In most cases Treasa was formal in her wardrobe. At work she was professional, at home she was elegant. However, when Treasa was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad: she was horrid. This meant that when she worked she worked, and when she played she played. And tonight, out with her friends after completing all her studies (for the time being) and spending a year interning for experience sake, she was ready to let loose before a round of job searches.

At twenty-seven she was still what one might call attractive, depending on what one liked. Of course with age came a more conscious attempt to keep off the tiny tummy that threatened. Her job kept her busy and mobile enough that she did it was not too much of a problem, though, and she retained a relatively trim figure. Her face, as always, seemed to hold youth, making her appear a college student more than the doctor that she was. This did not bother her so much, since it allowed her to blend into younger crowds with more ease. Although, discussion with her would soon prove that she was no child.

Her mood was light, and child-like, she had a tendency to be a bit oblivious, which is probably why shortly after her entrance into the much acclaimed Club Dark she lost her friends in the shifting, throbbing pulse of dancers.

In her hip-hugging black trousers and her clinging scarlet blouse with the flowing sleeves and slashed neckline she felt quite at home, and she danced through the crowd amiably, not minding the bumps and brushes that are inseparable from such a place.

Slowly, but surely, she began to make her way nearer the bar, knowing her friends had a propensity for drink, and lots of it. As she broke from the mass of patrons, she was disappointed to see no sign of said friends... Feeling a bit disconnected, she ambled along, finding a shadowy place to wait against a wall where her vantage of the movements in the club was good, so that she might watch for her party. And then there was nothing but to wait...

What use were drinks to an elf? It was fairly hard to get drunk, since he took in alcohol so well, unlike most humans. Because humans were just... lowly, unlike Wenceslas, whose blue eyes were surveying the crowd, while the seemingly annoying, distracting, and irritating strobe lights went around the room, and music was pumped so loud it made his ears hurt. People with little to nothing on, dancing with others, bumping up against each other to a garbage mix of music.

It was hot, annoying, overpopulated, and smelled like sweat and alcohol. The latter he wouldn't have minded so much, to be perfectly honest, but if Wenceslas didn't have to be here, he wouldn't be here.

The dark-skinned elf, sat with his legs crossed, on a barstool, offering an arrogant smile to anyone who looked his way, though what they didn't know is that he thought they were the scum of the earth. Stupid little creatures.

The dark figure stared into his drink, which appeared to be some sort of tequila, boredom lingering in his eyes. Nobody would suspect he was on a job, or he was working at all. He fit comfortably into a black sweatshirt with a hood, that he plainly refused to call a "hoodie", that covered most of his white hair and his ears, though he had cast a glamour over them anyway.

He had on, what looked like army pants, except they were completely black. Same style, different color. He didn't wear camouflage pants, because he didn't exactly fancy the army and the... 'swines' that belonged in it.

To go with his black... everything, he had black combat boots to finish it off. And even though his dress was casual, he didn't belong in a club. It was easy to tell he was out of place here.

So his arm is resting on the bar counter, lazily, and he sips at the alcoholic drink for a time, and orders another.

And that damn music is still blaring.

Boring... this was... utterly boring. They were obviously not coming near anytime soon, and she was bored, irritated... This was supposed to be fun, but she was getting a slight headache that the throb of the place was not helping...

Maybe some water from the bar would help... Yes, water at a bar. Not cool? Pfft. She had stopped caring about that in junior high. She sashayed over to the bar, bobing a little to the music so that she fit in a little. Besides, she really did enjoy dancing... just that the last few years was more ballroom and less clubbing...

She hopped onto a stool without really paying attention to anything around her, and caught the bartender's eye to order the water... which, of course, got her an odd look and a snarky smirk. Whatever - she was hot, thirsty, and wanted water. He could put that in his pipe and smoke it...

She unscrewed the cap when he set a bottle before her with a bead of water rolling down the outside. She swallowed a few sips and sighed contentedly, spinnin on her stool to watch for her friends again, tilting the bottle to her lips now and then, sitting straight with ankles crossed. Okay, so she was a bit formal even when partying... but it was habit.

Boring. Precisely how Wenceslas would've worded it. But, weren't jobs always boring? Wenceslas had no reason to be here but to look, like a hawk, for a specific person he was supposed to hunt down. The elf had no mercy, but had to be careful, because he couldn't just go about choosing and killing anyone. They had to be the right people. They had to be the people he was looking for, or else he was screwed.

Wenceslas, too, gave a sly smirk to the human ordering water. At a bar. How tacky, and yet... predictable of her. Mildly entertained, he directed his attention towards the woman. Not average, like the rest of those nonsensical fools. But still,,, she looked to be a mortal. Though, these days, Wenceslas gave up trying to tell the difference.

And he absently sipped at his drink, again.

Treasa kicked one foot impatiently and shifted on her stool... She turned back to the bar and sipped, flipping the cap over and over on the counter until the clicking noise irritated her...

She tilted her head left and right, taking in the people about her, and waved vaguely to Winnie, covering a yawn with a hand and shaking her head, lifting the bottle to her lips again and staring at the two-thirds left.

She needed air... The club was getting stale from all the bodies crammed close. Perhaps the atmosphere no longer agreed with her, a more mature person than she had been the last time she'd been to a club... Or perhaps it was her age, that she was no longer young enough to enjoy sweltering rooms full of sweaty people bouncing against each other.

Capping the last half of her water, she stood to stretch her legs, craning her neck and considering plunging back into the crowd to search, tell them she was going for fresh air... But that was something she was none to fond of doing just yet now that she was a mite cooler.

Wenceslas offered a slight smile. Nothing big, nothing personal. Just so he wouldn't seem suspicious or anything. He repeated the vague hand gesture he'd seen her do, sipping at his drink until it was all gone. Then he fixed his positio on the stool, and said, with mild interest, "Hello." His voice was baritone as expected for someone with his fgure. Sure, with his clothes concealing everything, he looked to pose no threat, but indeed, he did.

After her little stretching skit, though, Wenceslas' interest in her dissolved. Just another useless human, doing useless human things.

Treasa decided she was not brave, not excited about going through the squishy smooshy body bumping, so she sank back onto her stool echoing his greeting.

"Hello..."

She set the bottle on the counter, letting her fingers slide off of it to rest on the counter top. Her eyes ran over the crowd a few more times before she tipped her face to Winnie and smiled good-naturedly.

"Come here often?" Banal, boring as everything else, probably the most used comment in this place... so what? She was tired, she wanted real air. It was not like it really mattered anyway. He was clearly as bored as she.

"No real reason to. Can't say I enjoy all this... sweaty humanity. In short, no." His boredom leaked through his voice, and he didn't even bother to shield his tone. So what if he was bored? This place was damn boring. And, notice how he doesn't ask her the same question?

He returned the smile with a little annoyed grin of his, though it was hard to tell he was annoyed. The place was dark, and hid his facial expressions quite well, except for that stupid strobe light. He managed to express himself right when the light hit him, with that little grin of his.

(Blahshort.)

"Mm..." She twisted her neck to look behind her at the source of the salty, slightly acidic smells polluting the air of the club and shifted on her stool before smiling back at the man seated to her left.

"You know, I used to love it - went out with friends all the time, growing up... Something about it is less appealing to me now... Actually, no... It no longer appeals to me at all."

She sighed at this, as though some part of childhood or young adulthood was lost in the bouncing, pulsing group at her back. She lifted her water to her lips again and took a sip, noting the side door that exited from the bar, she assumed onto the street, or at least an alley where she might make her way back to the street. After all, it was only thirteen blocks in the cold winter air... She winced, but at least it would be cleaner, freer air.

She bent her arm to scoop up her coat and realized she had left it up at the front. She weighed warmth with moving back to the main door, and decided that her plan needed some tweaking. Meh...

So she settled onto her barstool a bit more and turned her attention towards the man who had addressed her.

"What brings you here, since you dislike it so much?"

"Humans... nightclubs, such worthless things," he muttered under his breath, and glexed his fingers, dark things that they were. At seemed as if he had a very low opinion of both humans and clubs. Alcohol, now that was a different story entirely. Wenceslas could never get tired of that.

"Work," he answered, more audibly this time. "And you. Why are you here? You look... bored." There was a million other things she looked, like uncomfortable for instance, and he'd come up with the word 'bored'. How typical.

His legs were still crossed, and if he were human, it looked as if the position might've hurt. But he wasn't human, you know.

When he muttered she leaned forward to try to hear, ear tipped to him as she half-shouted , "Pardon?"

He did not repeat himself as far as she could tell, but his next words were clearer above the noise of the club and she snuggled on her stool, cradling the water bottle in her hands.

"Celebration. Finally got my doctorate work all done, and came back to visit some friends and such in the area. They decided to take me out on the town..." Of course, in the end, she had found a barstool, corner, or wall to stand by. Not a-typical for her. "But yes, I am bored... Such is life, I suppose."

"So... tell me: What kind of work do you do here? I would not place you here, and you do not seem at home... ?"

"Oh. Good for you. Congratulations." He still wasn't hiding the edge of boredom in his voice. Such... human things such as getting doctorate work done didn't matter at all to Wenceslas. He couldn't help being bored.

"You see, that... is classified. If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Funny thing is, he's completely serious. There's not even a hint of humor in that voice of his.

He stared out at the disgusting crowd again, and contemplated on getting another drink.

"Why thank you." She overlooked his lifeless comments and took them as she pleased, not that she did not note his sarcastic tone.

She pursed her lips and her eyes twinkled in an effort not to laugh at the cliche. Of course, she did not take him seriously...

"It's that bad, is it? Hmhm. Alright, well..." She looked around for another form of entertainment, and since she did not drink, she figured she might at least make some conversational headway if he did.

"Would you like a drink?"

"It is." It was said in such a way that said, without words, 'and people like you have no business knowing what people like me do.'

He gave her a curious, judging glance. A look that almost implied, 'Are you stupid?'. "Mm, no. I can get one myself." Also known as, 'If you're getting it, I sure as hell am not drinking from it.' In other words, he had a pride issue.

(Blaah.)

"Mm..." O-kay... What is with this guy? He even looks odd... Wonder if he killed somebody...
She found herself involuntarily inching her stool away from him. His manner, his dress, his address... They were all odd. She had meant to begin a friendly conversation... Perhaps he was drunk. That might explain it. Some people got rather bland or temperamental when they were drunk. Perhaps he got sour and tight-lipped.

No, he wasn't drunk, just naturally ornery and self-loving. But there was no way for her to know that. "What about you? Would you like a drink?" The first polite thing he'd said all day. You may all gasp in shock now.

Even if she declined, he ordered another drink for himself. Stupid humans could never hold anything alcoholic in that well, so it wasn't likely for him to be drunk.

She didn't drink, and the knowledge flooded her face a pinkish color. Well... Why not? She had no moral inhibitions, she just had always been too busy and too intent on getting her degrees for such things as drink, etc.

Now that that barrier was removed she figured: why not? Then again, he was rather rude... But... Ack, he was confusing. She decided she did not like him, which she never did, because she liked everyone, generally, except excessively egotistical people, or those who were cruel. Either way, be it the heat of the dance floor or the annoyance at being trapped in the club alone sitting beside an stranger with issues, she got an attitude, and she let it have free reign.

And then again... what if he had killed somebody? What a jerk... Totally illogical, and totally against her nature, but he was... ? What? She did not even know, but he was getting under her skin.

With a proud little sniff she replied, "No, thank you, I am quite fine. I can get my own..." What was good? What had she had... Mmm... Searching her memory there was a vague recollection of vanilla vodka, and she asked for it.

"So what do you do when you aren't sitting with a bored expression in the bar of a club in which you do not wish to be to fulfill some sort of business... something? Or are your hobbies classified?"

Yeh, she's never been one for the snarky: always thinks of comebacks late. If she gets drunk for the first time in her life, though, maybe she'll find she has the power to be snarky after all. And woe be unto those who face the drunken snarkiness.

((Isn't snarkiness a wonderful word? :~P))

Wenceslas generally fit right along in the category most people would lable egotistical, so it was no wonder she didn't like him. He had an attitude problem, and was rather vain, as most elves are. But what can he say? It's a genetic flaw, it's not his fault.

This human, who previously bored him, put a smug smirk upon his lips. Shooting his comment right back at him when he so nicely offered. Now that was good. Better than when Wenceslas had said it. Even if he really would not rather admit to that.

"My hobbies aren't classified, they're just not interesting." Not interesting, as in the hobbies most human people find interest in. "I like music." A brief surge of sorrow tore at his heart for a minute, before he swallowed it down. That's right, the musician was in the past. That's done now...

"Piano." He shrugged, and it might've come as a surprise to anyone who knew him. He was such an arrogant, hot-tempered, bulky elf. Someone such as he wouldn't generally be expected to play the piano. But then again, looks can very well be deceiving.

He looked back over at the bar-counter, and ordered another tequila. If anyone was keeping track, he was drinking more than a normal person should, without really getting drunk.

(I apologize for the long wait.)

She received her drink and looked at it askance before sipping it lightly. Apparently it agreed with her, at least enough, and she took a few more sips before responding.

"You play the... piano...? That's very interesting. I would not have guessed... Classical piano, or...?"

She also pondered a few generic snide things to say, but nothing was coming to her...

"I play the harp... And the dulcimer... I try to sing, but I am only passable... Yes... Music is good..." She tipped her glass back to her lips, drinking a bit more deeply than she meant to and swallowing hard so as not to choke. His apathy made her want to hit him with something.

Glancing sidelong at him, she considered it... nah. The fact that her dislike was so unfounded irked her a little, but there was also a relief, a freedom in it. She found she wanted to be really nasty... But could not find anything along that vein to say...

"Do you have any productive hobbies?"

Hey! That was pretty good. She mentally patted herself on the shoulder, although she felt really guilty about being so rude...

"Yes, classical piano." He was only mildly offended that she really had to ask. Well, she was nothing more than pond scum to him, so it didn't quite matter. With a steady smirk, he took a little sip of his drink, staring down at it, and not at her, even as they conversed.

The harp? She had got to be kidding. Striking up the topic of hobbies, and then smashing up at his emotions with the playing of the harp? His friend had played the harp. And damn, he was too touchy about the subject in general.

His expression relaxed into a normal, almost blank one. But it wasn't blank because he wasn't paying attention... no, he was always paying attention... it was blank because that's what he thought was normal. And to him, it was.

"Productive hobbies?" The elf burst out laughing at that. What was she, stupid? "No, doll, there are no such things as 'productive hobbies' in the ways of today's humans. All they are capable of are destroying things. So, no." By human standards, no, anyway.

"I must disagree with you there: if you have no productive things to do then you have only yourself to blame. Keep histories, preserve our culture and heritage. Create music, compose lyrics and poetry and prose... Much more than destruction. You have a rather cynical tune for a musician... Quaint."

She sipped her drink and thought about that. He was odd. He was proud. He was a jerk. What a jerk... She shot him a half-apathetic glare and sipped more, still listening for anything he chose to say and half-interested in it, but generally still wondering if it might be best to throw something after him, after all.

It might've been better for her health if she hadn't said that. He has guns, after all, and has a rather muscular build. Well, muscular enough where he could probably harm her to a certain degree. Not so surprisingly, he wouldn't really care if he knocked her out and broke her arm or something like that.

"Lyrics and poetry and prose are not productive, you silly girl. All they are are pretty words that will be forgotten soon after they are written."

He took another challenging, slow sip of his drink, as if to pause to create more drama. "Don't make me laugh... cynical. You have no idea."

"You are cynical...and arrogant. Not charming qualities, by all means. YOu are wrong about lyrics and poetry and prose - they aren't always something you can hear. You say you play, and songs last for generations, for ages, forever. They are passed down, and never forgotten or lost. Sometimes the words are, but the tune that carried them is never lost... the melody survives. You are cynical because you are bitter."

It popped out. She did not mean to say it, and she took a quick drink as soon as she had, blushing, and pretending to not have said anything, darting a few timid glances at him. It was true, he was, and it was plain. She observed people, and she saw it, but she did not have any clue how deeply that was ingrained in him, did not understand, but immediately knew she had said too much... her and her big mouth...

"I'm glad you think that your opinion of me really matters. Because I, for one, could really care less." And just to emphasize his point, he gave her a simply charming smile, and sipped, once more, at his drink, which was nearly empty by now.

"But if you have to know, take satisfaction in knowing that you're right." She'd really said too much. Gone and really hurt him. Hurt him... hah. That wasn't really possible, was it? He'd hurt her if she pused further, even in front of all these people. Hurt his feelings and prepare to come out fatally wounded.

"If you don't care then why bother to retort? Because you do care. You just can't shove your ego out of the way long enough to admit it. I don't take satisfaction in other people's problems, as you likely do. But people who act like jerks to others because they can't deal with their issues need to stop being bitter and try to find a solution, or slap a smile on it and get over it."

She finished her drink, rather angry now, which showed in her eyes, and pursed her full lips with a returned challenge. She was a little buzzed now, not used to the affects of alcohol, but still in possession of herself and her faculties, a bit bolder for the bolstering vodka.

Stupid humans and alcohol. And while on that subject of things being stupid, woman, in Wenceslas' point of view, were the stupidest creatures to live on earth, and should all burn in hell. But, of course, as we know, enceslas has a skewed point of view, and his opinion doesn't count.

"Shut up, bitch." Ouch, how cold. Bad elf. Emotional elf. "How about opening your mouth and dealing with your problems before assuming mine?" He snarled.

Sip of the drink. Now it's gone. He ordered another, and it seemed he had an endless supply of money in that walet of his. And apparently, a high tolerance for alcohol.

He was about halfway through his sentence when a stunned Treasa stood up, eyes flashing. She was a respected doctor in her field, she was usually on good terms with everyone, and this moron was such a... a... a meaniebutt!

Growling lightly, she brought her hand up in a full-armed slap, chest heaving angrily as she did so. It was probably the first violent action she had perpetrated in her life, but she was not sorry for it - not one bit.

How dare he talk to her like that!

"At the moment, YOU are my problem. Your reactions show I don't assume, but I hit a sore nerve, huh? Poor baby."

She'd never been this upset, and she had never been called a... a... a... you know... She watched the waiter bring his drink, paying for it quickly just hoping to irritate the man further. She was sooo angry. GR.

His expression was surprisingly, and freakishly calm... almost nonchalant, even after she'd hit him. He turned, very slowly, to look her in the eyes. A look that clearly said 'try me'.

He didn't raise a fist to hit her, though. Not yet. But he stood up. "Want to hit me, do you? Go ahead, if it makes you feel better, wench." That's not a happy elf in any respect. Which will be bad for poor Tresa's health.

Ooh, a bar fight. How exciting.

Wench? Where was he from?? Sheesh.

She set her jaw and looked up...and farther up... at him defiantly... Wow... Suddenly he looked... bigger... than she did...

She swallowed, but tilted her head up still, anger still on her smooth face, and a smirk on her face, irritated. The calm probably scared her more than any punch could, however.

Well, since he was offering:

She had to raise her opposite arm, her left, rather higher to hit him, but she brought another ringing slap against the other side of his face, even harder.

"Good to know I can add chauvenist to your list of charming qualities, jerk."

Wow... was this Treasa? Where has Treasa gone???

Sure, Wenceslas was tough, but slaps... especially in the face, had to hurt. And she had crossed a line in too many respects.

At this point, he was taught to snatch wrist, and twist. And so he did.

"Let me ask you something... do you enjoy masochism, girl?"

(*DIES.* So shoooort. <_<)

Treasa tried to clench her fist in resistance, but found that was more painful then letting her fingers splay out. She gasped as pain shot through her wrist and up her arm. She knew it was hurt, probably a nice little sprain. Hey - she was only doing what he offered.

He had deserved both slaps, plus some. She was only sad that she did not hit him harder.

She gritted her teeth, breath catching a little at his question, feeling a threat in his words.

"You're the one who seems to feed off of pain." Her voice quavered a little: women of twenty-seven were rarely called 'girl'. "My preferences can't possibly be anything to you."

She grunted a little, twisting at her wrist and wincing as the struggle only made it worse.

Twiiist. Stupid little human girl. He'd hoped to break her wrist in all reality, and even knowing that her wrist was probably sprained would've made him smirk. She deserved it, for getting in his face... for talking back to him the way she did.

He pulled her arm behind her back and tugged. Nothing serious, but it had to hurt... unless, of course, she was double-jointed.

"I'm glad you think like that. I should break your arm." A little smirk, and his voice was no more than an airy whisper.

Her eyes darted for the bartender, a non-drunk person: some kind of backup. Great.... Her mind whirled for a way out. She could improvise..she was good at it... Okay, what was that she had learned... She inhaled began to move, but a twisting stopped her.

She cried out as he twisted her wrist, tears stinging her eyes as he bent her arm behind her back, cutting off her action some. Her movements hurt, and that trapped her somewhat. How dare he do this to her? he had deserved what he had gotten, but he still didn't seemed to get it: the slaps had obviously not served their intended purpose.

Vaguely she wondered if saying 'yes' or 'no' to his question really would have made a difference, if one answer would have gotten her free. Too late now, either way. She had always been overly flexible, people had been envious in gym about it in highschool, but sadly, she was not double-jointed. And it did hurt. She bit her cheek so that she would not cry. And she was not going to cry. She was so angry now it was unlikely she could anyway.

She was wary of what he thought he should do, but retorted, "Glad, hm? Finally decide to show you have a heart after all... Who'd have thought?"

She pulled up her knee and jammed her foot into his instep, carefully not moving her upper body for fear of harming herself more than him, using her free hand to make a fist and pump the elbow back into his stomach.

All in one fluid motion, the elf recoiled. He might've been tough, but nobody can take an unexpected knee or elbow in the stomach. And quite frankly, it kind of hurt.

Not quite keeling over, he took several steps back, and let her arm go. It wasn't worth it. He'd hurt her enough already, and this fight was over.

"Everyone has a heart, even if they don't show it..." he murmured, quietly.

(Oh, the woes of short posts.)

She cradled her wrist and hand in the crook of her other arm, unsure what to do about the development. She was quick to get herself out of his reach.
She stood watching him for a moment, thoughtfully.

"And there is no excuse for trying to replace it with stone. You have one, perhaps, after all. So what's keeping you from feeling?"

She was catching her breath, not winded by exercise, but by the rush of adrenaline still pumping in her veins.

((Indeed. :P))

Wenceslas stared off in another direction, definitely not intent on hurting her any further. He couldn't believe he'd almost done that... had almost injured someone and didn't care. It was almost surprising, that he didn't care, even now.

"Keeping me from feeling? You have no idea. No idea, doll... not one."

Now he stood straight, standing so that his figure was the tallest it could be. Such a thoughtful, heartless-looking figure was he.

And now, he turned... it was time for him to take his leave.

"Why do you think I asked?" It was awkward, yes, but she felt badly now... Had she truly hurt him? She had not thought she could. The pet name wrankled... she hated those, but she did not like people upset, expecially not when she had caused it. The temporary boldness started to dissipate and she was more than a little embarrassed, because her hold on her temper was suually so good...Ack...

"You can walk away from me, but, I wonder, are you going to keep running from it? I don't know what your deal is, but I do know, from experience, that when you have a problem, you face it. If you do not, it will dog your steps until it wins. How does it win,hm? Because it beats you into never healing, never moving on. It freezes you in one place for your whole life... Life's too short, hon..."

She watched his back curiously.

He never looked back once, and simply advanced forward. Life? Short? Ha, surely, she was kidding. Or maybe she was putting human limitations on him, which he bet was the case. Stupid humans... with stupid limitations. Stupid women, with their damn emotions.

Wenceslas never stopped, either.

"If I wanted a lecture, 'hon', I would've gone to my mother. I know enough to take care of myself, and what will and won't haunt me for the rest of my life. You simply don't have a clue in the world. That's your problem, you know that? I'm a big boy, and I know how to deal with my life."

She snorted derisively and sat down with a mutter.

"Yeh, I'll bet. That's why you're sitting in the bar of a club you don't like, drinking. Way to deal with it."

She shook her head disgustedly as he walked away, half compelled to follow and apologize, but listening to the half which bade her sit and leave it be.