It's dark. But then again, it's always dark.
Dark and damp and gloomy.
Sunny days, the ones with glaring sunshine and cloud-free skies, are a rarity in these parts.
But she wouldn't have it any other way.
She observes the two individuals bickering before her from her seat in a rickety old chair a short distance away. The argument is fruitless, but she's amused anyway. Although, she's careful to mask her amusement behind her usual lofty indifference.
Her posture is lax, fingers loosely coiled around the gun in her right hand, back curved. Her relaxation is deceptive; should anything escalate, she would be ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat.
Pitch black hair differentiates her from her partner, a female of similar age and height. They share the same pale skin, however. The same pale skin, fangs and crimson eyes.
The dark-haired female masks her's with pale gray contacts, whereas her partner's are lilac.
The dark-haired one looks up, slight smirk on her face, "Yes, Corinne?"
"How much longer are we going to let them carry on?"
"Are you bored?"
Bellanca raises her hands in resignation, smirk still present, and no more is said between the two.
She stands up, latching her gun back into the harness under her right arm. Dropping her hands to her hips, she stands watching the arguing pair for a brief moment before...
"Are you two quite finished?"
The pair stops dead and direct their attention to the tall female.
The male of the two, coal dreadlocks tied up in a ponytail and cascading down his back, narrows his bright yellow eyes at her.
Bellanca glares back at him, "I'll thank you to not speak to me like that. Now, I believe I asked a question: are you two quite finished?"
The female opposite him, auburn hair just brushing her shoulders and deep purple eyes, looks taken aback by the interruption. But she recovers quickly, and, true to her nature, rekindles the argument.
"We would be if Mikhail would just take what he's given!"
Mikhail's, the dreadlock'd male, head snaps back.
"I told you, Logan, $3000 or nothin' doin'," he responds shortly.
Logan huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, "No way!"
"Would you two just compromise?" Corinne, temporarily forgotten by her companions, cried, frustration evident.
Everyone blinks. The bespectacled female isn't the type to yell. The conversation dies temporarily; Mikhail and Logan each too stubborn to budge from their positions in the argument. Bellanca rolls her eyes and drops back into her seat, chair creaking under her weight.
The lull in conversation provides the perfect opportunity for the door to burst open, revealing a winded girl, dark brown hair tied in a side ponytail. Logan peeks over Mikhail's shoulder and, upon seeing who had interrupted their silence, smiles.
The girl, Nina, smiles back, "Logan!"
Her smile fades quickly, though.
"Logan, we've got a call out. It's serious."
Shock is the first emotion that registers on Logan's face, followed shortly by annoyance and followed up by the final emotion: resignation.
"Alright, I'm coming."
Nina nods sharply, "Car's out front."
Logan returns her gesture and watches as her partner leaves. Once Nina is gone, she redirects her attention to Mikhail. The yellow-eyed male is smirking, his arms crossed over his chest. Logan glares.
"Don't get too cocky, wolfy. You're STILL not getting that $3000."
Mikhail offers a dismissive shrug, "You say that now," his infuriating smirk never leaves his face.
Logan scoffs in utter disgust and shoots him one more disdainful glare before darting out of the door of the bar, presumably to join Nina in their cop car.
The door slams shut, resonating within the bar. Mikhail shifts his attention back to Bellanca and Corinne, who've been sitting in silence, watching the exchange before them.
"So, what are your offer, vamp scamps?"
"Don't call us that, mutt. And we told you our offer already: you spill what you know, we don't kill you," Corinne states bluntly.
Mikhail whistles, holding up his hands, "Alright, easy, easy."
"So talk," Bellanca murmurs, twirling her gun, which she'd unsheathed again not too long ago, around her finger.
Mikhail grimaces, "I shouldn't be talking without a cash deposit but... I saw some demons around the Red Light District, skulking around some strip clubs."
The look of utter disgust on Bellanca's face after he finishes speaking is enough to make up for the lack of payment for his information. He grins. Corinne hides her smirk behind her hand.
"Tch, c'mon Corinne," Bellanca sputters, standing up abruptly. Still bemused, Corinne follows suit, nodding slightly towards Mikhail by way of thanks. They leave quickly, aiming to catch the demons before they lose track of them.
Mikhail throws himself onto a bar stool, tapping the bell on the counter.
"Hey! Can I get some service?" He hollers, settling in for the time being. As he waits, the bar door jingles, signalling the entrance of a new party.
Mikhail looks up from his spot by the counter, and smiles.
The former grins, his trademark fedora perched atop his dark brown hair at a jaunty agile. The latter, blonde and surly as ever, merely nodded.
Mikhail offered a cheerful smirk, "Join me for a drink? I'm not doing anything special anyway."
"Sure!" Kovarev said brightly, "Wouldn't that be fun, Adrian? We don't get to spend a lot of time with Mikhail anyway."
Adrian sighed, "Alright, Kovarev, if you want to."
Kovarev's smile grew wider, if possible, as the couple moved to sit in the bar stools adjacent Mikhail.
Conversation started almost instantly, and Mikhail did his best to keep up with Kovarev's marathon talking. All the while, however, he wondered vaguely about where he was going to sleep that night.
Outside, the hustle and bustle around the small, out-of-the-way bar had visibly died down, much to the disdain of two individuals sitting in a dark car with tinted windows across the street.
"Awww, they've all gone home," one, brunette with an eye patch, drawls, feigned sadness evident in his voice.
"No big loss, we know where to find them anyway," the other, blonde, green eyes, responds.
His counterpart shrugs, "True. Then are we going to the clubs?" a wily grin creeps across his face.
"No, Dalton. Remember the last time?"
"You're always bringing that up," Dalton laments, sitting back in his seat, "That was one time, Damien, come on."
Damien, the blonde, whirls around to face his friend, "One time? You're such a liar! It's happened every time we've gone clubbing! Don't you remember Gloria, Melissa, Samantha..."
Dalton waves his hand dismissively, "Details, minor details."
Damien rolls his eyes and starts the car in a huff.
"You're not going anywhere with me ever again," he murmurs as he drives off.