undergrounds | [closed to Eames]

Party might not come off as being traditionally thoughtful, but he'd like to think that when it counts, he's a good guy. As far as he's concerned, his only enemies in the supernatural community are the ones who directly threaten peace between everyone, even if he kind of hates half the vampires in town at this rate. A change was needed and the atmosphere lately has left him optimistic and also feeling a need to encourage a little more peace and a little less separation, but then maybe he's also just projecting some personal feelings post-Halloween, because as November wears on, he starts to realize that this will be his first ever Thanksgiving away from his family with no contact.

He'd been working on holiday gifts for the friends he has made so far when he realizes that this particular painting isn't for someone who is quite yet a friend, but who has acted certainly as an ally of sorts in the months of East End losing ground to the vampires.

Once he's finished the small painting of a neon forest, he wraps it carefully in brown butcher's paper and heads to the Fae territory bundled in a leather jacket and his least ratty jeans to see if he can't track Eames down. Maybe it will take a few days on foot and a few questions asked of strangers, but he's found that with a bit of persistence, he can usually get the job done when he really wants to.

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Eames doesn't live out here, but with everything going on, he's been spending a lot of time out in these two boroughs making sure people are still alive and all that. Not been getting any trouble from vampires since the changeover, all that good stuff.

There's a nice little bar out on the edge of Bexley, the kind of fringe neighbourhood where people are basically pretending they live in London still, and it's a quiet place where he can meet people to talk and get a cheap drink. Fae-owned, of course. He doesn't actually like the place much, but he does what he can not to let that show.

The werewolf entering catches Boxer's attention first, the dog's ears perking as he suddenly sits up and looks at the door, watching carefully. A few people wrinkle their noses in distaste at the guy, but for the most part no one cares. He's not a vampire and he's not a witch, there's no real reason to be on guard. Eames, for his part, looks over in the same direction with a curious expression as he tries to decide if he knows this guy.

He doesn't, as it happens, so he just turns back to the conversation he's not really invested in anyway. Absently putting a hand on Boxer's collar in case he gets agitated.

People's reactions aren't something Party really pays attention to, unless he's trying to elicit something specific, and he's rarely looking to elicit a positive response anyway. He's used to looking dirty and weird and getting looks for it, but he likes the way he is just fine, so fuck them.

Before he notices Eames or anyone else, really, he notices Boxer, his nostrils flaring a little as he adjusts. He hasn't even been a werewolf for a year and he's finally adjusting to just how much information his nose can give him, though sometimes it's the smells he's not expecting that throw him off the most.

He refocuses himself when his eyes flick up to Eames. People aren't the most helpful when you're trying to track someone at the best of times and this isn't exactly the first place he'd thought to look, but he's relieved that his search is over.

"Hello." He stops with a little extra space between them since upsetting a dude's dog is probably not the best way to make a good impression and he's pretty sure he'll be in a world of trouble if he does anything to hurt the pack's current relations with anyone. "Uh... my name is Party."

He holds out his hand to shake, but not before nervously running it through his bright hair, a seemingly absent nervous tick.

Someone else at the table makes a displeased noise, opening their mouth to complain about this smelly wolf coming and interrupting their conversation, but Eames raises a hand to shush them before they get anywhere with that.

(He has to admit, being a Lord has its benefits.)

“Eames,” he says in response as he takes Party’s hand in a firm shake, motioning to the seats opposite in a way that’s both an invitation for Party and shooing the assembled annoyances away, “though it seems like you already know who I am.”

There's something about Eames that commands respect in a way that Party doesn't notice until he's already halfway to nervously scrambling into the offered seat. It's not exactly something supernatural, but it's both attractive and frightening all the same, like he imagines an old time mafia boss or a high powered CEO would be. It's a funny thought that comes out in a little nervous grin as he nods at the question.

"I wanted to give you something." Carefully, he places the brown paper wrapped painting on the table and slides it towards Eames. "A thank you."

"It's not arsenic, is it?" There's a touch of dry humour to his tone, he's joking of course, nobody's tried to poison anyone that way in so long. And everything about Party's body language suggests he's being genuine, which does endear Eames to him a little. Fae do so love gifts, after all.

He's careful as he unwraps it, slipping fingers under the folds of the paper to pull it open without tearing any of it, but more than care for the paper it's respect for what's been given. The item itself he might hate, Eames can't say until he's finished and gets a look at it, but things that are given without expectation are important. Special. They should be treated with care.

"I'd like to think I'd be more creative than that if I was going to kill someone." This is the sort of joke that gets him into trouble, but he still hasn't managed to stop himself from making them at every turn. Every once in a while, he actually meets someone who thinks he's funny, even.

Suddenly, he gets a little nervous, like maybe this was a bad idea and Eames won't like the painting and maybe he's being the bad kind of weird right now. This is kind of weird, right? Usually, he aims for good-weird, but there's a fine line that he's exceptionally bad at finding sometimes. He chews his lip as he watches the paper peel away.

Well the joke gets a soft chuckle out of Eames, because who doesn't love a bit of black humour and creative murder? But the humour in his expression falls away as he finally lays his eyes on the painting, replaced by something almost reverent as he skims his fingers over the edges of the canvas.

It's not exactly his taste, but Eames has a lot of the classic fae values hidden in him. Already, he's considering where to put it in his home, how best to make it fit. Maybe in his office? Wouldn't that be nice.

"Did you paint this?"

Party nods quickly and bites at his thumb nail, trying to read Eames' reaction, which seems at least interested. "I'm an artist by trade."

It's also his chosen style of vandalism, but his actual street ventures tend to be styled a little differently, whether he signs them or not.

"I've had a couple of gallery showings around town and--uh--yeah, anyway... I just wanted to say thanks. 'Cause the vampires keep pushin' at us. Gettin' ridiculous, y'know?"

"Shame it was basically pissing in the wind," he raises an eyebrow as he looks up from the painting, a kind of tired amusement on his face. It's not exactly like he was there out of love for the wolves, but a shared distaste of vampires is as good a basis for a friendship as any.

Eames sighs softly, looking down at the painting again, "thank you for this. It's lovely."

Party gives him a pleased look, slouching back a little in his seat.

"Figure art's for sharin' with people. Ain't no point in doin' it just for yourself." He looks around a little, as if he can see more than just what's really there. "You got some nice sights down in this neck of the woods. I should do a study some time."

Mostly, he's stayed in a few areas lately, but he should probably get to branching out again and exploring more of the city. He really hasn't lived here long enough to know everywhere.

[closed to Eames]

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