn't sure he'd get into a pissing contest over a game of pool. "He's a shit player and you're a shit winner, I'd say you're even." Wait, was... this supposed to be helping? Whoops.

[damnyank]

"I'm not a shit anything!" The loser cries, as he charges forward, spittle flying. He follows up his words with a fist aimed somewhere between Killian and Jackson, his targeting as precise as the blurry shapes that compose his inebriated world.

Jackson reacts quickly and shamelessly, pulling himself free of the pirate's grip and dodging to the side. The doctor practically using Killian as a shield. "You see? The sonuvabitch's just askin' for knuckles in the face." He takes another step backwards. "Probably spent his whole childhood gettin' his ass patted by dear mummy."

[vampiracy]

He is quite literally too old for this. Hook was never known for his overwhelming amounts of patience, and that is still entirely too true. He takes a hit just because he doesn't care to truly avoid it, but the next one he catches and with a sudden squeeze, the man recoils and gives a yelp of pain. Killian should know better than to use the extra strength offered from hi condition, but annoyance tends to make him forget.

"Give it a rest or take it outside, I won't have it in my bar." If he lends his own knuckles to resolve this situation, it'll get quite ugly, quite quickly.

[falsify]

It's always nice when an old contact comes back to town. Except when it's not. Or when Eames doesn't care. But as one of maybe three vampires in the world that Eames can stand, he feels sort of obliged to come welcome Killian back. So he's going to do that very thing, walking through the bar until he spots the vampire of the hour.

"Mr. Jones," Eames greets him with a warm, easy smile, "back in town, I see."

[vampiracy]

He's certainly not expecting a welcoming committee, but he doesn't mind it either. Vampires rarely get on with fae, and that makes it harder to keep up alliances with them. It'd taken years, and a great deal of information bought and sold, to manage to more or less get along with Eames. It was worth the effort, as far as he was concerned. A lucrative partnership was his favorite kind.

"I wonder what little bird told you that." He could wonder, but it wasn't likely he'd ever know one way or another. "That I am, a few days now. If you're fit for a drink you can it on the house, as long as mum is the word. Horrible for business." Not that it stopped him, Hook gave out way too many drinks. It was the pirate in him.

[falsify]

"It'll be our little secret," Eames winks conspiratorially and tips his head toward the bar. A free drink is rarely a bad thing and he's not a man who'll turn one down; it might be bad business, but it's great friendship.

Free things aside however, Eames is a little curious about what's brought Killian back to London. If there are problems in the Nest, that could be an opportunity in the making. Or potential entertainment at the very least. (Not that he expects to be told, but he's confident he could feel it out anyway.) If it's just his sire or a bout of homesickness, on the other hand. Well, that's boring. His tone and expression are the picture of friendly curiosity, apparently just straight up asking people for all their gossip isn't the done thing. "So what brings you back to our rainy shores?"