undergrounds | There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

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There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

It's been a while since Cesare was last in London. He had...other issues to attend to in other countries. But now that he's back, he wants to immerse himself in his surroundings. Cesare is not exactly the type of man to spend any extended period of time with strangers so voluntarily, but he wants to pick up the pulse of London again, see how it's moving nowadays. And where better to do that than on his home turf?

Cesare is lurking in a corner of a lounge at The Angelo, sitting in an armchair and sipping an Old Fashioned (the irony isn't lost on him). He doesn't look particularly remarkable, at least when compared to the hotel's typical clientèle of businessmen in suits and high flyers with a little too much time on their hands. In fact, Cesare has gone out of his way to blend in. He holds a paper as if he actually cares about standard current affairs and looks at his phone every so often as if he finds it useful and not newfangled and pointless. You would probably have to know who Cesare was to spot him. Constantly, though, he's watching.

A. Can I buy you a drink?
Eventually someone catches his eye at the bar. Are they familiar? Does Cesare know them? Perhaps. Do they just seem interesting? Just as possible.

Cesare leaves his paper on the lounge chair and sits himself down next to them. He smirks, his manner calm and collected. You're in his home. He's comfortable.

"What do you drink?"

B. What are you doing here?
Someone is here who shouldn't be. They could be an old foe who has grown over confident with Cesare's absence. They could be the wrong type of person for this type of hotel. They could simply not have paid.

Either way, they shouldn't be here. Cesare quietly makes his way up to them. When he speaks, his tone is polite and cordial but there's something slightly too piercing about his gaze and he's standing a little too close to them for comfort.

"Something tells me you might be lost."

C. Can I speak to a manager?
Someone isn't happy. In fact, they are really quite frustrated. One of the hotel staff has messed up royally and someone is demanding that they speak to a higher up about it. This needs to be fixed. Something has to be done and Cesare is happy enough to oblige. With his façade of a casual hotel guest ruined he smiles as the waiter anxiously frets.

"I'm certain that we can sort this out."

D. Pick your own adventure! Choose something else!

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"Just gin, thank you," she says with an easy smile as Nancy looks up at Cesare. He knows why she's here, what she's doing. It's not the first, nor the last time, they've run into each other here. Sometimes, she knows, it's better to find the higher-class places than the seedy pubs she so often frequents. And here she knows, she's bound to find vampires with deep pockets. With the new laws, she'd rather not chance it with a poor vampire who suddenly decides they want to drink more than their fill, or doesn't have the money to back it up.

Here, she has some level of safety.

"Good to see you, Cesare."

Evie has no qualms about walking straight up to the man in the high-backed chair. She has two drinks in her hand, when she comes to take a seat across from him.

"The bartender told me you were drinking an Old Fashioned," she told Cesare casually. She wasn't here on business, not really. Sometimes, a girl just really needed a drink. "So I took the liberty of ordering you another." She offers him a warm smile. "Good to hear you're back in town. You missed quite the uproar."

She took no part in that. Nope. Noooope.

One thing that often surprises Eames is just how many vampire owned and run establishments there are in London. Of course it makes plenty of sense on their part, but for them to operate like this, hidden in plain sight? Ugh, it makes his skin crawl.

Unfortunately, the person he'd just finished up a meeting with was clearly either unaware or an idiot for inviting a fae to a place like this, but what can you do?

He's seated at a table, intent finishing up the bottle of wine he'd ordered, when Cesare comes over. "I don't think I am," he says with a smile, as if not at all put off by his presence, "this is the Angelo, right?"

Natasha spends a lot of time in bars. Some are dives. Some aren't. It's not the first time she's found herself in this hotel bar, sitting at the counter and nursing a drink. Tonight it's red wine. Cliche, maybe, but she likes the texture.

She hasn't seen the owner before, and if she'd known he was in town, she probably would have found somewhere else to spend the night.

She looks down, her attention falling on polished wood rather than meet his eyes.

"Is that a trick question?"

Cesare smiles. "Likewise."

He gives a look and a few words to the bartender and two glasses of gin are placed on the bartop.

"You didn't call. After last time." It's a joke, meant in good humour, Cesare feigning the role of a rejected lover. There is little weight to it. After all, it was Cesare who had left in the first place and caused their distance, not her. That doesn't mean he can't pretend otherwise though. He smirks and sips his gin.

"My pride can recover but I am not so sure about my heart."

Cesare grins broad when he sees Evie. It is nice to see a familiar face, particularly one that he thinks is on his side.

"They divulge that information so easily? I'll have to have a talk with them."

He slides his old drink to the side of the table (it was a disappointing mix of alcohol and melted ice anyway) and takes the new one with a polite nod.

"That's why I'm here. I heard the ruckus from all the way across the pond. I had to see what was going on for myself. London, it's changing." And he would like to witness it.

Cesare smiles broad and cold then nods. He stands his ground. After all, Eames is in Cesare's realm, not the other way around. Cesare is comfortable here. Eames is the black sheep. Perhaps had Cesare walked into fae territory it might have been different. But instead Eames has decided to walk right into vampire turf, sit down and grab a drink. Cesare has to give it to him: at least Eames is confident.

"Then you are either foolish or insolent, which would be just as foolish. I am afraid you are a fool either way."

Cesare shrugs and shakes his head.

"Not yet." There is still plenty of time for difficult questions. Right now Cesare simply wants to learn more about her. She is a vampire, he already knows that. She's under fed, he can guess that one. And she seems nervous about it, as if every question might be a charged one. Cesare smirks. She's smart.

"When was the last time you fed?" He keeps his voice just low enough so that any human patrons can't hear him. It would be unfortunate if they overheard something problematic.

"There may have been a small bribe involved." She gives him just the ghost of a smile.

Crossing her legs at the knees, Evie leans forward slightly, taking a drink of her own beverage. "Isn't it, though?" It was hardly the first time. Evie was naturally connected to London. She'd spent so long caring for the city, rescuing it. "I could never stay away for long. Some of the buildings, the streets, they stay the same. But the world moves on." Another drink.

"apparently, so do we from time to time." Or move backwards.

It's really good to see Cesare again. Especially when he comes with alcohol and humor in tow.

"Your heart? Impossible- tell me, is there anything I can do to repair it?" She reaches for the glass of gin and holds it up to him to clink. "Or can I expect some brooding in the future?" All her favorites were prone to randomly leaving. But she supposed that was the curse of getting close with vampires.

"Now it's a trick question," Natasha says dryly. She's resigned to this kind of treatment. She can't say exactly how other vampires will see her, but she can guess. She knows how she would have reacted to someone in her position a few years ago. Six months ago, even; while the unease had started before that, she'd still gone through the motions.

Now, she still questioned whether going this far was necessary. She didn't trust herself to half measures yet, though. How easy would it be to backslide if she were feeding on humans again?

"A few months." She answers, because she knows that he won't count animals and because he's old enough to keep her cautious. No saying how he'd respond to an overt dodge. She'll save that for if she really needs it.

"Actually," Joscelin smirks, "I rather think I'm in exactly the right place." The child vampire turns slowly, facing Cesare and pulling himself up to his full, meager, height. "I'd heard you were back in London, Borgia, but I didn't realize you'd gone senile. Really, is this any way to treat an elder?"

Inwardly, Joss is happy to see more vampires close to him in age in the city, but he won't let anyone see that. He has an image to maintain, after all.

"Now why don't you tell the idiots you've got working here to let me have a glass of wine?"

Thomas was hunting somewhere new that night. He liked to mix things up. It drew less attention than if he went to the same bar every night, each time leaving with a different stranger. Sure, it wasn't like any harm came to them. They never missed the pint or two he took, but it still would stand out as odd. Besides, things would be much more convenient in a hotel bar. Once he flirted his way into someone's bedroom, they wouldn't have far to go, nor would he have to worry about them when he was done. He could just leave them in their nice, comfortable bed to rest and recuperate for the night, and he could go. It would save quite a bit of time, something that was becoming increasingly valuable to him as the nights became shorter.

And that was why, as thoughts of who he wanted to drink for the night played through his mind, being asked what he drank struck him as terribly amusing. A huge grin flashed across his face, as he suppressed the urge to laugh.

"Just beer, for now. I'll probably be drinking something else later, though."

"My staff are accepting bribes? Even worse. Someone is getting fired tonight." He laughs slightly before looking at his drink for a second, thinking, considering her words. She has a point but he does not agree with her.

"Truly, I think it is more than that. London shifts and adapts, we both know that. But this, this is something more. Perhaps it is just me getting old, but something feels different." Leaders come and go, factions swap sides and territories shift. But it has been a long time since Cesare witnessed a leader who was so intent on chaos. This is more than simply retaliation.

"Harris, have you met him yet?"

"Then pretend I said nothing, I don't want anyone getting fired on my account." There was hardly a pleading note, as she laughed a little, but it was still there, however little.

Evie draws her lips into a fine line, pressing them together as she considers his words. "No, you're absolutely right. I can feel it, too. Some new sort of energy." She waved a hand, however vaguely.

Speaking of...

"No- not yet. I'd hesitate to say it's a meeting I'm looking forward to, but it will sure prove to be interesting."

Cesare clinks his drink with hers almost instantly.

"In truth, I doubt it. I am doomed to brood for many months at least." He keeps his attention entirely on her, calm and comfortable. It has been a while since he last spoke with her, but it doesn't feel like it. A cynical part of Cesare thinks perhaps that is simply Nancy being good at her job, but he decides to think better of it.

"How have you been keeping yourself? Well, I hope? The staff here have been polite while I've been gone?" There is little need for it, nor any true right to it, but a part of Cesare is protective of her. He considers her a friend and he does not like his friends mistreated.

Cesare appreciates her honesty, and the fact that she already predicts he won't count her drinking animals as feeding. There is a difference between a hearty meal and snacking on leftovers. Cesare would remind her of that if he can.

He whispers something to the bartender who then pulls out a liquor bottle from the fridge. The bartenders pours two glasses of something that definitely isn't liquor and puts them on the bartop in front of them. Cesare gestures towards the drink.

"Take it. It's...cruelty free, I assure you." That is hardly one of Cesare's priorities, but sometimes acquiring blood from a willing participant is simply easier, particularly when you intend to bottle and store it. It's great how things like that work out sometimes.

Cesare laughs, bites his lip and grins when Joscelin turns around. It catches him off guard, certainly, but it's a welcome surprise. Cesare holds no qualms about retorting just as hard.

"If I am old and senile, then what does that make you? Or will you argue that your youthful presentation has kept your mind agile?"

He calls over a waiter and arranges a glass of wine for Joscelin as they sit down at a table. The drink is not in a wine glass but instead a tumbler, one that Cesare makes sure is filled to the brim to make up for it.

"Though, considering we're undead, I suspect we're both fairly fucked either way."

Thomas is about as subtle as foghorn in a library and Cesare can't help but roll his eyes slightly at it. It's the indiscretion of youth, Cesare is sure, and he knows he probably shouldn't judge Thomas for it, but he does nonetheless.

Cesare smiles and shakes his head before ordering the other man a beer.

"Just remember to keep it clean. The maids work hard here. I would hate to have them startled."

"Absolutely." It's been how long since he saw Cesare? Fifty, sixty years? Sometime after the most recent war, certainly. Joscelin smiles. "Though maybe it's your time in the New World that addled your wits. Barbaric place." Admittedly, all Joss knows (or cares to know) about the Americas is mostly colored by a century of cinema and the odd penny dreadful. But that doesn't matter.

He graciously accepts the wine, choosing not to comment on its presentation. Maybe he will later. The night is young.

"Perhaps. Sometimes more than others. Must be a bit odd, coming back to a London without our dearly departed Millicent at its head." He crosses himself in an ironic and vaguely blasphemous tribute to the dead. "You've timed the whole thing rather well, in fact."

Natasha's jaw tightens the moment the smell of blood hits the air. It's subtle, but not that subtle. She wasn't lying when she said it had been months since she had human blood, and if she'd thought she'd been aware of every single day of it before, with temptation on the bar in front she felt each of them like an injury.

Her hand starts to move to take the glass without conscious thought. She's old enough to have self-control, but not so old it comes that it always comes easy. Not when she's been living on pig's blood and the occasional strays in a pinch. She covers for the stumble by pulling the glass a little closer, toying with it but stopping short of raising it to her mouth.

"That's kind of you, but not really necessary."

There is a short teenager who is causing quite the fuss for the waitstaff. He's been sitting there most of the night, drinking one beer after another, though he shows absolutely no signs of getting drunk. Right now, he is in the process of giving them a thorough dressing down as they try to explain they can't accept the credit card he wants to pay his tab with unless he gives them an I.D. to go with it. Cooper doesn't have one on him and is refusing to pay any other way.

He whirls on Cesare as he approaches, a furious spark lighting up his eyes. "Good, maybe I can get somewhere now that I'm not dealin' with a stuffed-shirted buffoon!" He turns on the waiter and imperiously give him an order. "Get out of my sight, you little pea-brained idiot!"

Thomas looked a little startled at that. Not at the fact that Cesare noticed what he was up to, because while he hadn't realized the man would know, he'd had vampires recognize it before. It was, rather, the casual way he'd referred to Thomas possibly leaving a body in the room. It left little doubt in Thomas's mind that he wasn't the only vampire in the conversation.

"I always do," he said, accepting the beer as the bartender handed him one, taking a drink. He sounded a little more serious when he said that, though it hadn't always been true. He'd never intended to kill anyone, but it had been quite some time now since that had been an issue.

He's not the first to think she's easy to open up to, a friendly conversation with someone you've just met but it feels like you've known them for years. Part of her job, yes, but it was hardly ever done on purpose.

"Well enough," because another conversation with a vampire about how terrible her life had been lately is not something she wants to do. "They've been perfectly hospitable." She had three usual haunts that she knew the staff well enough that they didn't try to kick her out. Other places, there was no guarantee.

"And you? What have you been up to? Nothing too top-secret, I hope?"

"Oh, I am sure. You may not like him, but he has certainly changed the climate. Before I felt like I was barely able to drink in the privacy of my own home without Millicent breathing down my neck, that paranoid, power hungry bitch. Although I guess she was paranoid with good reason."

He laughs wryly and takes a swig of his drink. He had never liked Millicent. He would deal with her, yes, be polite to her face, but he did not like the way she so consistently controlled others. He found her...restrictive. He didn't like it. He liked her aims but not her methods.

"Harris, though, he is different and, sorry to say it, but young. No offence, but how he managed all this, I have no idea."

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There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

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