Much like Gracin, Mio herself is a bit of an anomaly here in the Crowbar. Although she's dressed casually tonight (for her, anyway), there's something about her body language that exudes a sort of unconscious grace that sets her apart from the usual sorts of people that make up the Crowbar's clientele.
She's standing at the bar chatting with the bartender when Gracin comes up and places his order. Mio raises her eyebrows, impressed. "You've got some very expensive taste," she comments to him.
Wanderer. He could tell from the moment he looks at her, and there's little he can appreciate about her after that. However, he's not necessarily one to be rude ... much. He pastes on a thin smile, before turning to respond.
"I've always been taught that it's the quality that's important. Not the price. Besides, '62 was a fantastic year."
Ford is leaning against a building when the fire starts, typing furiously away at his BlackBerry. His suitcase is sitting between his feet and he's wearing the distinct expression of someone who should be somewhere important (home, in this case), but is instead dealing with an idiot.
He is not a man who can text and walk at the same time.
The sudden smell of smoke and burning flesh catches his attention and he looks up, blinking at the scene unfolding one block away.
And then he sees Paz.
That's as quick an explanation as he can ask for, really.
Be grateful she's not burning a human body, Ford. Otherwise, your night could have been much more complicated. Instead, it's a giant, dog looking monster -- a dog looking monster that was now burning and slowly descending into ash.
She does not see Ford, however. If she did, she would probably care even less than she did right now, but that's neither here nor there.
He waits until she's far enough away from the scene to not look suspicious, then dials 911 and reports the fire. Once that's done, he follows her, eventually catching up after a few long strides.
There is a sharp eyebrow raise at the voice, before turning to face him. She studies him carefully for a moment, trying to take him what this idiot in a suit wants with her before speaking, calm and clear.
His voice booms in that imposing, low sort of way from where he stands, leaning against a brick wall. His arms are folded across his chest, his wings tightly pulled in beneath his jacket.
"Now there's a face I wasn't expecting to see any time soon."
If there's a subtle edge to his voice, it's entirely deliberate. Paz Mendoza in Chicago cannot be a good thing.
No, Julian. Paz Mendoza in Chicago is never good for any reason at all, but you could at least be grateful that she's here for business and not for pleasure. When she hears the voice, however, there's something in her that straightens, and she laughs.
Laughing in the face of an archangel who could easily kill you probably isn't the wisest move to make, but in the case of this particular archangel, she knows him well enough to make an exception.
"Julian," she says with a grin as she turns to face him. "It's been a long time. I almost didn't recognize you."
"Paz," he greets, tipping his hat her way, and he gives no indication he's responding to the laughter either way--she always was a defiant one. A lot of promise, too. Pity she's a demon.
"It's the hair cut," he says flatly, eyes narrowing at the sight of that grin. Julian pushes himself off of the wall, striding over to her. The way he walks hasn't changed. He still moves with pride. With purpose, those he walks past left wondering if he'll smile at them or slit their throats instead.
"Now I know you're not here for some rest and relaxation, Chilena."
This is the dance they always do. She laughs in his face, and he tries to scold her for her shortcomings. When she's feeling masochistic, she could almost say that it is violently paternal.
But that's not a thought she entertains often.
"Does anyone come to Chicago for rest and relaxation?" she says softly, taking him in, but always on edge. "It's not exactly an ideal tourist attraction."
John lifts a brow imperceptibly when he sees Gracin step into the establishment. He's wondering why such a well-dressed man would choose this bar, but his curiosity is short-lived. Before Bela was his ward, she found her way over and she is just as refined as this man seems to be.
And that's a refined drink to ask for, as well. John wants to make sure they have it in stock before he promises he can deliver, nodding his head at the fellow angel in greeting.
"I'll see what I can do," he says in response to his order. "Anything else?"
"No, just the drink," he says evenly. To be honest, he has his doubts they even carried the whiskey, but still -- he felt it is always worth it to ask. "From what I've heard, the owner of this establishment has rather excellent taste. I'm sure it won't be hard to find."
"Seeing as how the owner is my brother, I can safely confirm that statement," John says before he moves away from the main bar area. When he returns it's with the Dalmore, his tone not so much even as neutral. John's not looking for trouble.
"Thank you," he says with a nod as he takes the glass from him. "I'll have to remember to recommend the excellent service the next time my friends are in town."
Right before Stefan can fully make his way out of the alleyway, a man is flung across the other side of it right, the man's back connecting to the wall with a loud crunch. Lena hasn't seen Stefan yet, so she makes her way over to her with demon speed and they wrestle against the concrete, the man landing a punch before Lena thrusts her boot into the man's jaw.
"Bitch," the man says, spitting out a tooth.
Lena scoffs. "Like I haven't heard that one before."
Sorry you get an unwanted front row seat to this spectacle, Stefan.
This spectacle is not entirely unwanted. Stefan can always appreciate a woman who can take care of herself. He pauses, leaning against the alley wall and just watching. He has a name to put on a wall, but he could wait until she's finished.
Besides -- he could use another vampire to hit the town with. He's starting to miss Rebekah.
"Demon bitch," the angel says, and after a few more minutes of going at each other, he ends up leaving. He knows the company Lena keeps, and no one likes pissing off Sonny past a certain degree.
Lena pushes the hair out of her face and turns, presumably to walk out of the alley, and finds Stefan leaning against the wall. "... Well if I'd known I'd had an audience, I would've put in more effort," she says, snatching the glove off of her hand. Her jaw's still slightly locked.
Demon? The word itself pings his interest. Some of his more interesting meals had been very forthcoming about what's wandering around in Chicago due to the Rifts, but he has yet to actually see any of it.
Then she sees him.
"Don't mind me. I just didn't want to interrupt." He gives her a bit of a smirk that if she's ever met Damon might be just a twinge familiar, but beyond that he gives nothing away. "That was a rather impressive display on your part, however."
Comments 46
She's standing at the bar chatting with the bartender when Gracin comes up and places his order. Mio raises her eyebrows, impressed. "You've got some very expensive taste," she comments to him.
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"I've always been taught that it's the quality that's important. Not the price. Besides, '62 was a fantastic year."
Reply
He is not a man who can text and walk at the same time.
The sudden smell of smoke and burning flesh catches his attention and he looks up, blinking at the scene unfolding one block away.
And then he sees Paz.
That's as quick an explanation as he can ask for, really.
Reply
She does not see Ford, however. If she did, she would probably care even less than she did right now, but that's neither here nor there.
Reply
He waits until she's far enough away from the scene to not look suspicious, then dials 911 and reports the fire. Once that's done, he follows her, eventually catching up after a few long strides.
Flatly: "You're welcome."
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"I don't recall thanking you."
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His voice booms in that imposing, low sort of way from where he stands, leaning against a brick wall. His arms are folded across his chest, his wings tightly pulled in beneath his jacket.
"Now there's a face I wasn't expecting to see any time soon."
If there's a subtle edge to his voice, it's entirely deliberate. Paz Mendoza in Chicago cannot be a good thing.
Reply
Laughing in the face of an archangel who could easily kill you probably isn't the wisest move to make, but in the case of this particular archangel, she knows him well enough to make an exception.
"Julian," she says with a grin as she turns to face him. "It's been a long time. I almost didn't recognize you."
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"It's the hair cut," he says flatly, eyes narrowing at the sight of that grin. Julian pushes himself off of the wall, striding over to her. The way he walks hasn't changed. He still moves with pride. With purpose, those he walks past left wondering if he'll smile at them or slit their throats instead.
"Now I know you're not here for some rest and relaxation, Chilena."
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But that's not a thought she entertains often.
"Does anyone come to Chicago for rest and relaxation?" she says softly, taking him in, but always on edge. "It's not exactly an ideal tourist attraction."
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And that's a refined drink to ask for, as well. John wants to make sure they have it in stock before he promises he can deliver, nodding his head at the fellow angel in greeting.
"I'll see what I can do," he says in response to his order. "Anything else?"
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"There you go."
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"Bitch," the man says, spitting out a tooth.
Lena scoffs. "Like I haven't heard that one before."
Sorry you get an unwanted front row seat to this spectacle, Stefan.
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Besides -- he could use another vampire to hit the town with. He's starting to miss Rebekah.
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Lena pushes the hair out of her face and turns, presumably to walk out of the alley, and finds Stefan leaning against the wall. "... Well if I'd known I'd had an audience, I would've put in more effort," she says, snatching the glove off of her hand. Her jaw's still slightly locked.
Chilvary's just dead these days.
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Then she sees him.
"Don't mind me. I just didn't want to interrupt." He gives her a bit of a smirk that if she's ever met Damon might be just a twinge familiar, but beyond that he gives nothing away. "That was a rather impressive display on your part, however."
Reply
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