The wonderful thing about being single, Colette decided, was that it was only you. Just you. You could do what you wanted, wear what you wanted, eat what you wanted, and go wherever the hell you wanted.

And Colette wanted everything.

Dressed to kill, Colette finally decided upon Signature. It was late already, she realised. Perhaps even a bit too late for a dramatic entrance. The club would be packed on a Saturday night. Signature usually was.

Colette had been wrong. She had waited in line for nearly twenty minutes to get in, checking her watch compulsively, then examining her nails. She must have cut quite a figure as she did so, for the bouncer approached and, lifting the velvet rope that kept her from her destination, let her in, though she had been at least ten people back in the line.

She knew those red heels had been worth it. She might be eating pasta and ramen for the next week to defray the costs, but it was worth it.

Smirking, Colette entered Signature with the confident walk she had acquired from years on the Quidditch pitch and a strut she had learned from God knew where. The music was thrumming and the bouncer left her side with a vague hand gesture. Rolling her hair in her hand to keep it to the side and out of her way, she bit her lip, standing in the middle of a clearing for a moment, deciding what she should do.

She slid up to the bar. "Jalapiñi," she told the bartender, an eyebrow arched flirtaciously.

What? He was cute. And she had something to prove. The thought occurred to her that Carew might be here. The bastard was probably picking up women on the dance floor already. Well, she could play at his own game. She leaned a bit more against the bar, smiling and then inspecting her nails as the bartender prepared her drink.

Colette didn't take the opportunity to rake her eyes across the crowd to gather intel on prospects. If things went her way, they would come to her.

A small - pop - was the only sound in the out of the waay alley Arius had apparated into. The night at Hogsmeade was warm and Arius was happy that he had opted not to wear a coat. He shook himself off and began to move down the alley, heading for Signature on this rare night out alone. He was usually surrounded by a gaggle of people, including photographers, other models and whatever groupies clung to him that evening.

There were many things about Signature that Arius loved, the two top items being that it was owned by the one and only Finn Grovsenor and the other being that Arius could usually jump the line due to his celebrity status and friendship with Finn. Today, he opted to do just that seeing as he had showed up alone. The other nice thing about Signature was the exclusivity. It was near impossible for a photographer to get in, at least Arius had never seen one. He breezed past the line and gave a nod to the bouncer who let the man pass through amid much protest.

He entered from the inky black outside to the smoky haze that was Signature. Like any other Saturday night it was packed to the brim with witches and wizards seeking an escape from the real world. This was where they came to cede to their wilder sides, their animal instincts and their lust. There was no better place for it than a dark night club, anything could happen there. Moving through the throng of gyrating bodies moving rhythmically with the song Arius finally made it to the bar.

“Caipirinha,” he ordered, opting for a traditional Brazilian drink, one that would certainly remind him of beaches and nights like this spent dancing in the open air clubs of other countries. His eyes swept the club more closely now, looking not only for Finn, but also for some... entertainment for the evening. A few women moved towards him, dancing near him to try and attract his attention, but tonight Arius was in the mood for something better than these shallow women, the easy ones to pick out from the flock, those who would rather die than go home alone.

He heard the bartender call to him and moved to grab his drink on the bar, his arm brushing against someone else’s as he did so. He apologized to the man and paid for his drink, mixing it a bit more and beginning to move away until a flash of red caught his eye. He trned his head slightly, taking in what he had noticed, and the woman who owned the red nails. She seemed aloof and unlike the others wasn't throwing herself at any of the men there just to get noticed.

He moved towards her, drawn by her appearance and her demeanor. She was the most appealing woman he had seen at the bar and clearly that meant she should be with the most attractive man there. “Are you truly that bored that you resort to inspecting your nails? I would think at a club one could find much better things to do.”

Simon too was out on the town. It was of course the only thing he could do to get his mind off of the now empty flat he lived in. The silence had been deafening to the point where Simon could hardly go back there. He would much rather avoid it all together than anything else.

With the full moon coming up quicker than he had hoped to deal with, Simon didn't know what he was going to do without Ky. She had taken care of him when he came back weakened from the transformation. Coming back without her there was going to be harder than he expected.

Now with the possibility of a job on the horizon it looked like he would have something else to keep his mind off matters. Combine that with the last night of the Remembering holiday with Kia and copious amounts of alcohol and he had been feeling slightly better.

Walking into Signature, Simon brushed down his shirt and made sure looking in a near by glass frame that he still looked good. Never really the narcissist Simon just made sure his clothing matched, his scent was pleasant, and that his hair was not a mess when he walked out in public. When going out for an evening at signature he did do it up a little further with cologne, and a dress coat. As usual his hands were hid by leather gloves so not to risk touching anything silver on the way towards the club. Once he entered however he pulled off the gloves sliding them into his pocket and looking at the people milling about.

No one in sight that he knew from off the bat, Simon made his way towards the bar looking for something strong and eventually hoped to find himself someone for conversation. Standing at the end of the bar he ordered up a fire whiskey and a pint.

Downing the shot he looked to the left, when his eyes fell on someone who looked every bit the knock out. Smirking a bit he took his beer and moved more towards her direction curious to what the girl had on her mind.

However before he could make his own move a guy looking glossy and awfully full of pep slid by her. Taking up a spot near by, but in ear shot Simon listened in to the other man's initial first line and almost choked on his beer. Cocking a brow he looked up to see what sort of reaction she was going to give him.

Next thing Colette found, in looking up through her dark lashes, was a man. Very attractive. Very familiar.

She'd seen him from Fil's work, but she wouldn't say that just yet. And tabloids. She definitely wouldn't say that. The man likely had an ego crowded by this room, and she didn't want to be brought down so low so fast as to appear a tabloid enthusiast. After all, she was only reading the editorials for style pointers: writing style pointers.

She smirked at his line -- even customised for her! Unexpected for a man like him -- then ran her finger along the edge of one of her nails. Like the shoes, worth every penny.  "Well, I haven't found anything better . . . yet," she responded suggestively, her voice just a bit throaty. The bartender put her drink down on the table and her eyes lit. "Ah! Well, there: this is better." She slid the appropriate bills across the table and smiled at the bartender.

She'd be back later.

Taking the drink into her hand, she turned to lean against the bar luxuriously and better take in the man before him. He wasn't bad on the eyes. No, indeed. A bit different in person, however. Likely attributable to Fil's photography. She had to pull herself back from taking in too much of him, searching for differences in the subject of Fil's photos and the man before him. She began to look at him less like a man and more like a painting or photograph; she wondered if he could tell. The differences were subtle, but striking. One could tell so much about a photographer by what they chose to accentuate, highlight, and change. Deciding to stop thinking like an editor, she took in the view a moment longer, eyebrow arching in a challenge.

She hoped Carew was watching this. Every last minute of it.

"Arius Tristisa," Colette continued in her sultry voice, making sure it just carried over the pulse of the music, yet maintained its softness. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Again, the smirk made its reappearance. "I hope I don't have to pay to look at you, but then, it is your job. Perhaps I should just play it safe," she said silkily, averting her gaze back down to her nails with a smile as cryptic as Mona Lisa's.

Perhaps bored was not the right word, she seemed more... uninterested in her surroundings and utterly unfazed by the atmosphere of Signature. She was obviously above throwing herself at the first man to approach her. Fortunately, Arius was bored with those types of girls anyhow and tonight since he was out alone he didn’t have to go for the ditziest girl in the room who also happened to be the hottest. No, tonight he could go for brain as well as beauty. He could use a real conversation with a woman as well; he had forgotten what normal women were like when they went out.

There was a certain mystique to her, and in Arius’ mind a flair for the dramatic as evidenced by the stark black paired with so much red. At least she knew what she was doing when it came to color accents, some people would try and hopelessly fail to achieve what she had. Often it was a matter of simply pairing the right objects together, textures and fabrics were very important when it came to such fashion statements.

“…this is better…” ‘As am I,’ he thought to himself, believing that he should be enough to entertain her for the evening, and certainly be more interesting than her nails. After all, there were few things more interesting when Arius came along. He had a certain panache for turning even the dullest situation into something entertaining. He couldn’t help it! It was simply the way he was. Well, the way he thought he was anyhow.

“Here’s to a pleasant evening. Cheers.” He raised his glass to her and then took a sip of the sweet lime concoction. If there was one thing Brazilians could do it was make a mixed drink, he supposed.

He couldn’t help but smirk when she said his name, thinking ‘once more, proof that I need no introduction.’ Perhaps she was a fan, it wouldn’t be the first time one of his fans wasn’t a giggling school girl but rather an established woman. “It seems you know who I am, but I fear I have yet to make your acquaintance, and since you are the only woman here worthy of me I believe that is a problem.”

Sniffing the aire he could smell the woman who stood there before him. The scent had traveled to him easily and with his heightened senses it was not hard to hone in on her fragrance. The other was also strongly scented but it was not pleasing to his nose... Captivating, and he was quite interested in removing the competition to learn him a little more about her.

Looking at the bloke with a sideways glance he wondered what the big bloody deal was. He didn't look all that interesting to him, but perhaps that was because he wasn't exactly floating about Simon's current social circle. No one who looked to have their nails manicured was going to be living in a dingy flat hanging from a hammock he nicked while the master of the house was turned away. They were more likely to sleep on pressed silk sheets and eat berries of varies shapes and sizes. The idea didn't come across as terrible but it was no life Simon had ever known. Though his parents had money he was given cotton sheets and wool blankets no frills for the second son, the less worthy one. Joke was on them however, because those sheets and items they never spared for him, later vanished and the money filled his stomach for quite some time.

Simon looked around to make sure he hadn't stepped into a comedy club by accident. No this was definitely Signature and this man with his over inflated ego had enough narcissism dripping off him that Simon feared there might be a flood warning. The aire about him clearly seemed to be electrified with how much strongly the other man felt for himself. If there was a pool he could reflect himself in, Simon figured he might fall in if of course Simon didn't push him for good measure.

Granted he had no reason to be cross. The other man slid in before him, his own fast reflexes had been no match for the big headed. However the next line that the glossy one threw out caused Simon to snort.

“It seems you know who I am, but I fear I have yet to make your acquaintance, and since you are the only woman here worthy of me I believe that is a problem.”

Chuckling loudly to himself Simon finished his pint and ordered up another one. The bartender seemed to be curious with Simon's laughter but he didn't share what was on his mind. Putting on a glove he pulled out some coins to pay for his libations.

Colette lifted her glass and nodded amiably at Arius' toast. "Cheers." She watched him carefully as she took a sip, enjoying the tang of the drink and evaluating her situation. Very attractive man, engaging in banter, and the possibility for getting drunk. Well, getting drunk would muddy the banter, no doubt, but it seemed, in moderation, all the elements for a pleasant evening were right before her. Her smile grew cynical, however, as she gave a raw smile at his' assertion that she was the only woman worthy of him. She knew a canned line when she heard one. He was not going to win this round with lines like that.

"Surely you wouldn't expect a girl to yield her advantage so quickly." Colette scoffed teasingly in a low voice as she tilted her head to allow her hair to fall lightly across her shoulders.  "Besides. It would be no fun for you. You may make it a point to be as visible as possible but I," here she leaned forward slightly, "make it a point to maintain some mystery." She smirked now. If she was too aloof, they'd get no where. And she planned on keeping this handsome man around long enough, at least, to make sure Carew was watching.

She shifted, crossing her arms, flashing a line of very white teeth. Thank goodness for Wheedley's Whitening Wonders. Pure magic. "But," she suggested in an air of amusement, "I'm not averse to switching roles for a moment, if you want to play reporter. What do you want to know, Signor Tristisa?" she asked, letting her tongue roll over the pronunciation of his name. It probably sounded like Spanish; it was the only accent she could ever bother with to master. She liked Spanish. Musical, melodic . . . and unlike French or Portuguese, didn't sound like you needed to cough something up.

Another sip as she looked over at the man across from her, trying to guess what his questions might be. She heard a snide chuckle to the other side of her and she tilted her head slightly. She had an audience -- another attractive man. He looked rougher. And interested. Good. Colette had always been a performer.

“I never expect anything. That would be foolish of me.”  He said with a nonchalant wave and a quirk of one perfectly groomed eyebrow. Expectations begot disappointment, and while Arius did not like to be disappointed he was also aware of the fact that any other woman in the club would easily yield. He loved a challenge yes, but not a woman who thought she was too good for him. No woman was, and they needed to understand. He may have been too good for the majority of the woman here, but not a single one would ever be too good for him. His chest puffed a bit, like a peacock preparing to splay its colorful plumage and he took another sip of his drink. This woman was certainly throwing him for several loops.

“If I enjoy being seen, then it must also be that the world cannot get enough of me.” He wore a smirk on his face as he spoke, knowing he was a hot ticket item. His face had been plastered on nearly everything and anything they could find for him to promote. There was nothing that he was saying that wasn’t true. “I am terribly spectacular, you know? They love hearing about me, and if they didn’t then you wouldn’t know my name.” Arius may have been full of himself but he did know he had a large fanbase, and that if he liked being in the public eye, they had certainly fostered that love by buying things with his face on them.

“So you are a reporter,” he said nodding his head slightly, made sense then that she would know who he was. He shrugged off the pronunciation of Signore, which she threw out more like a Spanish señor, forgetting the ‘e’ at the end. It was a small thing and would perhaps be irksome to anyone who was so strict about grammar and spelling, but he wasn’t. He had lived in London for far too long to worry about things like that. “For which esteemed establishment do you work?” He knew the answer wouldn’t be Witch Weekly, but then again he knew all of them by name and face. As for a tabloid reporter, well if that was the case she would probably never say. Although he did have to wonder, if she was a tabloid reporter than he was in the worst place possible and this would put him between a rock and a hard place.

She tilted her head and Arius’ eyes discreetly followed where she was looking, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of someone strangely familiar. It was distaste more than jealousy or worry, after all, no other man had ever made Arius jealous.

The girl claimed herself mysterious but the other male wasn't mystified from what he gathered. It was not easy to eavesdrop when you would rather be in there telling the other man to get over himself. Maybe it was the drink floating through his body and towards his blood stream, or the fact that this cocky son of a gun had gall a kilometer wide, either way Simon found himself wanting to speak up. Surely dropping in a little might seem rude to a person who gave two bits about social standards but Simon was not one of those people. Simon was a man who tended to get him nose in places it didn't belong.

While he wanted to pay more attention to the lovely girl standing there, he found that he couldn't ignore the tart with the perfect features. It was almost disgusting how flawless this arse was.

“If I enjoy being seen, then it must also be that the world cannot get enough of me.”

That tore it, "You have got to be kidding me," he snorted at the comment. It was certainly rude but at this point he was done just listening in. Was this guy that full of himself? Simon almost gagged a little on the malarkey he was trying to feed the young femme-fatale before them. "That is a line if I ever heard one," he turned towards the other male who had given him a bit of a sneer.

“I am terribly spectacular, you know? They love hearing about me, and if they didn’t then you wouldn’t know my name.”

Sure he was trying to spit his game the best he could at Colette, but if the girl bit down on any of that rot she was not who he had hoped to chat up in the first place. "I beg your pardon Miss but did you really wish to have a conversation with this bloke or is the ego of this wind bag sucking all of the good aire out of the room?" Simon tossed back another shot his leather glove entering his pocket for the proper change. Dropping it on the counter he leaned on the bar now looking dead onto the pair without budging or apologies. 

“I never expect anything. That would be foolish of me.”

"So glad to hear it," Colette purred. "I love it when people agree with me, and am so happy you are not a fool." She smirked at his response, however. Pomp personified. Still, he made a pretty muse for Fil, though she was now desperately trying to understand how the two of them got on at all. There must be more, she decided, to the man that he did not let women see. She couldn't imagine Fil wasting his time with this candy. And she might not much longer, either, if he kept on like this. Sure, he was very attractive, but Colette didn't know how she could cope with speaking to a man who wore more makeup and was prettier than her.

She grinned at the model's assertion that the world could not get enough Arius Tristisa and was about to make a reply when the man beside them grew vocal. And assertive. She turned her head and bit back her surprise a moment.

A line. Tell me something I don't know, Colette thought, feeling her temper flare a moment at the interruption. Still. She had been curious about the man. Time to see what each of them were made of, she supposed. She leaned back more against the bar so as not to exclude the no-longer silent drinker from their conversation.

"I'm an editor, actually," she corrected Arius. "But you can play reporter. I work for  a little periodical called the Prophet," she teased. "And you may be spectacular, but -- forgive me, it's the editor in me -- I believe you've forgotten to credit one of your sources of your fame. Fillin O'Hare; you are his muse, are you not?" she asked with a lopsided smile. Another sip. Colette suspected the man would not take well to being reduced from god to muse, but she took every opportunity to lionise her friends -- particularlly those who truly deserved it. And this man could do with a little sense of gratitude. "At least," she smirked, "that is how I know your name."

And then mysteryman spoke with another rejoinder. "I beg your pardon Miss but did you really wish to have a conversation with this bloke or is the ego of this wind bag sucking all of the good aire out of the room?" 

Colette tilted her head towards him. "Well," she said, raising her eyebrows and looking between the two men. Perhaps this had been orchestrated. Perhaps they were friends in some flirtation wars. "I hope you two know each other, or this could be awkward." She grinned. Unexpected. Exciting. So long as a fight didn't break out or both stormed away, leaving her with no one at all, this could be quite an interesting evening. She had always wondered how referees had managed to keep everything together. Maybe she was about to find out. To the newcomer, she said, "I'm not really a girl to do something she doesn't want to. But if you think you're a breath of fresh air . . ." she left the challenge open.

Her sarcasm was unattractive, and Arius looked her up and down once more, wondering if he could truly forgive such a glaring flaw. He wasn’t entirely sure that he could, and she was pretty, yes but nothing stunning about her. She was a bit on the short side compared to the women he spent the majority of his time with and a smidge pudgy. Well, at least compared to his models. This might have been a horrid idea, despite his love for a challenge. Not to mention her sudden interest in someone other than him. Who exactly did she think she was?

“Ah,” he said to her remark about being an editor. So, essentially, she did the easiest part of the job. “I do believe you were the one who said you were willing to switch roles and let me play reporter. Perhaps you should have been clearer, though I suppose that without a writer here to give me the lines I couldn’t edit anyhow.” When she told him she worked for the Prophet Arius nodded his head, not terribly impressed. Perhaps if she had worked for a fashion magazine or something of the sort he might have been. Working for the newspaper was alright though, he supposed.

“I am not anyone’s muse. If Fillin takes pictures of me it is because he has wanted to and we happen to be friends. I help him find work when others won’t give it to him for whatever reason. Besides, the pictures of me that broke through were not taken by Fillin.” He was very defensive of his relationship with Fillin, but did not like the idea of crediting the other man for his success. Everything Arius had he had acquired on his own. It wasn’t like Fillin had put the face on Arius or the body. He had worked hard for that body, and his face was simply the result of having very excellent genes. He had gotten the offer to be a model before Fillin had started taking the good pictures of him. Before that, they barely knew each other. He had started modeling before Fillin had even left Hogwarts! So, yes, there were Hogwarts pictures but they were few and none of them especially spectacular.

He was going to continue until someone butted in, the man from the bar who looked strangely familiar to Arius. If only he could place that face or, ugh, that smell. Had the man never heard of soap and water? What about manners? Did no one teach him that when two people were conversing it was rude to interrupt? An icy tone and a superior air were exuded by his voice as he spoke to the man. “I assume by your manners that what you could offer would be boorish conversation. After all, it isn’t a sign of courtesy or breeding to interrupt others when they are speaking Mister…” He trailed off, waiting for the man to fill in his own name, perhaps then he would be able to place him.

This stuffy bloke didn't seem to have a sense of humor or a funny bone if you didn't count the nose in the center of his squared off face. Surely he was just being judgmental due to obvious distaste for this painted pigeon. Simon didn't trust anyone who groomed themselves more than a cat laying in a sun beam. What he had gathered was there was a slight change in the conversation and it was pleasing him all the more.

Simon was still just listening to the casual exchange. It was something that if directed at him he might have bristled at. But without a job of his own, really what others did was their business. An Editor, to him that sounded like a good steady job. Better than having to be the center of attention. She was a behind the scenes sort, which was fine, because so was he.

While with the tantalizing job offer by Covi waiting in the  wings, he wasn't exactly looking to be the poster child for abused, ignored, and forgotten werewolves. If he had wanted pity of any sort, he might have taken out a page in the prophet babbling about the hard times that have befallen him. Instead however, Simon was looking towards having a chance to work for change. That was promising, and it left him eager to learn a little more about his potential career. That's why he was silently celebrating his possible future ventures.

Then again when was it that Simon Reid needed an excuse to celebrate anything really?

The pretty boy was defending himself against the cutting with of the young lass. She was quick, and Simon gave her a wolfish grin as he listened to the other bloke saying he wasn't a muse. It was just his duty to help a friend in need by taking pictures of him or some other rubbish he was trying to feed her. It was boring to him every time the other spoke. "No miss I can't say I know ... him" if he was familiar at all Simon couldn't be bothered to delve deeper into what he could only assume would be unpleasant memories.

Simon chuckled as the glossy tart tried to cut him down, "Please, my breeding has nothing to do with the fact that your conversation was comical. I only found the need to butt in to see if the young lady you have trapped here with your toxic fumes of ego needed a break. I would hate to see her die of boredom here in this fine establishment listening to someone about highlights and the best place to purchase makeup..." Models who needed them? Not him. If the arse wanted his name, that was a little too bad he wasn't going to give it up. Turning his attention back to the lovely female looking at him now, a grin crossed his lips again, "A breathe of fresh aire might be a little hard with his fat head clogging up all the sources of ventilation..." Simon trailed off waiting for a snappy retort while ordering up another drink.

Colette's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he glibly corrected her, looking quite pleased with himself. And why wouldn't he be? Attractive, even smart, confident.

Too confident. Colette preferred mere mortals. And he didn't take much to teasing, either. A pity. To his impassioned retort, Colette put down her drink and held up both hands in a motion to placate. "Fair. I'd not think Fil would do anything he didn't want to." This went not only for taking pictures of the man -- this was self-explanatory, but with being his friend. Though Colette had to admit that once more, men served to mystify. She could not imagine amiable relations between the two. She could only conclude that he was a different man around the photographer.

She hoped to God that was so.

And then the other man with his blatant barbs and sneers. Colette picked up her drink and finished it -- far more quickly than was perhaps prudent. "Well," she said pointedly, looking between the two, "I think I'm going to step out for  some air after all. You two can carry this out amongst yourselves. You're having far too much fun and I'd only get in the way." She looked at both of them through her lashes in a downcast glance. "Besides. You two might very well deserve each other." What with the supermodel's ego and the second's acerbic bites to a complete stranger, whose only fault was cheesily talking about himself, Colette felt herself in the middle of a brawl about to break out.

This is not what she had signed up for. She wanted a break. She wanted to be the centre of attention. Currently, she was in the eye of the storm. Colette had long wondered what it was like to be a referee, how she would handle herself if she had to be one of the ref's to calm her down -- Colette was often the one throwing the insults or elbows in a game of Quidditch -- but now, she found a newfound respect for the art.

She almost wished she hadn't called them quite so many names in her Hogwarts days.