sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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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.)

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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."

He sips too, opening himself up once more to take in the view of the club, rocking away into the night. "Oldies but goodies, yes. Old enough to appreciate a place like this and play by the rules..."

One glare in his direction sends his imminent 'but' on the proper track. "But young enough to think my inviting a Slayer is a problem. But never fear. If they do anything other than glare at you they're out, and with a bang they'll never forget."

Her voice is low, mostly to keep from being overheard.

"Would it do any good at all to tell them I don't do the whole Slaying thing?"

"Wouldn't believe a word of it." He drains his drink, shrugging his brow, and sets it down on the bar. Ramon'll take care of it momentarily.

"Why would they? This thing ya have, vamps and Slayers? Goes so far back they have no reason at all to think there's any other way it goes down.

"Not your fault. Not their fault. It's just the way it is."

She sighs, her shoulders slumping a little.

"At least here it's neutral." Still low, but with a sudden edge of frustration. "It's like ... everybody who's in the fight thinks it goes on everywhere, all the time. And they think everybody's in it whether they want to be or not."

"Well, think about it," he murmurs, making a supposition as easily as if commenting on the weather. "No matter who you are, or where you go, what you do or don't do... You're affected. Even if you choose to be neutral, you're still part of it."

"I'm not, though," she insists. "I don't have anything to do with it anymore."

He tilts his head, content to watch without letting slip his personal opinion on that matter. And after a long moment of silent scrutiny, he nods.

"Fair enough."

The vampires are moving off into the crowd, mingling. It's a minor unease at the back of her mind that she can still pick them out without much effort.

"...So seriously, they won't start a fight here? Even with all the, the history? Or think I'm going to start one?"

"They won't, and they know you won't, if you're bosom buddies with me." He glances away and back, a small smirk doing wonders for his pucker.

"For a given value of bosom," patting his own chest. "Not too busty, I'm afraid."

It would probably make her giggle again, except that her mind's still on the question and its answer, and that's not funny. Not even a little.

"There had to be one place I could go where nobody expects me to fight." A complex interlacing of emotion colors the words: faintly wistful, faintly bitter, deeply relieved.

This moment here is one of those itty bitty ones where you know you could go a multitude of ways, never knowing quite where you'll end up. Maybe it isn't a very important crossroads, and the two of them have certainly had their share of those in their brief, yet eventful acquaintance. Maybe it isn't too important, but it's still worth a bare modicum of consideration. Afterthought rather than hindsight.

"Come on," he takes her drink, plunks it down on the bar for Ramon to keep an eye on, and holds out his hand. "Let me show you something."