Quietness was something he enjoyed. Other times it was something he despised. At the moment, with the solitude curling around him and the smoke entering his lungs, Montrez prefered neither company or his solitude. He was getting more and more closed off lately, but more and more yearning built up in his chest for something he couldn't reach out and grab. His mind couldn't grasp it any more than his fingers could.

Montrez's dreadlocks hung heavy on his back, a soft shirt--cream colored and collared--underneath them and brown slacks worn enough to be thoroughly casual. Honey eyes looked down at the ash tray as he stubbed the last of his cigarette into it.

He motioned to the bartender. Another beer, please.

It wasn't a large place, merely a small pub started a couple years ago. It had a nice feel, it's why Montrez kept coming back. Smoke hung in the air perpetually, permeating the wooden surroundings enough to never fully go away. A rough floor; a smooth, soft bar where hands and elbows had worn it down with their weight. There were a few booths with faux maroon leather and colored lamps that hung low above the table surfaces. The place served food but didn't really have a menu. Basically you got whatever Steve felt like making.

The door opened, letting in a fresh gust of air from the nightime chill. A woman entered, the bells above the door tinkling lightly as it closed behind her. Dark, partially braided hair swaying behind her, she padded over to the bar, barely making a noise. The few other customers in the pub all turned to look at the woman, trying to make out in their drunken, clouded minds if she was an angel or a demon. An asian queen, or an african princess... A dark beauty all the same, though nothing about her seemed to hint that she knew as much, dressed in a pair of worn out jeans and a long grey sweater under a black suede jacket.

Straddling a barstool, the woman peeked out at the bartender, Steve, and motioned for a drink. Her cool, blue-jade eyes then stared down at the table until her drink arrived, and even then she made no attempt to socialize with the other customers.

It wasn't unusual to see women in this bar, though they were normally women of negotiable affections dressed to seduce and get a free drink, not like her. She didn't walk with the same bold confidence, she didn't flaunt her sexuality like they all did. It intrigued him. It might have been a good thing for the both of them that M.C. had been drinking because otherwise he wouldn't have had the self-confidence to speak to her.

"Good evening," his voice was soft, quiet, but strong. The smooth tenor drifting over the words sweetly.

One or two of the regulars who weren't well on their ways to being passed out looked up in a sort of surpise. Montrez never spoke to anyone in there other than Steve, and that was only to buy another drink.

Eyes blinked, shifted to look at him from under chocolate brown tresses and ratty braids. Her rose colored lips opened for a second, then closed, as if she was thinking about what she wanted to say first.

"Good evening... " She replied, and looked as though she was about to say sometihng else, but stopped herself. Her own voice was smooth and full, though feminine. She took another drink from her glass, and looked the stranger over. Dreadlocks, dark skin, honey eyes...

It was moments like these that Morrigan wished she had experience with conversation, for right now she really wished to inititate one with this man.

That made two of them then, didn't it? Neither of them was very good in a conversation, perhaps they could learn together? Not that that was what Montrez was thinking of. He was just trying to think of something to say next that wouldn't make him sound stupid, wouldn't make him trip over his words. He wasn't a very quick man but given time and he could be quite brilliant, though not with conversation.

Think, think, think, think.."Nice day?"

Alright, so it wasn't much but it cleared the path for something to be said.

"As nice a day as one can have, I suppose..."

She had attempted a very difficult spell that day, and had failed miserably. The cuts on her arms still ached, and she had come to drink her shame and dissapointment away.

"Yourself?"

"Not too bad."

In truth, it probably went much better than hers had. He didn't know what sort of day hers was, but he could probably guarantee it went better. The damn mare had finally done what he'd been trying to get her to do--work. She struggled with him every step of the way but he broke her. It left a feeling of deep satisfaction, one he'd never gotten from the women who drifted from bar to bar.

With a nodd, she downed the rest of her glass and nodded to the bartender for another. After a few seconds, she decided to inquire after his name.

"By what can I call you, stranger?" She had no suggestive tones in her voice, and she said it as if it was something said everyday. It was a touch that was so blatently... Morrigan.

"Montrez."

Another shock from still sober patrons. He had a name? Not even Steve had known what it was. All he knew was that Montrez had been legal.

"What about you, what's your.." what was the word? What the hell was it? "..what can I call you?"

There was a clench in his chest. He hated that. Absolutely hated it.

She cocked her eyesbrow for a little less than asecond, picking up on his lack or articulancy. One corner of her lips twitched upward as she flipped her hair out o her face to actually look him straight in the eyes.

"Morrigan, but my friends call me Morri... or... at least thay would if I had any friends." She said with an awkward laugh, and then in a second of self doubt, she looked back at her fingernails.

Once blood gets under the nail, it can be very stubborn and stay for a very long while. Montrez followed her gaze, but didn't register what it was that had gotten under them. His own nails weren't clean, they'd gotten dirt and grime from the farm and he didn't think they'd ever be free of it. He didn't care, though. He did what he loved.

"Friends don't come by my way that often, either, Morri. No one's ever given me a nickname."

He tried out her name and decided he liked it. It rolled off his tongue easily like cool water.

With a grin, Morrigan looked over at Montrez, her eyes shining.

"How about Monty?" She laughed, the silliness washing over her. A warm sensation filled her chest when he called her Morri, something she hadn't felt in a good while.

Oh yes... that's a feeling of love.

"Is that in reference to something?" There was a hint of mischief in his voice, poking past all the indifference. His mouth cracked wide to reveal straight, white teeth in stark contrast to his skin. Not matching but somehow fitting.

His beer was half gone by now and he wondered, did he want to get drunk tonight?