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The Fool On The Hill

A. Cooper needed to get out more. This was quite apparent to him as word reached him of Millicent’s latest plans. Letting her vamps run wild seemed like a bad, bad idea to him. He knew a thing or two about losing control and knew none of it ever came to any good. There was no fool like an old fool. Not that Cooper would ever say such words aloud where they could get back to Miss High ‘n Mighty. He liked living, thank you very much. There was nothing to do but go for a ride. He dusted off one of his motorcycles and took off into the night.

After a few blocks, any worries he had seemed to be far away. The only one he currently had was avoiding the suicidal public, who seemed determined to walk in the middle of the road. He yelled out in annoyance at the latest person to get in his way. “Hey! Get your head outta your arse and move it!” When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? Probably never.

B. Leaving the bike behind, he hit the local pubs. It occurred to Cooper that he was a bit peckish. Seeing as how he was out of contact with his usual blood donor, he was going to need someone else to bite into. It didn’t take long for his eyes to land on someone who looked like they might be up for being used as a blood bag. He sidled on up to them and crossed his fingers there were no overzealous hunters working in this part of town.

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That face is an asset to him. Looking young, more like a punk than a real threat... The American tourist still should have known better, but Natasha knew that he wouldn't be the only one. Plenty of people would fall for it just as easily.

Natasha knows better than to underestimate people based on their looks. Which leaves the question of what she thinks she's doing here unanswered, doesn't it?

"Sorry to disappoint," she says, her tone a little lighter. "It's the best answer I have."

Because otherwise that left, what? Masochism? Jealousy? Natasha wasn't the jealous type.

Cooper starts off down the street, wanting to put some distance between himself and his meal. If someone comes along, it won't do to be at the scene where a man is lying unconscious. Some Earl he'd be if he ended up getting picked up by the police. If Natasha doesn't want to tell him why she was there, he'll let it go. He knows the value of playing things close to the vest.

He waits for Natasha to follow him before he continues on. "So what are you then? Animal, mineral, vegetable, or none of the above?"

Natasha wasn't expecting the open invitation to go with him, but when he pauses she falls into step. Her arms cross over her chest, not quiet defensive, but reserved. Her lips purse slightly, brows gathering in confusion.

"You can't tell?" she asks, glancing at him sideways. Natasha doesn't have any particular talent for identifying other supernaturals—not unless they're bleeding, at least. That takes the mystery out. Other vampires, though, haven't been a problem. Normally their behavior makes them easy to spot. Predators always stand out.

"I thought it was pretty obvious."

"At a guess, I'd say fellow creature of the night, but I'm really bad when it comes to telling different types apart." Cooper shrugs. Perhaps if he'd had a sire to help him out in his formative years, it would have been different in learning about the creatures that made up his world. Too late for him to start learning now.

This had come back to bite him in the ass on more than one occasion, most notably when he had fed off a hunter who also happened to be a fae. That had repercussions that he still didn't like to think about.

"That seems like the kind of thing that will get you in trouble. There are a lot of places where not being able to tell a vampire from a werewolf will get you in a lot of trouble." Where by a lot of trouble, Natasha mostly means dead.

"But yeah, night person. Same as you." She shrugs, as though to soften the statement.

"I'm always in trouble. It's part of my charm." Cooper shrugs lightly. He's gotten this far in life without ending up on the wrong end of a stake, so he must be doing something right. It helps that he makes as many friends as he does enemies.

"Do you have a name, pretty lady? Or do have to guess that too?" If Cooper were a touch older, he might sound flirtatious. As it is, it comes off more like a question born out of pure curiosity.

"Natasha." She glances at him sideways as she says it, not expecting any recognition but looking for it anyway, for signs that he knew her reputation. He wouldn't be the first if he did, but Evie had been another assassin. "Natasha Romanoff."

She doesn't mistake his question or the compliment for flirting. Not because of his apparent age—or not only because of that—but because his attitude doesn't read to her as that kind of interested, and because even if he were, she wouldn't encourage it.

"And you are?"

No recognition crosses his face. Cooper has been a bit out of the loop for the past six months or so. All he knows is that she's not part of the Islington Nest, which makes him wonder which faction she's most likely a part of.

"Cooper." He doesn't elaborate as to whether that's his first or last name. "Earl of Holloway, if you're the sort t'pay attention to rank."

"Sounds important." She walks the line between not being disrespectful, but not particularly impressed either. She spent decades in a nest, interacting closely with other vampires. Rank was a fact of life, though it had amused her elders to give up their titles of nobility in favor of something more in line with the politics of the world around them.

Natasha hadn't been the most respectful of rank, though, and for the most part it had been ignored as long as she killed the people they told her to.

"Nice to meet you, Cooper." Then, after a pause: "Or should I apologize for stalking you?"

"Eh, it has its perks." Cooper likes being at the top of the heap. It's better than being at the bottom, anyhow. He's never been one to want to be the supreme leader. Being second-in-command or at least having some clout to his name was enough for him.

"No apologies necessary." He waves off the idea. "Just proves I need to be more vigilant when I feed. If you'd have been a hunter, then I really would of been up the creek without a paddle."

"I won't tell you you're wrong about that. There are more than a few of them around here, and while I don't know that most of them are looking for trouble provided you play nice..." She trails off in a shrug.

Her impression of Cooper might not mean much, but she'd learned to trust her instincts. He hadn't taken too much from the American, and he didn't seem to be playing rank games with her. Hard to feel like he deserved a stake without admitting she'd more than earned one herself.

Natasha's expression remains reserved as she follows him, keeping her thoughts to herself. "I'd have warned you if there was a hunter in that particular bar, though."

"I can outmatch any of the hunters they have over there in Hillingdon," he says cockily. It's not entirely without merit. He's taken on three of them in the past and come out on top before.

"Who's side have you taken?" Cooper asks, looking her over once again. There's only so many factions in London, and unless she's fresh off an airplane, she's got to belong to one of them. "You're not from Islington or I'd have known you."

"No. It seemed like a good idea to stay away from nests for a while," Natasha says in a tone that would be light if it weren't for the cynicism. "My old one wasn't such a good influence."

It sounds like a joke. It's also an answer that buys her time as she considers how to answer the real question. She hadn't thought of the choice she made as taking sides; but she'd needed someone at her back, and there weren't a whole lot of options for a vagrant vampire.

"I got a job at the Redbright institute," she admits evenly. For as casual as she says it, she frames the answer carefully: it's a job.

"Did they kick you out or did you leave on your own?" He winces and immediately backtracks. "Sorry. That was a pretty personal question. Sometimes, I don't have much of a filter. Feel free t'stop me at anytime."

He switches to a safer topic. "Redbright is a good place. You won't get as many benefits as you would if you were in Islington, but you also don't have t'worry about watching your back quite as much."

"I left on my own," Natasha answers, despite the fact he withdrew the question. He took it back, but you can't really take something like that away once it's out. Natasha doesn't like revealing too much about herself, but she does realize the value of it. She consoles herself by thinking of it as transactional. She gives a little, maybe he trusts her more, maybe she has to watch her back less in the future. "I can't say if I'd have been welcome to stay if I didn't, though. Politics."

She shrugs off the mention of benefits perhaps a little too easily.

"Leave one nest because you weren't interested in all the scheming, not really in a hurry to leap into another."

Which is a good reason, and certainly part of the truth.

"It seemed counterproductive."

Cooper listens. If she's willing to reveal that much about herself, he feels comfortable doing the same. "I left my last nest on my own too. It was a good gig. I was second-in-command with a friend I'd known a long time. Small town, but a lot of action. Always somethin' going on. But I lost control and people..." He sighs deeply and there's something in the sound that reveals the old, world-weary soul trapped in the teenage form. "...people got hurt."

Cooper's always been torn between acting like the monster he feels like and keeping a lid on the self-control he's worked so hard to find. In the last few decades, he's swung more towards the latter than the former, but it's a ponderous pendulum that could easily swing back towards the other way.

She wasn't expecting him to pay her back so much in kind—and apparently to mistake her for a good person in the process. The way he says that shows sympathy she hasn't earned, in her estimation.

She takes a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest as though she feels the cold.

"Did leaving help?" The question is soft, a little creak in her voice as she asks it. "With the way things are run around here... doesn't exactly seem like the atmosphere for not hurting people."

Cooper's face turns thoughtful as he thinks of the best way to phrase his emotions after the act had been done. "Not so much. It just put some distance between my guilt 'n me. Time and re-learning how to control myself did the rest."

He gestures to the city around them with one hand. "There's a lot of temptation here. But with all the rules the Night Council has put in place, it makes it a lot easier t'do what's right." He chuckles. "Never thought I'd live to see the day when I was a responsible vampire."

Natasha snorts softly at that—not disrespectful or skeptical of Cooper's experience, or his morality. She knows that he could have left that tourist dead in a gutter, or alive and short his wallet and whatever might have been in it.

It just seems a little too good to be true.

"Even in Islington?" she asks, her voice quiet and even.

It's strange to be thought of as good by others. Cooper doesn't do it nearly enough. He sees himself in such a harsh light and doesn't stop to think about doing the right thing. He's naturally not as much of a monster as he likes to think he is."Yep. Even in Islington."

Cooper looks at her face again and there's something there in her eyes that's old, but not nearly as old as his own. It makes him just ask a question again, his filter nonexistent at this point. "I'm gonna ask the one question a man should never ask a woman, immortal or not. How old are you?"

Not nearly as old as he is, and Natasha's already aware of it. Not the exact difference, but she knows what vampires consider old. She might not be a newborn by any stretch, but young enough that older vampires often discount her. Sometimes to her advantage.

"You really should know better," she deadpans, her lips tightening briefly in a frown before she answers. "Seventy-eight this year."

"Seventy-eight, huh?" He echoes the words, his face turning thoughtful once more. Cooper's thinking of days long since passed, the middle part of the nineteenth century when he was a young, vicious vampire. "You're doing better'n I was at the same age. I didn't really get my act together till I was over one-hundred."

Even then, he couldn't claim any credit. If he hadn't found Stefan, the man who had become the closest thing to a sire the young vampire had ever known, Cooper didn't know where he would have ended up. Probably dead or in a far worse state then what he had eventually become.

Natasha couldn't claim the credit either. At this point, she didn't know that there was anything to take the credit for. She's only been trying this a few months, and it hadn't entirely been here own idea. Maybe she would have gotten here eventually on her own—or maybe she'd give this up by winter. Either way seemed equally like.

"I'll take your word for it," she says, not about to make an argument out of it. "I'm not sure I'd call this having my act together."

"You didn't immediately jump on that guy back there the moment you smelt blood," Cooper remarks. " 'N you didn't immediately attack me like some self-righteous types would do. You're walkin' a narrow tightrope, but you're doing a good job of it." The problem, Cooper reflects as soon as he makes the analogy, with tightropes is that it is easy to lose one's balance.

"I'm not so young that I can't control myself at all." And her sire hadn't cared much for human life, not in retrospect, but he'd valued discipline.

"And I don't have much room to be self-righteous."

She feels the problem that's implied in his metaphor. It seems like it would be very easy to slip.

The Fool On The Hill

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