crownofdaisies | Do not go gentle into that good night. {Open; tw: blood, sexual harassment, mentions of violence.}

When Grace stumbles back into Siren Cove, she's covered in ace bandages and her own dried blood, bottle of Jack Daniels hanging loose in her right hand. She sniffs, wiping her nose on the back of her hand as she heads in the direction of her apartment. Her head pounds and her stomach aches; what remains in it, of course. Goddamn vampires and their fucking bloodlust. She shakes her head. She'd needed that booze cruise last night simply to wipe the memory of her previous job; decapitating and staking creatures of the night took its toll, especially when the fuckers managed to get a bite or two of their own in.

The job paid well, however, so she can't complain on that front. Now, as she saunters through town, a little unsteady on her feet, she actually finds herself content with returning to such a sleepy little town, which only further speaks to her tired state of mind.

"Oi, how much you charge per hour, sweetheart?" Some jackass, a dock worker, it looks like, approaches from her left, eyeing her short, denim shorts and the clingy, black tank top she pairs with it. Well, she doesn't miss this part of town.

"Go fuck yourself dollars, with an additional charge of you brainless dick," she offers him her sweetest smile before casting lightning at his feet, making him jump.

"You crazy bitch!" He shouts at her before taking off in the opposite direction. All Grace can do is cackle.

It's good to be home.

OOC: Grace is back from a long trip of stabbing things and burning stuff, to keep it PG. She's not drunk, just hungover, and exhausted from her work. Find her just after she scared off her harasser. Just know that I'm not interested in having Grace involved with the Coven of Twelve Plot in anyway. Thank you!

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He's not drunk. But, then again, he's also not entirely sober, either. He's walking home, conflicted in a way that he's not entirely used to. At least smoking is still refreshingly simple. When he sees her, he arches an eyebrow, sketching a lazy bow that's out of place with torn jeans and worn cotton.

"Ma'am."

"Good sir," Grace curtsies, or attempts to, in her state, with a wry quirk of the brow. "Don't you know better than to linger after dark? Witches and all that," she says, picking at one of the bandages on her shoulder. The wound itches on top of hurting, and again, she mentally curses the vampire asshole that gave it to her.

Bach finishes his cigarette before following the girl. "You look like you came from my kind of party. Need any help getting home?"

Rhodri grins, flashing straight white teeth. He lifts his cigarette and takes a long drag.

"Fairly sure I can look after myself, sweetheart," he says. "But I do thank you for your concern."

"Just trying to be one of those good...Samaritans?" She scrunches her nose, trying to think, and instead winds up laughing instead. "But clearly you can take care of yourself."

"If my kind of party is your kind of party, I'd say we're both fucked up," she grins as she says it. "But I wouldn't have it any other way. Well, I think I'm good for now." She glances him over with a shrug. "I wouldn't mind the company, though."

"On my side ..there's no doubt about that."

He offers his arm, only a little bit serious. "I can walk you home without uttering a word, if that's what you need right now."

"I've lasted this long," he says, taking a step closer, noting bandages, the marks of wear. "You, on the other hand. You okay there, sweetheart? You need someone to walk with you?"

"Ah," she waves off his concern. "I'll heal. I always do. Just a bunch of miserable vampires with too much time on their hands."

"Nah, I like you already," she tells him with a grin, taking his offered arm. "A gentleman who admits he's as fucked up as I am. Not too many people like you out there, nowadays."

"I simply think they run more, these days. Away from their reality." He dips his head. "While I always preferred to set my own pace."

"Now that sounds like a story I'd be interested in," he says, smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "We don't have vampires where I come from. Plenty of ghosties and ghoulies, but no vampires."

"They tend to go where they please, vamps," she says, shaking her head. "Makes them harder to kill. But the thrill of the chase is part of the charm, I think." She pauses, considers his accent. "I suppose you're from a bit further away originally, yeah?"

"I prefer to set my own pace too," she declares, walking with him and trying to avoid glancing at her own injuries. "Life's too short not to."

"You sound like you don't belong in this weird little town." He squeezes her wrist, gently. "Too much life running through you."

"Funny you say that," she tilts her head back and laughs. "Because some dick vamps just actually sucked a lot of the life out of me."

"Oh."

Bach looks at her. "What?"

"Ah," she waves it off with another smile, as if she hasn't lost a shitton of blood. "Just work related, as you do."

"Do you need like .." He's still staring at her. "Blood?"

"And you look really good, for a vampire victim. By the way."

"A little more than a bit," he says, pushing his hair back from his face. "I was born just outside St David's in Wales."

"Well, shit," Grace lets out a low whistle. "You're a long ways from home then, aren't you?"

"Probably," she admits with a slight shrug. "But I have a stash of my own. Kind of comes in handy, with my life."

"And thank you," she grins. "You're pretty nice looking yourself."

"All that and I don't even know your name."

He stops at the crossing. "Which way to home? Or is this where we leave?"

"Grace DuBois," she tells him with a laugh. "And yes, I am as pretentious as my name makes me out to be."

"You can walk further with me," she says. "I don't mind."

"Bach Jones", he presents with a little bow. "Does that mean I'm considered saver than a vampire and might be brought home?"

Do not go gentle into that good night. {Open; tw: blood, sexual harassment, mentions of violence.}

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