undergrounds | NOVEMBER CATCH-UP

Jean-Claude had tasted Eames' blood, and like any fae blood, it had effected him. But he had done his best to stamp down the worst of it. He'd had work to do on that night, and he'd had people to impress, and he couldn't do any of it if he'd been out of his mind. Besides, he hadn't had that much. But he'd had enough. And certainly more than Eames had given him permission for, which he regrets. Jean-Claude is a rather big proponent of permissions for such things, although he was certainly not going to sacrifice the moment if the fae had refused.

He has an apology to give him. And a congratulations to share in as well. For Eames had played a rather large role in his victory, after all. He could send out another message through the grapevine of fae underlings letting Eames know that he was looking for him. Or he could seek a more direct route.

Thus it comes to pass that one unassuming evening, several weeks after the fact -- he has given both of them time to rest and process the events of that night, as is only polite after all -- there comes a knock at Eames' door.

Eames is home, luckily for Jean-Claude, because it seems to be more and more rare that he gets to have a night in to himself. He feels something trip his wards, something with magic by the feel of it, so he's already up when somebody knocks on his door.

There's a clacking of claws on wood as Eames comes to the door, Boxer excited to see who it is until Eames' demeanour shifts after he takes a look through the peephole to take a look at who's there. Given he never once even hinted at the area he lives in, the presence of the vampire on his doorstep gives him a little pause.

So that's how Jean-Claude ends up greeted with a gun level with his chest when Eames finally opens the door, a growling rottweiler next to him.

"I never told you where I live."

Jean-Claude inclines his head slightly at the other man. "It is true, you did not," he replies, and his tone is careful, neutral. He understands that Eames might feel threatened by this development. It is hard to mistake the gun as anything else, after all. "You are not the only one with little birds who might pass such messages along, with the right leverage."

He holds his hands up in a placatory gesture. He hadn't meant to upset the other man, after all. And he would like to come in. He bends to pick up the bag at his side, and hold it out towards Eames. Inside he will find a rather expensive bottle of alcohol that Jean-Claude has a feeling might be to his tastes. "I was hoping I might be able to thank you for your aid, in dealing with our mutual friend. I was hoping equally that such a conversation might not be conducted on your doorstep, however." Won't you invite him in?

Eames purses his lips, giving that some consideration. He's only told a few people where he lives, but that's another consequence of this loss of anonymity he's had. He could harp on about it, but fundamentally anyone with enough connections could find him now, it's unfortunate and deeply troubling but not something worth dragging Jean-Claude over hot coals over.

He doesn't take the bag, but he does thumb the safety back on and slip the gun in the back of his trousers, leaning to put a hand on the dog's head with a gentle, "down, Boxer," and "kitchen," which makes it... Well, no less suspicious but the dog is less immediately aggressive as it pads into the house.

"Come in," he says after a moment, just to listen for any signs that Boxer's waiting to pounce on this guest, and gestures for JC to follow him through to the kitchen also.

Anyone with enough connections could find him if they really tried, and Jean-Claude is a man with many connections. It still took some effort, but the effort paid of in the end. Still, he supposes he might have called first. He just did not want to give the man more of a chance to turn him down, should he want to.

He inclines his head at the other man's invitation, and feels the invisible barrier that has been keeping him out before dissolve away at his words. He steps in the door and through the other man's apartment after him, glancing around curiously at the furnishings as he does. It's a new insight on Eames, and he will soak in everything he can while he can, just in case the other man changes his mind and turns him out again instead.

"Your dog is a charming creature," he offers, by way of making small talk. Seemingly unaware that it might have sunk its teeth into him, if the other man had given it the order.

The house is very tastefully put together, painted in light, warm colours and dark wood furniture. Maximised space, seeing as actual floorspace is something of a novelty in London, though the kitchen is almost obscenely large. Probably used to be a separate dining room before whoever owned the house before took the wall down.

"He is," Eames answers flatly, less interested in small talk and more what Jean-Claude is doing here. Once they're through to the kitchen, he reaches to a cupboard and sets a pair of glasses down on the side — a brief pause to pet the dog that's come over to stand by his legs, watching Jean-Claude cautiously in case he suddenly presents a danger.

But he's not about to bite anyone so Eames sees no cause for concern, gesturing for that bag he'd been offered at the door.

NOVEMBER CATCH-UP

dated to sometime between then and now, but not too long ago

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