sunnydalealum | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Just keep an eye on that card every now and then, he said. You'll know where to go when the time's right.

Beth's entirely aware that probably means it's magic. Which means there's any number of other things it could be doing. Which means she seriously considers not taking it home with her, in case it could be used to track her -- but the only other place she could keep it is at the shelter, and she won't do that. It'd endanger everybody else there, the ones who come in for food, the ones who work there, Peter --

She won't, that's all.

So she sticks it to the fridge with the same magnet Spike left for her back in May, and that's where it is the Monday after Thanksgiving, when she sees that it's changed. There's an address there now, in that same elegant typeface, like it's been there all along.

Aequitas. She's looked it up. Latin for justice.

It's with a certain sense of fatalism that she steps off the bus a block from the address on the card, five days later, and walks toward the building.

(It's also with the same black wig she wore that night, as a sole concession to paranoia.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Um." Beat. "Something with no alcohol in it?"

And she's looking oddly at him. "You're listening to the people singing out front," she guesses tentatively.

"Sure thing. Step into my best buddy's office," he gestures to the lit up bar, and the three-eyed bartender with a friendly - if sharp-toothed - smile.

"Ramon, darling, give my friend something nice and immaculate. The usual for me, pretty please with honey on top."

One Seabreeze for Lorne, a virgin Cosmo for the friend.

And then, only then, does he address the question what sadly lacked a question mark. He does so with a sip, and a scrutinizing look down his inescapable nose.

"Busteeeed. What can I say? Yeah, I am--" Speaking of which, "Greener than me, sweetie."

She takes the glass the bartender gives her, and (with an effort) doesn't stare at his third eye.

Now that she's here, she has no idea at all what to say to him.

The third eye? It winks at her. Seems like Lorne isn't the only cheeky demon fellow in the neighborhood.

But he is one of the more astute ones, even if he once upon a long time ago continuously used to blame himself for not seeing things that are right there. Nowadays, he doesn't even try.

Emma, however, she's right there, as is her rising discomfiture. "How ya been, doll? Halloween seems like eons ago."

"I, I've been okay."

Behind her there's a cascade of silvery laughter as a pair of beautiful androgynes passes by, arms about each other's waists. Her head ducks slightly, the gesture involuntary and unconscious.

"You?"

"Never been better," he nudges her gently, paying no heed at all to her deer like charms. Neither is he taking any note of how very headlightsy vibes his bar is giving off, in relation to his newest house guest of sorts.

"Well, never is such a potent turn of phrase. I've been grand, though."

He takes the opportunity to tap the side of his nose. "All healed up."

That gets a tiny smile.

And enough bravery to say "So you never told me this card was for a club."

(Not enough bravery to say it with any sharpness. Her tone's closer to apologetic, as though it's her fault he didn't mention it.)

The corner of his lips quirks up and down in a crooked little grimace most suitably emoting oops.

"I didn't? I didn't." He reaches out to pat her hand in apology. "Sorry, my doveling."

She tugs at the neck of her sweater. "I'd have dressed nicer, if ... I mean," and there's admiration and envy and embarrassment all mingled in her voice, "everybody here's so ... I don't know. Posh."

It's a word she hasn't heard since leaving England, and it sounds strange in her mouth.

"Oh, honey." He smiles, warmly amused. "From the looks you're getting, half the crowd here is wondering who you are to be so rich and carefree not to bother dolling up, and the other half wants to know where you got the outfit.

"Don't you worry. You fit right in."

She looks at him blankly.

"They think I'm rich because I'm dressed like a thrift store?"

He nods, a touch smug.

"Rich and famous-andwhyhaven'tIheardofher!"

Edited 2008-10-12 20:42 (UTC)

It's ridiculous enough to make her giggle a bit helplessly.

Which makes her wonder what the people watching will make of that, which makes her giggle harder.

Aww, honey bunny. Lorne's smile softens, averting his eyes to watch the crowd. Subvertively, to the side, "Reep, I gotta take a break from the lullabies, I don't need to sleep on the job. You hold the fort, say, lemme take five." The request is purely out of courtesy, Reep knows you don't object when the boss needs a break.

"They're a crazy bunch, but I love them to pieces every last one of them." Tilting his head at the people milling about, and beyond them, the mass of dancing creatures big and small.

She swallows the laughter, takes a sip of the drink.

"You know all of them? Personally?"

"The regulars, yes. The not-so-much ones, I've made it a mission to get to know a bit better."

You know, aside from the rigorous background checks that everyone needs to pass with flying colors before they so much as get a how do you do.

"But one demon can only do so much, you know? I try to talk to everyone I can manage, every time I see them. Even if just a few words, checking they're having a good time."

"They look like they are," she observes, and if there's a wistful note in her voice, she's not aware of it.

Besides, it's true: of the people in their immediate field of vision, from the tall leonine man with his hair (mane?) in a whiplike braid to the cluster of vampires in velvet and leather, everyone does indeed seem to be having a good time.

Crossing his legs at the ankles, Lorne's eyes go see where she's looking, and let's face it, it's kinda hard to miss drop gorgeous leonine boys - even his entourage, not quite so feline in appearance, but getting there, are hawt.

He raises his glass with a smile, as the demon lord happens to look his way, and Lorne turns to spread the love of information on to his lady friend. Also known as dishing.

"That's Lord Vayan, of House Varadeem. Old school aristocat with gilded heart. Ever wonder why so many royal houses in the world have lions protecting their coats of arms?" Well...that's food for thought.

"He's so dreamy, isn't he?"

Edited 2008-10-13 20:33 (UTC)

A faintly startled flicker of a glance, and then she's muffling giggles again.

"Maybe a little?"

"Oooooh!" she giggles, he chortles, poking her arm. "You go, you!

"Way I see it, there's no reason to limit yourself. Everyone's fair game in my book. Except when they're so very not it ain't even funny. The clicking is of the utmost importance."

"I, I don't know..."

The hilarity's gone as quickly as it came; she's still smiling, but it's with a visible effort.

"I'm kind of ... not looking. Right now. Not like that."

And Lorne didn't even mean it. He meant it, sure, every last word of it, but he didn't mean it... Oh, the hilarity's gone, all right.

He tilts his head, the smile fading from his lips. "You don't have to smile to keep me happy, Emma. I didn't mean it like that. But looking is looking is looking, and it doesn't have to be anything else. Just...browsing, you know? In case one day, you find something you want to invest in."

The name's a reminder. The name's always a reminder.

But he's being kind, and he genuinely doesn't seem to have anything to gain from it.

"Browsing," she repeats, looking down at her drink and then glancing up again. "I like that."

Investing, though? That's rich, coming from him. And yet...lately, the idea has become increasingly appealing.

He inclines his head, and raises his drink. "Cheers, my little cream puff. To browsing?"

"To browsing," she echoes again, lifting her own glass, managing another smile.

A small sip, and she's looking around again.

"Those ones over there," she murmurs into her glass, tipping her head in their direction but keeping her eyes on Lorne. "They're vampires, aren't they."