Her life before immortality and the mingling of blessedness and cursedness came to her Molly was more than familiar with the capriciousness of the universe and its whims insofar as her encounters with the undead go.
Neither one of them knows the other one is here or is intending to be here. At least one of them has never bothered learning the discipline of Auspex and so cannot tell the presence or moods of the people in an area before he has entered the area. For whatever reason he has decided to enter the nightclub on East Colfax through the alleyway tonight.
He is a tall man fair of complexion and easy on the eyes. He has restrained his long hair at the nape of his neck and wears clothing one could consider appropriate to the venue. Banged-up boots and jeans and a black leather jacket overtop a white t-shirt. He wears a beard but it is trimmed and neat. Beneath the attire he exudes an air of menace. One can tell from looking at him he is a bruiser. That is all one can tell from looking at him.
Molly is going to take him by surprise.
Miss Molly
In an ordinary world cutting through an alleyway would only lead you to so much danger as a robbery or assault. The culprit would be an ordinary man, though, so nobody that Tam would have to worry about. This wasn't an ordinary world, though, thus evidenced by his very existance, so of course there were other beasts that may have had a similar idea and chosen to skulk in the alleyways between buildings-- the cracks of the city.
When he rounded the corner to the alley that would feed out into the parking lot of a particularly 'hot' night club, Tam would find a figure standing in the very center of it, facing away from him. The figure was human from what he could tell immediately, for it was shaped like one and stood on two legs. It was wearing a bulky gray sweatshirt with the hood up, dark gray, and a black skirt that dragged on the ground and was damp from melting snow up to the knees. Should be cold, but didn't seem to be bothered. Any number of layers could exist underneath.
Just as Tam would be surprised by the unexpected entity standing square in his path, Molly was taken by surprise as well. Her head jerked to the side at first, like she could glance over her shoulder but immediately remembered 'hey dummy you can't see through the side of a hood' and spun about in a swirl of skirts instead (small glimpses of black wide-legged pants to the ground beneath).
No words, not immediately. Just staring, face completely masked in the shadows created by the hood and the dark of winter's night.
Tam
Well shit.
The creature she turns to face stands over six feet tall in thick-soled boots and looks built as solid as the wall behind him. Eyes hard in the darkness and the face into which they are set is handsome but not kind. Rough. He looks as if he came from a life of hard labor and has been ill-suited to finery in this one.
Intelligence she can see even across distance and underneath a hood. Bruiser though he seems he isn't a dimwit.
He keeps his hands in the pockets of his jacket and does not press an approach for nearly stumbling into her.
"Just passing through, miss," he says. Dusty northern English dialect. He's been trying to get rid of it for centuries but hasn't ever had success. "Don't want trouble."
He isn't afraid of her. Wary sure but he isn't afraid. His pallor isn't natural and he isn't doing anything to mitigate it.
Miss Molly
Though it was difficult to tell any details about her appearance under the bulk and shadows of her clothing, Tam got the impression that the frame was at least sturdy if nothing more. Feminine, to be sure, by the cut of hip and breast alike. She was quick to move, but went click-click on the pavement with whatever weird shoes she must be wearing as she did.
"No...," she said slowly, and her voice wasn't exactly what one would expect to come out of the shadow within that hood. It should be cracked and raspy and dry, or wet with bronchitis from living out in the snow and winter without proper shelter as a homeless person lurking in this alley dressed that way should be. Instead, the voice was warm and intelligent and thoughtful and wondering. She sounded like she was considering him very carefully.
"Nobody ever wants trouble, do they?" She stepped out of the way. He'd observe that even her hands were hidden away, tucked into the pockets of the hoodie so nothing could meet the naked eye to betray her any further than how suspicious she was just on principle.
"Are you headed for the P.S. Lounge?" Under the hood, a head jerked to gesture further up the alley.
Tam
A t-shirt and jacket aren't exactly adequate protection against the elements out in the mountains but the cold doesn't appear to be bothering him. Neither does the incongruity between her appearance and her voice bother him. Not even a flicker as he absorbs this.
Timelessness brings with it its own sort of stillness. This creature is very old. She steps aside and he takes it as the invitation to pass that it is. Slow as he goes. Nothing besides nothing to take away from her appearance.
Are you headed for the P.S. Lounge?
Her head jerks. His eyes follow.
"It any good?"
Miss Molly
Though he couldn't see it, he heard the impression of a smile on the words that came from under the hood next. There was laughter there, flavoring the first couple of words that she spoke.
"No, it's fucking terrible."
She stood with her back only a foot or two away from the wall, elbows tucked in close and head down. A learned stance, one that wasn't comfortable or natural for her even still. Something she had to do when spotted but not at all how she'd been standing when he first walked up-- then she'd been standing straight with her shoulders set and chest out, like a predator surveying turf where some grassfeeder was known to graze. This cringing away from the eye thing only happened shen she'd registered that she'd been spotted.
"But the people there are stupid and easy to fool. So good luck with whatever advantages you're about to go try and take."
Tam
"Ah, that's no fun."
As if the advantage is something he prefers to conjure out of defeat and not take from the unsuspecting. If he put forth a bit of effort and appeared human long enough he would not have to try over-hard to look interest or lure dinner away from the rest of the herd. Skulking in the dark isn't his style.
"I think I'll go to Lost Lake instead. Haven't had hipster in a while." He starts to traverse the alleyway but stops when he's made an incomplete pass. Turns and puts his back streetside to face her again. "My partner and I opened a bookstore in the neighborhood, recently. Doppelganger, we're thinking of calling it. You want to let your hood down sometime, drop by. We're open late."
Miss Molly
"Well, good luck to you there as well."
Molly was willing to bid goodbye to this strange newcomer, and started to ease away from the wall when he suddenly turned back around to address her once more. It was an invitation to a bookshop. She was still in a way that said whatever reaction she had was on her face, hidden away. It was handy, not being able to be read like that.
What he didn't know was that her eyes were alight. A bookstore! With new books, that she would be able to go to herself and not send Jack to bring back from a list. If she wanted to let her hood down (no, she absolutely didn't), where it would be looser, less strict with how she had to behave and hide and...
"I'd like that," she said at last, and then took one hand from her pocket to raise it and bid farewell. The flesh of hand and wrist was pale as death washed with water would be, and the fingers were impossibly long and spindly, sharp-ended and dip-dyed pink.
"Take care."
Tam
As if he needed it spelled out for him that he is stepping away from a conversation with a Nosferatu the creature lifts her hand to wave farewell and reveals the grotesque thinness of the hand offering the gesture. Few in this city on either side of the mortal coil to whom she could wave and not horrify.
He does not react. Offers a touch of a smile pale as the skin and hair covering his own bones dusty as his accent but it's genuine. Brujah are not known for their social skills. A wonder he can smile out of anything out of mockery or anticipation.
"You as well, miss."
With that he bows his head. Not a full formal bow but near enough. If he wore a hat he might well tip it to her. No one wears hats or tips them in 2016. He straightens and in straightening turns his back to her and continues out into the lurid lights and midnight foot traffic of Colfax Avenue on a Saturday night.
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