It was Saturday night. That meant that, according to culture, it was time for partying. Which was exactly what Tasia intended on doing. Actually, scratch that – that’s what Tasia was doing.

The White Mice club was pumping with music, so loud and strong that it seemed to be the very thing that kept her heart beating. She didn’t care who was watching, she didn’t care what attention she got (okay, maybe she cared a little); she just felt like dancing. Hands above her head, her glowstick bracelets acting like beacons in the darkness, she swayed back and forth, laughing to herself and flinging her short hair around.

She was wearing black tonight, which would have been completely unrelieved if not for the cherry patterns that kept popping up. It was a definite change from what she usually wore. More conservative, by far.

Yes, even with her chest accentuated by that shirt, it was still more conservative than usual.

Tasia hadn’t wanted to give her grandparents heart attacks by showing up to their house for dinner with her cha-chas hanging out. She didn’t think they’d appreciate it. And she was sure that somewhere in her house, her yia yia had some extra clothing of the Sears variety. If she showed up for dinner wearing something too “indecent”, she’d be stripped of it, and they’d disappear into the land of the garbage back, never to be seen again.

She’d lost more underwear that way during high school. What was wrong with a black thong? Something, apparently, as she’d come home one day to find her collection of special underwear decidedly missing, with cheerful white cotton granny-panties waiting for her. It hadn’t gone over well.

The song slowly changed into another, but winded from dancing, Tasia made her way to the bar to order some obnoxiously coloured drink. She felt like getting wasted.

After all, what else was youth for?

Logan let out a rolling sigh as he tilted his mug taking another swallow of some imported swill with the nerve to call itself beer. Frowning for the umpteenth time at the brew the man set the mug down with another sigh as he ran big meaty hands through the short cropped nest of salt-n-pepper bristles on his skull as heavy eyes slid shut for a moment.

There weren’t enough hours in the day and Logan was tired. Or perhaps it was because there were too many hours in the day. Nothing seemed to make sense, just now. All around him the music thumped and boomed, pulsed and crackled in his skull. And for the life of him Logan couldn’t remember why he’d come here.

Why a rave club of all places, why not the bar with his favorite Budweiser and his favorite peanuts and…

Well because he didn’t want favorite just now, he wanted something different…he wanted life. The vulgarity of youth, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He wanted a crowd, a place to get lost. A place full of living breathing bodies after all for a long time now Frances (Frenchy if you were sorely looking for a butt kicking) Logan had been among the dead.

The Homicide Detective had been walking into crime scene after crime scene for years on end and after so long, so many shocks and chills all his night time hours had turned to nightmares littered with flesh and blood, with darkness and shadow.

Maybe he should talk to a counselor. Yeah, maybe he was in shock or maybe he should just stop thinking so damn much and drink his beer. That last sounded best and Logan swallowed the crappy beer, motioned the bartender for another and grumbled again as he once again fidgeted with his loose tie while trying to get long legs comfortable at a decidedly undersized bar.

When Tasia was in a club, she didn't walk. She sauntered, skipped, danced, but she did not walk. She was more addicted to the music than the booze. Normally, she couldn't sit still - add music, and she was a live wire.

Coming up to the bar, she hopped - that's right, hopped - onto a bar stool and drummed her fingers on the counter. See? Can't sit still. To all appearances, she looked like a three year old waiting to be told she was freed from 'time out'. Her impatient expression turned into a luminous smile when the bartender came to a stop in front of her, and asked what she wanted.

"Fuzzy navel," she said, grinning. How could you go wrong with vodka, peach schnapps and orange juice? You couldn't.

Tasia sipped at her drink as she looked around her, seeing mostly dark silhouettes of people her age - or around her age - throwing their bodies around in wild abandon. She couldn't disprove. It looked like all too much fun. Hadn't she been doing that only seconds ago? She had to have fun now, before that responsibility gland kicked in at the back of her brain, and she felt the need to get, oh, she didn't know, a steady job? A husband? Clean socks?

Yuck. Double yuck. No thank you.

Looking over, she saw someone who was decidedly not in his twenties. A small frown puckered at her brow, and she leaned her head on her hand for a moment, just looking at him. She did so unabashedly - pretty much like she did everything else.

Finally, she just rolled her eyes at herself and got up. She walked towards him, and plunkered down next to him. It didn't even occur to her to think that he might not want company - why would you come if not for company, of one kind or another? He certainly didn't look like the type to enjoy the music.

On that note, Tasia said:

"You certainly don't look like you're enjoying the music."

Logan sipped at his beer once again pondering how many times he would shoot the wiseass that had labeled this beer if he ever caught him in a dark ally. Crossing his legs and his arms, he quickly reminded himself that it was alcohol content, not taste that he was looking for. Well at least not tonight. Tonight he just needed movement, booze, to get more than a little tipsy, like drunk off his ass more. And after he stumbled home or the nearest gutter, whichever came first, perhaps then he could close his eyes and they’d be empty for once.

Taking in a slow breath, he laughed.

“Here’s hope’in.”

And he looked about once more simply taking in the presence of living, vibrant human beings. No matter the incessant noise, provocative posing, or well the all around stupidity of youth his eyes caught, still he did feel better. After all this was what life had become for kids in this day and age…this was life.

At the sound of a voice and far too close for his liking, Logan turned. His eyes didn’t exactly glare, but neither were they particularly friendly. The man had been thinking and a part of coming here had been getting away from what he knew, who he knew. All in all they’d thought it would mean being by himself. Still no matter how many years on the force he did have manners…even if they were a bit on the rusty side.

Looking at the speaker, Logan gave a none committal shrug with wide shoulders, his dark eyes having to work a bit harder to make her out in the uncertain light of the place and a decidedly monotone wardrobe on her behalf. It was dark, could have been navy, but in keeping with the trends, he guessed it was probably mostly black.

“What’s not to enjoy?” He asked; his voice a bit ironic despite himself.

Though he didn’t miss a beat in grumbling under his breath;

“Lovely, if not for the complete lack of rhythm, chorus, melody, and any and all sense of style or substance…”

What could he say, he was a music lover. Stuff had been better in his day, and that thought more than any other he’d ever had made him feel particularly old. That is if his dour grey(and currently sloppy) suit and tie hadn’t finished the job long ago.

Reaching for his mug again, he took another sip with a grimace, before fully regarding the young woman before him.

“So, something I can help you with, kid?”

If Tasia noticed that he was being a trifle abrupt with her, it didn't show. Her face was open, and, if not friendly, then at least polite. One finger curled a piece of orangey-red hair absently, even as she studied him. That's all it could be called - studying. She didn't seem to care if it made him uncomfortable or not. If he did, he could say so.

She would, after all.

She hadn't quite grasped the concept that not everyone was as open as her.

Shrugging, Tasia smiled. "Personally, I love it. It does have rhythm, if not anything else. Okay, there could be more singing - if it was good singing, I suppose." She shrugged again. "But then again, most people here are so boozed up or high that they need something loud and crazy to penetrate their skulls. Besides, you know, after a while, it all sounds the same. At least without the sad country songs, we don't have people blubbering on the bar, making a mess. Can you imagine having to clean up a puddle of tears every night? Eee-you." She got a mischievous look in her eyes. "That's why I'm not a bartender."

The nod she nodded was resolute.

When asked if there was anything he could do for her, Tasia leaned back in her chair and said, "Nope." She even popped the 'p'.

And that was that, for her part.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, but just slightly. And he found himself staring at the new arrival. He wasn’t comfortable enough with her presence to think companion, besides he couldn’t see himself exactly out on the dance floor or sharing much of anything at all with the “young people” here.

Young people, let’s hear it for being PC and all that sensitivity training crap that the office was always trying to push on cops, every single one of them were kids, they might be a little bit farther over the fence than the jr. high crowd, out of their dippers and complete with their ABCs, but just kids all of em’ and looking at this girl, Logan was pretty sure he wouldn’t have given her a drop of alcohol without a particularly convincing fake ID.

Giving a dismissive wave of his hand at imaginary music notes, Logan shrugged again.

“Whatever, to each his own…I guess.” He commented, before his look became a bit more considering of the girl.

Alright, that would have to be a damn fine fake ID. Maybe the boys in Columbia would have to be behind it. Best in the business, those Columbian drug lords. And yet as strange as it sounded, he couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s statement.

“You guys ever think, drug free is the way to be,” He rumbled with a baritone laugh. “After all that crap kills brain cells and some of the crew here could use the extra processing power.”

Logan managed to swallow down the last of his second beer then. And he glanced at the tender to make sure he was going to keep them coming. Then looking at the girl again he shrugged once again. Sometimes a shrug was all that most people got from him. But for some reason or another this girl had turned him into a Chatty Cathy and his expression was rocky even though it did manage to be a smile.

“Never much of a country man myself…” He simply commented. “And no, bartending wasn’t at the top of my list of things to do with my life, no. But if you don’t mind my asking, what do you do?”

And Logan had to look at the bar for a moment with the reply to his last question. He’d never heard someone pop the p in nope, well at least not this side of high school. It seemed this was his lucky night.

Had she heard his thoughts, Tasia would have said, Nuh-uh! I'm totally legal! Which she was. At twenty-four, she'd been legal for five years now. That didn't mean she hadn't gotten drunk before she was legal - she had, what with the teenage rebelliousness and all that - but now she could drink as much as she wanted, and if anyone got on her case, she could procure her birth certificate and tell them to shove it.

Eyes wide, she laughed, waving her hands in an expression of innocence. "Don't look at me! I'm not into that scene anymore. I was, once, what seems like forever ago. But my yia yia - my grandmother - got on my case, and threatened... well, threatened things straight out of those mobster movies if I didn't quit." She gave him a 'what can you do?' look. "I love my yia yia, and I knew that by hurting my brain - killing off brain cells I couldn't afford to kill off - I was hurting her. So, I stopped. I mean, it was a lot harder than that, but that's what it all boiled down to. Essentially."

She had made him laugh! Score one for Team Tasia!

She was such a people person. Even Mr. Grumpy-Pants couldn't deny her.

"I," said Tasia, summoning up all her dignity, "am a secretary." Looking at her with her oddly coloured hair, her pink lipstick, and her smattering of cherry patterns, it was somewhat hard to believe. As if she picked up on this - which she didn't - she added, "I have a degree from college and everything. It was my way of making amends to my yia yia."

Even though she loved her grandmother, she couldn't keep the slight look of distaste from crossing her face. It was only there a moment before it was replaced by her happy face once again, but in the second in had been there, it had been clearly visible.

For a moment Logan didn’t know what to say. After all he could have accused her of lying to him, poking fun and all, but he just couldn’t. As a cop you learn to read people, the big things and the small things, it’s the second one that always make more difference in the greater scheme of things and even in breaking people down to the bare components and while all of that stuff was helpful even now, even if the little miss didn’t know he was analyzing her behind a good glance of cop eyes, there is a time when you just know the truth. After all, that story was just too ridiculous not to be true.

Ridiculous and foolish in the way that real life tends to be. If this was the cop drama set, the young woman would have blamed her conversion on some deep sense of moral self or maybe just getting tired of it, maybe even some trauma or another. But in the real world explanations were always so much more ridiculous. Logan had seen people murder and hauled in the perpetrators kicking and screaming over the ridiculous. Ridiculous was life. A lot like strange and mind blowing. Heh, sometimes the detective wondered if he’d missed his true calling in life.

Maybe he could have been a philosopher, naw he enjoyed busting heads too much for that. Being a pig suited him just fine, some days better than others, but he would trade it for all the sweet dreams in Nod.

“No need to break out PhDs or anything on my account,” He said easily, perhaps a bit less hard than he’d managed before. Maybe she was getting to him, or maybe it was just the mention of the grandmother. Yeah even stone cold killers could have a spot for family, but this girl didn’t seem the type. After all he looked at her and wanted to get her a babysitter, not an eight by ten. But he just couldn’t help the repeat of his smile that came with the look of distaste that came over her face at the last.

“I believe you. And I’m glad. Haven’t met a secretary in a while, well at least not one that wasn't giving me the eye…” He said, sort of an apology for assuming she’d been using. “Also I guess I’m kind of glad, because I’m a cop.”

His smile turned slightly wolfish then.

“But hey, you’re not the only person in the world got issues with their job.”

There were times when people didn't believe her about her grandmother. It had happened more times than she could count on her fingers. After all, the general belief was that grandmothers were nice, and they baked you cookies and bought you ugly sweaters for Christmas. Well, Tasia's grandmother did all that, but she was also the sternest grandmother Tasia had ever met. She was halfway convinced that her grandmother had had some connection with the mafia. Especially after bringing up some of the threats she had. As Tasia's grandmother didn't watch The Sopranos, that left only one alternative.

She scoffed. "I wouldn't be able to go to school long enough to get a PhD. My degrees took me two years, and that was two years too many. I think I'd have killed myself if my yia yia had signed me up for med school. Not that I would have gotten in, of course - I'm not very school-y."

Tasia? A stone cold killer? The idea was laughable.

Unless we were talking about talking someone to death. That, she could probably do. Or annoy them to death, if they were one of those lonerish people that wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Like he'd been. Okay, maybe she'd swing them around to her side after awhile.

Tasia was made of win, so far as she was concerned.

Jaw dropping, she said, "Nuh-uh! I so wasn't giving you the eye! Or, if I was, it was a natural reaction and not my fault! But that doesn't mean I was!" She frowned at him in consternation, before her ears picked at the word 'cop'.

"Huh. So it probably wasn't a good idea telling you about my previous drug habit, huh? Ah well. Hey, tell me! What's it like being a cop? I couldn't do it - too small, too talkative - but tell me about it! Is it all guns and 'Make love to the wall, dirtbag!' or what?"

She paused for a second, and, in an afterthought said, "My name is Tasia Xanthopoulos, by the way. Just so you can do a criminal check on me later. I'm clean though, honest." Tasia held up two fingers.

For a long moment Logan was at a lost, this girl could talk. Wow, he was impressed. And he thought some of the guys at the precinct could be bad. Again, wow. After a moment though, basically enough time for his brain to catch up to his ears, Logan raised a single eyebrow, unlike the his head and his five-o-clock shadow his brows were lines of perfect darkness as black as ever and yet the gesture made the mix between confusion and annoyance rather plain.

“Make love to the wall, dirtbag?” Logan made the repeated words into a flabbergasted question even as he continued shaking his head in something akin to shame or perhaps it was simply a denial of the world at general that would make those words come out of a cop’s mouth, fictional or otherwise. “Where on earth do you kids get this stuff?” He grumbled then and let out a wry sigh.

Reaching for and taking a sip of his newly transplanted beer, Logan didn’t grimace this time. Yeah, maybe he was getting used to it or maybe he’d had enough that it’d stopped mattering. He hoped it was the second; after all he could use that as an excuse to himself later about this conversation. It was all the alcohol, yeah that sounded like a good plan.

Turning his attention back to the young woman then, Logan held up a hand, the universal gesture for wait a minute or at least he hoped it was universal. No telling with young people these days.

“Alright Tasia it’s nice of you to introduce yourself and all, me I'm Logan, Frances Logan, but first off, the justice system doesn’t work that way. If you had a drug problem, had being the operative word in that sentence it’s none of my business. Second, I can’t and don’t go around checking people for drugs or doing random background checks. That’s against the law.”

Then he smiled, he just couldn’t help it.

“Third, that is a hell of a last name you have there and I couldn’t spell it if I tried. Gotta be able to spell a name for a background check, oh and before I forget my last reason…I’m not on the narcotics team. I work homicide. You know; murders and the like and believe me the kind of stories I have aren’t exactly PG-13 so you might want to ask somebody else that question about being a cop.”

Logan took another swig of horrid beer then, he was starting to feel, well warm and numb. It seems the beers were catching up, thank god. Maybe he could actually sleep tonight.

One eyebrow was raised, and her mouth was quirked into a grin of amusement. Obviously, cops were nothing like they were on TV. Too bad, because that meant that Torchwood didn't exist either, and she could have used some alien-hunting-cops. Even if they were technically in Cardiff.

Her amusement turned into downright disbelief, but she struggled to try and keep it off her face. She failed, for the most part. "Do people who write television do any research? Like, I was watching this show, and this girl had "gotten her heart cut out" and this doctor just reaches into this cut in her chest and can tell. I was like, Hello! What about the ribs? but nobody would listen to me, and my papou got annoyed and said it was just TV." Tasia sniffed to show what she thought of that. And then...

If possible, he'd rendered her speechless.

Declare a national holiday! Get the TV crews in here!

"Murders?" she repeated, awe and disbelief warring in her voice. Her nose wrinkled. "Ew. Well, good for you, but, you know, not really my kind of thing. I just file, uh, files, and take occasional photos." She thought for a second. "But you help people, right? That's good, right?"

She'd always had a million questions she'd thought of asking if she ever met a cop. Now, she couldn't think of any that wouldn't seem rude, or make her look like an idiot. So, for once, she said nothing on the subject instead.


((OOC: Actual complaint of mine about a show. My grandfather had that actual reaction.))

((OOC: Happens to me all the time. Like when I point out that the guy jumping out of the plane and/or helicopter in a movie wouldn’t have survived because surface tension makes water as hard as concrete moving at such a high rate of speed…my dad tells me, “It’s just a movie.”))

“Probably not.” Logan answered, shooting the young woman a shrewd glance. “After all if they did, well let’s just say I’ve got a full department of trained marksmen and we wouldn’t have let the guy that came up with ‘make love to the wall dirtbag’ three feet. Sure it’s police brutality and all, but some stuff just can’t be tolerated. Besides the law enforcement community as a whole would thank us…”

He gave a dark spirited little chuckle then with an equally dark little smirk.

“All in all though, I’d agree with your Grandfather, just innocent mind numbing television. Either let it go or pick up a book.”

Personally Logan would recommend the second, a good book had helped him get to bed more times than he could remember, well a good book and maybe a very good fifth of Jack Daniels. That thought of course was interrupted as he watched the girl’s sudden and almost instant reaction.

It was true, silence is golden. And yet Logan couldn’t help but reply as he nodded to the reiterated word.

“Yep. Murder.” He gave her a sidelong glance then. “Not most people’s cup of tea, all in all. But yeah, I guess I do help people. And that’s always good, especially if as a cop you’re good at what you do.”

There was something far away and wistful in those last few words, something similar in the man’s eyes. It took a moment then, but after a while it was finally covered up with stony indifference and the big man gave a massive shrug of thick shoulders.

“To each his own, kid. You learn in life to each his own. That’s the magic formula for living…I ain’t you and you ain’t me. Being a cop don’t make me any better or I guess any worst.”

Tasia fiddled with her drink, leaning her elbows on the bar. She regarded the man next to her with one raised eyebrow. "That sounds like a dystopian novel." Realizing what she'd said, her mouth formed a little 'o' although her eyes were laughing. "Would you look at that? I actually have knowledge! Of books! The Matrix hasn't completely sucked out my soul yet. Who would have thought?"

Ah, pop culture. How does Tasia love thee? Let her count the ways.

One - you have a reference for every occasion!

Two - well, you get the idea.

"And are you good at what you do? Is it your cup of tea? Or would you, in the grand scheme of things, prefer to drink coffee instead?" It was intrusive, and she knew it, but if he didn't want to answer - he was a cop! They could be brusque, couldn't they? Good cop, bad cop? All he had to do was say Mind your own business you weirdo and she'd leave.

Or, well, accidentally knee him in a rather unfriendly place and then leave.

But he was a cop...

She'd think of something.

"I should say you're not me. We're not exactly the Bobbsey Twins, are we?" Tasia gestured between the two of them.

Hee. The Bobbsey Twins.

((Hope you don’t mind me joining.))



Crista was standing in the middle of the crowd, a cigarette between her fingers and her eyes closed as her hips swayed to the beat of the music. The White Mice was one of her favourite party spots, and tonight was just one of those nights. Work had been insane for the past week, they had a layout that needed to be completed by Tuesday morning, and it was nowhere near ready. Her boss had chewed her a new one that morning, and she needed to release the tension. Unlike former days when she’d pull out the bottle of tequila from her drawer, Crista had learned to separate her party life from business. She was trying to change, she really was but it wasn’t easy, she often had to remind herself to take a step back and breathe.

She took a drag on her cigarette filling her lungs with the addictive smoke before exhaling it in one smooth cloud moments later. This was her thing, her weakness…music. Photography and painting did the same thing for her, but solitude and a canvas wasn’t what she needed, she needed other people, bodies moving, music blaring and a drink in her hand. Speaking of drinks, she needed one. Her eyes opened slowly…the bar.

She weaved her way through the clustered writhing bodies but didn’t make the bar before a hand tapped her shoulder and she was faced with a pretty blonde. “Lexie,” she said smiling as she gave her friend a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming in here,” she shouted over the music. “I didn’t plan to, but when I called your place to see if you wanted to catch a movie and I got no answer I figured you were here.” Crista smiled, two deep dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Yeah, I need to expunge work from my system,” she replied with a hint of her Italian roots seeping through her words. “Love your outfit,” Lexie added recognizing the black halter and mini skirt from the store they’d been in the week before. “Yeah, I had to get it.” Crista’s eyes once again drifted towards the bar, “I was just about to get a drink, do you want anything?” she asked. Lexie wasn’t much of a drinker, an odd thing for someone who spent as much time in the club as Crista. She politely refused and Crista gave her a quick “we’ll meet up later” before once again returning to her swim through the crowd.

She leaned on the bar, elbow against the surface that was spotted with rings of water from glasses which were now long gone. She took another drag on her cigarette as she waited to be noticed. As she waited the song changed to one of her favourites and she started preoccupying herself with a dance. Not only did it keep her distracted but it also worked to gain attention. It worked. The bartender drifted over in her direction moments later with a smile on his face and a ‘what can I do you for?’ on his lips. She ordered a screwdriver and then returned to dancing while she waited.

She was getting into the beat when she stepped back and collided with someone, a common occurrence in a club. “Hey, sorry about that,” she apologized quickly.

“It’ll get there.” Logan replied just as quickly to “The Matrix” comment. “If not The Matrix, well life can do the trick too.”

Big hands wrapped about the mug the man had been taking occasional swallows from, or rather one wrapped around, the other wrapped around that. And that position Logan’s head drooped just a bit as he let out a tired sigh. Yeah, definitely he was getting old. If not of body, then of spirit but then that didn’t stop him from shooting Tasia a wolfish grin.

“That was pretty impressive and philosophical though; especially from someone on the not so school-y side.” That last joke took a lot, if only because Logan believed there was a very real chance that his tongue might spontaneously combust at the utterance “school-y”.

Afterward he took another swallow of his beer, the last swallow actually as he decided to empty the mug and to actually let it stay empty this time as he motioned that he’d had enough when the idea of a refill just kind of lost its appeal. Logan was far from glossy eyed, he was too good or depending on your point of view of, bad, a drinker for just that to get to him but it had done its job, taken the edge off. Dulled razor edged memories to blurred lines in his head and so when his head finally hit a pillow, the nightmares wouldn’t come.

Of course Tasia’s voice cut directly through any buzz he might have and again he gave the girl a sidelong glance. This time, raising any eyebrow of his own in the process.

“Either I’m incredibly drunk, or…” He sighed. “Let’s just say I’m incredibly drunk. After all I’d rather not think that a young girl has become my physiatrist at the bar of a rave dive…don’t think I could live with that one otherwise.”

Crossing long legs and working futilely to get them comfortable before the bar, Frances let out a slow yawn and then shrugged.

“I guess I am.” He replied then. “Heh, at least I hope I am. They don’t exactly give report cards in my line of work, but I’ll be damned if I let the bastards I go after run around scot-free. Like I said before, there is nothing good and sweet about my job. I go after murders. What I see all the time is the stuff they cram into horror movies for your generation these days. Only I don’t get to close my eyes and I don’t get to know that underneath it all, it’s just fake, red dyed corn syrup or whatever they used these days.”

Logan then sighed. He hadn’t meant to go making speeches, heck he’d just wanted a drink and some alone time. And yet then again he was alone all the time these days wasn’t he.

And perhaps the next was just what he needed. It made him smile even as he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“You know what; I take back what I said. Socrates you are not.”

He still couldn’t help the grin, even as he suddenly felt someone slam into his back. Maybe slam wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t even much of a collision, at least not for him. Not enough body weight behind it to be anything more that a bump and yet Logan turned looking over his shoulder at the young woman that even then apologized.

“No problem.” He said easily, even if the voice was a little gruff. “You all right, everything where it was?”

Another joke, man he was certainly turning into the social butterfly tonight. Yeah, riiight.

The guy she’d run into seemed hardly phased by her bumping into him, which was a good thing. She’d made a quick apology to avoid conflict if he was one of those types who got drunk at the bar and suddenly needed to prove himself to the world. She wasn’t in the mood for one of those tonight, she just wanted to unwind and have some fun not have to tell someone off.

She looked herself over casually, “Yeah seems to be,” she replied as the bartender returned with her drink. She flashed him a smile and then took the glass and put it to her lips. It hit the spot, the mixture of sweet orange juice and the subtle kick of the vodka…perfect. She downed it in one go, much to the surprise of the bartender. “Another,” she said pushing the glass across to him. No, she didn’t have an alcohol problem; she just liked to drink to get loose. She was nothing like her mother, who’d spend days on the couch in a drunken stupor not even aware of the day or month. She didn’t have a problem.

“You sure I didn’t get you anywhere?” she continued. Noticing the woman with him across from him she smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgement. Her second drink was before moments later and she thanked the guy once again and handed him some cash. “Hard day?” he asked, knowing Crista by sight but not by name, she did spend a lot of time in there. “Yeah, but that’s an understatement,” she said with an expression of exasperation. “Thanks,” she said pointing to the glass with a finger. Her cigarette returned to her lips momentarily.

She glanced beside her trying to make sure her hip didn’t play tag with the back of the guy beside her as she once again returned to the music. Her tongue played with her lip momentarily before she flashed a smile to the guy she’d bumped into and his company and headed back to the dance floor with drink in hand. She found herself a spot and continued the dance which had spilled into her walk across the floor. This was going to be a good night, no worries, no problems only fun.

Tasia's drink stopped halfway to her lips, and she shot a halfway annoyed look at the man next to her. "Well, that's a wonderful boost of confidence you just gave me. Should I go get barcodes tattooed all over my body so I can just get it over with?" Raising her voice slightly, she yelled, "Power to the technological age!" A few people looked over, but she sent a not-so-impressed look at Frances, only temptered by the fact that the corner of her mouth was determinedly trying to turn up.

She drew herself up. She wished she'd worn her tie - even if the leopard print would have clashed horribly with her cherries.

"I think I should be offended," she commented offhandedly, swiveling around in her seat to lean her elbows on the counter and rest her back. "After all, I have expertise in offering advice. It might be my own special Tasia Xanthopoulos© brand, but that doesn't mean it won't help. I mean, you have no idea how immature some of these people I work for are. They have self-esteem issues coming out her ears." She made a gesture with her hands that made it look like fountains were spurting out from her ears.

Tasia nodded like she knew what he was talking about. She had an idea, but that was about it.

"Well, they should! Give report cards I mean. Billy, you were a bit too rough this term or Jane, you ate too many donuts. You know, some indication of the kind of job their doing." Tasia shuddered. "And here I always thought horror films were sort of lame." She was a bit green around the gills.

Wouldn't it be cool to have gills?

Her eyebrows were raised as she watched the girl - woman? - bump into her partner here. Haha, partner! Tasia Xanthopoulos, P.I. She could be like Angel, except, you know, not a vampire.

Or Irish.

When the girl left, a very amuse smile was playing across Tasia's lips. Looking up at the ceiling, grinning for all she was worth, she said in sing-song, "I think someone might have been interested." Her eyes slid to the side. "You should ask her to dance or something!"

Tasia Xanthopoulos, matchmaker extraordinaire!

Her head and her hips moved together as she lost all control of her body to the music. She raised the screwdriver to her lips taking a sip then following it with her cigarette. Dark hair danced around her head and shoulders with each movement of her body as the hem of her skirt flitted over her legs. Her work clothes were so binding compared to her party clothes, and if she had a choice she would wear her party clothes all day long, or better yet less.

Crista was a type of female who spent the day in a panty and vest or just a robe. Clothes just got on her nerves sometimes. Needless to say she wasn’t shy or bashful about her body.

As the music continued her mind drifted back to a time, a time that seemed so long ago, when she was still in Siena, partying the night away and waking up at someone’s house the next morning. She remembered Paulo and Robert, Carla and Michaela, the inseparable five they used to be. They drank together, went to school together, partied together and dated each other on occasion. No she never dabbled with girls, but she had done her turn with Paulo and Roberto, Paulo twice. It was not always a good idea to date your friends and she’d learn that from them.

Friends. The word seemed almost foreign now. She didn’t really have any in Demaitre, at least not the type she used to have. People didn’t know her, they knew who she let them see, which was what she wanted. She wanted to put the past behind her and try for something new here, but that meant leaving a gap in her life, the gap that made her who she was. Did it stop her from remembering? No. did it change what she’d done? Definitely not. Did it make her wish she’d been different? Sometimes it did.

She downed her drink and set the glass aside somewhere. Let’s not think.

Her arms raised above her head and she continued to dance.

For a long moment Logan could only glare. He looked at Tasia, not sure of the first thing he should tackle in that long line of tops that she’d just ranted and yet Logan knew exactly the one he didn’t want to tackle and it was perhaps that one more than any other that pulled a glare from him. And yet, maybe he should blame to alcohol for what came out of his lips next.

“You’re imagining things…” He said before he could stop himself. Logan really wanted to change the subject now, he didn’t want advice. Even the special Tasia Xanthopoulos© brand, actually especially the special Tasia Xanthopulos© brand. Logan so didn’t want to talk about his love life or the lack there of. Two ex-wives were more than enough for a man’s nerves, let alone, well the impossible. I-m-pos-sible!

“That girl was what, half my age, heck probably less. I’m a lot of things, but a cradle robber I’m not.” The man grumbled looking his unlikely acquaintance square in the eye, then just like that he moved fast to change the subject.

“Did you just make a reference to cops and doughnuts?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “That bit’s older than I am. I think if either of us should be offended…”

Logan stopped there, only because all he’d just said hadn’t been much of anything, smoke screen, classic and simple. He really didn’t want a match maker, about as much as he wanted a kid to confess his life to or to shout out random sci-fi references that got everyone looking in their general direction. Yeah, well it was pretty safe to say that Frances Logan didn’t get much of what he wanted these days.

In the face of a glare, other people might have glowered. They might have cowered. They might have walked away. Tasia beamed. Because she was resilient like that.

Or maybe she was just slow. Who knows?

"Oh really?" she said, drawing out the 'reeaall'. She shrugged, mostly to herself, as she finished her drink and nodded out to the dancefloor. "I don't think so. I mean, it's a possibility - the sun exploding and everyone dying tomorrow is a possibility - but I don't think so."

It's a good thing he didn't mention the ex-wives. Tasia would have brought up the whole 'commitment issues' deal.

Commitment issues. Tasia knew them well. She'd never committed to anyone in her life.

Except the Arctic Monkeys, those lovely, lovely British boys. (Pop culture - or, in this case, punk culture - Whee!)

To his statement about age, Tasia could only reply, "So? Nobody cares about that anymore. Actually, people haven't cared about that, like, ever. Did you know that the richest man on the Titanic had a wife that was like, twenty-five years younger? So you can't blame it on you being from a different generation or something. I won't buy it."

Fear her. She has the power of random trivia. Completely useless in... well, pretty much every occasion, but it made for lively conversation, didn't it?

"Cops and donuts go together like Ben and Jerry's, don't they?" Tasia laughed, gesturing for another drink. "Please!" she sang out to the bartender, who rolled his eyes. She looked back at Frances. "At least, you know, that's the popular cliché. Besides, it was only an example."

Everything Tasia knew about cops came from television. She had a crush on that Greg guy from CSI.

Logan gave a stuffy smile, a smile only because he couldn’t bring himself to completely batten down the hatches on ye old Ben & Jerry’s comment. And for some reason that even he couldn’t explain, that was funny. God- he must be-no had to be really drunk already. Why else would he be going all stoolpigeon on most of the private facets of his life?

Ah, and yet even if he knew he was drunk and blabbing, or God in heaven forbid, simply blabbing. Still knowledge of what he was doing didn’t seem to help matters at all, if anything it just made him keep on talking.

Sighing, he said. “I still think you’re imagining things. One too many romance novels comes to mind…”

He laughed.

“Or maybe misreading signals or something, though I thought that was supposed to just be us fellas. Anyway,”

And he accented the last word with a shrug.

“This isn’t the Titanic, and if we want to use history as an example. Heck, men once upon a time were into having multiple wives…you see we can learn from our mistakes... And a bad idea is a bad idea, no matter how many people go for it.”

Alright he realize polygamy wasn’t exactly a great argument, but then again he also did have two ex-wives. That right there was enough to swear a man off of relationships and it made Logan cold to think about what life would have been like had those two disasters happened at once.

So maybe yeah he did have commitment issues, maybe so far that it even extended to the concept of committing to relationships. After all sometimes it was better to not even bother, to be alone and be happy alone.

“You know the whole donut example was still a social groups stereotype though…right?” He said, again trying his best to steer the conversation away to elsewhere, elsewhere was good, especially when it came to him and relationships.

A look of absolute horror crawled onto Tasia's face. She looked like she'd just seen him throw a puppy at the wall. Even her hair seemed to go limp. "You are joking, right?" she said, faintly. "Romance novels? Moi? I don't think so!" Her voice seemed to come back. "I mean, ew much? They're all, I love you darling, kiss me, and Oh Earnest Theobald Hemingway the Third, I love you too! No way would I be caught dead reading that stuff. I prefer Chuck Palahniuk, thanks." She sniffed, incensed.

Her drink was put down in front of her, and she went to take a drink. But she didn't. She stopped just before the first sip, and raised her eyebrow at him.

"I never read signals wrong," she announced, finally taking a sip.

Except on Tuesdays. Tuesdays were evil. Joss Whedon knew it. That's why apocolypses always happened on Tuesdays in Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.

Tasia shrugged back at him. "Yeah, and Egyptian Royalty married brother to sister. They also had a really long existence. Like, four thousand years or something." She grinned at him as if to say, See? I know stuff.

Logan was right, polygamy wasn't a very good argument, but Tasia wasn't about to point that out. She didn't want to hurt his feelings.

To his 'social stereotypes' comment, she nodded. "Yup. Sorry?" She didn't look particularly sorry. "But, I mean, it happens - which isn't to say it's a good thing. Just 'cause people do things, doesn't make them right, but hey. It's a part of a culture. A culture of Coca-Cola, but culture nevertheless. Look at me though. I get classified a certain way because of how I look. Doesn't bother me."

Mainly? 'Cause although she was small, Tasia was vicious. You say the wrong thing, and you're liable to get a year full of wet-willies.

Logan’s grin was wry then, sharp some would say and yet it was definitely teasing.

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much…” He said smile threatening to shatter with the amusement that danced openly in his dark tinted eyes. “I mean after all if you’ve never read one, where did Earnest Theobald Hemingway come from…you know that wouldn’t have been my first name selection for any book character…let alone if I was just joking.”

He laughed finally then, a little chuckle that was a slip so much as an accent to the statement before he continued.

“Either you are the strangest person I know, or well, I guess I already said my other theory in not so many words huh?”

Logan was really just teasing her, had gotten quite the laugh from her first response, and lets face it he was sitting at a bar getting advice on his love life or albeit lack there of from a complete stranger, so there was also the very good chance that he was more than a little drunk. All of that probably at least entitled him to a little laugh, right?

Besides, Logan really didn’t want to talk about this. He well he wasn’t looking for anyone. Maybe he was a little lonely, but you know what, he was happy with lonely. Lonely was better than fighting night after night. Lonely was better than coming home to an empty bed at two in the morning which was “early” for him and wondering why it was empty when it shouldn’t have been. Damn it lonely was better than all of the drama, the posturing, and pettiness that sometimes came with relationships. Sometimes it was just better to be alone.

At her next statement Logan rolled his eyes.

“Sure, like you were so mystically in tuned to my signals earlier when we met…”

Ok, the comment was a little snarky, meaner sounding than he wanted, but that didn’t make it any less true. After all he’d wanted her to get loss and yet even as he thought about it he had to wonder at his own sincerity, after all if he wanted her gone so much, why was he still talking? Still listening? If Logan wanted to be alone-alone, it wasn’t so hard a thing to accomplish, he could just leave. And yet he didn’t.

He smiled back at her then adding it with her grin.

“I’m impressed.” He commented, not so mean as before, actually teasing just a little bit.

At her apology though, he just shook his head and smile again.

“Sure,” He said with a shrug. Then his reply was casual. “That’s the thing bout cultures though, they come in all makes and models, heck societal values don’t even always match up between individuals. Like for example you and me, technically members of the same society, but we see things differently and that’s all I’m saying. To me it’s a bit wrong, no matter what anyone else or any other culture thinks…”

He laughed again then.

“Besides I’m too old for you young girls.” He said simply, a statement of fact. “What your generation and all the newer ones go for…well that just isn’t me. I’m an old dog set in his ways. And nothings gonna change that.”

As much as Logan hated to admit all of that, it was true. The world never stopped revolving, but not everyone wanted to wanted to stay with the ride. Personally he liked to work with things as they came, he could prepare for the future, but he liked it much less than the old familiar right here and now.

Tasia's mouth flopped open and shut like a fish's. It was obvious that she was trying to formulate some sort of reply, and failing horribly. For a moment, she decided simply to glare at him in annoyance. Only for a moment though, because her good humour quickly returned with the explination of the name.

"That was the name of a kid in my sixth grade class, to be honest. What his family was thinking, I have no idea, but I had a best friend - Bethany - who thought it would be a wonderful name for a prince. She couldn't wait for him to grow up, to see how handsome he would be." Tasia snickered unabashedly. "Unfortunately, she didn't have to wait long. I really hate to say it" - and it seemed like it - "but that kid was one of the least attractive people I've ever seen. Sweet, though."

Instead of taking offence for the second time, she merely smiled at him. No, he didn't have to say it out loud.

Why? Because she probably was the strangest person he'd ever met. Booyah.

"I don't miss anything," she said, although this too was a bit of a lie. "I just choose to see beyond the surface. I'm like a psychic, only without the psychic part, and without the beads, spirit guides and what-have-yous."

Have we mentioned her knowledge of useless things? Yeah.

She shrugged. "I'd like to say that you're as old as you feel, but I'm thinking you wouldn't buy that. I'm not sure even I buy that. Some people are just old." Her face turned to him with a semi-sheepish look. "Not you, but like, my mom? She's so old, and he's only forty-nine. I swear, next time I go home, there's going to be tea-cosies over everything, and just... You'd think that she were my grandmother, and my grandparents were my parents." A grin touched her face. "You want to know about being young at heart? That's my grandparents."

She might be a bit out-there, but it was clear she loved her grandparents, at least.

Logan shook his head. Maybe he should have known there was a story behind the name, heck there's a story behind most things, but then again he was just learning to quite while he was ahead or maybe that was behind with this girl, to tell the truth he wasn't really sure, which was sad really when having a battle of wits with a girl half his age.

Eh, but he took the story with a nod and a grin. He just couldn’t help that last part. After all he’d never actually heard someone refered to as one of the least attractive people someone had ever seen. He’d expected a simple ‘ugly’ at least from someone Tasia’s age or whatever it was that kids were saying these days. At any rate he hadn’t expected political correctness at the very least and for some reason that he couldn’t completely fathom that was funny to him.

And perhaps it did mark her as one of the strangest people he’d ever met…

He laughed then as she continued, comparing herself to a psychic. And he kept on laughing until he was able to take one big swallow of air and compose himself enough to shrug it off.

“I’ve worked with psychics in the past…and I’d say that’s exactly how it works.” He smiled brightly then. “Heh, not the beads, spirit guides, or any of the mumbo jumbo, but that’s exactly what they do. Don’t get me wrong, they ham it up with the ‘I have powers’ stick, but that’s exactly what they do, they see stuff that we miss or at least that’s how an old friend of mine told me he does it…”

Logan feel silent then, at first he was ready to laugh. Being as old as you feel, right…that one was older than he was. But listening to all Tasia had to say, well he still felt like laughing, but instead he shrugged.

“Hey, maybe you’re right kid, but young at heart or no, sometimes as an old dog you just have to realize that you’re not young any more or you start making a complete and total jackass out of yourself. I didn’t like being stupid back when I was young and stupid, so all I can say is that I’m not gonna start now…”

He smiled.

“Besides your grandparents got each other, they’re lucky, and you too rather you know it or not.”