Round About Town (open)

Some things never change. Take sex, for example. Humans always want it, crave it. And they'll do anything that they think they have to so that they can get it. Including going to places like this one. Where sex is what was sold, though no physical contact was usually made. It was here that she felt most at home. Not because of the sex, of course. Not because of the women, either. She barely even glanced at the dancers that gyrated against a cold, tubular piece of metal to the cheers of the crowd that fought to shove their hard-earned cash down the girl's pants. Or lack thereof, depending on the case. She didn't give a fuck about strippers or sex or even the drinking and smoking that always happened in a place like this.

The woman was looking for something else entirely. Part of her doubted that she would find what she was looking for in there. But at least she could say that she tried.

He hated places like this, hated the cheap booze, the tasteless women, the whole atmosphere. Normally he preferred his creature comforts and lately he preferred some degree of elegance. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that shit holes like this one had their uses, especially for a man in his line of work.

He walked in, dressed in black slacks and an untucked crimson button down, and immediately took a seat so as to be inconspicuous. He made sure his back was against the wall and not exposed and he made sure he could see all the exits from the room. There he waited for a waitress to come take his order as his eyes, more than his head, glanced about the room, taking note of the patrons.

The problem with being an outsider is that someone can always peg you for one. For one, the man was dressed entirely too well to be in a place like this. While still casual, it screamed of something else. Not necessarily money, but something else. Something that said he didn't often visit places like this.

The woman rose from her stool and sauntered over, then took the seat across from the man with the button-down shirt. She didn't ask. She just took a seat.

"Yo."

He quirked a brow, "Good evening," He enunciated clearly with that clear Northern English accent of his as a tiny smirk creases his visage and he held her gaze for a moment.

She couldn't help but smirk. It was the accent, which... well, an English accent always sounded pompous, no matter how you slice it. Or how cool you may or may not be. It didn't matter: you always sounded like an arrogant son of a bitch when you had one.

"You stick out like a sore thumb, babe."

Yes, she's just that blunt.

"If that's the worst thing I do in this dive, I'm sure I won't lose sleep over it."

He turned his head looking in the direction of a waitress and frowning as he said something under his breath.

She smirked and shook her head.

"What, are you going to start a barroom brawl up in here? Because this place? It could use some action."

"Not unless I have to. Besides, this is the devil I know. I know what happens if I start trouble in here. I like my head without the extra holes."

He paused for just a moment and said, "So are you sitting here for the small talk or to give me fashion advice?"

She outright laughed at that.

"I'm sitting here because you're the first halfway-interesting-looking person I've seen in this hellhole all night. But hey, I can always roam off if you want. I don't give a damn, I'm just a tourist here."

"Really, I'm boring. I read Charles Dickens for fun." he said it with a tone that said he might be serious.

She smirked.

"So? Fun or boring is entirely in a mindset. You may read Dickens for fun, but you're wearing a bold-colored shirt. Which says you're not half as boring as you think you are."

"All right, just don't say I didn't warn you."

"If you're bored, why not just leave? This place is a dive anyway. The gin isn't even that good."

She snorted quietly.

"I wouldn't brave trying to drink the swill in a place like this. Are you kidding? It's probably just barely a step above anti-freeze."

"And still probably safer than the stuff at libations of alexandria. I'm not entirely sure that place is additive free, if you catch my meaning."

She tilted her head and looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. She lifted one hand and pointed at her rather ample cleavage and said one word very firmly.

"Tourist."

She shook her head.

"What's the Libations of Alexandria and why would there be additives in it?"

"It's a bar run by a pair of snakes. You know like the one in the garden of Eden. 'first taste is on the house' and all that."

She tilted her head, the wobbled it a little bit.

"Well, if you accept who you are, I wouldn't say that's so bad. I mean, a little rude maybe, but still not so bad."

"Maybe. I'm personally still not a fan."

He paused for a moment, "So, tourist, you have a name, or should I just keep calling you tourist?"

She smirked.

"For some reason, it amuses me to have you keep calling me 'tourist'. And it's not like you've offered your name to me, clearly-not-a-tourist guy."

"Chase."

His smile was almost imperceptible, "your turn, tourist."

She grinned.

"Syeira."

"Such a pleasant sounding name. So what brings you to the retirement capitol of the States?" he asked.

"Someone pissed off Tinkerbell."

"And who might Tinkerbell be?"

She put her hands together to mimic wings and flying.

"Tinkerbell. Little fairy, hung out with Peter Pan all the time?"