It was a slow night at the bar. He figured it would be before he'd gotten there. It was just that nobody really looked quite... right. It was the sort of night he was having, the sort he'd expected to have really and he wondered if there was a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy involved. He'd never really been a positive-attitude sort of thinker, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt now and then.

He ran his finger along the side of his glass of beer, drawing lines in the condensation. It was barely touched. Cyril had barely tolerated the taste of beer in his lifetime. Things hadn't changed much since his death. It tasted only a little better than vomit... though he wondered if that association was due to fact or subjective experience. Eh. Anyway, there wasn't much of a point in it. It took a lot to get him drunk these days.

It would seem a little strange to sit all alone at a bar with nothing to drink, though. Which would completely negate the point of coming here at all.

The rich smell of cheap beer and bar-food was beginning to get to him, though. He tried to remember what possessed him to eat that shit when he'd been alive. He sighed. Inhale through his mouth, exhale through his nose. Deep. Heavy. Slightly melodramatic. Entirely unnecessary. It was kind of for show, though. I'm just a lonely guy, drinking after a long day at work. Nothing to see here.

He crossed his arms on the bar and rested his head on the point at which his wrists crossed. His long, lean torso was like a cat's body, sinewy and limp, languorous underneath his blue-grey button-up shirt. A noisy couple slid into the stools beside him, the male taking the seat closest, his back turned away. They were already drunk. He could smell it on them as though they were wearing it. They ordered a pitcher of beer ("none of that cheap shit," the male demanded) and chattered loudly as they drank. The female had a loud, uproarious laugh that set Cyril's teeth on edge. He turned his head to the side so that he was still resting it against his arms, but he was now facing them.

"'Scuse me," he said. The couple barely seemed to know he was there. They definitely hadn't heard him. Or quite possibly, they were ignoring him. He repeated himself, louder this time, impossible to ignore without it being quite obvious that you were doing so intentionally.

"Yeah, do you have a problem, buddy?" The male asked, swiveling a bit on his stool. He was all BRUT aftershave and local university apparel, though to be honest it looked like it had been years since he'd graduated.

"Well, honestly, you're being a bit loud, mate."

"So what?"

Cyril narrowed his eyes at him. Clearly this discussion was going nowhere. "Hey, don't get fucked up over it. It was just a request. Keep screaming if you'd like."

The guy stood up -- Christ, really? -- and stared Cyril square in the eyes. Cyril, for his part, kind of shifted his head a little so he could see him better, but otherwise didn't really move much.

"I'm sorry, is this your bar? Do you get to decide what people fucking do in here? I've been coming here since I was a student and I --"

Blah blah blah. Angry drunk. Cyril groaned a little, rested his head completely face-down on his arms now. Wondered why he'd even bothered to get into it with the guy. He supposed if he'd been preoccupied with the promise of a meal he probably wouldn't have even noticed the wanker.

"Hey! Are you fucking listening to me?"

Cyril lifted his head then, turned in his seat, actually looked vaguely apologetic. "Uh. No, I guess n--" He was cut off by a hard shove to his chest. It was enough to knock him back a bit, maybe a bit more than that if he hadn't been a vampire. It was hard to judge that sort of thing, after all. The vampire was feeling fairly incredulous for a few moments. It hadn't been that big of a deal had it? Enough to start a scrappy bar fight, really? But Cyril was not really the sort to let something like that go, especially when people were actually watching.

There were a few moments of pregnant silence. The man stood there like a linebacker, waiting for Cyril to make a move. So he did.

The vampire hauled back and planted a fist in the side of the -- admittedly much larger -- man's jaw, sending him reeling back. His hand immediately flew up to his face and he glared at Cyril like a raging bull, then looked at his companion for a moment. His expression was very well, fuck, I didn't expect him to hit THAT hard but then he was all eyes for Cyril again. The bartender, meanwhile, had caught on to the fact that something funny was going on and that it was perhaps going to turn into something more than just a normal heated bar-disagreement and he was shouting at them to knock it the fuck off or they'd both be out, he didn't care who started it.

Cyril made defiant eyes at his antagonist for a few moments longer before turning away and gathering himself up as if to walk away (so done with this shit, I'm not getting kicked out of another bar) when the guy actually came at him from behind and wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him back towards himself and making as if to choke him. The vampire slipped out of his grip and grabbed the man's left arm with both hands, bent it very far in the wrong direction. The man bellowed. His female companion screamed. The bartender was nearly beside himself, and a little group of people had gathered up around him.

He grinned at him then, showed him a little teeth. Not enough to really give anything away, but just a flash. Make him wonder.

Then he broke his arm.

Oh well. He never really went very long in a new place without causing some trouble.

Unlike most bar tenders she knew, Cody never spent her nights off in the bar she worked. Instead, she bar hopped everywhere else. New faces, new cliques, new people. People that didn’t know she was the cute blonde that worked the Tequila. Or at least, most didn’t know. But, that was how most people were. They went to one bar, always the same one, and stayed with their crowd.

King’s was comfortable, usually sporting a slightly more sedate, if sometimes mildly less classy, crowd than the Tequila. The volume was turned down here, and usually, when she need a quite evening out, this tended to be her choice. There was always the batch of ‘Good-Ol’-boy’s’ hanging at one end of the bar. They swapped the same stories every night. Sometimes, they would send a drink her way, but it always seemed to be just to get her to come over and listen to them talk. The old boys were just that, and they never gave her any trouble beyond seeking her attention for the evening.

Every now and again their would be a rowdy bunch that brought in a little noise, but nothing that wasn’t taken in stride by the bar’s usual company. Everything was always all in good fun.
So, she couldn’t say she wasn’t a little shocked when a bar fight broke out. From what she could tell, fault had mostly fallen on the drunken-lover-boy out to impress his lady. She had to admit, she really hated that type of man. They rubbed her nerves raw just by breathing. She couldn’t work up the nerve to feel sorry for him. Not even after the sharp crack of bone breaking.
At the sound, the bar finally reacted. The usually sedate good-ol’-boys started to stand; voicing their distaste for taking things farther than was needed. The girlfriend was screaming, the bar tender shouting, people were huddling and whispering.

Cody felt her face color. The jerk had deserved what he’d gotten. Resolute, she finished her drink, dropped a few bills on the table, and then made her way across the bar. If this didn’t settle down, the pennies (slang for police: “Dirty Coppers”) were going to start showing. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Cody reached up and set her hands on the man’s shoulders. She kept her touch light, non-threatening. She’d seen people attack their own friends after a scuffle in a bar, she had to approach gently.

“Hey,” she spoke just loud enough to hear herself over the rest of the bar. “Take a deep breath, calm down, and then lets get out of here.” She paused a moment, and then gave his shoulders a light squeeze. “You’ve made your point, he got what he asked for. Lets get out of here and let everyone else get back to their night.

“Sound good, Jerry?” her eyes slid to the bar tender and, despite is obvious misgivings, he nodded jerkily. The good-ol-boy’s settled in next. They weren’t happy about it, but they weren’t going to get in her way. Like dominos, all the others started falling into place.
Except, of course, for the screaming girlfriend. Right on cue, she started yelling about calling the cops.

“Come on,” Cody pulled gently at the man’s shoulders. “Time to move.”

Cyril tensed at the stranger's touch, having been caught up in the thrill of the fight. The thrill of surprise. It was maybe one of the best parts of being what he was, he often thought. He didn't look like much. He was aware of that, but any sensitivity about it was generally overridden by the knowledge that he could throw most people around like rag dolls.

He dropped the man's arm, keenly aware of the strain and shock in his face, the salty, tangy smell of tears. Both his and his companion's. He tried to give the bloke one last, threatening glare but the man's eyes were so screwed up that it was like he barely had sockets at all.

He became aware of the anger of the other patrons, the near-hysteria of the human female. He straightened himself up, turned a bit to face the woman who had approached him. Gave her a self-conscious, dignified look. Adjusted his shirt a little.

"Yeah. Suppose you're right," he muttered, shooting a glance behind him, feeling eyes pressing against his back. He couldn't help but grin a little. Probably not a very good PR move, but then again, he wasn't really a public relations sort of guy.

He shrugged off the woman's hands, then grabbed the black military jacket from the back of his bar stool and threw it over his shoulder. And then the little bitch girl started screaming something mostly inarticulate about getting the cops involved, and Cyril felt his impatience flare up again. Was she fucking brain damaged? Did she not just see what he did to her little boything's arm? He turned around sharply and was about to really give her something to cry about, but then caught the anxious and judging eye of the bartender and felt the urging, reconciliatory presence of the stranger behind him and decided he'd probably gotten himself into enough shit that night.

"Alright. Let's go," he grunted, and stalked towards the exit without sparing a look at his effective savior.

Cody let out a long breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

He was moving, it was time to go.

At the front, Cody snatched her jacket and hat from the hooks by the door. They were both stonewashed denim, a little light and cheery compared to her usual black leather and lace. She followed the stranger out the door, more than aware that she was now alone with someone that had just broken another man’s arm. Of course, this wasn’t the first bar fight she’d settled. Nor was it the first time she’d knowingly walked down a sidewalk with a dangerous man.

Maybe she should rethink her life?

It was a cool night, but not overly cold. Really, it was nice. Just a chill compared to what winter had been that year. Eventually, though, the cops would be called. And, eventually, they would show up. She really didn’t want to see any more pennies this week, so her pace steadily became quicker even as she spoke.

“Did you really have to break his arm?” she asked, her tone almost scolding. “Well, off, I mean. Did you have to break it off? Because you damn near did. Why didn’t you just give it a twist and snap some things? I won’t be able to show my face in there for months.” The last came out teasing, subtle change in her tone.

Realizing she was marching down the sidewalk as if the devil himself where at her heels, Cody slowed down and stole a glance at the stranger. “My name’s Cody, Macmillan.” She paused, waited for a response, and then – not patient enough to wait – gently prompted. “And you are?”

Cyril was surprised to find himself following the woman so closely. If habit dictated his behavior, he would have offered a mischievous smile and darted off immediately after leaving the bar. His expression, though perhaps most obviously dismissive, held a hint of joviality. He matched her stride, his posture lax, relaxed, at odds with the severity of the situation they had just left.

When she slowed, he did with her, an inquisitive light in his blue eyes. They darted over her, as though he was finally taking a moment to study her in any detail. Like before she had simply been furniture, or a part of the scenery. The backdrop.

"Cyril." He deadpanned, letting his face go slack for a moment. But it was as though it was a mockery of severity, a game, the seriousness never made it to his eyes. He held out a cool, pale hand to her as they walked, rigid. It was almost as though it was a challenge. "Nice to meet you, Cody. What did I do to deserve that bit of assistance back there?"

Yes, a challenge indeed. Though perhaps not the kind that was generally assumed.

“You gave that jerk what he deserved,” her gaze flashed down to the offered hand, the street lamps they passed catching the little flecks of green amidst the slate-grey color of her eyes. For a heartbeat, she considered not accepting. There was the theory that this was a generally good man on a bad night… and then the one where he was a serious jackass on what was a very fun night. But, as the heartbeat came and went, Cody settled on her course and slipped her hand into his. Her grip remained firm and uncompromising despite the coolness of his skin.

“Of course, I do think you went a little overboard about it. It’s one thing to beat on them a bit, it’s another to try and remove pieces of them.” Her eyes slid back up to Cyril’s, catching what she thought was a light of mischief in his gaze before turning her attention back to the city in general. “But, I’m a bar tender, and I have seen a fair share of generally decent guys getting locked up for putting a random jackass in his place. I like to keep that from happening when I can.”
She smiled ruefully, laughing at herself. “Of course, I realize I could be all wrong about you. But, I am sure if you turn out to be the bad guy, I will still make it home tonight.”

The vampire gave Cody's hand a gentle squeeze in return, and gesture that was meant to be reassuring and was almost unconscious on his part. He surprised himself a little with this little moment of sincerity. I will still make it home tonight... He suppressed a little smile. She would, it was true, though if his rumbling stomach had anything to do with it she would not be returning with every current bit of her intact.

He drew his hand back, jammed both in the pockets of his jacket. He chose to ignore her comment about what sort of person he really was. Let her wonder, he thought. "So, you're a bartender, are you?" He looked her up and down, head moving, a bit exaggerated. He wanted her to notice. "You look more like an accountant to me." He did grin at her then, playfully, instigating. Go on, put me in my place. And yet he wanted her to be sure that he was joking, so he did chuckle a bit.

He gazed ahead of them, looking a bit wistful. "Yeah, I suppose that might have been a bit much," he admitted. A half-hearted gust of wind blew a bit of hair away from his forehead. He hunched his shoulders slightly, as though the brief cold bothered him. "I don't really like to fight, so whatever gets the job done sooner... that's my philosophy." He glanced over at her, his eyes a bit excited, probing. "You do really think he deserved it?"

“He was asking for it,” Cody answered with a slight distraction. She was looking down at her clothes in curiousity, studying the denim jacket and the slightly more reserved than normal day-clothes. But, reserved for her just ment that her jeans weren’t skin tight, her shirt didn’t show her stomach, and nothing was black, leather, or lace.

Chuckling, Cody looked back up to Cyril, “Just what kind of accountants do you know?” She shook her head at the silliness of the very idea, and then turned her eyes back to the side walk. The oggling, she ignored it. Men did it all the time, and the simple fact of it was, she didn’t mind the looking. Looking didn’t hurt anyone, and, if she was honest, she did her fair share of looking, too.

A fairly companionable mood settled over her, and Cody relaxed next to her most recently collected person of interest. She had the feeling he wasn’t one of those perfect genetlmen or simply all around nice guys, but… he was nice enough. The word ‘safe’ filtered through her thoughts. The idea amused Cody. After all, no one was really safe, ever. Even your next door neighbor could be a crazy axe murderer.

“So, where are you headed?” She asked, realizing they’d long since walked past her usual bus stop. The subway would just have to do, and that next station was a few blocks away still. “We’ve been wondering aimlessly this whole time.”

"Oh." He stated, working to make his voice sound innocent, though he didn't try too hard. "Well, I was just assuming that you knew where you were going." There was danger in a flirtatious reply like this. He knew it -- from experience. He wasn't the most attractive man on the planet, that was true, and he had always gotten by by calling on whatever reserves of charm and gentle witticism he'd managed to develop over the last several decades. Yet people were wary -- warier than they had been when he had been human, that was for sure. It surprised him how it had only seemed to take a handful of years for people to succumb to the steady paranoia built by constant access to media. Everyone is going to rape you, everyone is going to steal from you, everyone is a potential murderer. He supposed, however, that this representation of people may actually be more honest.

Though his empathy for humans was barely present -- and, honestly, had hardly been there at all when he was human -- he at least knew better than to make things more difficult for himself if he could help it. Causing pain, causing fear, killing... they made the next meal harder. But this girl struck him as someone who might appreciate a forward attitude, and he had felt her visibly relax as they walked further down the block -- actually heard her breathing steady, her pulse calm.

The sound drove him to distraction. He felt his stomach give a little twist. He struggled to tamp it down. Though he hated to admit it, his appetite was often his downfall. He hated to admit it because, as strongly as it affected him, he felt that a couple of decades should have been enough to teach him to control his own hunger. And yet he often found himself hoist upon his own petard. The very feeling that urged him to seek out sustenance often ruined it for him in the end. How many times could he lead a perfectly good meal to his proverbial supper table only to frighten it away at the last moment with his irrationality?

He grimaced a bit, and narrowed his eyes at her, looking pained.

"Of course I know where I am going,” Cody smirked, tucking her chin down to hide the expression from view. “What I asked was, where are you going?” Smothering the sly twitch that started at the left corner of her lips, she was careful to keep her smile neutral as she turned her attention to the man that walked beside her. He was flirting and it was rather cute. Very at odds with the man she had first seen snapping another man’s arm in half.

It was a delightful, grotesque weirdness that suited Cody’s own strangeness. If anyone could attest to her history, they would tell you that she had a thing for bad boys. But, it wasn’t the look. The look was nothing, at least to Cody. No, to her, it’s the actions, always the actions. They really bad ones, they actually walked the walk.

Now, it has to be noted that she wasn’t attracted to murderers, rapists, or otherwise truly evil men. But, she was attracted to men that were dangerous. Men like the ever more interesting man at her side.

Cody’s eyes flicked over Cyril quickly. If she had to guess, she estimated that she could hold her own if things went south. She wasn’t particularly strong, she was just smart. Taking on men twice her size wasn’t fun, and it always left her bruised and battered, but she made it out alive and that was key. This particular one didn’t seem to be all that large under his clothes, but… sometimes you never really knew.

Men’s clothes could hide far too much.

Cody’s musings died when Cyril grimaced. When his eyes narrowed, hers widened. “Hey, you okay?” Her steps shortened and Cody reached out to rest a hand on Cyril’s shoulder. “You don’t look so good.”

After a moment, she started to laugh, and then she gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Too much to drink? Is the alcohol fighting back, now?” She glanced down the street, not far now to the Subway station. “Do you live closer than me? I have to hop a train. If you live around here, though,” she hesitated, teeth catching her bottom lip. She had promised herself she would stay away from relationships.

A one night stand isn’t a relationship.

“If you live near by, we should just go there instead of tracking all the way to my place.”

He did, in fact, live nearby -- or at least he did currently, and her willingness was surprising enough to throw him momentarily out of the discomfort he was experiencing. When he spoke, his voice was a bit gruff, a little huskier than it had been just seconds earlier. "Yeah, it's probably the alcohol," he huffed. "I drank a lot tonight." He reflected for a moment on the ease with which he had been carrying himself previously, the decidedly un-drunken gate. "I uh. I have a high tolerance."

Shit, that didn't exactly sound great, either. Why was he striking so poorly tonight? Maybe he had more of a buzz going on than he thought he did, though it didn't seem at all consistent with what he had actually consumed. Even vampires had off-days, he supposed. Or off-nights.

He was painfully aware of the hand on his shoulder and fought the urge to shrug it off. Christ, why did it take so little to get him this way? Had he really lived for the past 40 plus years, working on surviving, only to have higher reasoning slip out the window at a simple human touch?

He ran his tongue over his upper row of teeth, feeling along the points of his canines. He imagined that they almost ached, were sore with his need. A dull chill ran up his spine. He tried to control his expression, felt vaguely panicked.

"We can definitely do that... if you'd like." His eyes drifted around, settling on nothing, then flickered back to her. "I don't really have anything to offer you, though. I haven't really gone shopping in a while and I don't... usually drink at home." There, that was decent, right? He wasn't a habitual drinker.

Cody gave him a bland smile before squeezing his shoulder lightly. “All right, I’ll follow you, then.”

Maybe he wasn’t as smooth as she first suspected. He had seemed to flirt easily before, but now that she’d invited herself to his place, he was fumbling. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to accept the advance? Cody allowed herself an amused little grin. If he changed his mind and didn’t want her over for the evening… well, she’d just go home.

No harm done.

Settled on her chosen path, she let her pace adjust to his so that he ended up slightly ahead of her. It made it easier to follow if he took a last minute turn or anything. It was comfortable, a habitual place she settled into with men she liked. On their left, one step behind. It was just… her spot.

“Oh, it’s alright, I’ve had my fair share,” she admitted with a touch of honest embarrassment. “I’m a little buzzed, actually… bit tipsy, maybe, but not bad.” To prove her point, she did a quick little jazz square. “See, I still know where my feet are.”

Laughing at herself, Cody caught back up to Cyril and linked her arm with his. If she was going to be sleeping in his bed tonight, she might as well get comfortable with touching him. “How far to your humble home?”

He offered her a smile, more of a toothy grin really, slipped his arm from hers and instead wrapped it around the small of her back, as though there was a bit of a subtle struggle in the power dynamic, mostly unconscious on his part but apparent enough. He wasn't really the sort to play at gender cues, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use whatever social advantage there was to be had as a member of his sex.

Was it worth actually taking her back to his place? The monster in him wanted to be done with it, here and now, perhaps in an alley somewhere -- but though she seemed as though she was far from putting on airs, he doubted she would stoop so low as to be led somewhere potentially unsafe. Flirty, maybe, perhaps a little reckless -- but not stupid.

"Not far," he mumbled, eyes darting around the block. He'd taken a small, basement apartment upon settling in the city. Figured it seemed like a good move -- somewhere to stay, somewhere to store his meager collection of belongings. Ever since becoming a vampire, he'd sort of fallen away from having a lot of possessions. Getting attached to objects just made it harder to move around, and he'd found himself having to do that quite often over the past couple of decades.

As they walked, he found himself struggling with strange, uneasy feelings -- feelings that generally were not an issue for him so long as he made sure to stay well-fed. Lately, though... He didn't want to deal with bodies, didn't want to deal with the mess they made and the potential discovery hazard. Had been in quite a few situations where other vampires hadn't really appreciated his occasional indiscretion, either. It was usually a bad idea. But sometimes it was so hard to stop...

This girl. She smelled good, smelled right. He felt like he [i]could[i] lose himself in her, and the realization put him on edge.

When they reached his front door, he fumbled about with his keys a bit less gracefully than he might have under ordinary circumstances. His hands shook, barely visible, but he felt the tremors like a junkie suffering detox. He pushed the door open unceremoniously and extended his arm into the entrance as though ushering her inside. His eyes were predatory, he felt his pupils large and dilated in the dim lighting -- perhaps more dilated than necessary. He hoped she interpreted his expression in a sexual light rather than... well...

She wouldn't know.