Sin smiled at his response, clearly he was being just as sarcastic as she was but he was playing it with a very straight face. Moments like that always made her glad that she was fluent in the language of sarcasm, it made times like these easier to read rather than end up in a misunderstanding. ”I’ve gotta admit, Connor, I’m a little upset that you didn’t actually complete the look with a grill. I’m sure that would’ve looked amazing all put together.”
She touched the top of his arm momentarily and shook her head at him with a small smile, “I know what it means when someone says something like that.” She had already dropped her hand from him, it was only a friendly type of gesture but she also didn’t know his comfort level with that sort of thing and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She said no more regarding it being her judgement call as she was okay with leaving certain things a mystery as well.
The way the bartender spoke just immediately made her smile, it reminded her of Ireland, especially when he called her ‘Lass’. She leaned forward, stretching out her upper body a little as she rested her elbows on the bar top, pushing her hair back behind a shoulder. Letting her eyes scan around a little, “It doesn’t seem that you have a menu, Sir.” She had a very soft smile on her face and her eyes were slowly making their way into a half lidded look, Sin had the ability shift between playful and seductress easily. She wasn’t going that far yet but she would use it if she had to, this was for fun and she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to torment the man.
Her head was facing down at the bar slightly and she had her eyes cut up to Alaric, tracing her finger back and forth and then in circles slowly. ”I’m just trying to find a little comfort of home, Sir. I’ve been wandering around this big city dealing with all sorts of things, things that a sweet southern lady like myself could really use a wind down from. Back home that sweet yet citrusy drink always hit the spot.” She paused and looked over at Connor, there was a slight gleam in her eyes, “They definitely are all the rage in the States.” She turned back to the bartender, small smile still working him over, “Of course they have a variety of flavors there. Ya know, there’s nothing quite as great as a bartender that just knows how to hit your senses.”
Tilting her chin up and setting her shoulders back a little, “They’re not that hard to make. Imagine how much pleasure you could give me by serving me… that fresh drink.”
Connor was getting better at not showing his aversion to strangers touching him without prior permission. None the less, even that light touch to the top of his arm after they walked in made him stiffen briefly, resisting the urge to pull away or push her away. She meant nothing with it. Her words said as much; still, Sin seemed to be someone who liked handing out playful, casual touches — at least knowing it, would mean he could anticipate it. Would mean he could stop himself reacting instinctively as if it was a threat and blend in better.
In any case, his mind was quickly taken off the issue again once Sin started her spiel on Alaric. It was almost fascinating to watch, the way she was playing him and Connor felt almost impressed. As it was, amusement still won out and it was only years of experience at practising his poker face that kept his inward grin from spreading over his features. Alaric, in the meantime, was looking as if he didn’t know what hit him. The bloke seemed torn between flustered and irritated, not knowing whether he should react to the ‘pretty girl’ or the ‘annoying and weirdly demanding customer’ part of her. The shade of red flushing his cheeks was quite interesting, to say the least.
In the end, he settled on flustered, spluttering a little at her plight. Connor kept his face even, eyes widened innocently as the man started sending him helpless little looks. "But I don’ even have any pineapples," He was looking at Connor as he said this, as if it was easier than looking at Sin, or perhaps because he was expecting Connor to jump up and run to the convenience store a couple of buildings down. Connor on his part just shook his head. “Sorry, mate, I’m not the ‘best’ bartender of the ‘best’ pub in London,” He alluded to the slogan hanging above the bar, holding his palms up when Alaric glowered at him, muttering expletives under his breath. “You serve food here, right? I’m sure your cook has some’a those canned pineapples pieces.”
Not seeing any other option, the poor flustered man shuffled off to the kitchen, in search of pineapple pieces. It was only when he was gone that Connor allowed his amusement to cross his features. “Poor bloke just looked like he had his mind blown. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him that flustered,” His blue eyes were glinting, gaze appraising. “I wonder how you’d hold up against bartenders that aren’t as easily flustered by a pretty girl like you.”
Ash waited patiently, hands shoved into her pants pockets and a wry grin on her face. It still struck her as amusing sometimes, the dynamic between Connor and Spencer, though she now couldn’t picture them any other way. It made her reflect upon her own scenario, pulled towards an unexpected someone, pieces of herself activated that had been long buried beneath years of acidic hatred and mistrust. The blonde pulled herself from her thoughts when her companion returned, eyes flashing with grim intrigue. “Yes a treasure hunt. Clues and everything. I was bored and the guy at the coffee shop yesterday was a dick. This is me killing two birds with one stone.”
Levon, that had been his name before Ash had rendered him mangled remnants of flesh. With a grin, the blonde pulled the first clue from her pocket. A small piece of thread wound through a piece of folded paper, and then wrapped with delicate finesse around the length of a severed finger. When Connor opened the paper, he’d find a delicate scrawl mapping out five simple words. You made me fall down. The intention wasn’t to make the treasure hunt hard, per se, really this part was just meant to drum up intrigue as to what lay in the treasure chest at the end.
Allowing the man time to consider the clue, Ash bounced onto the balls of her feet, blonde hair cast about her face and her blue eyes filled with an almost childish excitement. It was true, it was fact that Xander’s influence had calmed the woman in some ways, that sometimes she choose his company over the blood and the fire in her veins. But she was still Ashley, she was still a predator, and this was her chance to stretch the legs of the beast within her, the part she could never let him see.
Reaching into her pocket, the woman pulled out a baggie of skittles, carefully divining herself several red ones before offering the rest to Connor. “Gotta fuel that brilliant mind. Certainly can’t work on an empty stomach.”
Of course Ashley would take the opportunity of killing someone who annoyed her and turn it into something more; then again, these ‘gifts’ between them had become some sort of a tradition — an unconventional way of cheering the other up when something wasn’t quite going well. Connor appreciated more than she would probably ever know or even accept. “And do I get a nice prize if I finish it?” There was a smirk playing around his mouth, eyes shining with dark amusement. Everything about him was more animated around her (and Spencer), more him.
Laughing softly when she gave him that first clue wrapped around a severed finger, he inspected it briefly. “Finger food,” He chuckled, knowing she’d know what he was alluding to — that first Hallowe’en they’d spent wreaking havoc together, not too long after they’d first met. Had it really been two years since then? Somehow he felt like he’d known her for longer. Spencer was his lover, yes, but Ash was his best friend — and two years ago, he never even would’ve imagined thinking either of those words in relation to himself.
Reading the words made a small furrow appear between his brows as he contemplated what it could mean. His first instinct was to think London Bridge, because of the rhyme — but he’d had nothing to do with that particular bombing. Briefly pulled out of his musings as Ash offered him skittles, he absent-mindedly picked out a couple and popped them into his mouth. Another few seconds of chewing and thinking, his eyes cleared up a little, features smoothing out. “Parliament,” He stated, looking over at her and gauging her reaction. “Can’t be London Bridge, unfortunately I had nothing to do with that one.”
Yeah, exactly! Women are able to deal with more pain than men, so of course they used a dude for the,… Well, the shock value or whatever you want to call it. Hmm, that’s sort of disappointing. I mean, if I had a penis I’d use it all the time. I’d walk around naked and then just dance so it could wiggle with me. I’d be an odd man.
Don’t all of us feel the need to lie? To answer your question, I think that for me it might be some sort of survival instinct.
It has been proven their pain treshold is higher than men, that’s true. Of course, it’s still a subjective matter. Pain is in the mind, after all — some people just feel it harder than others. Trust me, the novelty of having a dick would wear off pretty quickly; and I’m used to it at this point — unless, of course, you still regularly dance around topless to make your boobs bounce around with you, which I’d say sort of amounts to the same thing. Almost. Then I daresay you wouldn’t tire of it.
Oh, certainly. Everyone uses those little white lies once in a while. But not all of us to the extent that we’d have to keep tally of our own lies just so we don’t mess up our truths with our lies. Hm, like self preservation?
Liena was incredibly attentive to details, it was hard to get anything past her and it was even more difficult to know if she caught anything because she cleverly masked everything. From the amount of typing he had been doing, replying to whatever message it was that nearly lost him his pocket money, it seemed as though it was an important one.
She watched as his blank face morphed into one of a gentle grateful smile, apparently there are people in London with manners or at least know how to fake them as she did. Liena didn’t miss his assessment and she narrowed her eyes at him momentarily before returning his smile.
"Zahavy," she answered proudly and confidently, there was no hiding behind her name or coming up with a fake one. "I will tell you my first name if you introduce yourself," she told him with a slight little smirk on her face and then added, "You are welcome," with a nod.
As soon as she stated her name, Connor recognized it, though he was careful to keep any signs of obvious recognition from his face. Masking emotions, habitual lying, playing off cues from his conversational partners to know how he should act to best be accepted and integrated, were like a second nature to him now. Even with Spencer he still wore masks; as if he’d forgotten how to go without.
He couldn’t deny being slightly curious as to what a member from the Israeli mob was doing in London - though without knowing more, it might just as well be a coincidence. He knew names, kept up to date with who was big where, sussing out territories, which people could be enemies, which could be allies or possible employers. Any professional hitman worth their salt needed to know that type of information - especially those mostly operating independently, like Connor. He mostly kept his fingers out of mob business, careful not to piss on their playground.
So, he knew names. What he didn’t know in this case was whether that particular name was a common one or not wherever she came from. He let the corners of his lips tilt up in amusement at how proudly she announced it, as he put away the money. His body language was open, friendly and unassuming. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. Not here, at least. I’m assuming you’re not from around?” The curiosity in his tone at least was genuine. “Oh, sorry for being rude,” He held out a hand, smile widening a fraction. “Connor Stage,” He replied without hesitation. He saw no qualms in giving his name; he was always careful to keep his paper trail to a minimum, operating on word to mouth more often than not, so it wouldn’t ring a bell unless she decided to look into it deeper. “Can I offer you a drink somewhere? You know, as a thanks for not running off with my grocery money?”
Uhh… No, he just was fat.
Because it’s an alien! Or well… You know that movie Alien where a tiny evil baby alien comes out all bloody and crying for his mom? That’s how most girls feel every month, so you better be grateful for your penis.
Lying becomes easy once you start believing your own lies. Just make sure you can keep up with everything you say do you don’t end up making a fool of out yourself. I’ve seen too many horrible liars ruining their credibility just because they couldn’t remember all the details of their stories.
I guess that’s why Ridley Scott had that alien baby pop out of a bloke, yeah? If he’d done it with a woman, she would’ve just walked it off. Oh, I am grateful for my penis. Not that I feel the need to use it as much as some other blokes; well, except for bathroom breaks.
Seems like you’re quite experienced, hm? Now why would a pretty woman such as yourself feel the need to lie?
It was a programme in prison, they tell you how fucked up you are and how much help you need.
No, they don’t. Which is funny because most of those “most impostant” ones ignores other people all the time.
Rile them up you say… I don’t have enough patience and my height usually helps - ignoring is enough.
And what was the usual verdict? Ah, I figure with those types, they see it as their prerogative to ignore others, but as their due not to get ignored. Who knows how their minds work, hm?
I get bored easily, let’s blame it on that. I like knowing what buttons I can push and seeing what reactions I get for it. It’s interesting enough to keep me occupied.
Waiting, Liena’s eyes scan the people apart of the scenery. When the person in front of her reaches into their pocket, pulling out what looked to be a cell phone, a fold of money falls to the ground. She picks up the cash between her index and middle finger, examining it momentarily before speaking up to the person that dropped it.
"Excuse me, you dropped this," she told them while holding the cash out to them.
Connor hadn’t been minding his surroundings too much, knowing them as well as the back of his own hand with how many times he’s been there and the message on his phone took precedence over the people around him. Of course, that did mean that he also hadn’t taken notice of the ten pound note that had fluttered from his pocket to the ground, until a female voice behind him spoke up, pulling him from the message he’d been tapping out as he turned around with a blank face.
It immediately creased into something akin to understanding as he saw the money between her fingers, before his blue eyes moved up to her face, assessing her slightly as he let his lips curl in a grateful smile. “Oh lord, I completely missed that. Thanks ever so much, miss…?”
Connor still remembered flashes of that all encompassing fear he’d felt when he’d been drugged up to his eyeballs and left to hallucinate in the isolation of the room they’d been keeping in. There had been nothing there to be afraid of, but his brain had made him think there was anyway. Connor remembered how it had felt as if his heart had been about to give up on him, thumping so wildly and erratically that it had been all he’d heard. It had been followed by a tingling sensation in his fingers and arms, crawling up his limbs and spine like an army of tiny little ants, breath coming out in short, desperate gasps, sour taste at the back of his throat. It had felt like his skin had been too tight, too hot, his entire body shaking, pounding, throat slowly getting strangled shut by whatever it was that had him so terrified.
Hearing nothing more from Caspian, Connor assumed he was good to go, — unlike with Ella, he hadn’t expected the other man to interfere, hadn’t expected Caspian to make the cut himself. That suited him more than fine.
Yup. The world is full of them. Like… How do you even come up with that theory? Taking Midol isn’t going to turn you into a woman. You’re taking painkillers, not female exclusive meds. Idiots.
You get used to it after a while. Like yeah, at first it’s extremely bothersome, especially if your period started young so you aren’t quite ready to use tampons. I could say more, but I don’t want to give you horrible mental images. Thank you! I wish I could say that my face helps me not have a pulsing uterus every month, but alas…
Yes, that is great! Now that is a good idea. Always take advantage of what mama nature gave you. That is one of my one and a million mottos. Just make sure you are a good liar so when you’re confronted you can lie your ass off and get away guilt free!
Was his head shaved and did he have bad dental hygiene? Because that might explain a few things.
I suppose you have to; it’s not really something you can shut off at will, hm? Oh, love, it takes more than female biology to gross me out. Blood is blood. Pulsing uterus.. that makes it sound like an alien. Or an expression people would use in a bad porno.
If you got it, flaunt it? I’ll keep it in mind. I don’t think lying will be that much of a problem; I’ve been told I can keep an excellent poker face when the situation calls for it.
Each and every year since 2004. This year’s one was the last one. Such a pity.
Ah, ignoring… This one’s tricky. I ignore people in such situations where other guys would punch an annoying little shite, I just don’t give a damn and they never read it the way they should.
And what did you do for professionals to feel the need to write about it for ten years?
Ah, but most people don’t like being ignored, do they? They think themselves more important than they actually are, so if you don’t give them the attention they think they’re due when they’re off getting indignant, they start throwing punches instead. So I rather rile them up; that’s a bit more amusing and has the same end result.