Midsommer's Night Run

[cian_oneill]

It was almost as regular as clockwork, heading up to Searchlight on a Wednesday night for a few beers and a game or two. Cian went to the Golden Nugget, probably the most regular watering hole, for someone who didn't have regular places. Sometimes he went all the way to Vegas, but usually didn't bother. The noise of the big casinos usually hurt his ears, and the smell of fumes on the strip was something he could do without.

Like this Wednesday, when he just went up to the bar and ordered himself a beer, taking it over to a table and sitting down. After taking a long swig he leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, as he continued to survey the other occupants of the place.

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[rhiannon_lee]

Rhiannon’s car hit a dip as it rattled into the parking lot of the Nugget. A rosary swayed from the rear view mirror and a mess of ink pens clattered into the far corner of the dash. She shifted into park and the little motor petered out. The trip back to town was a necessity because her final bill with the motel had to be settled… Haggled over was more like it, as the clerk, bane of her existence for the past month, invented charges for a cigarette burn that had been in the carpet since 1975.

Blistering argument over, she now needed food.

The slayer climbed out of her seat and the foam inside its ruptured upholstery emitted a sigh. She slammed the door with her hip. Loose gravel shifted under her boots as she fiddled with her key ring and made her way into the diner. She was recognized by a sleepy strawberry blonde who slouched behind the counter. “You want your usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Rhiannon kept working at the key ring as she walked to her favorite table on autopilot. If his shoe hadn’t jutted into her field of vision, she might have sat down across from the man like they were old friends having a beer. She pulled up short. “Oh. Shit, sorry. Didn’t—yeah. ”

Rhiannon blinked and turned away with a puckered mouth.

[cian_oneill]

Cian pulled his feet in, the brunette looking vaguely familiar to him, but not enough to make him comment on it.

"'s OK. Y' welcome t' join me," he said lazily.

[rhiannon_lee]

His accent tickled her ears. She replayed the lilting syllables in her head.

“Oh. Umm…”

Rhiannon poked her cheek with her tongue and looked around. Though not antisocial, she wasn’t a social butterfly and the idea of sharing a meal with a total stranger was unusual. But each of the other booths had at least one occupant and she didn’t favor sitting at the counter with her back to the whole room. ‘It’s no different than striking up a conversation at a bar…’

The brunette turned to him. “Okay, sure. What the hell?” She dropped into the opposite seat and stashed her keys by the napkin dispenser. Beneath the table, her boots crossed at the ankle. A beer arrived and Rhiannon wasted no time gulping down the top third of it. She set the tall glass aside and wiped the condensation on her jeans. “Hi,” she said by way of greeting.

[cian_oneill]

"Hi," Cian replied, enjoying watching the woman settle into her chair. "I'm Cian, and I've a feeling I've seen you before. You from around here?" he asked, trying to place whether she was a guest out at the resort, or maybe a local, or worked in at the casinos in Vegas, or even just up at Boulder City.

[rhiannon_lee]

“God no,” she said with a grimace. Rhiannon fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her hip pocket. She wouldn’t light one up at his table unless he was a smoker, too, but it made for more comfortable sitting. “I’m from Michigan. But I have been staying out here, so you’re probably right.” She took her turn studying the man to decide if he looked familiar, too. Maybe. Most times when she ate in the diner, Rhiannon sat in the corner with a sketchbook and a plate of fries, giving herself permission to lower her guard and ignore the room.

“I’m Rhiannon. And you sound like my dead grandmother. Ireland, yeah?” She shook a bangle down the length of a freckled forearm so that it wouldn’t clatter against the tabletop.

[cian_oneill]

He nodded in reply to her querying Ireland. "County Cork."

Lifting his glass he took another long draw, tongue drawing his top lip in between his teeth to remove the small foam mustache that was left there.

"Th' diner. Y' draw. Corner seat, with a sketchpad," he commented with a slow, low voice.

[rhiannon_lee]

She smiled a little. “That’s me.” How strange to be noticed when she was usually the one scouting others. Rhiannon’s hand strayed to the beer. The layer of condensation made the glass skate as she rotated it on the tabletop. “What if I told you I can’t really draw and it’s just a social crutch?” She was amused by the idea of spending hours making hundreds of stick figures in a portfolio.

The waitress brought a plate of fries to the table. “Thanks.” Rhiannon slipped a ketchup bottle from the caddy and shook it. A small drop of tomato sauce dotted her wrist as the condiment puddle on the plate. “Help yourself.”

[cian_oneill]

"I'd be wonderin' why y'd be lyin' t' me," he said, leaning over and plucking a couple of the fries from the basket before she applied the ketchup. His eyes darted to where the red droplet landed on her wrist and then up to her face.

"Thanks." He popped the fries in his mouth in one go, a smooth almost discernible movement that seemed to mirror his body language - sleek, still, poised.

[rhiannon_lee]

“Ahh… you’re a nosy one.” Rhiannon smiled and tugged a napkin from the chrome dispenser. She worked her fingers in the paper and wiped the ketchup from her wrist. With her anxiety about talking to him easing, she took the time to study her companion. He was handsome and self-assured, soft-spoken, and there was something else… a certain quality to his presence.

Her teeth captured her lip as her mind worked at the puzzle.

What was it? Nothing came to her and it was like forgetting a word she needed at a crucial moment.

She was staring. Rhiannon pulled her eyes back to the beer. She sipped it more slowly this time and watched as a man plunked quarters into a metallic jukebox with a disco aesthetic. He pushed buttons and a Bonnie Tyler song began to play. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind.” She ate another French fry and brushed the salt from her fingertips. The little black bird in the webbing of her hand seemed to flap its wings.

[cian_oneill]

He watched her clean the spot away, allowing her to study him by casting his eye nonchalantly around the premises.

"Nosy. Curious. Observant. Take y' pick."

The mark on her hand caught his eye, the small bird causing an eyebrow to arch slowly in a mixture of amusement and curiosity, again.

"Interetin' mark," he commented, indicating her hand with a finger that extended from where his hand held his glass, before lifting it to his lips to down the remaining ale.

[rhiannon_lee]

She followed his line of sight. “Blackbird fly,” she said, touching the tattoo. “My mom used to play that record all the time.” She looked outside as a car flashed its headlights at the window. It illuminated the smudges on the glass pane—Nose prints and hand prints and a smiley face drawn in the dust. The town beyond the parking lot was settling down for the evening while highway traffic picked up as eighteen-wheelers barreled through on their way here or there.

“Do you live here?” she asked. “Be prepared. My next question is going to be ‘why’.” Rhiannon dipped a French fry in the ketchup and idly shaped a spiral in it. She bit the end of the fry. It was still too hot. A cloud of steam surrounded the blunted potato.

[cian_oneill]

"Out at Cottonwood Cove," he answered, smiling and leaning forward to help himself to a few more of the fries. "Work there, at the resort and in the marina," he added, having been forewarned.

"I like the open spaces," he added with a grin, a small glint from the lights possibly reflecting a hint of gold in the green eyes that were lazily watching her.

"You?"

[rhiannon_lee]

"I haven't settled anywhere yet," she said. "Still flitting from one crappy hotel to the next. But I did go for a swim at the cove." Rhiannon considered slapping his hand away from the fries as a joke, but decided they weren't 'there' yet. She combed her hair behind her ear, revealing a lobe that couldn't fit another stud earring if it tried. "But I know what you mean about the open space. I've never lived anywhere that the stars were visible, or you could feasibly run around your house naked with the shades open and nobody would know."

[cian_oneill]

Cian grinned, clearly imagining that image, then nodded. "Lot more space out there for runnin', with or withou' clothes," he replied.

And he'd covered a fair chunk of it in the time he'd been there, particularly enjoying a large rocky outcrop where not even the lights of cars could be seen in the distance. Sometimes he'd stay for a day and night. It was handy being able to just head out on his days off, the people he worked for thinking he was heading up to Vegas for some lights and people, not realising that often it was exactly the opposite.

He picked up his empty glass and indicated hers.

"Another?" he said simply as he stood up.

[rhiannon_lee]

The question took her off guard. Rhiannon looked at her dwindling supply of beer. "Yeah. Sure." She rubbed her elbow and watched as Cian went to the counter to order a second round. He was halfway to the waitress when the slayer identified the word for how he moved. Her eyebrows furrowed. It was 'prowl'. Rhiannon pulled back into herself because she didn't want to be caught checking out the guy's stance.

She picked up her pack of cigarettes and gently turned the rectangle between her fingers, balancing it by the sharp points.

A pair of people left the booth across from her and a waitress swept in to wipe the surface.

Rhiannon leaned back in her seat and drew a knee up to her chest.

[cian_oneill]

Returning to the table, a beer in each hand, Cian noticed the young woman's posture. For a moment it screamed 'fight or flight' and he wondered what had made her feel she had anything to fight, or run from.

"Here y' go," he said, putting her beer down on the table before returning to his chair, taking a mouthful from his own glass before placing it down. "Ordered some more fries," he added, a small jerk of his head toward the kitchen.

[rhiannon_lee]

And just like that, the feeling was gone. Rhiannon accepted the glass. "Thanks. You're officially my favorite person in town."

She raised it to her mouth and sipped. The arm around her knee loosened and her fingers calmly plucked at her pant leg. She watched the golden bubbles travel up the cylinder of amber. He was quiet, she thought, and it suited her not to feel pressed to keep up with a stream of babble. "You ever get into the city to cause trouble?" She asked.

[cian_oneill]

He laughed softly, a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth and a twinkle in his eye signs of either amusement, or teasing, depending on the watcher's mindset.

"Depends on what y' class as trouble," he replied, still smiling, and plucking a few more of the fries from the basket. "Head up there for a bit o' fun ev'ry now 'n then."

Anonymity and one night stands were always easy to find in the bright lights and big crowds.

"You?"

[rhiannon_lee]

Cian’s face was a dead giveaway, a grown man now resembling a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar but not the least bit sorry about it. Rhiannon pursed her lips in an effort not to grin, which failed miserably. “Ahh, not in a while,” she said. “I’m getting the lay of the land before the other kind.” Just when she thought her face muscles were under control, they buckled. She snorted and scratched her eyebrow, as bemused by her own reaction as anything.

More often than not, Rhiannon found herself in a dominant position in conversations because of heightened emotions or an excess of opinions on the primary subject matter than came up: demons. Here in the diner – guest at a man’s table – she found herself in the unfamiliar position of sitting in someone else’s turf, a person whose presence marked territory as easily as hers usually did.

Like an Alpha.

“You’re— ” She caught herself and began to manipulate her pack of Marlboros again. If she was going to say something here, it needed to be right. “There’s something unusual about you. I can’t put my finger on it, but you have this...” ‘Watchfulness. Grace. Pick a fucking word and say it, Rhiannon.’ But any word supplied by her brain fell short.

She reached across the table and pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist. “You have a pulse, right?”

[cian_oneill]

Cian's glass was halfway to his mouth when her question finally made it out. It stopped in mid-air as his eyes crossed to meet hers. There was a laugh hidden behind the green.

"Last I looked I did," he replied, lowering his glass to the table, knowing what she was asking, and leaning forward.

For her to ask that he didn't doubt she knew something of his world, and that of the types that inhabit it. His body was something he took care of, always had, except for the year or two after the attack. Thanks to Annie and the others he'd learnt the power he now had, and how to harness it, how to control it and how to hide it from those who would want to make him into a lab specimen. It was a sign of trust for him to give her the opportunity to see for herself.

He held his wrist for her, feeling the cool touch of her fingers on his skin on the inside of his wrist, eyes still on hers. He'd been told by lovers in the past that he was always warm to the touch, even in the coldest of weather, and he'd figured they were right because most humans felt slightly cool to him. He waited, able to feel the pulse in his wrist himself at that point, eyes unblinking, still fixed on hers.

"What's the verdict?"

[rhiannon_lee]

Rhiannon pretended to scold him. “Hang on. It’s important to be thorough.”

What began as a rhetorical question became real as she clasped his wrist and counted the slow, healthy beats of his pulse. His temperature was elevated to at least one hundred degrees, Rhiannon guessed, and now that their skin was in contact, she knew that Cian was not solely human. The seconds ticked on as she gazed back at the Irishman.

She spoke in a softer voice. “What are you? Because I know what I feel.” And to show that she was willing to give as well as take, “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

[cian_oneill]

"Show 'n tell, huh? Haven't played that in a while," he drawled softly, eyes now with an unmissable glint of gold flecked in the green. He let her continue her hold on his arm, their skin in contact and her pulse detectable through her thumb resting on the back of his wrist.

"Probably easier t' show th'n tell," he continued, voice almost a soft purr. "Though I'm a mite careful about an audience." He glanced down at her fingers and back up at her face. "I've shown y' good faith, so you go first."

[rhiannon_lee]

The first time Rhiannon saw gold in his eyes, she thought it was a reflection. This time, she knew the source came from inside the man. The color reminded her of a tiger’s eye marble. “You’re a therianthrope,” she murmured, leaning farther across the table in doing so. She had encountered it before, this ability of a human to metamorphose into an animal, but which type did Cian have? She had known a werewolf, but that man possessed an entirely different vibe: predatory, bristly.

What could she show him? Having no physical change to display, the easiest objects were on her person. She let go of his wrist. Rhiannon tugged a cross necklace from within her t-shirt and let it settle on the cotton. Her knee was already above the table, so she rolled her pant leg up to show him the wooden weapon affixed to her lower leg.

“Any questions?”

[cian_oneill]

Cian's eyes narrowed a little at the sight of the weapon, but he quickly identified it and an eyebrow arched, the cross on the chain adding to the picture.

"Explains why y' wanted t' check m' pulse," he said, smiling as he added, "and here I thought y' were comin' up with a very original line!"

[rhiannon_lee]

Rhiannon’s own brand of mischief made her brown eyes sparkle. “Had your fingers crossed, did you?” She released her pant leg and lowered her boot to the floor. In a way, her status as a vampire slayer made them natural allies. It was common knowledge that animals tended not to like the undead and the trait often cropped up in were-creatures. She placed her fingertips around the rim of her beer glass and slid it closer.