tampered | Log: Completed

After having it out with Lestat, Anita wasn't sure she'd go to meet Gren. The only reason she did was the fact that she said she would. Being a person that kept their word made life hard at times, but she did the best she could.

The room wasn't too busy when she entered, so it wasn't too hard to spot someone sitting at the bar. After a deep breath to calm a sudden rush of nerves, she makes her way to the bar and the man sitting there.

"... sorry if I'm late. I had a minor fuss to deal with before I got here."

There she is: she looks so much better when she's not dead.

(He can't believe he's even thinking in those terms.)

"Anita. Hi. I saved you a seat." The bar stool next to him is empty; he pats it. "Can I buy you a drink?" Really, he's not sure how the whole reviving-from-death thing is going for her. He remembers what it was like when he got here: it took him a few days before he regained any sense of balance at all, and it took a lot longer than that before he was able to come to terms with everything that had happened.

He chances another glance at her: she's really beautiful.

She slides onto the offered stool with that almost cat-like grace weres have, shaking her head slightly at the offer. "Just water for me. I'm not much of a drinker, really. It doesn't do a lot for me."

His glance isn't noticed, even when she takes a quick one of her own at him. She can see why Lestat likes him so much. He's truly lovely and Lestat likes beauty in so many forms. No matter what happened earlier to her, she's not wanting to go into this disliking Gren.

It isn't fair to him.

"Having a good evening?"

"I always have a good evening when there's music involved." Playing his sax is the one thing he'd do no matter what: if he got paid for it or not, if he had to do it from a rooftop instead of a stage. It's saved his life more than once and that he has this opportunity means the world to him.

It's a simple enough thing to get her a glass of water; once he does, he raises his soda glass to her. "We met under strange circumstances. I have to tell you, that was a very weird day, and I'm so sorry you had that happen to you. Lestat was distraught. He didn't take his eyes off you the whole time."

That's almost true, too, or at least it's mostly true. If it isn't, it's more of a little exaggeration than a lie: Lestat was almost inconsolable, and the only time he looked away was when his eyes were closed.

"I need to stop by sometimes so I can just sit and listen to you. I've learned to love music since I started living with Lestat. It's kinda hard not to." A small smile crosses her face, even if it's a little strained.

She mirrors him with a nod and sips at the water, brow furrowing over the rim of the glass as she remembered back to waking up in his room that night.
"It was an all around bad day for me, but as you can see, I always get over things. Lestat... I owe him so much for taking care of me like he has. He's something, isn't he?"

Her eyes look him over, this time not keeping it so secret.

"He is."

That's the truth and he doesn't see any reason not to agree. "You're lucky: he loves you so much." Lestat told him so in no uncertain terms.

And he was right: she's here to talk about Lestat, to check him out, to find out a few things. That's not so surprising, although it's a little... uncomfortable. But she was there first and he doesn't know what she knows, and hopefully Lestat's been as open with her as he's been with him. Otherwise, things could get messy.

"... and I love him, too. He's easy to love sometimes, but I didn't come here to talk about Lestat. I came to meet you and get to know you."

Yes, she's avoiding the subject and it's pretty obvious with the way she drops her gaze at the mention of the vampire's name and Gren decleration of how much said vampire loves her. Fresh from the fight with him, she's not in the frame of mind to hear things like that, no matter how much she wants to believe them.

Well, he could ask her the same question he asked Lestat when he said something similar: why?

But no, he won't put the question to her that way. "That's sweet, and I really appreciate you coming over here, especially on a night when you don't have to be here. Sorry we couldn't do lunch today. I'd still like a rain check on that, if you're willing."

If he's anything, he's pleasant: he knows how to have casual conversations with good-looking people in bars. He's done it most of his adult life and he's comfortable with it. Even though the situation is a little sticky and even though he doesn't believe for a minute that she didn't come here to talk about Lestat, it's okay. If she can pretend Lestat isn't the undercurrent of the conversation, he can do it too.

It's easy.

Being told she's sweet pulls a surprised laugh out of her and the smile afterwards was one of her rarer genuine ones. "Oh God, don't tell anyone I'm anything other than a bitch. It'll kill my rep around the city."

The odd knot of tension in her chest loosens a little with the laugh and when she leaned back in to finish her water, the difference is obvious. Gren isn't the only one that felt the situation was a little weird, after all.

"I'd really like that. I'm actually free for a little while if you want to stay and talk some. Up to you, really. If there's anything you'd like to know about the more animated version of me, ask away. Promise I'll be honest."

"The offer goes both ways. I'm fair game too." There are, of course, some things that are nobody's business, things that nobody knows... except Lestat, and that's a weird enough concept. But he'll be good and not even mention him again unless Anita does, even though he's literally the tie that binds them together.

"And I've got time. Until the next set. We probably have about a half hour, 45 minutes. And there's no one I'd rather spend my time with, really." Now that one's a little bit of flattery, but that never hurt a soul and really, he's been so curious about her and he is glad she's here. Leaning on one hand, he watches her a little carefully. "Can I ask, if you don't mind, what it felt like when you... came back? Because when that happened for me -- when I was killed out there, I mean -- it was so strange. I remember the feeling of falling away, and then I was in the City by the carousel, covered in blood. I didn't know what was going on."

She's so lucky to have had a loving and familiar face there, he thinks.

The flattery notches up her smile a little more. She might be a tough woman, but even Anita likes compliments and such. Her eyes wander for a moment; the ever-watchful predator, even though she's smiling.

"Well, the first thing I felt was cold. Bone deep. Not having a heartbeat is another thing that still bothers me a little, even if I can make it beat if I want to. It just takes effort on my part but that means thinking about it all the time. I couldn't focus and everything sounded so far away. Then? Pain from what killed me. I heal fast, but not that fast. After that, it was Lestat's face."

The memories aren't exactly bad, but it's so odd to think back on one's death.

No heartbeat?

He's got one. Maybe that's a difference between dying here and dying out there, or maybe the fact he thinks he has one is just wishful thinking and he's delusional. It wouldn't be the first time he's been crazy. Or maybe he got here right before he actually died and what he thought was death wasn't really: he doesn't know and he's not going to stop and think about it right now. Not while he's in the company of a woman who's got this mix of dangerous beauty and fierceness: there's something predatory about Anita.

He likes that, or at least he appreciates it enough to find it attractive.

For a moment he simply considers her, considers her words. Then he nods: seeing Lestat's face would be a good thing at a time like that. "I was lucky when I got here to find someone very dear to me. I didn't know until later that she was dead too, so that leads me to wonder a whole lot of things. Like... what's the nature of death? If we died but we're still here, what difference does it make? What keeps us going? It can't just be a place like this, can it? I don't know."

He didn't mean to waste his time with Anita talking philosophy, but...

"Sorry. Let me ask you something more normal. You work here and you're on the police force. Do you have any other jobs I ought to know about?"

He's just the musician, that's it.

"Death is just another step, Gren. I know that for a fact. All we leave behind is dust when we move on, but we really do move on. Just not sure where to." It isn't really faith that fuels her answer. It's knowledge and the fact that she's been working with death and the dead a long time.

Most would find it strange to see a woman so comfortable dealing with death but it relaxes her even more to know that it doesn't seem like he's someone that finds the subject questionable at best.

She blinks, lost in her thoughts for a moment before she glances up at him and chuckles and rubs at the base of her nose.

"No, just the two even though I'm thinking of quitting the police. The new warden is a politician and they drive me batty. I think I'm going to hate having to work with one. Other than that, I was thinking of offering my skills as a martial arts teacher. Maybe."

"That's impressive." He doesn't have a whole lot of love for the police force; at home he lived in hiding with a bounty on his head. "Martial arts: something I never learned, although where I'm from it's common enough for a lot of people." He nods back toward the stage. "I always found my sax case came in handy in a pinch... or in a fight. That thing's hard." The memory makes him laugh: he's used it more than once, both for self-defense and to keep others safe.

"Is that what you did before you got to the City? Teach martial arts?"

It's a pleasant enough little Q&A session. Hopefully she doesn't feel like she's being interrogated: that's the last thing he wants.

"Hey, anything within reach is a viable weapon. I've used books before. We all know papercuts are a bitch." His laugh is a good one and it makes her comfy enough to lean an elbow on the bar, leaving her looking like she's talking to an old friend.

"No, I was studying for another black belt. I was a necromancer and a vampire executioner. Any of them went bad? I got called in to take them out, along with dangerous weres. Back home, vampires and such are legal citizens but they need special treatment when they break the law. That's where I came in. They get a warrant and I go hunting."

She's really not minding the questions in the least. She's not one to hide what she is.

Wait.

Wait: she was a what?

"You're a vampire executioner?" And Lestat is most definitely a vampire: how the hell did the two of them hook up? Well, that's none of his business, not really, and he swore to himself he wouldn't bring up Lestat, and he knew the man was charming as the devil himself, but... "And what's a necromancer? Remember, I'm just the sax player. The world I'm from is pretty mundane."

Well, that's not really true. From the whole no-women thing to it being entirely lawless and full of bounty heads to drug deals, it was actually not particularly mundane. Add a man with a woman's body to the mix and it gets a little bit more interesting from a voyeuristic perspective.

Or maybe that's just his own personal drama and no one else cares at all: he doesn't know and probably never will because he's here now.

And never going back.

"Yep. I'm the best in the business. I just have a habit of getting tangled up with them as you know. I ended up seeing one back home, a powerful one and that ended up changing me... "

Her words trail off for a moment and she scratches at her cheek idly, then gives him a sheepish grin.

"It's a long story. A complicated one. A necromancer is someone that can raise zombies through ritual and such. Some consider what I do dark magic and I suppose it is, in the end. I just use it for better reasons."

If anyone freaks over what she is, it's usually that part. Forget that she's a killer, and shares a good deal with the monsters she once was paid to hunt. No, it's the dead bodies that get them every time.

"I should just be up front and honest. I'm not as human as most people are. Hell, some days I can't seem to find much humanity left in me."

Wait again: this is...

"A vampire changed you? Does that mean..."

But it couldn't, could it? Because if she was a vampire, then she couldn't have been killed... right? Unless... unless it was one of those ways that... what did Lestat say? Fire? Sunlight? He doesn't know: this whole concept is so weird and alien to him. What's he doing with a vampire in the first place? Why is he sitting at a bar with a vampire hunter?

Where's Julia? He needs her. His life, or whatever he wants to call it, is totally crazy all of a sudden.

He'll get to the whole dead bodies part in a little bit. First things first.

"I'm not a vampire. I was bonded to one back home. The stronger ones there have what's known as human servants. They're the eyes and ears of the vamp while they rest during the day. In trade, the servant gets a portion of the vampire's power. Speed, strength, agility, quick healing. Stuff like that. Some other bloodlines get other 'talents', too. We were bonded on accident."

A chunk of her good humor fades as she talks. It's been a long time since someone's reacted like this to her telling them what she is.

Oh.

That explains something: when she woke up from being dead, Lestat asked her about the bond and she said it was gone. Was she talking about a bond with him, or with the vampire from home? Again, it's none of his business.

"I didn't know that." He gives her a little bit of an appraising glance: she's complicated. "So you were a vampire hunter, but also involved -- and I don't mean it like that -- with a vampire. Do you mind if I ask how that came about? I mean, you can tell me if you'd rather not say."

It doesn't matter to him what she is. He'd have to be one hell of a hypocrite to mind what anyone is or what they do or what or who they like or any of that. Maybe his perspective on it is unique, but at least he tries not to be too judgmental, because he knows how it feels to be judged. He's a walking contradiction in terms.

"I'm sorry, Anita. I shouldn't have asked. I was just curious."

"I don't mind you asking. He was the Master of the city, technical term meaning ooh big vamp in charge, and I had to work with him on a few cases. He pursued me until I said that I'd go out with him. We were thrown together in a lot of bad spots and I grew to trust him, then care about him. Over time, love him."

There's little emotion in her voice. It's calm and even, as if she's telling a story. Both elbows are propped on the bar now, her chin cupped between them.

"Lestat's a lot like him."

He's never met anyone like Lestat and he almost voices that thought, but he thinks better of it. Faye once asked him if he was a preacher and said she felt like she was in a confessional talking to him; he knows he's easy to confide in and he doesn't think he's particularly demanding about anything.

And Anita's just... telling him... things. When she first came over and sat down he's not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't an exchange of confidences.

This place is just full of surprises.

"I think we all get attracted to a type. Live that pattern over and over again until we either accept it or get it out of our system, you know?" Maybe she does know and maybe she doesn't. And when he tries to figure out what his "type" is, he can only put his finger on one thing all his lovers, past and present, have in common: they've all been beautiful. It's what he's attracted to and he can't deny that.

Lestat certainly fits that bill.

A wry chuckle falls from her lips. "Yeah. I know. Trust me. I know too well." The smile's back, but this time, it's strained and a little brittle looking.

"You know, I admit I'm surprised you didn't ask me about Lestat right off the bat. I know I would've."

That makes him laugh a little bit; he echoes her movement leaning his chin on both hands now. "What do you think I should ask you about him?"

Talk about awkward lines of questioning.

"That would be up to you, now wouldn't it?"

She's as awkward about all this as he is.

"It's no wonder he likes you so much. You're beautiful and you're charming."

With that, she averts her gaze and slips off the stool, running a hand down her side to settle the holster that had ridden up a little during the talk.

"Please don't hurt him."

"Are you going to shoot me?" He's joking, though it's an effective disruption to the pleasant conversation they've been having.

But he shakes that off. "I would never hurt him."

He means it, too. "I couldn't. I don't want to hurt anyone." There's a moment's pause, but he might as well say it. "Including you."

That makes her level her gaze at him. In the slightly different light, her eyes look dull and tired.

"I appreciate it."

"Anita." Reaching over, he rests a hand on the side of her face. "You look so sad. Please, I mean it: I don't want to hurt anyone. Did... Lestat not tell you what he was doing?"

He thought everything was out in the open. He thought...

Fuck.

Instinct tells her to pull away and slap at the hand, but it's so warm and she's still so shaken from earlier. Her hair shifts as she shakes her head a little, letting a tiny bit of the emotion bleed back into her eyes.

"... no. He didn't. I figured it out a few days ago on my own. I came here tonight expecting to end up hating you, but like I said, I can see why he likes you so much. That's why I asked that you not hurt him. I've already done enough of that tonight on my own."

Still holding his gaze, she steps back out of his reach and nods, as if settling something in her own mind.

"I'd still like to get to know you better, but it might take me some time now. I hope you understand."

"Anita."

He feels like he's lost her somewhere along the line, not that he ever really had her. He doesn't even know her, but there's one thing he does know. "Lestat's not in love with me. He's in love with you."

He can't tell her not to be jealous. He can't tell her not to feel whatever she's feeling: it's all valid and besides, who is he to say don't? No one. All he did was let himself get seduced, against his better judgment, and maybe make the mistake of thinking that Lestat had been as open with Anita and Cloud as he was in his apartment.

"For what it's worth, I think you're pretty remarkable. Look at you: you're strong, beautiful, brave... and sweet and kind. No wonder he loves you. You should hear the way he talks about you."

This... might not be helping. He doesn't know.

"He might be in love with me, but he's fascinated by you. And then maybe another, then more after that. It's in his nature, but that doesn't help me any."

This isn't really his problem. Not the way she sees it. It's more between Lestat and her and her own twisted sense of morality.

"He's a silver tongued charmer, but thank you."

Fuck. He studies Anita's face, one eye first and then the other, and breathes in and out deeply because he still can, because it's a privilege, because he refuses to classify himself as either dead or alive and he's stubborn enough to hold onto some sort of fantasy about that.

He's not too bad of a person. Aside from killing Lin and trying to blow up Vicious on his ship, he's far from the worst person he knows. He's a one-time altar boy, for heaven's sake, and he might have a pretty loose sense of morals but he's got a pretty ingrained sense of right and wrong. He really doesn't want to do the wrong thing here.

He really thought Lestat was telling Anita and Cloud what was going on. And he really thought they were all right with it.

How naive.

"I know I won't fascinate him for long. I'm only human. I don't have any special powers. I don't bring a whole lot that's new to the table." Strictly speaking that's not entirely true, but it's not Anita's business either. "But I did think everything was out in the open, and I hate the thought of being the source of anyone's pain."

What to do, what to do? He's not selfless. He's never claimed to be selfless. But still...

No, he can't do it. He can't bring himself to make the offer to stop seeing Lestat to Anita. He knows that would be the right thing to do, but he can't do it.

Ouch. How could he have gotten so invested so quickly?

"Gren, I've dealt with a lot of stuff in my life. This isn't the first time something or someone hurt me. Like I always say, I always get better."

The tone doesn't carry the words very well since she's not as convinced as she should be.

"I'll step back from the situation and let things go. Problem solved, right?"

Since when does a relationship become something thought of as a situation? A problem? In her mind, she's doing what she thinks will make Lestat happiest.

He guesses they all do what they need to do.

Still, this conversation's going to leave a bitter aftertaste. And he likes Anita, and it's clear she's very fond of Lestat.

Well, so is he.

"I'm sorry. It's really between the two of you. But... if there's anything I can do to help... or if you need me to... back off..." He knows, he knows: he just made the offer he didn't think he could, but only because it's the right thing to do. If she takes him up on it, carrying through will absolutely break his heart.

And it won't make Lestat happy either, and he already promised Anita he wouldn't hurt him.

"You can't do that, though. It'll hurt him and you won't do that to him."

On impulse, she reaches across the space between them and slides her fingers across his cheek; a gentle touch from someone so ingrained in death that it almost seems shy.

"You really are attractive, Gren. Beautiful. I'll bet you're lovely together."

A quick bow of her head and a murmured 'thanks for the drink' and she turns to go, not needing to make excuses.

"Thank you."

The thanks are for everything: for coming over to Lux, for being curious enough to want to meet him and strong enough to want to face him, for being so kind -- something he'll never ever reveal, because she wants people to think differently -- and for listening and for sharing and most of all for not taking Lestat away... as if any of them can dictate what he does.

They can't. He knows Lestat intimately if not well, but he knows him well enough to appreciate that the only one who can tell Lestat what he ought to do is... Lestat himself. He's accountable to no one.

Maybe... maybe he can keep Lestat separate from everything else, but the minute he has the thought he knows it's doomed to failure. People aren't like that, or at least he's not. He's bound to share the things that make him happy with the ones he loves and once that happens, secrecy is absolutely impossible. It's already impossible.

That doesn't mean he can't treat the situation, as Anita called it, with kid gloves and an awful lot of respect. Don't they all deserve at least that much? Pushing his glass away, he nods to the bartender and steps back. There's still a night's worth of music to play, and that will be a very nice distraction... if he can keep his mind on music, that is.

Log: Completed

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