[Meara] Tea Leaf

[Bjorn]

It was incomprehensible to Bjorn that anyone live within the inhospitable bounds of the quarantine zone. What with its decaying undead population of a few dozen at any given time, and the increasingly frequent military sweeps, it sure made for an unpleasant place to come home to. One day he’d understand the existence of the Corvidae Flats, until then, he pushed the thought out of his mind as soon as he stepped away from the portal that had led him here.

The lobby looked far better than it should considering the scenes it served as stage to. Death was a recurrent theme in this place. It wasn’t curiosity that lured him here today (he’d spent enough time here already to last a lifetime), but a particular being that held promise an item he required. There was no certainty that he’d find what he was after, but it was the best (and easiest) lead he had. If he wasn’t successful, then all it took was a few portals and steps to get him back to the Den. No time would be wasted.

Sidestepping the piano, Bjorn found a trail of blood that caught his attention. How this place wasn’t painted in blood was beyond his understanding considering the amount of confrontations this lobby had seen over time. Crouching, he pressed two fingers into the rug to test its freshness. It wasn’t as easy to identify as he’d have liked, and it’d be far too easy if it was the blood he was after. As if on queue, he reached into his leather satchel to feel for the empty vial he’d brought with him.

09.19.16 Meara tried to steal from you, and you caught them!

Wearing
Satchel

[Meara]

Meara had taken a break from killing zombies in the quarantine zone and was laying on one of the couches in the lobby of Corvidae Flats. She was piddling around on her tablet, flipping around through some digital sheet music she had ordered. She was trying to decide what she was going to start rehearsing when she got home. She hummed through the melodies, trying to see what was calling her when she noticed movement to her left.

There was a man bent over a little ways past the piano, seeming to be inspecting the floor. Meara thought this was a little odd, as there was no way anything good could be in these blood soaked, zombie brains addled floors. People often said Meara had the grace of a cat when she danced, but she also had the personality of one too. She was constantly curious, leading to an often insatiable wanderlust so she could explore more of the world, cultures, and people. So now, Meara was curious to see what the man saw so interesting.

Her hand placed her tablet in her back pack before she pried herself out of the comfy couch cushions. She padded over slowly, the plush carpets masking her footsteps. As his back was turned, she noticed that his satchel was left open, leading to her sire’s words about pick-pocketing to ring in her head. She gave a shrug and leaned over to slip her fingers in and out of the satchel, pulling what appeared to be a coupon card out. Meara quickly straightened and started to think up an excuse for if he called her to question.

[Wearing]

[Bjorn]

Do you have any idea what you’re doing?

No, I don’t, the same voice answered. Yet, he retrieved the empty flask and held it at the ready. You gonna throw that at it and hope for the best? his consciousness mocked. Should he come across the creature he was after, the glass vial would be useless in the confrontation. Opposite his satchel, pressed to the crease of thigh and hip, the holstered gun promised far better results.

The hairs at his nape stood.

In one fell swoop, Bjorn dropped the flask to the bloodstained carpet. He reached for his handgun with an economy of movement and the speed of someone who’d clearly done this many, many times before. Practiced fingers found the safety in a matter of microseconds, the barrel pointed at whoever had crept up on him. The distance between them and the length of his arm were at odds, forcing him to turn on his knee for a more advantageous position as he came face-to-face with the culprit. He didn’t rise.


“What the **** are you doing?”

The telltale click of the safety disengaging accompanied his words.

[Meara]

Meara had expected the man to turn and glare at her.She was going to hand him the card back and explain it was in the process of falling out of his little bag. However she didn't get that opportunity. Within seconds, the redhead was staring down the barrel of a pistol that was pointed directly at her face. Before Harper Rock, Meara had never seen a gun up close. Now in a matter of weeks she had learned to use one, butt hat didn't mean she had to like it - she preferred less violent means of action. In a way her nativity handicapped Meara in her new life as she was very poorly informed about the underbelly of the city and now she was deep in the thick of it.

A surprised shriek escaped from the redhead as she brought her hands up to cover her head, like that might protect her from a gun. The little card in her fingers fluttered down to the ground, landing in between them on the dirty carpet. Blue eyes squeezed shut as she prepared for the inevitable gunshot going off. She didn't dare open her eyes before she stammered a short statement out.

"Sssorry, sir! The card was falling out of your bag and I was going to give it to you so it wouldn't be lost." The words came out so fast that it might have been partially unintelligible. She took a few unneeded breaths before continuing. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that given how dangerous this city can be. Very sorry." Getting shot was certainly not on Meara's to do list today, so she hoped he would let it slide.

[Bjorn]

I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that—

“No ****, Sherlock,” he replied dryly. There was another click as he engaged the safety before holstering the gun back at his hip. Bjorn had become efficient at wielding weapons, but he was far from trigger happy. He assessed her briefly before his gaze dipped to the card in question. As he picked it up, he realised it was a scratched loyalty card that he’d snatched up off the ground many moons ago. He’d yet to find any use for it other than pop open doors.

Without a second thought, he pocketed it.

Rising to his full height, Bjorn looked back at her with a cocked brow. What was it with women in this city and their sticky fingers? After all, he didn’t believe a word she said about it being for his benefit.

“If you’re looking for deep pockets, you’re better off at a transit station,” he pointed out, glancing down distractedly as he lifted his foot. The empty vial was smashed to pieces. Good thing he’d brought a spare. “But thanks, I guess.”

[Meara]

Meara felt her cheeks redden as the tall man implied she should be stealing elsewhere, and then promptly looked at her shoes to hide her embarrassment.

She had tried a little bit of pickpocketing, but honestly she wasn't any good at it. She still had too much of a conscience to be a good thief. She liked giving to people not taking away. The people she chose were always the ones that had no money. Meara was going to have to find a higher paying gig and soon if she was going to be able to find a place to live other than a cot she had set up above the shop. She usually managed, but life was more expensive here she was finding.

As she was looking at the floor she noticed a smashed bit of glass near the man's feet. It looked like he was trying to collect something out of the carpet. Maybe he was a bug collector or something - people have strange habits. Eventually, her blue eyes moved from the floor and up to catch the man's gaze. "I am genuinely sorry - for all of this and causing you to break your equipment." She said quietly before turning to leave.

[Bjorn]

Bjorn set his mouth into a thin line as he watched her turn to leave. Perhaps she was genuinely sorry, in which case his reaction had been a flagrant overreaction. Maybe she didn’t know any better, much like he had many months ago. If anyone should offer others a second change at first impressions, it was him. The inhabitants of Harper Rock could be ruthless, and he didn’t want to become one of them.

His conversation with the dragon-eyed lady in the catacombs a week prior had revealed her to be friendly, in spite of her many attempts to swipe something from his pockets. And even then, he hadn’t pointed his weapon at Rowan, only threatened with the possibility of shooting. This girl had stared down the barrel of a loaded weapon——a very accurate and powerful one. A bullet to the head was not a pleasant injury to come back from, but the damage this caliber would have done would be downright hell to heal. And for what? A botched theft that might not even have been a theft at all?

In truth, Bjorn was not particularly sore about this stranger’s attempt to steal from him. He couldn’t bring himself to justify his reaction. After all, he’d learned to keep his valuables close enough that it’d been months since someone had successfully robbed him. What had set him off then was the surprise. After months of living with a target on his back, hr had no love for those who sneaked up on him——no matter the context.

He’d overreacted, and now he felt bad.
His shoulders slumped forward dejectedly.

“It’s no big deal. I’ve got a spare, and many others back home.”

Bjorn toed the mess under the table (though if anyone was daft enough to walk barefoot in these parts ******* deserved getting cut on shards of glass). He rubbed his neck subconsciously before dropping his hand to his side, attempting to formulate an apology. There was a part of him that was convinced she’d gotten what she deserved, and that was at the very least a lesson learned about not sneaking up on people. A darker setting, meaner beasts, and he could have easily confused her for a mooncalf or fadebeast.

“Hey, we got off to a wrong———I’m Bjorn. You startled me is all.”

It turned out not to be much of an apology, but it was an olive branch of sorts.

. . . right?

[Meara]

Meara stopped in her tracks when she heard the man speak up. She kept her back to him for now, listening as her fingers toyed with the tulle of her skirt. She audibly exhaled as she sensed that the danger was now passed and perhaps there might be a connection to salvage after all. Meara was encouraged to hear he had more supplies, maybe he was an amateur scientist. How cool would that be...

The redhead turned around slowly to face the individual now known to her as Bjorn, being sure to keep her hands visible. She walked a few steps back, letting her eyes take in the man she accidentally startled. He seemed strong and confident, cleanly dressed. If he was a vampire he surely wasn't some inexperienced rookie like herself because of the way he wielded that gun. She was still a terrible shot. There was so much she didn't know still, so if this man was also a vampire, she was sure her greenhorn was showing. Perhaps if he noticed that, he might be willing to teach her or give advice. She barely knew anyone so far.

Pink lips turned upwards into a slow smile before she gave a cheerful curtsy to the man. "I'm Meara Quartermaine. Nice to meet you despite the circumstances." She paused a moment as she formulated a question that might break the ice. "Were you collecting a specimen for an experiment or something when I startled you? She would leave it there, and discover more about him as she went.

[Bjorn]

The last name ringed a bell, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall where he’d heard or seen it. He didn’t consider it any further, cocking a brow at her curtsey. He scratched at his face thoughtfully at her question and found the skin a little rough. It was time he make an appointment with the video camera and shaved.

“No, not exactly. I’m after a specific type of blood,” he replied, finding no way around the truth. Most feral vampires he’d crossed paths with had lost any and all traces of humanity. However, it didn’t make him comfortable to hunt another of his kind, especially with his own wild history as a wayward fledgling. It could have easily been him, or so he was inclined to believe.

“It’s for crafting. I don’t know how it plays into the whole thing yet, but apparently it’s a key ingredient so…”

He shrugged, hand dropping to his side.

“You just passing through?”

Quarantine zone wasn’t the worst place in town, but Corvidae Flats were... well, he was certainly just passing through.

[Meara]

“I am just passing through.” Meara responded as she pushed her hair out of her face. “I come over here to hunt zombies, and then I head back to Wickbridge afterwards. I’m a manager in my sire’s shop in the 8th Dimension Shopping complex.”The redhead chattered away, more firmly in her element now. She loved actually talking with people so she had hoped to maybe make a friend out of this misadventure.

Bjorn alluded to that he was looking for a crafting ingredient. As he described it, it sounded somewhat familiar. She remembered making something with a vial of that, some kind of trap. She enjoyed tinkering at the bench in the shop, even if she was only mediocre at it. “I have a couple vials in my bag, let me look.” Meara shrugged off her messenger bag and placed it on the floor. She squatted down and dug around in ghe bag for a few moments. She grinned when she found what she was looking for then held it up towards the man. “I think this is a vial of feral blood, whatever that is.” Admittedly Meara was poorly educated on the creatures that went bump in the night. Maybe Bjorn might know more than she.

“If this is what you need, you may have it. Consider it a token of my appreciation for not shooting me in the head.”