Searching for answers (Open)

[cian_oneill]

It had been three weeks since Hallowe'en, and still nothing had come to light about the vampire who had lead the bloodbath at the Shark Tank. Cian had prowled the street when he could, spending more nights in Vegas since the attack than he usually did. He finally figured the one place he might be able to find out something, and after sourcing the password, and satisfying the bouncer, he walked into Seventh Circle and headed for the bar.

If there was anywhere that information on the activities in the demon world could bandied about like schoolgirl gossip, it would be here.

"Whiskey," he told the bartender, leaning an elbow on the bar and starting to survey the area, seeing who was there, and more importantly, what.

Comments

Re: Searching for answers

[cian_oneill]

Cian had been about to point out that in some cases being able to take out a kneecap is the best way of bringing down some of the bigger beasts out there when she asked about his heartbeat. He wasn't really aware it was that much faster, it was just who he was, and had been for so long. While it was faster than most humans, especially athletes, as he'd been one when he was attacked, it certainly hadn't brought any comment from anyone he knew who did hear it up close and personal, even when it was accelerated by that person. He smiled as he momentarily recalled the last time it had been accelerated by a particular Slayer.

"Oh? It certainly don't feel tha' way," he replied, giving her the tail-end of the smile. "Must be the place," he said, glancing around at the clientele, who were varied, and relaxed enough to reveal their different sides and countenances enough that it would put the wind up a normal 'punter' who happened into the place. "Or the company," he added, a completely benign smile now, leaving it unclear whether he was referring to her, or to the aforementioned clientele and bout happening in the ring.

Re: Searching for answers

[tiny_dancer81]

The smile made her squirm a little as she stood there, but it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant squirm. She knew what men were looking at when they spoke to her, or at least what a certain type of man was looking at, but Irish wasn't giving off a skeevy vibe. If anything, he reminded her of Whistler, minus the hat. Companionable, but not presumptuous.

Her posture loosened up a little more. She began to pick at the label of her beer bottle, peeling it off in strips. "So you're not here to jump right into the ring and you can't see a joint like this as a pick-up scene." The vampire's head tipped to the left. The blue streaks in her hair had faded. She was going to have to go back to the salon and get them retouched.

"C'mon, you can tell me. What am I gonna do, tell on you?"