the light catches the eye but shadows have (moretosay) wrote in summerview, @ 2018-11-02 15:38:00 |
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Maeve and Graham
November 2nd
In Vino Veritas
PG
Completed |
Maeve had put in a few hours at The Long Way Down before deciding to go to In Vino Veritas instead. It wasn’t a thing that any of her staff objected to, she had a habit of disappearing and reappearing at odd intervals, but when she was there she worked just as hard as anyone else, and took care of her people. So she took herself to a secluded corner with a too ornate table but a lovely plush sofa she had been eying in the month or so since she had started coming here. Of course, she saw Julius narrow his eyes at her, but she had the distinct feeling he was trying to decide if coming down to see what kind of trouble she was going to stir up was going to be encouraging her not. So instead she was left to her own devices, and looking so different from how she was usually seen as a barmaid that one of her regulars who worked as a waiter here had to hear her voice in order to recognize her. A lovely slip of a dress and dainty heels instead of jeans and a t-shirt like she frequently. Hair blonde today but in purposeful ringlets, half of it clipped back and out of her face, and loud red lipstick because - well, why not? It was enough still to catch the eye of a woman she didn’t recognize which just wouldn’t do, would it? Maeve liked to know a little about everyone, and a great deal about a few. Kitsune, by the eyes. The shimmer of a glamour around her that, when she narrowed her eyes just right, hid several tails and ears to boot. It took two passbys of the girl for Maeve to catch her eye, speaking Japanese to her in a way that left the heavy Irish lilt to make the girl giggle, rolling a heavy greek coin she kept for luck across her knuckles and flipping it over the tray just to snatch it out of the air without breaking eye contact. It was the ridiculous French poems she started reciting with the accent still firmly in place that made her finally sit down on the arm of the couch even though she couldn’t understand more than a few words of what she was saying. Then, of course, bad luck arrived in the form of a large group of fellow Fae coming in, and the girl was summoned away to help. Sometimes she swore Julius seemed even more suspicious of his kind than she was. Maeve leaned back into the couch with a pout twisting at her lips, lifting a hand to fidget with her teardrop earrings, fingers gliding over the smooth opal even as the other tapped her annoyance against her wine glass. Graham was a watcher, so that was some interesting show he'd been observing. Besides, he preferred there be a lack of focus on him, despite how he often stood out - tall as a watchtower, clad in his battle armor which was really his usual suit and tie. Smelling faintly of tobacco (he didn't smoke, no, but he often carried the scent regardless) and the crisp pages of books. He sipped on a martini - smooth, a little spicy, a little sweet. "'C'est dommage," he spoke up in French because why not, referring to how the woman's plaything was summoned away. "Whatever will you do now?" Life. It sure was terrible, wasn't it? Dark and depressing and no point to anything. More nihilism, anyone? Already bright eyes flashed a glowing amber before settling down to the color of a monarch’s wing as they slid over to the man who spoke. She had noticed him, because that was sort of her job, wasn’t it? Both of them in a way. The reputable role and the not so much. Dug up his connection to someone who was on her radar out of her brain and not lingering any longer than that. Let her focus had been drawn away, content to let him be. Now her head tilted to the side, curious and amused in one. “Oh, I’m not worried, lovely things have a way of finding their way into my hands..” There was the vague air of an inside joke in the quirk of her lips, even as she turned towards him in a way that still made it easy for her to keep an eye on the room at large. Her legs were pulled up under her in a still ladylike way that broadcasted I am comfortable in this space, as if she were at home instead of a upscale bar. Practiced motions smoothed out the edges of her dress over her knees to preserve her modesty - and more importantly, kept her ever present knives from showing through her dress. “Do they now?” Graham gave a bit of a dry chuckle, all Victorian old-world charm and distinguished gentleman; in fact, he was even still sipping on that martini which just completed the whole bloody picture, teeth sinking into the requisite olive. Better than someone else’s neck. But he had already appeased the slumbering dragon that was his...inhumanity, shall we say. He wouldn’t require sustenance for a bit, so may as well indulge with the frivolous shit (like alcohol) that he couldn’t live on anyway. “And what do you do with them, once you get them?” Discard once they reached their usefulness expiration date, no doubt. He had seen the woman around, maybe recalled her name - he’d seen everyone, the town wasn’t that large, but he often kept to himself regardless. This man reminded her of some of her father’s upper class friends. Landowners, wealthy merchants, old money sorts from Great Britain. Or even better yet, like some of the Fae she had met in the Courts proper. The definition of snobbery, class, the sort of people who moved with the self-assured grace of someone who never doubted their place in the world. Which, of course, was always in the general vicinity of the top. Her head tilted, eyes skirting over him and his movements with an unabashed interest as she sipped at her drink leisurely. Maeve tried to remember if she had ever spoken to him before, or just scoped him out like she did many who were possible threats when she first moved to this town. She was leaning towards the latter, although she had popped into Books and Bins as a unremarkable, shy, bookish boy every once in awhile. Hmm. Maeve’s eyes dropped as her head tilted down, before lifting them with the hint of a smile, unconsciously mirroring his gentlemanly clothes and manner with a more proper feminine expression, tone and cadence. You don’t ingratiate yourself to someone who doesn’t curse by speaking like a sailor, and meeting a person’s energy level and type of demeanor was a part of the process. “Ah, I can’t speak to each. If you view or treat everyone the same, the appeal has been lost.” Another slight tilt, a hint of slyness as she felt more comfortable and slowly slipped into this version of herself, “Along with opportunities.” “Well, you best be careful,” Graham warned, setting down his martini glass. He tugged a little on his cuffs, crisp as the rest of his dress shirt. “You don’t want to keep them too long. They’ll get attached.” And he would know, hm? He’d lived it, back in those long-gone days of intellectual enterprise, dusk and black velvet and ivy crawling on castle walls. “I’m Graham,” he introduced himself, extending his hand for a proper greeting - and no, he wasn’t chilly, he didn’t have diamond-hard (sparkling) skin. He was actually of a normal temperature - unlike what rubbish like Twilight portrayed. That had set the bar back for vampires for essentially an eternity. “I don’t believe we’ve met officially yet?” Bright eyes followed the movements of his hands, curious and appreciative even as her gaze danced on the edges of demure. This was a man of class or at least, wanted to project that impression. The image that a person wanted people to believe was sometimes more important than the actual truth of them. “There are methods. It’s an art.” The smile turned coy before she gave a quiet laugh. Maeve set her own glass down with a quiet clink, a little surprised that he didn’t give a longer name. He seemed a bit like the type to give a title, or a last name. Something to make himself seem more posh, or perhaps he relied on his appearance for that. Her hand extended to meet his, an imperceptible shift in the beat before they touched as it shifted, to something soft and well cared for, instead of Maeve or even Briar’s real hands — rough from years of unabashed hard labour. When her fingertips touched his, the hais on the back of her neck stood up. Old human instincts that still recognized him as Predator. Perhaps just to spite her own rational side, and maybe just because she apparently made a hobby out of catching those sorts off guard, her hand shifted at the last moment. Instead of shaking his hand her fingers curled around his in a smooth motion, leaning forward so she could place a fleeting kiss on his knuckles, “No, we haven’t had the pleasure.” She only held him for a moment before leaning back against the sofa cushions, “Maeve. Well met, Graham.” The name suited the Irish accent she favored as Maeve, even if it was a bit cliche. How...sweet? Graham wasn't particularly rattled, he with the velvet shadow of an aura, the aristocratic pose and the stiff elegance. But he was pleasantly surprised, and he didn't get a lot of that these days. "Well met indeed, Maeve," he nodded - he'd let her have her hand back, since it would look awfully awkward to snatch the appendage just to return the knuckle kiss. Rather, he just filed it away for an IOU later. "I'd ask what you do for fun in this town, but I believe I just observed some of it. Anything else tickle your fancy though?" Unless she was like him and came to bars to sit in the corner and drink alone and generally be a hermit. That was fun too. The gesture, as risky and almost but not quite out of place as it was seemed to have gotten a positive response, and that was a good start. A start to what was still in the air, but she preferred to take off running and in the lead no matter what direction it ended up being. Competitive thing that she was. She reached out to her glass, nearly empty, a little silly considering that she felt absolutely nothing. But she sipped at it anyway even a she gave a pointed look to one of the waiters to tell him not just that she was running low, but that she wanted something different. An expression that they clearly dreaded. “Hmm. I like to people watch. I’m learning Gaelic. I have a minor hobby of studying politics, but that’s mostly to keep me on my toes.” Well. It kept her on her toes people she liked predicting things, plotting out crimes that she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to commit. To be ready. How would she, if she were going to? “I’m a fair hand at poker.” she leaned forward a bit with the words, as if they were scandalous, though her face only showed delight. Briar was a fidgeter, and it showed sometimes in Maeve. The hand that straightened her dress unnecessarily, traced the rim of her glass again and again, but slow and methodical instead of twitchy like, “Nothing terribly exciting these days. What about you?” The smuggling wasn’t mentioned, nor the fact that she still left the island for thieving jobs that caught her eye, but who showed all their cards on the first night? And anyway, that wasn’t Maeve who did those things. She was in good company - Graham left the island too, but that was usually to hunt. To find his next meal. Surely it would come as no surprise to anyone who knew him that he was a meticulous hunter, sticking to seedier spots in Atlantic City - he’d done the whole thing where he just picked someone random off the street, but that had begun to just not jive with him over the years. The unanswered questions of who are they, do they have a family, what’s their day to day like would ring in his head and bleed out his ears - thus, he preferred to take the lives of those who wouldn’t necessarily be missed. It was a macabre medium between finding hapless victims, potential pillars of society, and copping out by drinking from a blood bag. However, his philosophy on hunting would have to wait until meeting two or three or never; he didn’t often talk of such things. But he guessed he’d see how it went. “I knit,” he quipped with dry sarcasm. Well-meaning, and there was a bit of laughter in his eyes - he was aware how severe he looked, a pallor that seemed to accentuate the sharpness of his cheekbones, like they could cut diamonds. So jokes weren’t always picked up on, but alas. “Though studying politics, now that’s a sticky quagmire. I wish you luck with that.” Especially these days - it could downright depress just about anyone. “I’m the Accountant at Books & Bins so I often spend my days crunching numbers,” was the real answer. “Don’t know Gaelic, just a few others - Arabic, French, Italian, Romanian. But I suppose I do a fair amount of people watching too. It often leads to interesting results - after all, that was how I spotted you, Maeve.” Briar would have made a good Vampire. She was inherently selfish, and would never have let herself go hungry because of possible ripple effects. The limitations would have chafed at her until she made herself bleed (metaphorically and physically), like a coyote stuck in a trap. Chains and cages had an irrational effect on her, even she could admit that. It just wasn’t something she felt the need to fix. Keeping her skills sharp was a challenge on the Island, the town too little, the pickings long scoped out, the long games available having a limited number of available routes she had long charted, and for the most part, dismissed. The waiter was probably thrown off by her pointed gaze as he finally made his way to her breaking away to land back on Graham, surprise bleeding into delight quickly at both the joke and the image it provided. Her eyes lit up with approval after, “It’s important to stay sharp, the times change, but my business will ever be people.” He was lucky, financial laws may change, but for the most part, math was math. At least as far as she knew. People though, culture, society, that changed. The same tricks and guises she used today wouldn’t work in a hundred years, or on the same people tomorrow even. Her head tilted in curiosity, as he confirmed what she had already knew, thought here were always questions. Endless curiosity was both part of her personality and a survival tactic. “Why accounting? And are you there because Mircea is there, or is it a coincidence?” Her eyes dropped for a moment before partially rising to peer up at him from beneath her lashes. An apology for her boldness, but not much of one. She could be demure when it was wanted, or needed, but she was still leisurely testing the waters. “I have…” She sat up partially, “Japanese, Spanish, Cantonese, French, Afrikaans, English and passable Italian.” Her hand swished around on the last one, it was iffy at best honestly, and she had a bad habit of smashing some of the romance languages together when she tried to speak Italian. A sly smile took over her features, “Well, to be completely accurate. I enjoy putting on a show. It doesn’t take the observant sort to get an idea of what I’m about when I’m in that sort of mood.” The waiter finally broke through the crowd, her expression and posture changed to something warm, inviting and relaxed. More ‘ one of you’, “I would just like an Amaretto Sour this time, with berries and egg, please.” And he glanced to Graham as well, cover all his bases while he was tending to her of course. Oh yes, he was endlessly in love with Mircea and stalking him - that was why Graham had taken the position as an accountant at Books & Bins. He was cheeky enough to tell that lie, because he found it amusing that Maeve had asked if he had taken the job simply because Mircea was there, but might not be able to keep from snorting into his empty martini glass. Which, well, he was simple. When the waiter came by to take Maeve’s order, he just went for another martini - nice and refreshing. “My business is usually the law,” he explained. “But I haven’t found many people needing an attorney here in Summerview - so accounting was just something I fell into. I like math and numbers, it seemed to fit well.” Not to mention Mircea was absolute rubbish with keeping the books - when Graham first arrived about a decade ago, he really had his work cut out for him. You couldn’t just use a spare scrap of paper with numbers scribbled on it and call it a receipt, you simply could not. “That’s quite a fair number of languages to speak though,” he added, impressed. “What is it that you do for business, not pleasure? You said your business is people...but more specifically?” Anyone who knew that many languages didn’t stay in one place for very long though, that was apparent. The waiter plucked both their glasses off the table, pausing as if waiting for a nod of approval from her but only receiving an amused eyebrow raise instead. He rolled his eyes at her as he left finally, and the smile lines around her eyes and corners of her lips may have been placed there instead of evolving naturally, but the way they crinkled was sincere. Maeve snorted at that, shaking her head, “You’ll find, in communities like this one, that mortal laws are only brought up when they are useful to be petty to one another.” Hell, even when they lived next door to humans, they were viewed as amusing things that were only taken seriously when they were being annoying. Actually, kind of like humans themselves. Hm. Imagine that. There was a pause, considering her words carefully even as she stayed the image of at ease and at home, “Now, the old laws. That’s another thing entirely.” There was more, in the almost imperceptible glow in her eyes and the flexing of her fingers on the cushions of the couch, but the benign smile didn’t budge. Briar was the fox, the carnivore, Maeve was not. Non-threatening and one of the people, no veneer of wickedness to be found. “Math is an impressive gift as well I can do it out of necessity, but I’ve never reached farther than that. It’s not a source of passion for me.” She admitted, with a shade of embarrassment. What? Even she had limits on the amount of talents she wanted to acquire, there was only so much time in the day, even for her. “I’ve owned the pub in town for the past five years. It changes. You can’t do the same thing forever, especially when forever is, well. Anyway, but it’s always people.” Ah, and the passion, the fascination showed through there, and that — unlike her embarrassment or any bashfulness seen tonight, was sincere. Her shoulders pulled back a bit at his complement however, openly surprised and pleased all at once. No, math wasn’t for everyone - Graham was an odd duck in that regard. He’d always done well in school, in most subjects, and found comfort in how straight-forward equations were - there wasn’t much wiggle room, or room for interpretation. Same with the law - supposedly. But being a lawyer? You managed to get quite talented at wiggling. “Oh, you own the pub? I ought to come by. I do like a good pub,” he mused. He couldn’t recall having been there before, which was a shame - well, now he had a proper excuse. “And I understand, not doing the same thing forever. Forever is...a daunting, frustrated sort of concept. Cheers to that,” he saluted her with his glass when it arrived. Maeve gave him an amused look, clearly holding back a laugh. “You should. But I don’t know if it’s exactly your kind of environment.” Her hands unclasped so she could pat the sofa between them consolingly as she tried to picture him at his own private table beside a group of waitresses who worked in the mortal casinos and came into get wasted while bitching about lewd things humans had said to them. She took the glass from the waiter, a coin in her hand from seemingly nowhere that he accepted with excitement in his eyes, hardly waiting until he was away from them to peer at it curiously. Forever was a vague thing. Someone she pissed off was eventually going to find her, and not only that, she wasn’t actually sure of her lifespan and didn’t trust anyone enough to let them test her and find out. So daunting was more accurate than he realized. Maeve mirrored him, raising her glass “Forever is a long time to be a lawyer…” It was a gentle sort of leading question, an invitation to talk about himself but tactful enough to back off if he thought it was intrusive. “Forever is a long time to be anything,” Graham replied, an enigmatic sort of answer, and he would err on the side of not talking about himself. At least for now - he believed a little mystery kept it interesting, no? “Unfortunately, I’ve got to run. But it was a pleasure meeting you, Maeve.” He set down his glass, gathering his suit jacket and briefcase. “Perhaps I’ll see you if I drop by your pub.” Or not, since apparently it wasn’t his type of environment - as if anyone would be able to tell what that would be after a bit of conversation. Well, he’d just see for himself. He wouldn’t mind a bit of excitement peppered into the accounting days, after all. |