undergrounds | in the company of strangers

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in the company of strangers

Kyle had been away for too long, first following Alex and then focusing on his own leads to try to find an old commanding officer. The hunt was futile, leaving him feeling played and used all at once. With Alex out of touch in her search and too many dead ends, the former soldier finally returned to London, feeling a bit reckless and angry while simultaneously eager to connect with recent friends.

A; I CAN'T SEE STRAIGHT ANYMORE (DRINKING)
Generally, as a rule, Kyle made a deliberate effort to avoid getting drunk. With his training and issues, it was a recipe for disaster and he was a responsible enough person to choose not to engage in such an unnecessary risk. Generally. Right now, he felt like shit and had very few responsibilities to worry about.

Which was why he was wandering casually from pub to pub, from early afternoon to late in the evening, having a beer here and a whiskey there. Mostly beer. He wanted to ride the buzz, to sit in his temporary angst like a cliche, 20-something American and make bad choices. Be the stereotype of the loud tourist for once, instead of always trying to defy expectations. He sat at the bar, ordered another beer, let his gaze slip past the wood grain of the counter back into his own mind to block things out. Here, he was just another guy drinking in London. No supernatural bullshit involved. Until, of course, it was.

B; GONNA HIT THIS CITY (HUNTING)
After and in between his bouts of reckless drinking, Kyle opted for another form of reckless behavior: hunting. He was a soldier, not a hunter, as he had explained to at least a dozen people in the last year. Yeah, he killed vampires, but that was the mission. He didn't go looking for the supernatural. Except that now he was. He was bored and angry, with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, stalking the night and trying to find more vampires, werewolves, witches, whatever. He might not actually attack them, might only get to know them. As a human, it was all dangerous. But it was fun too.

C; WELCOME TO MY HOUSE (AT HOME)
Kyle's plans to move in with Alex were nixed before they started and his invitation to Nancy didn't fair much better. Which meant he returned from Germany to an empty apartment, barely furnished, with the unfulfilled potential of something now lost to time. He dropped his keys on the counter and leaned back against it, staring out at the window. The rumbling of his stomach reminded him how empty his fridge was and he immediately left again for the corner store, to grab some basic groceries and return to cook up a simple meal. Maybe a few drinks too.

[OOC: Feel free to bump into him on his way to the store or, for existing CR, to know or have found out where he lives.]

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Kyle's equal parts annoyed and excited to catch a glimpse of a familiar face down the bar. He pauses a moment as he accepts his new pint, arguing with himself for the span of a couple seconds before he finally gives the humble nod of begrudging acquiescence.

The soldier stands from his stool, taking a split second to right himself before moving off toward a more private table in the corner. If they're going to talk while he's intoxicated and she's looking this good, it's best to do it in a place where he's less likely to make trouble and get kicked out of the establishment.

"You look good tonight," he offers in greeting as he drops into one of the wooden chairs. Although the physical signs are apparent, his speech is fairly clear and his movements, though slower and more deliberate, are not exactly sloppy. He holds his alcohol well enough. At least for now.

That is somewhat reassuring, even if this still seems out of character for him—especially leading with a compliment like that.

Natasha sits across from him, crossing her arms on the table in front of her and leaning in conspiratorially. It makes it easier not to raise her voice to be heard. Her own drink for the evening, a whiskey neat, sits mostly untouched beside her elbow.

"Not sure I look that much different from any other night," she says, smiling faintly at the comment. "I haven't seen you in a while. I was starting to worry."

Kyle leans back as much as his chair will allow, hovering precariously on its two rear legs. It makes hearing her a little more difficult, but it feeds his current need for immaturity and petulance. He shrugs at her dismissal of his compliment, then flashes a light grin as she mentions his absence. A vampire was worried about him. It almost makes him laugh.

"Had to see a man about a springbok." It's total bullshit, of course. "But I'm back now. How's the Nest?"

With everything happening with the nest, with Simon's death, Alex in the wind, Natasha considers her concern very rational. Especially when at the moment, she can't have too many friends. Maybe having Kyle back will help balance out the pressure from the nest at least a little.

She can use every little bit she can get.

So when he asks about the nest, she answers honestly, her voice low so as not to carry. "In my professional opinion? Getting ready to start a war."

"Surprised they haven't started one already," he admits, somewhat cavalierly, as he rocks back and forth on the two legs of the chair. Kyle's voice isn't loud and carrying, but it's clear he's not as concerned with their privacy as he might normally be either.

Alex started this, he can't help but think. The vampires were bad, but Alex killing Millicent has pushed everything into a level that's untenable. War seemed inevitable when he left and to hear it hasn't happened only means that it will be all the more brutal and lethal when it eventually does happen.

"Good thing we have the Night Council to protect us," he replies with a laugh, clearly sarcastic, before he almost catches himself forgetting. "Not that you need protecting. Or do you? I don't know how they feel about you."

"I wouldn't say I need protection," she says, but more people she can take care of herself than because she thinks the vampires won't target her. "They've been trying to court those of us who aren't part of the nest to join up. Since bribes and promises didn't work, I expect threats will be next."

She shrugs at it. "You missed the party. Which is a good thing—you would have hated it."

"Stay sober and I'll protect you as much as I can," he replies with a weight that seems contrary to his intoxication. Kyle is glad Natasha exists and wants her to continue to be his personal beacon of hope. If he can help with that, he's happy to. Though, of course, that means he'll be all the more ready to pounce if she decides to cave and join her usual race's antics.

He sobers further at her remark of a party, straightening up until his chair lands on all fours. "They had a fucking party?"

"Still on the wagon," she assures him, running a finger along the rim of her whiskey. And she intends to try. Her own optimism about it lasting might be less than his, but she can accept this—whatever it is—as temporary.

He really doesn't know what's been happening in London. That's a grimmer topic. "They're recruiting and trying to gather allies. Gather allies, and send a message to the rest of the community. Got an invite. Went to see what they were about, got the pitch and politely declined."

Giving a little shake of her head, she finishes, "It's a mess, and as long as Islington has decadents and lunatics in charge."

"They're like fucking cockroaches," he mutters angrily, grabbing hold of his drink and taking another long sip. Kyle half slams it down onto the table before leaning back on the two legs again. He pauses, considers, and flattens out to all four once more. Finally, he takes the conversation to the appropriate tones, leaning forward with an arm on the table and scowling at Natasha because she's the messenger.

"Bastards are going to live forever because they're too damn hard to eradicate," he huffs, more to himself than to her, ignoring that she could theoretically be lumped into the same group. He's talking about the nest now. "So we put down the new leader and then what? More of the same. We need to take down the whole damn nest, but how do you do that when everyone wants to play their own sides?"

He pauses, lifting his gaze from the table to actually look at Natasha. "I just wanted to makeout with a nice girl and drink way too much. I didn't want to think about vampires."

Leave it to Natasha to ruin a night on the town. Not that Kyle seemed to be enjoying it all that much, but she hasn't helped. Or Islington isn't helping. Either way, she was the one who gave him the news.

Maybe she changes the subject because it's easier. Because the actual conversation is going to be ugly and hard, and because she doubts Kyle will like her own plans on the matter. Maybe because the way he talks about vampires rings true, and he can't exclude herself from the ranks of vampires on the whole. Whatever she's doing now, she's earned her place among them, the general condemnation.

But he gives her the opening, and she can tell herself it's for his benefit and her own. "You still can still do that," she says, a little frown creasing her cheeks suitably. "We can talk about something else. I'll finish my drink. I'm sure you can handle the nice girl part on your own."

Though it does raise questions about what happened to Alex.

"Here I was hoping you'd volunteer," he teases, though there's just enough weight to it that anyone perceptive could know it's as much an offer as a joke. He did want to be alone, to drink, to forget about everything and maybe try to find oblivion later. But he also knows this is better, knows that her company and a decent conversation won't leave him reeling with regret come morning. Even in his recklessness, Kyle can't help but be a little responsible.

"Stay. Tell me more, I want to know," he says softly, all trace of humor gone from his usual light tone. He takes another sip of his drink, expression softening. "If you're willing to share."

"You never know what could happen if you play your cards right," Natasha responds in a similar tone. Teasing. She's not oblivious enough to miss the proposition in his joke, and if she thought Kyle wouldn't regret it in the morning, she might take him up on it. It was tempting even as it was. More tempting than she'd admit with a straight face.

Her smile falls after, though. She lifts her glass and sips, buying a moment. "I don't mind telling you." She almost laughs then. "You'll be happy to know I did't drink while I was there, even if there was plenty of opportunity."

That was about the only part he would be happy to hear. "Harris is setting himself up in opposition to the Night Council. Vampires are supposed to fall in line. He's trying to make the fae and witches pick sides."

"I am happy," he admits. It's the most he's ever felt like a sponsor, talking to someone who visited a crack den and came out the other end without a pipe or withdrawal to show for it. Not that he has anything to do with her success. Natasha's attempt at good is all her own work. But Kyle still feels unearned pride in hearing about it and reaches out to set his hand on her forearm, a light gesture of reassurance.

After a beat, he withdraws his hand. Natasha's hot and he likes her, but damn, touching a vampire still makes him uncomfortable.

"The best way to take power is to try to force people to choose sides, people who don't want to choose. Suddenly so many people are refusing to choose that they can slip right into the cracks. It's apartheid all over again. They'll be ratting on the other side and their own, looking out for themselves and their families over any other group," he scoffs with disdain, the idea of it upsetting his soldierly pride. "Who's taking which sides and who's trying to play Switzerland?"

"Some vampires are falling in line. Others are leaving town—mot vampires are unaffiliated if they're not part of a nest, so without protection, they're cutting their losses and getting out of the way."

The more she talks, the more she falls into the role. It's nice to be able to talk to someone about it openly. Someone who's not a vampire. "I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure the Unseelie told Harris to go fuck himself. Possibly not in so many words, but I'm sure the message was clear."

She shrugs a little then. "Witches... hard to say. I don't have many contacts there. I could dig a little more and probably turn something up, given time."

He chuckles about the Unseelie. Kyle doesn't know too much about fae, but he's learned enough to know that having their support would make for a powerful ally. It's nice to hear they might be staying out of it entirely. Although that still leaves the Seelie, of course. Hopefully they're too above it all, as has been described to him.

"I can ask Midnight. I'd hope Daylight's against them if they're rebelling against the Night Council." Hard to say for sure. And he really hopes Abigail and Nancy aren't stupid enough to support the vampires just to make a name for themselves. "Dig around anyway?"

Can't hurt to have two of them as opposed to one. There's a visible shift a moment later, as if he wants to say something but can't or is debating the merits of it. It hurts every fiber of his being and every instinct of his training to consider offering her shelter, if she should need it, as she did for Alex. But she did do it for Alex and it only seems fair.

"You have a place, if you need it." It's practically murmured, mingling with the scent of too many beers. "A safe house."

She hums thoughtfully at that. She will keep digging. She always intended too—and it's important Harris not gather allies, not gain legitimacy.

It's the offer that gets the next details out of her, admitted in a soft voice. This is information that she can't trust to get further. She doesn't want him making offers like this without knowing everything, though. Not when invitations mean as much as they do among vampires.

"I have a few contacts inside the nest. Vampires who are smart enough to know this isn't sustainable. They should keep us in the loop on that end, and with luck... with luck, the nest might end up fracturing itself." That's still speculation at this point, though, and hopeful speculation at that.

"Do you still want to make that offer?"

"Your friends aren't invited." An important clarification. "You are."

It's for her safety, nothing else. And no one else. It's probably for the best that Nancy hasn't moved in, given how much shit he gave her for even considering inviting a vampire into their hypothetical place. But Natasha isn't a normal vampire, and that makes all the difference.

"You know the other conditions. I don't want to keep repeating myself." It's said with a humorous slant, meant to be more joking than sincere. Don't eat people, don't join the nest. Don't be like a vampire. Then they'll get along peachy keen. Or as close to it as they can probably manage between them. But she knows those things and constantly reiterating them does more to hurt their tentative friendship than to help it.

"Besides, you don't need protecting. You'll be fine. Stop ruining my attempts to be a good person." Another smirk, more joking. Joking is easier.

"Fair enough," Natasha says, relenting. She's not determined to damage what faith he has in her. She just wanted him to make his decision knowing what she was involved with. Not joining the nest—that was very much off the table at this point. But that didn't mean she wasn't involved in nest politics. Not if that's what it took to keep the peace.

And she'd rather preserve the peace between them to. "And I know. I stay clean and straight, or we can't be friends."

That's the nice way of saying it, at least.

"In that case. Thanks. I'd rather not need it, but if it ends up I do—that happens, I'll be glad to have it."

Her having friends in the nest is frustrating to him, yet not entirely unexpected. He's had some allies he doesn't particularly like when it's for the greater good. As long as it stays for the greater good and away from him, he can separate them. At least for now, while the tipsy Ohio jock tries to genuinely do a good thing like his parents raised him to.

"You're welcome," he replies with a laugh, because with normal human people it would be that easy. The supernatural have to complicate everything.

Kyle downs the rest of his beer and holds up the empty glass. "Buy a guy a drink?" A beat. "Do you even get drunk? How does that work? Do you have, like, a super metabolism? Or is it because your blood doesn't flow? Does your blood flow?"

"I was about to offer," she says. She's more than happy to let the topic move on. Who knows? Maybe if they can talk about what she is, he'll be more comfortable with it. She's not about to hold her breath on that, but it's worth demystifying.

"And I can get drunk, but it's hard." A pause as she considers why that is. She's not really sure she knows herself. An aspect of her healing? She heals more slowly than she did when she was feeding on human blood, but she still recovers more quickly than a human from injuries. She licks her lips in thought. "My blood does flow. Heart beat. I breathe. I don't blush, but I didn't do that much before either."

"Huh." It's the only thing he offers for all his questions answered. Kyle adopts a small frown as he looks at her, wishing she was human rather than what she is, wondering if those thoughts about her will ever change. A thought occurs to him after a moment, a continuation of the previous slew. One with a sharper edge.

"If you breathe, does that mean you can suffocate?" He's not asking about her. He's asking because it could be useful. It crosses his mind whether the kind of genocide he wishes to commit against vampires is something his parents would be okay with, if being a soldier messed with him that badly or if they're really as evil as he thinks. But the thought goes almost as quickly as it came.

"Screw the drink. Do you want to take a walk? We should take a walk. I want to know more about you. You, Natasha, not you.." He gestures to his teeth. "That too, actually. But if we're going to lie in bed together, I need to know you. That's a metaphor. Lying in bed because we're working together, not to have sex. Unless you want that too."

He flashes a grin at the end of his rambling, knowing how charming and attractive he can be when he tries. The flirting is his default, really, though there's a part of him that means every word right now. Anything to forget Alex, anything to piss her off, anything to bring her back.

For a few seconds, Natasha just watches him. She's not entirely sure where to start to respond to all that. The flurry is flirtatious, but while he's not sloppy drunk, it's clumsier than his normal teasing. That combined with the more morbid question make for a lot to take in at once.

Then, after that beat, she nods. "A walk sounds good." He can use the air. Maybe she can too—not for the same reasons, but because she should clear her head. "Get some air, have a chat..."

Just what he wants to know, she's not sure, but she'll answer what she can. She finishes her whiskey in a quick swallow and throws a little money on the table.

She only answers his question when they get out of the pub, after taking a deep breath. As though proving to them both that she still does. Then she says, "No. We don't suffocate. Not being able to breathe is uncomfortable though—not a fun experience."

Kyle doesn't sway or stumble, yet his movements feel more lumbering and deliberate. He moves outside with her easily enough, embracing the fresh air and the warmth even at this hour. The thought of offering an arm for a pretty girl crosses his mind for a split second before he again recalls their relationship and what she is. Instead, he slides his hands into his pockets where they'll be safe.

"Like torture," he responds idly. It seems to be said almost with an unpleasant memory rather than as a pondering of the future.

Kyle shakes it off and turns to give her another smile. "So tell me about yourself. Where you from? Why are you here? What do you want out of life? Or, my personal favorite, where do you see yourself in the next five years?"

Natasha catches the note in his voice as he responds. She can guess, based on what she does know about him, what kind of experiences might have put that tone in his voice. She doesn't pursue it, but she does feel something like sympathy for it.

She wouldn't want to be questioned about that. Of course, she isn't entirely sure how to deal with the questions he is asking her. No reason to worry about the ones he isn't.

After a brief moment where she considers hedging, she returns his smile. "At this point, five years is a long time. If I'm still alive and kicking, I'll call it success." For values of alive that apply to a vampire. "I'm from Stalingrad, originally. It's been a long time since I went back."

Natasha chooses to call it that, even though the name hasn't been officially been Stalingrad since before she had been turned, but calling it that—it was an intentional clue to her age.

"I understand that one," he replies quietly, chuckling in agreement about the idea of being alive in five years. Kyle thought London would be a peaceful and boring break from the life he'd known for years prior. Now it's turning out to be almost as interesting, although less stressful for the most part.

He hesitates in his step when she mentions Russia, continuing on quickly and doing his best to pretend it never happened. The name of the city registers as the country but not the specific time. He was never the sharpest kid and there's something about the idea that strikes him more substantially.

"Why did you help Alex?" The question comes as abruptly aloud as it came to his mind, unplanned yet important to him to know.

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