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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Jean-Claude inclines his head slightly. "She is. She is... Learning. She will get better in time. I must work hard to keep her in line though, to be true."

He quirks something of a smile at her. "I am sure you understand how difficult it is to be a newborn. Combining that with her natural personality, and I have a lot of work on my hands. It isn't all bad." He tilts his head slightly to the side. "She is entertaining to have around the club, if nothing else."

"Oh, I remember," she says with some sympathy. There's something in her tone that isn't quite humor as she remembers it. She knows what it can be like—her personality was very different from Kenzi's, but she'd been a precocious killer before she was turned. "I don't think my sire trusted me alone with a human he wanted to keep alive for for a year or more."

That's as much an admission as a joke. Hard to hold back when you're not really afraid of the consequences on a practical level and desensitized to it on a moral one.

"So she's already ahead of some of us," she adds then, self-deprecating.

"She didn't mention a club, though."

"Ahh," Jean-Claude says, with the quirk of a smile, before reaching into his jacket and producing a business card. Guilty Pleasures, it reads, in a rather camp sort of way. "Here. If you are ever interested in investigating. Perhaps you might find something you like," he adds, with a wink. If the name isn't hint enough that it's a strip club, the card should give a little more hinting of that away, with it's suggestive silhouettes.

"Working with the patrons, it is an exercise in control. She is doing well, even if she does have her moments." Her moments where she sneaks out on her own, it would seem. He would hope that if she killed anyone while she was out, she had kept it discrete at the least.

Natasha's smile doesn't falter, but she clears her throat as she examines the card. "I think I see why she didn't mention it, now," Natasha says before slipping the card into her pocket. While she might still have some uncertainty about Jean-Claude, she doesn't mind knowing where she can find the younger vampire again. She—well, Natasha got the impression that she didn't have a lot of contact with her own kind, which inclined he to be a little more curious about her maker, but presented its own problems.

Maybe it would help if she interacted with a few more of the?

"Is Kenzi a dancer, or...?" Not that Natasha judged if she were, but it was worth knowing before Natasha showed up to bother the girl at work.

Jean-Claude shrugs. He has very little in the way of shame, especially in regards to such matters. When you are over six-hundred years old, very little phases you. And he has obviously not gone the direction of the prude, unlike many other older vampires could have done. Perhaps if she knew his past, she would understand better. But it is certainly not something he shares himself. Let her overhear it through other means, perhaps.

He shakes his head in response to her comment. "Mais non, ma chère, although if she had such a desire I would not stop her. But I do not force my people into such things." Unlike his own maker had done. "She is our bartender. One of them. She has a talent for conversation, as I am sure you are aware. It seemed the best position for her."

"I did notice that about her. She seems like a sweet kid." Ignoring the pickpocketing and bloodlust. Both legitimate survival tactics, though.

"It won't be a problem if I stop by and check in on her, will it?" She meets his eyes as she asks, not as Kenzi's employer but as her maker. She doesn't intend to step on any toes.

Natasha is still concerned.

Hey, everyone has their demons. And they are both survival tactics it's true, although Jean-Claude disapproves more of the bloodlust than he does of the pickpocketing to be true.

He shakes his head with something of a smile in turn. "So long as you are not checking in on her because you believe me to be lacking, I have no problem with it, no." Otherwise, yes. He has a rather big problem with it indeed.

"That would be exactly the impression I was trying not to give." One of her eyebrows kicks up and she gives half a smile. Her answer, such as it is, is flippant but conciliatory. "We've only just met after all. I usually save the insults for the third date, at least."

Jean-Claude can do with flippancy. Especially when there is a healthy amount of flirtation thrown into the mix.

He smiles in turn, bowing his head at her. "How very generous. Though I ask you to make your own impressions of myself and my people. There are those within the city who would lead you false on such matters. Perhaps they are jealous," he conjectures, with a smirk.

That was definitely flirtation. She's comfortable enough with what she's seen so far to feel safe he's not going to either be offended by her lack of respect or get the wrong idea.

"I've seen enough to know better than to let other people draw my conclusions for me," Natasha says, her voice still light but somehow more hollow than before. It's not a lie. And it's not memories that she cares to dredge up; no one likes remembering their mistakes. "It does make me wonder what they'd tell me about you, though."

Jean-Claude offers her a gallic shrug, which could say anything or nothing at all. "That is something that you will have to ask them to tell you. I am afraid other peoples' opinions of myself, while I am aware of them, I am not nor will I ever be expert in."

It is not to say that whatever they might share will be entirely rumor or falsehood. Save that he would not choose to share such things about himself as the others seem to have focused in on.

"Fair enough." She's not going to push him over it. She may try to find out more on her own, though she's not sure how deep she wants to get into hive business to do it. She's made herself an outsider very intentionally. It's hard to say how things would fall out for her if it looked like she was trying to play both sides.

On the other hand, there's very good reason for her to want to play both sides. It's not as though she'll stop being a vampire because she ignores the nest here.

And there's still her concerns about Kenzi.

"I guess I'll find out for myself, if it comes up."

He inclines his head in return to her pronouncement. Whether she does or she doesn't is no concern to him. It's how much she pays heed to it, buys into him being the whore of the Islington nest that really warrants merit. He supposes he will just cross that bridge when he gets there.

"You may keep an eye on my progeny," he agrees. "But do not worry about her. Not where I am concerned, at least. It is a poor maker indeed who cannot keep an eye on their children, as you say. Even those who have a mind to get themselves into trouble, heedless of my rules." Yes, Kenzi, he will be speaking to you about that one.

"I'm not worried about her because of you," Natasha agrees—reassuring a little even. Having met him, she doubts that less. He seems—not like she would have expected at least. He doesn't seem negligent.

Maybe she shouldn't make it her business, but...

It couldn't hurt, could it?

Natasha could maybe do a little good.

"But as long as you don't mind seeing my face around."

Jean-Claude shakes his head, offering her something of a smile as he does.

"Not at all," he says. "I am her maker. I can only help so much. It would do her well to have a level head about the place." Though there's perhaps something about his response to suggest that her helping mentor Kenzi isn't the only reason he'd be happy to see her around the club.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around, then?" Her brows go up as she says it. Natasha isn't deaf to his tone. He might just be a flirt, but there are worse things to be.

She doesn't really mind it.

There certainly are worse things to be, as Jean-Claude knows himself. And it is better that people consider him to be a harmless flirt and underestimate him than consider him a dangerous threat. Especially in the world of vampires. And if he should happen to enjoy the flirtation as well, then that is neither here nor there.

He inclines his head slightly, offering her something of a bow. It is an old-fashioned gesture, but then again Jean-Claude is something of an old-fashioned man. "I shall look forward to it," he responds, with the quirk of a smile. "But I see that I am keeping you now. You are certain you do not want the company?" he asks, because he has to ask, even if he's fairly certain she will turn him down regardless.

"I wouldn't say that I don't want the company," Natasha says, not realizing it's true until after she says it. She says it because she doesn't intend to burn any bridges. Jean-Claude is someone who seems worth knowing, and she does intend to make a future appearance in his club. It was the right thing to say.

But it's nice not being alone, and she doesn't hate his company.

What she wants isn't usually much of a priority when she makes choices, though, and caution says it's better not to get too close or seem too encouraging.

"But maybe better another time."

Jean-Claude inclines his head at her again. "Then I leave you to your task," he says, moving to step away. He's already done the bow, and he knows vampires well enough to know that some of his other tricks (a kiss on the hand, etc) might not go over so well, so he leaves it at that. Touching a hand to his chest and sweeping it out to gesture her on.

"Until that time," he says, with a smile. And turns on his heel to start away down the street, continuing the way he'd been headed before.

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