undergrounds | [open] somewhere after midnight

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[open] somewhere after midnight

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

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"You know, normally I'm not this kind of girl. I'd say answering questions like that for at least the third date." She toys with her whiskey rather than drink it. This isn't the first time she's talked about this since she got here though, and she doubts it will be the last. She needs to convince people to trust her, and that means giving a little—a little truth, maybe.

"It wasn't just one thing, and not an easy answer. Mostly, though, I figured out that I didn't like what I saw very much. Liked who I was even less. Feeding on humans was a big part of that." She wonders if he expects her to talk about it being wrong, that she didn't want to hurt people. Wax moral. Self-loathing.

"I guess I wanted to see if I could be someone I liked a little more."

"Cool," he replies simply, thinking about what she's saying. Not a unicorn, but still something new, a kind of vampire he hasn't encountered before. One with remorse and an interest in being a better person. Or close enough to it anyway. Kyle gets that, wanting to be better. That's what's spurred his life since he ran away and let his sister die.

"So what's to stop you from snapping and relapsing?" Another sincere question, followed by another sip of his beer. If she's telling the truth, he can't help but want to help.

"I'm not the kind of person who loses control easily." Her lips twitch, her smile wry, and she answers lightly, as though making a joke of her own. "Call that the KGB training."

Kyle's arm stiffens and twitches, as if it was about to move but thought better of it. There's an automatic response to the idea of the KGB, the idea of the enemy, that activates some part of his soldier mind to fight. His first flash of a reaction to smash the glass pint he's holding into her head and go from there. But he recovers before his arm moves more than a half an inch, instead holding remarkably still and focusing his gaze down at the bar. Any levity that was there a moment before disappears as he takes a moment to focus.

"Lucky you," he says finally, his voice heavy. Kyle lifts his eyes to the back of the bar and takes a sip of his beer again, trying to cover for or move past the reaction he knows isn't normal. Being part of a vampire killing unit for a couple years will do that.

"That is a fight neither of us want tonight, kid," she says in a low voice. Interesting that was his reaction. She see the flash of reaction, and she doesn't flinch.

She finally sips her drink, eyes hooded.

"You don't seem entirely surprised. Not happy, but not surprised."

"Then don't start one." He shrugs. Kyle's still not sure if killing a vampire counts as murder and he has no interest in activating the damn werewolf curse when he's fairly close to curing the stupid thing. Besides, he has a feeling she'd probably win with his injuries not entirely healed and his reactions slowed by the alcohol.

"Surprised about what?"

"Just so long as we're on the same page." She's weak from living on animal blood, but she's still fairly confident she could handle him. If she couldn't... well, if she couldn't, she wouldn't have much to worry about afterward.

She's fairly sure she'd have to clean up the mess though.

"Take your pick. Anything other than the fact a vampire might want to be something other than a predator. You're not a hunter, but I don't think you're just a an ex-soldier."

He nods to acknowledge and support her remark. They're in agreement about not wanting to fight tonight.

"I'm still trying to decide if I believe you," he admits, casting a glance her way and then returning to nursing his drink. Kyle's generally the sort to be too trusting, but vampires have him nervous at best and with no one to vouch for her, he has no reason to believe that anything she says is true. With the fascination and wonderment of a special type of vampire now gone, reality has returned.

"And you're probably right, but I'm trying to be." Sort of. He's asking questions of everyone who will talk to him, trying to learn everything he can about why the different Circles of witches are fighting and how to avoid being a werewolf and all of that. But all of that came after he moved to London, after his tours and dealing with vampires. "It's that or rock star and I don't think I want all those girls throwing themselves at me. Sounds exhausting."

Back to making light.

Natasha snorts at that, her smile taking on a more genuinely amused edge. She almost sounds teasing. "With a face like that, I don't think you need to learn to play the guitar to bring the girls."

She's not blind.

Her smile falters a little then. One of the lessons she learned from being a spy was not to try too hard to make people believe you, not to let it get to her when they didn't. That kind of anxiety was a good way to end up dead.

"I don't blame you if you don't believe me. You don't have a whole lot of reason to." And while she is telling the truth, she's done more than enough in her time to warrant some suspicion. "You asked. I had to make sure you got your money's worth."

"Not just the face. You should see my abs." His tone is as or more teasing than hers. Kyle's aware of how he looks and tries not to focus on it generally, unless he's using it to his benefit for information or the occasional free witchy healthcare, but he's not the type to blindly deny it either.

He gives a single laugh at the idea of paid honesty. Trust a vampire to think of it, even as he knows she's joking. But if she's telling the truth, has decided she wants to change and is genuinely trying, then Kyle knows he can't be the asshole who pushes her back over the edge.

"I can talk to some people," he says finally, with more certainty than he feels. "See if they've heard about something like you, or how to make it last. But if you fuck up and start killing people.."

A sideways glance.

"Don't make me think about it. There are other things I haven't done in a couple of months either." She can do joking. Joking is surprisingly easy. And if she looks him over (and she most certainly does), it's an obvious show, teasing.

A lot easier to respond to that than it is to know what to do with his offer. She wasn't expecting that, and she isn't quite sure how it means she should adjust her assessment of him. She notes the peculiarity for later, for when and if she talks to him again.

"Believe me, it won't get that far," she says, just slightly too late to seem entirely confident or natural. But even if she goes back to human blood, she's determined that she's not killing for her thirst anymore.

Then she adds, a little confusion showing through, "Thanks."

"That I can't help you with." Joking is so much easier. The rest of it is complicated and bordering on obnoxiously so.

He pauses before standing to reach across the bar and grab a pen. As he sits, he grabs a coaster and then writes down his name and number on the coaster, tossing the pen roughly where he pulled it from. With a deep breath, preparing to take the plunge, still not sure he should do this, he slides the coaster over to her.

"Look, I get it. If you're serious about this.." Kyle's uncertain as to whether he's more surprised by the words coming out of his mouth or that he actually means them. "I'll be your sponsor, if you want. You get the wrong kind of hungry or need help in a fight or something, you call me. We find a way to keep it in check."

"Are you sure about this?" she asks, taking the coaster and looking it over. Kyle, huh? That seemed like a suitably American name.

The fact is, at this point she can use everyone on her side who she can get. She's in no position to turn down the offer. She might be cautious about it, but... she won't turn up her nose.

Instead, she offers her hand to shake. "Natasha Romanoff."

"Sure enough." He shrugs. There's a flicker of hesitation before he takes her hand, giving it a firm and entirely human shake. "Kyle Sutton."

Either she takes him up on it or he doesn't, but at least he'll have a better idea of what he's dealing with and whether or not she's actually interested in getting help then. Or she'll seek help from another source, which is equally beneficial. He doesn't care so much where it comes from as long as she keeps to her efforts.

"You gonna be alright tonight?"

Her hand is on the cool side, but more like bad circulation than a corpse, and it feels human enough, but not quiet human.

"I'll be okay. The worst part's past." Ironically enough, he actually had helped, in a way. He'd been a distraction when she needed one. From here, it was just a matter of making it somewhere where she could feed—on something not human.

Whatever that ended up being.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't even tried that drink." He flashes another smile, though it's obviously for show this time and fades as quickly as it came. Kyle takes a long sip of his beer, then another to finish off the pint. He spins around on the stool to face her.

"I'm going to head home, but, you know, don't fuck up and, uh, call me if you need me." He shrugs, moving to stand from the stool and casting one last glance to the coaster with his number on it. He's probably making a stupid mistake, but Kyle's never been the sharpest guy anyway.

Her response to that is to take a healthy pull from her glass. At least the taste and smell of alcohol is enough to clear the lingering smell of blood out of her nose.

"I have your number," she says, as close as she comes to agreeing to call him. She'd like to believe she won't need to, or that if it gets that bad she can trust herself to drink responsibly. But she doesn't like lying to herself all that much—maybe she'll be up to it, but there's no knowing how hard you'll fall until you're hit. "Take care of yourself."

He gives her alcoholic reply a smirk, shaking his head. She's something and he's not sure whether it's a good or bad thing that he met her tonight. Damn vampires. But hey, what's the worst that can happen besides being torn apart for food.

"Always do." Another brief smile, then he's moving through the crowd and making his way out the door.

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[open] somewhere after midnight

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