Clarity leaned against the bar, she was drinking the cheapest beer she could order. It came in a slightly spotted glass, it must have been a local brand for didn't seem to come in a bottle.
She looked out of place in this dull and dusky tavern. Her long jacket had patches of many colours, her shirt underneath was a bright red. Her hair was wavy, dark and short. On her nose was a single bandage. If someone was to look at her they might have thought she was an artist, she wasn't. The only thing that placed her in this bar was her very demeaner. She didn't smile, she didn't make light conversation, and she drank and smoked like there was no tomorrow.
She scanned for a seat, she wanted to be in the darkest corner but it seemed that all the tables were cast with the same amount of light. She settled for the futherest table from the door. At least the waitress could still see her when she needed another drink. She drank slowly, pondering weather or not to light another cigarette.

The door opens again, this time to admit a tall young man. Even in the dusky light of the tavern, his skin is pale, almost white. His black clothing-- form-fitting but for the trenchcoat that swirls around his ankles-- blends into the smoky interior. His hair stands out like a beacon, like the flame atop a tallow candle-- amber-orange-red-gold, bright and catching what little light there is like polished copper. At first glance, his eyes are in shadow, though closer inspections reveals that he's wearing a pair of sunglasses-- why he would do so at night, and indoors no less, is a mystery.

Just inside the door, he pauses, glancing around for a seat.

There's something about the way he moves that puts most in mind of a predator on the prowl-- a jaguar stalking the jungle for prey.

And then... maybe there isn't.

Clarity watched the stranger with shifty eyes, ready to cast them down if he turned to look at her.

She grimaced, just another pretty boy, she wondered about his dark clothing and pale skin, he sure didn't look like a punk, usually they'd dye their hair black too. Maybe he was a flamboyant punk... she smirked at this and reached into her pocket, maybe another cigarette was needed afterall.

A jaguar on the prowl. A predator on the stalk.

The pale stranger moves across the room, his trenchcoat billowing around his legs, the cigarette smoke swirling around him, ephemeral fingers reaching up and around him, not disturbed by a single breath.

With a smirk, he takes a seat beside Clarity without so uch as a 'may I?'

He's always been a sucker for challenges.

Clarity glared at the stranger sitting across from her. She hoped that if she kept quiet long enough he would leave. No such luck.
She managed an annoyed "Hi..." as she stamped out her cigarette.

"Oh, don't quit on account of me."

The smirk is still lurking around the edges of his lips as he gestures at the cigarette.

"Force of habit..." She said taking a swig of her beer.

She contemplated the table and sighed, this guy is not leaving might as well talk to him. "I'm Clare... And your name is...?"

"Call me Nico." That much would do.

He reaches a white hand across the table.

"Nice to meet you." Clare said eyeing the outstretched hand suspiciously. She slowly reached over to shake it...

Nicodemus grasps Clare's hand briefly before pulling away. His touch is like a kiss of dry ice where one would be expecting warmth.

"A pleasure, Clare." He smiles, his teeth shining very, very white.

Clare took her hand back slowly and placed it in her other hand. "You've been working outside?" She said not expecting an answer.
She took another swig of her beer before realizing something. "You going to buy a drink or are you here for the charming company." She said with a grin. For some reason she was beginning to like this guy, she still remained stiff and ready to act if he tryed anything. There were no trustworthy men in this city, especially the pretty type.

Ignoring the question about working, Nicodemus smiles.

"Charming company all the way."

Clare raised her eyebrow. "Look, bud, if you're going to sit across from me in this nearly empty bar. And I'm assuming your here for some conversation. You may want to try... well... Conversing. Or are you waiting for my life story? Cause you ain't going to get it by staring at me, nor do I want to grunt at you all night."

Clare pulled out her box of cigarettes and noticed that there was only one left. Offers it to Nico.

Nicodemus waves a pale hand, declining. An obscure reference to a traditional vampire catchphrase comes to mind-- with 'suck' in the place of 'drink', and 'cigarettes' in the place of 'wine'-- but he dismisses it as being just a bit too dirty for first impressions.

"No thanks. A bit of a grumpy one, aren't you?"

"Short fuse." Clare said lighting up her cigarette.

"So... um..." She never was a good topic starter. "Come here often?" She winced even as she said it. She sends a pleading glance at Nico.

He smiles, adjusting his sunglasses to fit more firmly over his eyes.

"Here? no, not too often... you can find me in the Tequila or the White Mice, more often... do you know the places?"

"I've hear of them... never been inside though, I have this habit of hating crowds of people. Although I heard the Tequila was nice, I'd probably end up drinking and smoking anyway. I might end up going there... Someday."

Clare flicks the ashes of her cigarette into a cheap metalic ashtray.

"I was wondering... how can you see with those sunglasses on? The lights around here aren't worth shit."

The vampire shrugs.

"I have an eye condition. It makes me sensitive to light. The sunglasses just help to keep even these dim lights," he waves a hand around the room, "From causing pain."

"I see..." She didn't, she was never the brightest one in the class but hey an explaination was an explaination. She would have even believed him if he said he was nocturnal... whatever that word meant.
She sighed... twenty-two and still don't have a clue. Well at least she could pretend to sound smart.

"So... What brings you here instead of the clubs?"

Again, a shrug. "Variety." more truth in that than is evident. Different sorts come here than go to the clubs, after all.

"What bring you here?"

"Cheap booze... Never try the local stuff, it's crap." She took a swig of her beer and then grinned at the irony.

"You have to buy about eight of them to get hammered... And it tastes like watered down rubber. I won't even talk about the floating bits you get from time to time." She said watching to see if he was getting disgusted enough to leave.

Apparently not. Whatever he drinks must be really disgusting.

"If the beer's cheap, then isn't it cheap enough to get stuff a step up? Technically, a buck more for a beer and drunk in three glasses is a better value."

She looked at him uncomprehending. What the hell was he talking about? Math always made her head pound.

He watches her for a moment, then shakes his head. "Nevermind."

Pause.

Clare blushed, she hated when she didn't know what someone was talking about. She adverted her eyes and stared into her beer.

"So... Um... Do you live around here?" The conversation was getting pathetic, and she knew it. She looked at Nico, well at least he seemed more interesting than she was.

"Near the bar? In this neighbour hood? In the city? In the country?" he asks, questioning her definition of 'around here.'

"Fair enough... but I'm guessing you knew what I ment and just refuse to answer me. I don't really care anyways, just trying to be friendly like. Of course we could spend our time talking about minor things, like the weather?"
Clare leaned back in her seat and hooked her right arm over the back of her chair. Although she didn't like the short and sometimes complicated answers she was getting, it still felt nice to be sitting at a table with someone. Human contact was something she shyed away from since grade school.

Human contact... ironic.

With a smile, Nicodemus replies, "I live in the city. I've lived here for quite a few years."

Clare smiled. "I live in the city too, I lived here all my life. I don't even know anywhere outside of this place. Seems like I was destined to rot here."

She stopped to stare out into the bar, towards the door and neon signs.

"Destined to rot," Nicodemus muses. "A destiny that awaits us all... eventually."

Clare nodded. She looked back at her mug it was empty. She picked it up in disbelief and then shuffled her hand in her right pocket. She brought out a few coins... not enough. She sighed as she put them back into her pocket.

With a friendly smile to Clarity, Nicodemus raises a hand to signal a barmaid.

"On me," he assures the mortal.

Clarity grinned, it was the greatest thing anyone has ever done for her and she didn't even ask.

She started to feel more at ease with this guy and instead of leaning back on her chair she leaned forward closer to him. "Thanks bud, it means a lot."

She didn't want to spoil it so she ordered the cheap beer again.

Before the waitress can leave, Nicodemus bumps Clarity's order up to a slightly less dubious brand of beer. He doesn't order anything for himself.

Clare offers a warm smile to Nico. She was happy he had chosen to sit with her, she wondered if there was another place they could meet again.

"How often are you at the Tequila?"

"You're just asking because you're hoping for another free drink," he teases, brushing a few silky strands of orange-amber hair from his face.

"I don't go there on a schedule... a couple of times a week, I suppose." When he's hunting, but she doesn't need to know that. Besides, he does occasionally go there just for amusement.

Clare felt a stab of disappointment, she didn't want to hang around the Tequila every night just to look for him. She had just met him. Then again she didn't want to have leave a new friend... Friends are hard to come by when you're not sociable.

"Then... Could I have your phone number?"

"Always." Gesturing for her to give him her hand, he pulls a ballpoint pen from the depths of his trenchcoat somewhere.

Clare pushes a napkin in front of him instead.

"The back of my hand is not the safest place for ink, it usually gets washed off before I remember to write it down somewhere else."

He shrugs and accepts the napkin, scribbling down a number and, underneath, a name-- "Nicodemus."