[open] some nights, i call it a draw

[outstandingbalance]

I. Redbright Institute: night

Even knowing about their open door policy, Natasha hadn't entirely believed they'd take her. She isn't a student, for one thing, or even student passing. For another, she's a vampire. Vampires are't known for getting open invitations from other factions; at least not knowingly. Not without good reason. Mostly, though, she's never been exposed to anything quite like the institute before. She'd applied to join the outreach group as a wild grab, an attempt to have anyone at her back to keep her from being seen as a loner or a feral. Being either of those is a good way to end up with a target on her back.

And maybe, if she allows herself to think about it, the open door policy had sounds nice. It sounds like the direction she wanted to take. Everyone welcome as long as they play by the rules, keep the peace and keep their secrets. Natasha isn't the kind to let herself think that way too much, though, or get too optimistic.

Either way, it's a surprise when she's accepted.

She still fosters that surprise as she gives herself a tour of the grounds. It's in her carriage as she walks between buildings or down the halls; not overt confusion or surprise, but a little bit of skepticism, a little bit of caution, holding herself somehow a little reserved from her surroundings. Despite her years of training, there's still an air about her of someone who's not sure they belong, or maybe who knows they don't.


II. A Bar: also night

It could be any number of bars. Natasha hits a lot of them. She always picks the quieter ones, places where you can hear people talk to you and talking to each other. She's not in a good place for loud music or excited kids, or to get caught up in fights. She doesn't want to go places that feel like hunting grounds.

The thing is, she's here in the first place because she's thirsty. She's always, constantly thirsty, and she's trying hard not to go after the one thing she really wants. So like a cigarette addict reaching for a stick of gum, Natasha wanders into a bar. Alcohol is not what she wants, but it's one of the few things she can tell herself helps, at least a little.

She's usually sitting at the counter. Most nights, she orders vodka tonics. Bad nights, it's scotch neat. She doesn't try to strike up conversations, but she listens. Almost as much as the alcohol, it helps to listen to the low murmur of conversation around her. It's a reminder that the other patrons are real people, with lives and goals, things they want and look forward to, even if it's just a new job or getting in to pants of the girl at the coffee shop. It makes them more real, somehow.

So no, it's not a perfect coping mechanism, but it helps.


III. On A Night Bus: missed your train, didn't you?

There's a good mix of people on the bus tonight. A few kids toward the back on their way home from a party, looking tired and far from sober, but happy. A few older passengers coming back from bars, all seated alone and ranging from a professional looking woman sitting primly toward to front, brief case across her knees and gin martins on he breath, to a rough looking man slumped against one window, a nascent black eye just starting the darken his face.

Natasha's not sure what started the fight. It couldn't have been something anyone said, because she'd have heard it. One moment it's quiet. The next, a football fan and a derelict are climbing up into the aisle, in each others' faces and cursing. The bus driver calls back for them to settle down, but they don't.

It's not really that big of a deal—at least not in Natasha's mind. They're both just human. But the fight escalates, and the homeless man pushes the football fan hard just as the bus starts to slow to a jarring stop, and sends the fan stumbling toward her and the person seated next to her. It's reflex and instinct, that pull Natasha to her feet, bearing up to keep the fan on his feet and off their laps.

Which means that just for an instant, the person next to Natasha might get the view of a small woman catching a man a full head and more taller than her, from falling, keeping her balance in heels even as the night bus lurches to a stop. It's just a second, but if someone's watching, the'll see when she releases the lapse in her masquerade and remembers to stagger just a little under the man's weight, wobbling a little.

Then she shrugs free of the football fan, disengaging with a glare before she sits back down.

To whoever's sitting next to her, she gives an apologetic smile and plays it off smoothly, "Always something like that, isn't there?"

There's a faint Russian accent on her words, nothing that would interfere with clarity. The look that accompanies her words is innocent, as though nothing strange happened at all.


IV. Wildcard
((Hit me up at sarosaron if you have another idea.))

Comments

[outstandingbalance]

It is a scotch neat kind of night, and Natasha's sipping her way through her second when someone joins her at offers a toast. She lifts her glass, glancing over at him.

What she notices first is his throat. Good choice on the v-neck.

"Not really drinking alone if we have a toast, is it?" she says, pulling her eyes up to his face. She's pale, and the look she gives him is guarded, but not unwelcoming. She even manages a little bit of a smile.

[crowedthedead]

He's got an eye for fashion, what can he say. (No, he doesn't.) Soeki smiles, the corners of his mouth quirking up in an amused sort of way as he clinks his glass against hers before taking a drink. "We're drinking alone together? That's a thing. I'm pretty sure that's a thing." It's probably not a thing, but he's the master at making awkward conversation in bars with strangers.

[outstandingbalance]

"I'm pretty sure it's a thing too," Natasha says lightly. "But not something we're doing. We'd have to be a little more alone together for that."

She takes another sip, raising her eyebrows slightly as though in emphasis. When she finishes, she adds, "I think this would just be drinking together."