[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

[protagonized]

Simon gulps down what's left of his drink because he thinks it'll steady his hand. He's probably wrong, but this is supposed to be all about "fun" and "bonding" and getting to know the stunningly beautiful and completely lethal woman standing next to him. A little bit of liquid courage always helps.

Who did I piss off in a past life? he asks himself for the millionth time, takes a deep breath, and throws another. It's more off-target than the first one.

"I'm not going to be quitting my day job any time soon."

Whatever the hell that is. He doesn't know anymore.

[outstandingbalance]

"All right, maybe it's a little early to try going pro. Which is too bad because I hear that there's a lot of money in the dart circuit." Natasha drawls as she plays along with his comment, smiling dryly.

"I mean it, though. You just need to relax and practice."

Is this calculated? Yes and no. Playing roles comes naturally to Natasha at this point. If she's working with someone, or on someone, it's almost second nature to slip into a skin more tailored for them. If she's with her co-worker, and a younger more insecure one at that, then she'll be the older, more encouraging side of the partnership. It's not even a lie. At the same time, Natasha is actively trying to fit in at Redbright. She hasn't been this alone or unprotected since she was human.

She needs all the friends she can get.

She moves to stand behind his shoulder, not actually looking over it because she's not a particularly tall woman. "Do want me to help?"

Plus... Simon is kind of adorably easy to fluster.

[protagonized]

"More or less money than being hired muscle?" Simon raises an eyebrow. He's hardly muscular. But he doesn't need to be. His nose and powerful jaws are his most attractive features, as far as being magical law enforcement goes.

He's playing it cool, but Natasha's right--he's very easy to fluster and he's come to the realization that dangerous redheads are very much his type. That doesn't help his concentration any.

He looks down at Natasha; he's easily got a head on her. "Help how? Throw it for me?"

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha laughs at that. "Oh, is that what we are?"

The more things change. Well, it's not like she didn't know that anyway.

She shakes her head at his question, though. "And I can't throw it for you; that would be cheating," she says in a tone of voice that somehow implies she's very familiar with cheating. "But I could give you a few pointers. Do you know which of your eyes is dominant?"

[protagonized]

"We're certainly not kept around for anything else," Simon points out. He snorts, shaking his head. "'Redbright Institute Outreach Committee.' Sounds like it ought to be out of George Orwell. War is peace, and all that." He doesn't remember the book very well, actually. He'd read it once for school and never really thought about it again. "Or some sort of Communist propaganda." He blinks at her, having just realized what he'd said. "Wait, sorry. I know you're Russian." Is that still a sore spot? He knows nothing of Natasha's past, or even much about Russian history. He'd been born well after the collapse of the Soviet Union. How old is Natasha even? She looks like she's in her late twenties, but...she's a vampire. Who knows?

"Eyes can be dominant?" Well done, Simon. Doing a marvelous job of living up to his soon-to-be biology degree.

"I'm right-handed, if that helps."

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha clears her throat a little as he catches himself in the communist comment, her lips tightening faintly, not in offense. It's not sore. It does bring up a lot of memories, though. things she's happy enough not to think about.

"Don't worry about it. I might be Russian, but that regime fell quite a while ago. It's been twenty-five years since I was a Communist." And longer than that since it really meant something. Decades and decades since she'd been exposed to the kind of indoctrination he was referencing.

Luckily, she had a ready made direction to take the conversation from there. Reaching up, she plucks the last dart from his hand and inserts herself between him and the dartboard, glancing at him in a pointed way to indicate he should stand behind her. She holds the dart at arms length and more or less eye level in front of them. (A little high for her, a little low for him, but close enough to make her point.)

"Focus on the dart," she instructs. "One you've got it, close one eye."

She does the same, following along with her own instructions. "Then open it and close the other. For one, the dart won't seem to move, for the other, it'll jump to the side. Which side stays the same? That's your dominant eye."