Oh my god, Sam, who got their claws into you? You actually look human for a change.

Needless to say, Samantha Tucker did not enjoy the weekly phonecall with her sister. Her sister, having seen a picture of her little sister, was simply delighted by the change.

Far more delighted than Sam could deal with.

She doesn't drink alcohol, really, so she's sipping fizzy lemonade and brooding on the unfairness of it all.

Tall girl, slim, in black today, with hair the color of copper and eyes hidden by sunglasses, sitting at the bar.

Why did life have to suck so much?

Suddenly, Sam is not alone at the bar. Darcy could have picked any of the vacant bar stools, but he selects the one on her right and slides onto it with an easy sort of grace. He has on black jeans (comfortable), a band t-shirt (also comfortable), and scruffy sneakers (the epitome of comfortable footwear). He doesn't look like he spent time on his appearance at all.

That's what he wants you to think.

He orders a drink - rum - and while waiting for it to be served, lets his amber eyes glide over the girl sitting next to him.

He grins lopsidedly, looks deliberately away from her, and starts singing softly - not well, but the tune is recognizable...

"... I wear my sunglasses at night... so I can watch you weave then breathe your story lines..."
Everyone knows that song,... right?

She glances sideways at him, and has to smile.

She recognizes art in the form of a person when she sees it.

"I haven't heard that one before."

Soft-voiced, but friendly. Where did her emotions go?

Wherever she keeps that lockbox of hers, I suspect.

"No?"

He seems surprised. The song is twenty years old, but still...

"It's 'Sunglasses at night'. By Corey Hart," Darcy explains, "I thought everyone knew that song,... guess not. Anyway,... it kinds of fits, no?"

He points to her sunglasses, smiling.

"So. Why those?"

"Stylistic thing, I guess. I don't wear them often, but... hey. I wanted to relax tonight."

She flashes a bit of a grin, looking at him over the top of the shades, just barely - her eyes are very green.

"And what brings you here, mysterious man in black?"

It isn't quite accurate, but it's close enough, and tonight she feels like... relaxing. She doesn't care about getting hurt tonight, because she's already reached her hurt threshold for the day.

Darcy grins mischievously at her.

"All the girls in sunglasses, of course," he replies. His accent has faded over the last few months, and he no longer sounds so thickly Quebecois. It's not that he's losing his first language, however - he's just gaining in English.

He makes a show of looking around, then feigning surprise when his gaze returns to her.

"Ah, here's one," he says cheerfully.

She chuckles.

He's funny.

"They aren't that fancy, mister." They're just sunglasses, if expensive ones. "Oh, and I have a name. Sam."

Here's where he's supposed to introduce himself.

"I'm Darcy."

He offers his hand to shake.

"Pleased to meet you, sunglasses girl Sam."

"Pleased to meet you too...."

But she knows his name from somewhere, she's sure. No idea where, though....

She takes his hand, shakes, but has that puzzled frown still.

"Oddly enough, I think I've heard of you. Maybe you're infamous...."

Where did she hear about him?

Darcy isn't that common a name, it wasn't likely there were two around....

"Infamous? Moi?"

This is Darcy pretending to look shocked.

"Naaaahh." The grins reappears. "I hope you didn't hear anything bad about me, though. Not that there'd be anything bad to hear, but... I don't want to have a reputation pr,... going ahead of me."

"I don't think so." She smiles. "My memory is infamous for being better suited to life in the fast food industry. I ought to trade it in for a new one."

She ponders this over a sip of lemonade. "Maybe Taryn...?"

Name ring a bell?

"Taryn? Oh." Darcy's expression, which had begun to be faintly anxious, turned cheerful. And maybe a teensy bit wistful. "Yeah, I know her. That must be who mentioned me, then."

Taryn wouldn't say anything bad about him. Of course she wouldn't. As far as he knew, he hadn't given her a reason to...

"She a friend of yours?"

Darcy's drink arrives, and he thoughtfully tosses it back.
I don't know how one manages to look thoughtful and toss back a drink at the same time, but Darcy does it.

"Yes, apparently. I'm camping out at her place next week, for the full moon, because apparently my roommate is a werewolf and wants the room to herself."

Sigh.

She needs more lemonade.

Or alcohol. Which wouldn't normally be an option, but... hell, she could use a drink.

I believe she waves the barkeeper over and murmurs a request for something resembling beer.

"Heh, you don't say," Darcy muses, smirking faintly. "Funny you mention werewolves..."

Before he can go any further with that train of thought, he derails it.

"Aaaanyway, maybe I'll drop by. What brings you here tonight?"

"Oh, nothing much."

As she takes the first swallow of that beer, she adds, "Just looking to get rid of some frustration. College isn't as simple as I'd hoped it'd be. You?"

Far away from family, no hope at a social life - she thought she could just study and forget everything but dry and dusty facts.

Apparently not.

"Mm,... me?" He draws circles with the condensation left on the counter by his glass. "A little of the same, and a little of hoping to meet people. Not that there aren't enough people to meet on the campus, but it does not hurt to get out every so often, see what else is out there."

"Makes sense."

She tosses him that little, playful half-smile again.

"So, what else is out there, mm?"

"At the moment?"

He folds his hands and rests his chin on them, looking innocently at her.

Dramatic pause, and...

"You."

"Really," she says, with an arch smile.

"Sounds boring. Sure you wouldn't rather go find something a little more interesting to do with your time?"

She's joking. Really.

...okay, no, but she makes it sound like a joke, and that's the next best thing.

"How about... no."

He tilts his head to one side and gives her an artfully executed puppy look.

"You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"

"Oh, no. Not at all."

She chuckles.

"Just checking, is all."

She sips her drink once more, watching the dancers.

He follows her gaze, smirks faintly, and looks back at her.

"After you're done your drink - care to dance?"

She downs the last of it.

"Why not?"

Normally, the reason 'why not' is that she can't dance.

Of course, she can. She loves to.

She's an elf, what did you expect?

She dances wild, though, dances somehow inhuman, too graceful, too liquid, to be real.

She grabs one of his hands, and to the dancefloor I believe they go.