Welcome to the Carnival (Haunted, Zep)

[Brynowen St. Claire]

Brilliant colors moved like a sea as balloons, banners, and streamers filled up the street of down town. The crowd, dressed in elaborate costumes that shown with every color of the rainbow were equally spectacular as their decorations, moved through the streets slowly in the happy, laughing, dancing parade that was the marti gras.

Brynowen moved with the crowd, one of the hundreds of people who had heard of the celebration days prior and had eagerly thrown on their party cloths and headed towards the fair. She staid towards the outside, finding the prospect of getting lost in the massive waves of happy drunken bodies unpleasant, sometimes walking, sometimes dancing, and sometimes just generally being a doofus and having a good time. Out of the hundreds of years she had been forced to live on earth alongside of the humans, she had seen and done many things. But out of all the things that the human world had to offer, she had a special place in her heart for their parties. Whether it was Roman’s feasts or Masquerades in Venus, the humans new how to have a good time and she was more than happy to participate.

Her attire didn't show much of her character today. Adorn in a short pair of jean shorts, lacy panty-hoes that showed off her long, ivory legs; along with combat boots, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket to match. She had gone to the trouble of attaching a small pair of glossy, feathery wings to her shoulder blades that tied in with the mask that currently hid the upper have of her face. Today, she was one of her favorite characters, the elegant but cunning black swan, a role that she filled in nicely seeing that she was a fallen angel and all. Perhaps if this was another century, she would have dazzled the crowd with her own glorious wings, inspiring fear as well as admiration and worship in the mundane human race. They were quite impressionable after all. So easy to dazzle and so willing to give into their curious natures and believe in the unbelievable. But no…she would have to remain hidden, keep her glamour up to shield their mortal eyes. For times had changed and no doubted the reaction of the crowd would be a mix of results. Besides, what would flapping about do for her business?

Taking two last graceful turns, she spun out of the crowd completely, taking a break from festivities to walk on the somewhat empty side walk of the less populated street. Sliding off her mask which had, as expected, become a nuisance, she dropped it in her purse. Sliding her fingers into her now ruffled brilliant red hair, she busied herself with straightening out the kinks and frizz that had formed.

The carnival would last well into the night no doubted, so there would be plenty of time to dance her heart out. But for now, she was content to relax on the side lines.

[haunted]

It was rather peaceful that morning, Aaron didn't know why. He awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the soft murmur of townsfolk. It stayed like this for hours on end, until the sun went down..

Now, as he looked out the window of the bar, it was clear that the town was anything but peaceful. Every color ever known to man was visible, but the favored hues were that of purple, gold and white. He could practically smell the alcohol on the people's breath, even through the windows of the bar. He knew by twelve tonight that half of Boston's populace would be drunk and causing trouble. Which was fine, considering trouble was right up his alley. The man literally lived and breathed chaos.

"Lordy, those colors and decorations are just perty. Don't you think so, Aaron?"

The strictly southern voice of the bartender caught Aaron's attention for a split second. He removed his eyes from the window and turned towards the lady.
She looked to be in her late thirties with dirty blonde hair and faded brown eyes that could melt the heart of any human. He knew that she'd grown quite fond of him in the past year, being that he was a regular to this bar.

"Looks like a unicorn threw up all over town.."

He snorted in reply and took another drink of blood-red alcohol. The decorations and such were pretty, but he'd never let anyone know that he actually had optimistic thoughts about things. He was supposed to be an ass, not a ball of sunshine.
The bartender, affectionately known as big Martha, simply shook her head at his retort and continued scrubbing away at the counter with her worn-down rag.

He let his eyes slowly drag back to the dirty window and began studying the people. They all seemed relatively happy, despite the two men in the corner of the street punching each other senseless. But that was normal for Boston. Drunk men do drunk things, like fights, that's just how it works around here at night.
The excitement of the festivities almost made him want to jump off the bar stool and go do stupid things with stupid people.
But logic overcame his need to have fun.
Tonight he'd attempt to just sit, be a good boy. If that's even possible.

[Zephyr]

How the hell had this happened? Silas has always been pretty good about knowing when major events are happening in the city for the express purpose of staying away from them. Of course he has a fucking job that takes up most of his time that he doesn't spend with Matthias and now Zander, but he's still been pretty good about knowing when a party is going to blow up Boston's streets so he can hole up in his apartment like a hermit and bite the head off of anyone who tries to drag him out.

Especially Mardi Gras.

The damn thing is everything Silas hates all rolled into one, disgusting thing. Way too many fucking people. Silas is a misanthrope at the best of times. There is no way that he's going to voluntarily put himself in the middle of so many strangers. The thought of so many nasty, sweating people touching him just makes the doctor's skin crawl. He has every goddamn intention of locking himself away for most of the day, quite possibly drowning himself in alcohol and ice cream.

Of course that's before he actually has a life.

And that comes in the form of a couple of very annoying man-children that don't let Silas lock himself away like a fucking recluse. Sometimes he wonders why he puts up with it...until he realizes that he might actually like it. He might actually like being wanted, that he might like being considered worth someone's time. And While Silas' affections can sometimes be gruff and to the point, they're there, simmering just under the surface.

It just takes someone really fucking patient...or unerringly persistent to uncover them.

So it stands to reason, and of course his life would be this way, that Silas gets stuck downtown right at the height of the fucking celebration. He hadn't been paying attention to the time and has many other things on his mind by the time he gets off work that he doesn't avoid downtown like the plague...like he usually would.

By the time he realizes this, it's far too late to turn around. Horrified by the sights and sounds and colors in front of him, Silas ducks into the nearest bar to wait out the festivities, because he knows if he tries to make his way through the throng of people at the moment, someone is going to get their ass handed to him, and it isn't going to be him.

He isn't paying attention to anyone else in the bar, has thrown his coat across the bar with his briefcase balancing carefully on top and has already downed three glasses of bourbon. He isn't drunk yet, but Silas, in true Silas fashion, is pretty out of it. To the point where when a group of party goers enter the bar and one of them brush up against him, Silas freaks the fuck out, eyes wild and crazy.

The werewolf whirls around on their asses, and whether the poor unsuspecting humans deserve it or not, Silas swings right at one of their faces, propriety forgotten in the slow burn of the alcohol in his gut and on his throat and in his fucking head, blurring the lines of right and wrong that would normally tell him that hauling off and slamming his fist in the face of someone who only has the misfortune of simply brushing up against the wound tight surgeon.

Not that he ever actually respects those lines when sober.

[Brynowen St. Claire]

Though the night was still young and unexplored, it was also loud and severely overcrowded. She would dance and have a good time, but only after she got some liquor in her. Maybe then she could just forget herself, and get lost somewhere in the sea of bodies until she grew tired and had to go home.

Spotting the bar a few stores down from her, she slid off the fake wings as to ensure their safety and dropped them into her purse as well. Moving in long, confident strides, she covered the distances quickly and opened the door, stepping in, at exactly the wrong time. Not seconds after she had stepped past the threshold and into the bar was she slammed into by some guy who she could have only guessed was the victim of some impending bar fight.

Stumbling back a view steps, she managed to stop herself before she landed flat on her ass with this idiot on top of her. Grabbing the guys shoulders in her hands, she shoved him back, sending him in the direction from which he came, hissing poisonously as she did so, “Watch it you asshole.” Her words, along with the possible threat behind them, were not only directed towards the doofus who had fallen on her, but the nimrod who had sent him (whether intentionally or not) her way.

Glaring spitefully at the man at the bar who she assumed was the cause of her mishap, who she also recognized instantly as one nearly drunk-ass werewolf, she straightened her jacket and would then move towards the bar. (Assuming no further actions would take place) Once there, she’d order a dirty Martini and sit at least a couple seats down from the werewolf. Not only did she not want to sit beside the jerk who could control his boos as well as a school boy, but she also knew where she was, in the heart of the local and very large werewolf pack. And she could honestly not give a rats ass about werewolf politics.

[haunted]

Aaron was quite accustomed to being alone in the old bar, but it seemed that other people wanted to escape the bustling crowds and drunken antics of the Mardi Gras parade.
The first person to enter was a man, slightly older than Aaron with brown hair and brown eyes to match, the smell of werewolf clung to him and immediately filled the vampire's nose.
He thought, for a moment, about confronting the werewolf and asking his name. Perhaps buying him a drink in hopes to make friends with someone other than Martha, the reeking bartender.
His mind was instantly changed.
The stranger seemed genuinely pissed at something, judging by the way he marched in, threw his things down and began swallowing bourbon faster than Aaron had ever seen anyone drink. Other than himself, of course.

Mildly disappointed, he took his eyes away from the unknown werewolf and focused lazily on his drink. He dragged a ringed index finger along the rim of the cold glass, sighing as a few strands of jet-black hair fell in front of his emerald eyes.
He impatiently attempted to blow the rouge hairs out of his vision, which only resulted in even more strands falling from their original place and into his eyesight. Eventually the vampire was fed up and just put his jacket hood on.

"Want me to get your somethin' else to drink, sweetness?"

The bartender must have noticed the annoyed expression on Aaron's face. Not just from his unruly hair, but the fact that everything in the past week had been absolute hell for him.
He had no friends, which wasn't a surprise considering that he threatened to punch nearly everyone he met, but still!
What is the fun of being downtown, where everyone knows everyone, when you know no one?
Aaron liked feeling needed every now and then. It gave him purpose.

"That's alright, Martha.." he responded in a bemused voice. "Actually, why don't you let me take things over from here? Go enjoy the party and get wasted or something."

The look on the older woman's face was nothing short of surprise.
"Now, why are you bein' so nice, boy? Has the Mardi Gras spirit finally gotten to ya'?"

Aaron had already made his way around the bar and was now mixing together a dangerous concoction of his own. He liked to call it "The 8:00 o'clock headache." which was a pretty self-explanatory name.

"Fuck Mardi Gras, I just need money."

His voice dripped with poison as he spoke, for he truly did hate Mardi Gras. And people. And parties.
Why was he here again?
Oh yeah, money.
And alcohol.
Love that alcohol..

Soon enough another person rushed through the glass doors of the bar, pushing aside poor little Martha on the way in.
It was a female this time, much to his surprise, females didn't typically venture into this bar unless they were.. Looking for "attention" or whatever.
The fiery-headed girl sat just a few seats down from the werewolf Aaron had been looking over earlier and ordered a dirty martini.

"Good choice." he murmured and began fixing up the colorful drink. He himself preferred a fancier taste, but whatever.
He slid the glass down to the chick and turned his attention towards the only other person in the bar.
Trying not to look too emotionally wrecked, the vampire eyed the man, half of his face cast in shadow from his hood, making his eyes glow an alluring emerald, and tapped his ringed fingers on the polished wood of the bar.

"Would you like me to get you another round of bourbon, sir? Or have you had enough?"

[Zephyr]

Wait. That’s not right.

Silas spares a split second to wonder about why the guy he slammed his fist into isn’t hitting the ground. His head is fuzzy and he doesn’t make the connection between that and the girl who’d entered. Silas doesn’t make it a point to actually notice people, girls in particular…especially when he’s getting drunk. The only reason he’s focused on the shitface in front of him is because of the fact that the idiot can’t keep to his own space.

He blinks fuzzily at the girl as she walks to the bar, spares a second to marvel over the color of her hair for a moment before there’s suddenly a fist in his face and he gets sent back into the bar. He’s lucky the guy is just a human, otherwise the force of the punch probably would have sent him over the bar. As it is, he just lands into it and falls into a pile of suit and limbs, nose bleeding from where the guy cracked it.

By this time, Silas is seething in anger. He stares up at the man, rage building in his eyes. He’s actually too goddamn angry to do anything for a while. That’s probably what saves the guy because his friends pull him out before Silas can gather himself. Silas wants to follow. He really wants to follow and beat the shit out of the fucker, especially since he can taste blood dribbling down into his mouth.

But he knows he shouldn’t, because people are looking at him and he can hear whispers of disapproval and he knows that if he follows the fucker out, he’ll just get the fucking police called on him. That isn’t the first time that’s happened, but this is the first time he’s actually had something to lose. He knows that he isn’t on the pack’s radar, but if he gets arrested, or kills someone, he will be.

Still trembling with anger, the surgeon rises to his feet, straightening his suit jacket from where it’d fallen askew on his shoulders, fiddling with his tie, and wiping the blood off of his face with a napkin from the bar. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, keeping his own downcast as he walks calmly back over to his stuff, sits at the bar like nothing happened and meets Aaron’s gaze levelly, something in it telling the other man not to fuck with him.

He isn’t in the goddamn mood.

“Another fucking bourbon.”

[Brynowen St. Claire]

The man she had shoved didn’t fall on his face. Instead, he shot back towards his assailant and sent his fist smashing into the werewolf’s handsome face, knocking him to the floor. Bryn stifled a laugh, however a small, amused snort escaped her mouth as the man picked himself off of the floor, his nose now trickling blood. He looked angry, furiously actually, and had the human known that he actually just decked a werewolf he probably would have been scared out of his pants. But the sweet innocence of the human world seemed like it would spare him tonight as his friends hauled him out of the bar and disappeared.

By then she was already at the bar, slinging her purse over the back of the seat as she sat down and ordered. But instead of a bar girl, like the one who had left when she had walked in, a vampire with dark hair hopped over the bar and took her order. Strange…though she had sensed him when she arrived she didn’t know a vampire was working here. Huh, learn something new every day.

After the vampire returned with her drink, she said a quick “thank you” and lifted the clear glass to her lips and took one small sip, watching the grumpy werewolf man pull himself off the ground and back into his seat from the corner of her eye. The vampire was quick to offer him another drink, in which he replied crudely.

Setting the drink back down on the bar and plucking one of the three olives that were strung on a tooth-pick into her mouth, she leaned back in her chair and looked around at the place.

It was a nice size bar, comfortable, with standard bar themed decorations. Few people still remained, having either fled because of the fight or left because they were done for the night. She noticed however, that she was the only female left in the joint. Not that this bothered her as she was perfectly comfortable roughing it along side her fellow men. Through her years she had seen just about everything and nothing really surprised her anymore, let alone frightened her.

Lifting the glass to her lips a second time, she took a larger sip, swallowing the remaining liquid in the glass and then pushed the now empy glass towards the other side of the bar. "Another if you don't mind." She addressed the bartender. If she wanted to get even the slightest bit typsy, the drinks would have to keep coming. Because she was determined, tonight, she would be drunk. Even though that would probably take forever. One of her many flaws she supposed, a draw back to the whole angel gig. Getting wasted was a bitch to do. It came in handy she supposed, when she wanted to win drinking games. But on nights like tonight…damn she wished it wouldn’t take so long.

[haunted]

The scene unfolded in front of Aaron like an action movie.
The human, who seemed to be rather innocent in this case, looked utterly bewildered as the werewolf's fist slammed into his face, causing him to fall backwards and into the girl who had recently entered the bar. Looking equally pissed at this, she gave a rather forceful shove to the man, sending him back in the direction from which he came.
Aaron wondered if he should hop over the bar and pull the two apart, but it was honestly funny as hell to watch them go at it for no apparent reason. Why stop the fun?
The werewolf then got slammed into the bar, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and nose.
Most vampires would typically tremble at the sight of blood before them, but Aaron taught himself control. Or at least some control.
As the man sits back down in his original spot, which had been claimed with a briefcase and coat, he orders another bourbon. Seems he hasn't had enough.

Aaron held his stern gaze, causing a wave of discomfort to crash over him in the process. He felt strangely unsettled with the person before him, the way a mouse would feel unsettled if a cat was to be towering over it.
He took a moment to recollect all of his other meetings with werewolves and wondered if this one would be a threat to him.
Some of the creatures, he noticed, strongly hated vampires for reasons that weren't clear to Aaron. Did the stranger share the unusual hatred, was he part of the notorious pack?
As he handed him his new glass of bourbon, his hand shook slightly. Not just because he feared the werewolf might attack him, but the blood was still on his face and dripping onto the newly-polished bar. A splatter of red on the ebony canvas.
Aaron hadn't "eaten" in what seemed like weeks, witnessing this didn't really help his hunger.

Without saying anything, he placed a dark blue rag in front of the wolf, basically begging him to clean himself up a bit, and walked over towards the girl, who had pushed her now-empty glass towards him a few moments ago.
As soon as he reached her side of the bar, he had already whipped up the dirty martini and even added a cute little umbrella.
"You guys avoiding the crowd?" He said blankly, attempting to not sound too terribly awkward.

[Zephyr]

He holds his gaze with the bartender, who Silas realizes soon enough, is a vampire. He hasn’t been around one since Rebekah, and while he’s willing to let her snack on him for the novelty and curiosity of it, this strange one isn’t afforded the same miniscule grain of trust…not that he’d be horribly opposed to it. The guy is pretty hot.

Not that he has to know that, though.

He also doesn’t have to know what Silas isn’t going to make a scene if the man denies him alcohol. The werewolf has reached the point where his head is fuzzy and he can just slink off home to finish drinking. It’s a relief though, to final get some more alcohol set in front of him. He grunts lightly, taking a sip of the liquid and eyeing the rag set in front of him.

Silently, Silas meets the vampire’s eyes again, evenly, and realizes that he’s still bleeding and that it might be hard for the guy to sit there and watch that. He’s never been known for being particularily altruistic to vampires before, but he takes the cloth without incident and holds it against his nose for a moment, hissing at the pain that lances through his nose. It’ll be a simple matter to heal this. One shift would to the trick, but with everything happening outside, it’s difficult if not completely impossible to find somewhere concealed to change. So he has to be content with dabbing the rag at his nose and dealing with the pain.

He’s dealt with pain before. He distracts himself by listening to the sound of the vampire’s voice. He doesn’t trust the other man. Trust, especially for a man such as Silas, is difficult to earn…but by virtue of being hot, the man has at least tempered the worst of the werewolf’s considerable ire. And the fact that he hadn’t cut the doctor off also helps matters.

For a moment, his gaze flickers over to the woman who spoke. Through his alcohol induced haze, he recognizes her as the woman the fucker had run into after Silas had punched his face. A normal person might have apologized…but Silas doesn’t actually five a fuck if the guy hurt her or not. He hadn’t told her to walk into the back of a rampaging moron, now had he? Still though. There’s something about her. She isn’t human…that much he can tell right away, and there’s a shimmering at her back, like the air itself is trying to come apart at the seams. He can only conclude it’s some sort of glamour, but he isn’t completely sober and he can’t tell what she is.

Licking his lips, the wolf puts the rag back onto the bar and drains about half of his glass before he answers Aaron, his voice gravely and eyes fixed on the bar. “Way too many fucking people for my tastes. I don’t like…” A little growl not directed at anyone in particular. “…being touched.” No fucking shit, Sherlock…if his earlier reaction had been anything to go by.

[Brynowen St. Claire]

Another glass was placed in front of her quickly, and she was grateful. If everything went as planned tonight she would down several of these babies before she went home. Maybe she wouldn’t go back out into the hoard of people. Yea, she liked the fun and the dancing, but the crowd was growing by the minute and had well pasted her comfortable limit. Just looking at it made her scrunch up her nose in distaste. She would rather sit here and drink and relax then get washed away in the sea of people again.

"You guys avoiding the crowd?" The vampire asked them blankly. Bryn lifted the fresh glass to her lips, taking a gracious sip as the wolf replied gruffly, “Way too many fucking people for my tastes. I don’t like…” he growled, “…being touched.”

Bryn placed her glass back down on the bar and turned, addressing the wolf, “So, is that why you decked that guy then?” It seemed kind of extreme to her, but there was no accusation in her voice. Everyone had their pet peeves, hell she hated to be poked. It just made her twitch and generally made her want to hit someone.

Taking another sip from her glass, she then turned back to the bartender’s original question. “Yea, I am now I guess. Too many noises, too many happy, giddy, bodies pushing you around…I’d rather just sit here and get wasted.” And with that she lifted the glass to her lips once again, relishing the strong taste of the alcohol. She had closed her bar early to spend the night out in downtown. Even though she wasn’t doing what she originally planned on doing, it was just as nice of an evening, if not better and she fully planned to do it all night. How many nights did she get to herself after all? Not many that was for sure. Having no help running her bar, her nights were usually filled with dealing with drunks who could have easily gone without a glass or two. Hell, just the other night she had had to literally shove a man out at 12 Pm because he had started singing on top of the other customer’s tables and asked one lady if she would give him a lap dance. And that was just unacceptable. She may go easy on drink restrictions, and she’d admit that at late night hours she let people have a little more leeway; but she wasn’t running a circus. She had standards and rules and those rules and standards would not be ignored.

[haunted]

“Way too many fucking people for my tastes. I don’t like…” The wolf replied with the small growl, making the hair on the back of Aaron's neck stand up. “…being touched.”
The vampire flashed a teasing look at the wolf and opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but the fiery-haired girl stopped him. Which was probably for the best.

“So, is that why you decked that guy then?”

A tiny smirk play across his lips. He too found the idea of being touched by strangers revolting, but he'd never really go as far as punching anyone. However, he respected the werewolf's actions. Mainly because he didn't want to get punched himself.

“Yea, I am now I guess. Too many noises, too many happy, giddy, bodies pushing you around…I’d rather just sit here and get wasted.”

Suddenly feeling a bit hot, Aaron lazily shrugged off his black jacket and flung it to the nearest chair with one quick motion.
Before, the jacket's hood covered most of the vampire's neck, hiding the tattoo he never really wanted people to see.
It was a small, yet noticeable, marking that said "Bite me" in seemingly dripping maroon. Quite ironic for a vampire.
He nervously tried to fix his coal-hued hair, hoping it would cover at least some of the ink.

"I agree with both of you.."
A moment of awkward silence.
"What are your names, anyways? I like to know who I'm speaking to." His voice was stained with an Australian accent as he spoke, this was another one of his things he hated about himself. Nobody was really Australian in Boston and Aaron hated being uncommon, it bothered him.
Releasing an uncomfortable sigh, he propped his lean body against the far end of the bar and bit his lip. A habit of his.

[Zephyr]

Was it really so foreign a concept to them?

He knows his thing with touching isn’t exactly status quo, but he compares it to any pet peeve a human might have. He doesn’t dislike being touched just because he’s being touched. It goes far deeper than that to a level Silas isn’t comfortable delving to, let alone including other people in on it. Even Matthias has only scratched the surface of Silas’ childhood trauma. Though he doesn’t mind talking about the years he spent as his father’s personal punching bag…and worse, he doesn’t feel it polite to bring that up in conversation.

Not that Silas is ever concerned about being polite.

He eyes the girl at her question, glancing over to catch the grin on the guy’s face, and he almost felt like punching him

“Yep.” Instead of resorting to violence, Silas decides to play the damn thing up, because what the hell else is he going to do when he’s stuck in a bar with some strangers who won’t let him sulk off in the corner with his alcohol. “You should see the number of bars I’m kicked out of because of it. I think that I’m barred from a good half of Boston’s bars.” And that isn’t far from the truth at all. He hasn’t actually counted how many bars he’s been banned from for starting fights, but it’s a lot. He just figures that he can pay the owners off if he ever wants in again.

Money can buy anything.

Silas is, by necessity, observant to most things…with a few exceptions. And the vampire taking off his jacket, is not, in and of itself, an exceptional thing. But because Silas is observant, he doesn’t miss the tattoo on the man’s neck, and he nearly chokes on his bourbon in that instant. He really shouldn’t drink around strangers so much, because in that instant, Silas is precariously close to telling the guy he’ll take him up on his offer.

He just blinks at him for a second, unable to stop the slow, mischievous smile that quirks the corners of his lips and darkens his eyes and he’s sure it’s just the alcohol talking, because he has a lot of relationship drama in his life…but he’s tempted to ask the vampire to go behind the fucking building with him when the woman speaks again and Silas averts his gaze, unable to stop the helpless blush that reddens his cheeks.

He downs more of the booze because he thinks he can feel himself sobering up, and he just fucking cannot be sober right now. Then he glances cautiously up at the guy and snorts lightly. “M’Silas. I’m a doctor. Don’t piss me off or I might decide to not fix you if you get hurt.” Lies. Silas can’t stand seeing someone hurt if he can help it, though he denies this with a passion.

The man blinks at Aaron again. His accent is nice. It’s no wonder that the guys he’s been with appreciated Silas sometimes there and sometimes not southern drawl. His eyes narrow a little. “You weren’t back there when I came in.” His brow furrows and he shifts closer, as if trying to get a better look at the vampire. “Do you even work here?”

[Brynowen St. Claire]

For a moment she thinks the wolf is angry, perhaps even considering punching the vampire who laughed at her comment. But then, he settles down, and decides to answer her question. “Yep, You should see the number of bars I’m kicked out of because of it. I think that I’m barred from a good half of Boston’s bars.”

Bryn raised her eyebrows, nodding her head in understanding and perhaps even acceptance. Taking another sip of her drink, she watched as the vampire slid his jacket off and slung it over a chair. A red tattoo caught her attention that she quickly read and smirked as the vampire quickly tried to conceal his devious little marking. Apparently, the wolf caught it too, as a mischievous grin formed on his face.

"I agree with both of you.." The vampire then said, a moment of awkward silence successfully falling into the room before he continued, "What are your names, anyways? I like to know who I'm speaking to."

“M’Silas. I’m a doctor. Don’t piss me off or I might decide to not fix you if you get hurt.” The wolf said answering his question and Bryn couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the lie. She could, after all, tell when someone was lying. A rather nifty little trick that came with being “the angel of thwarting lies” or whatever. Or at least that’s who she used to be, before she fell. Now she was just the fallen not so angel version of her previous self who could still preform some of her old tricks. Not that anyone knew that though.

“I’m Bryn, I own a dessert bar about fifteen minutes from here. And you are?” She ended the statement with a question, inquiring of his name as well. Taking another sip of her drink, she finished her second martini and looked down at the empty cup wistfully. Only Silas’s next question brings her attention from her empty cup, and she leans back in her chair, starring up at the vampire expectantly, waiting for a reply. Because Silas was right after all. She didn’t see the man behind the bar when she first walked in. Was he just some guy who decided to play bartender or did he actually work here? For a brief moment, the thought of him possibly drugging them with some new date-rape drug passes through her mind, but she shakes it off easily, not feeling particularly worried about that as it probably wouldn’t be super effective on her anyway. Silas on the other hand she wasn’t so sure about. But then again, judging by the way he looked at him a minute ago, maybe he wouldn’t necessarily mind that.

[haunted]

“You should see the number of bars I’m kicked out of because of it. I think that I’m barred from a good half of Boston’s bars.”

Before Aaron could even contain himself, a cutesy giggle escaped his lips and reached the ears of the two strangers before him.
Instantly regretting this, he crossed his arms and quickly shut his mouth. Blush making his cheeks turn slightly crimson compared to his white skin.
He had kept his cool for a while and Aaron was beginning to think that he might not socially screw up and gain some friends.
Nope.
He had to go and giggle like a school girl.
Smooth move Aaron, smooth move.

He sighed and shook his head, deciding to get over it and move on.
The vampire nodded very quietly as they told him their names and figured it would be common courtesy to introduce himself like the girl, now known as Bryn, asked him to.
But a very interesting question caught his attention.
No longer leaning on the bar, Aaron began balancing a few shot glasses on his fingertips, not planning to drop them any time soon.

"No, I don't work here. But I needed five bucks.. That and.." he removed his eyes from the cups and glanced at the man, his green irises flecked with many shades of blue. "I enjoy the company."
He ended the sentence with a chuckle and set the glasses down on the stainless counter.
"If you'd prefer the other bartender, I can leave."
For once there was no sarcasm in his tone, if they truly didn't want him to bother them any longer, he'd gladly walk out the door and get Big Martha to take his place.

"I'm Aaron, by the way. But most people just call me 'that homeless asshole with no life.'"

[Zephyr]

Well. That’s new.

Silas lifts a brow at the giggle that came from the vampire. It’s not like he’s never heard a man giggle before, because he’s pretty sure he has (though that man will likely deny this until the day he dies). It’s just…this is a vampire. Silas hasn’t met that many vampires in his time and had interacted with even less, but…vampires just didn’t giggle. He blinks at the guy for a second, as if trying to figure him out before the girl speaks again, and Silas’ attention shifts to her.

The air at her back is even more shimmery, and Silas leans closer to her, extremely one-track in his alcohol hazed brain. He’s looking at the shimmery spot extremely intently…like he wants to reach out towards it…and he does. He just isn’t sure how well it will be received if he just randomly starts grabbing at girls’ backs. What if she has something back there that she doesn’t want grabbed…like boobs or something. The thought of grabbing some girls boobs (no matter if the thought of back-breasts is completely illogical) makes him shudder and he stops thinking about that once more when the vampire answers her question.

“Wow.” Silas says, watching the glasses balancing on Aaron’s fingertips very intently. He almost wishes that the guy’ll drop them, because that would be interesting…but vampires don’t drop things unless they mean to. Why would he mean to drop shot glasses? Silas eyes him when he catches his gaze and the werewolf holds it for a moment. “Ya have pretty eyes.” The werewolf grumps, apropos of absolutely nothing, his voice in the southern drawl that he isn’t quite able to hide when he’s been drinking. “But I really do attract all the goddamn hobos, don’t I?” This time he isn’t exaggerating.

If the guy is homeless and needs five bucks, then it stands to reason that he is a fucking hobo, and Silas thinks about just going home and finishing drinking – or passing out in his bed most likely because with no one to entertain him, he just can’t keep drinking once he’s gone home.

But then he gets a better idea, and the grin that quirks the corners of his mouth is positively wicked. Thoughts that he probably wouldn’t be thinking if he were completely sober surge to the forefront, and he licks his lips for a moment, wondering if this is a good idea.

Though, as far as bad ideas go, this is probably one of Silas’ worst ideas. Of course nothing seems like a bad idea now, so he decides to just dive right in. “Why don’t you leave?” He asks the vampire, his voice low and a little husky with intent. Then he looks to Bryn, his brown-green gaze losing some of the heat, but not much. “Way I see it. We don’t have ta be stuck in this god-awful place with all those assholes outside.” Then he looks back at Aaron. “But you don’t have anywhere ta go, ‘that homeless asshole’.” He swipes his tongue along his lips and gets off the stool. He sways ominously for a second before he straightens his suit jacket. “I’m leaving.” He says, matter of factly, grabbing his coat and putting it on.

After he’s straightened it, he looks up at Aaron again, clear challenge in his gaze. “Should come with me though.” And he looks at Bryn, clearly letting her know that she isn’t excluded from the slumber party. Just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she can’t have a part in the ‘fun’. “I got cabinets full of booze and snacks and…” He needs to say something because it sounded like he just described a high school kegger or something. “…a really goddamn big bed.”