Welcome to Gaia! ::

Kevin almost laughed.

"Trying to stay off of people's hitlists? Well although they might be hunting you, you can't blame them. It's their job! Well, it's my job too..... I'm just tired. I'll probably be hunting someone else, some other time....."

He began watching the dance floor, attempting to force himself to calm down. He was trying very hard to grab the reigns of his emotions, calming his hormones and getting control back.

"Abducted you say? That's interesting. By whom? And I must say that I used to be one of those that had pale skin. I was always in dark places, and sunscreen didn't really exist to me. Your angle to stay alive could almost be saved by, well, your ways of cleaning things up and keeping messes under control and some fake tanning." He chuckled a little. "Not to sound uncaring, but it almost would seem that people with those fake tans have a better chance of surviving than others. It's none of my business as to what happens to them...."

Kevin watched Rouge drink slowly, he himself feeling a low effect of the alcohol.

"Don't drink too much. Tooth or not, it'll go straight to your head. I know you probably know that better than I do." He grinned, playfully pushing Rouge.

"So do you stay here all night and day? Or what are some other things you do for fun?"

Kevin tilted his head, then turned and faced Rouge completely. His legs swung under the table slowly as he rested his chin on one of his hands. He was still smiling, a curious look on his face. His left leg was under his chair, while his right rested gently against her leg.

"Well, glad to see that the kidnappers were dealt with. If you're one of those people that likes to scout around and play 'Watcher', well, you should watch where you step. You could run into people like myself. Uuummmm.... Hmm... I guess there really is no other person like me. There are some psychotic Hunters, and I am not going to rule myself out. And I'm not saying you're in danger at all at the moment. But be careful....." Kevin grinned. He was out of his mind half the time, so he wasn't exactly one to talk. However, he was in a rather good mood, and Rouge wasn't his enemy. He had sworn to destroy vampires, but he was treading lightly as of late. He was saved by a vampire after blowing one up and shooting a werewolf and getting blown out of a five story building, burning up half of the residential district.

That meant that there were good vampires. Kevin, so far, was under the impression that Rouge was one of the good ones.

"But I digress. A painter you say? Interesting. I'm a fan of art myself! What kind of paintings do you do? And where do you paint? Do you have a gallery? What's your inspiration?" Kevin was getting excited, grinning from ear to ear. He unintentionally was moving his leg against Rouge's more and more, slowly but noticeably. Kevin, however, was getting absorbed in the conversation.

Kevin had been noticing the flames in Rouge's eyes. He was fairly sure he had seen it before, but as for where he didn't know. So, he put it in the back of his mind.

"Being careful is good, but it isn't always the most efficient method. However as of now, safety seems to be a good thing! And a private gallery you say? Hmmm...." Kevin tilted his head, thinking about what kind of paintings she painted, when lo and behold, she started telling him!

"Really now?! Emotional works come out fantastic usually! They also-"

Kevin was about to be completely absorbed in conversation when something clicked in his head. He didn't expect a woman vampire to try and eat him.
"Rouge, taste me? That sounds rather dirty, doesn't it?" He laughed a bit, placing a hand on hers. "I don't think that doing that would be such a good idea."

Kevin leaned forward, his face an inch away from Rouge's. "Besides, I don't think you'd want blood from a guy who does nothing but train, run, push his body to the limit, fights undead, smells of smoke and blood, and drinks a lot."

The psychologist hadn't ever actually partook in clubbing, not even during his college/post-graduate days so far from home. It had never really interested him, though a nice drink was nearly always worth it. Nearly was key. There were always bars for those who couldn't bear the never ceasing thump of a nightclub's filtered bass. Stan looked around, a pair of dull, inexpressive blue eyes searched the place through the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. He looked for nothing in particular, but it was common knowledge that in his line of work you check a place out before taking another step in. Especially with a bar of this sort of underworld repute. He knew a few vampires that wanted to bite his face off. Stan didn't want to see if they could.

Seeing nothing that caused him any alarm, he walked over to the bar sans any form of purpose. Most people in clubs had their intentions, and to the psychologist it shown bin their faces, albeit not so much that he would automatically know what they intended. The psychologist hunter sat next to some red head, to which he paid very little mind to except for that she was rather attractive which was the norm for clubs like these. He felt uncannily cold, but ultimately blamed it on the placement of the AC vents.

Despite the scenery, Stan just wore a Minor Threat t-shirt, a pair of jeans and sneakers. He gestured to the bartender, "A Rum and Coke, please." The bartender nodded.

Stan froze, if only for a second, before sitting down at the seat anyhow. The redhead had turned to him with all her pomp, better-than-thou attitude. He knew the look she was giving him; he'd seen them before in the faces of every single trust-fund girly he'd ever met. He shrugged his shoulders; "Mr. Young and PhD" was in the house and Stan was certain that he didn't even have to bother with some random prima donna. Though, the psychologist did lean forward, slightly gesturing over to the several empty stools to Sybil's opposite side. He rested his case there.

He turned back to the bartender who finally approached him with his drink. The hunter paid for the alcohol and tipped the concocting b*****d handsomely. Otherwise, the guy would probably spit in his second drink, or fill it via urination. It's happened in bars in the States before, albeit not to Stan. He had to be careful though; just had too. Bringing the glass to his lips, the psychologist sipped a fair amount, unable to stop himself from overhearing the redhead talk to herself. Stan was literally next to her.

He rolled his eyes and sipped some more, possibly to put up with her s**t before remarking, "Drugs, it just had to be a druggie."

when his client finally stopped here he wasnt surprised, It was definitly in his charecter. he sighed this means I have to follow him inside and watch him, hopefully nobody notices he changed forms again back into himself. his client was already at the door, he would have to follow quickly. david jumped from on top of the rooftop checking for any cars that might have followed, david sighed, It dosnt seem like anybody wants to kill him yet otherwise they would have made a move already. He looked at his clothes, they seemed not to have taken that much damage in the transformation. he walked inside, he found a empty corner and leaned against it, watching his client from there.

Sybil offered a brief glance over her shoulder, eyes sweeping over the empty seats that Four-Eyes had been so gracious to point out. Okay, So? He still could have sat in one of those. Four seats down maybe, or you know; not even at the bar. That would have been more convenient for her and would have kept Jewel from complaining like a couple thousand year old baby. Sybil rolled her eyes like a moody adolescent teen and shrugged her slender shoulders, blowing him off. Whatever, She wasn't here for his type anyways. Vampire, Werewolf, please. Something, anything more interesting to fix her attention on. She had a job to do. She tried to find something, had turned to peer through the crowd with those all seeing eyes; but then the drab boy said something that shattered her focus and brought it all right back to him with a screeching halt.

Sybil had heard a lot of things over the years. She'd been 'talking to herself' since she was a small child and been harassed, medicated and contained all her life because of it. She was crazy, delusional, attention-craving, lonely, and possessed. And now apparently, She was a druggie.
Sure, she'd tried drugs before. Trackmarks had one riddled her arms and blended in with her hundreds of freckles, anything in hopes to control the hordes of spirits that occasionally attempted to crawl under her flesh. It worked for a short while, but only until the beings managed to manipulate themselves to shift into the toxic body. But hey, She was clean now and that boy had no right to go writing her off as a lost druggie. Even Jewel, without even vocalizing his opinion disapproved of that remark with a sudden drop in temperature not only where he stood, but within a five foot radius. Sybil would have shivered if she hadn't grown accustomed to his mood swings over the years.

“Woah, Are you always so rude to every girl who's space you invade?” Sybil accused, crossing her arms over that ample chest covered in nothing more than a cropped leather bomber jacket and a red string bikini top. She tried to look tough, but honestly she was just a slender girl with a crap-load of freckles and not enough clothes to cover them all. “I'm really starting to think that New York really is just full of violence and assholes. First, I get caught in bizarre shootout and now you're here popping my personal bubble and insulting me.” She would have thrown her water in his face if she'd had no class. Perfectly unseen, Jewel seemed to have decided to take it upon himself to punish the human. It was childish of him. No doubt about that, but he was probably moody and weary of going unnoticed.
Just as the Stan was in mid sip, Jewel pressed forward over the bar counter and lifted one of those gleaming tanned hands. With a simple flick of his lean fingers, he'd knocked the drink and sent the alcohol spilling down over his shirt. Sybil normally tried to be polite and modest, but she just couldn't help herself. She'd grown up with her invisible friends always at her side and it was just way too reminiscent of the games they'd played as a child. Seeing it coming, She was already laughing before Jewel had reached a hand out.

"Nice...Who is he?" He asks.

He looks at david. He drinks his beer. He sits back and relaxs for now he can finally rest. He looks down at his, her remebers when he wore steelworker boots. He laughs.

"I want to help" He says.