Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that shit wankers said about death. 

There was a slight swagger to Adam’s steps, a deep sense of satisfaction to the smirk on his face, as he walked down the unusually empty London Street that Monday evening. It also wasn’t raining, which was another not too normal fact about the night. As a matter of fact, the only thing not at all out of the ordinary was the newly finished job he’d successfully completed. One more heart had ceased beating thanks to Adam’s expertise, and it was a jolly good time to celebrate –not only death, but a shit load more money in his pockets. Turned out, killing become even more profitable around the holiday’s.

It was still early, and Adam watched as a group of businessmen entered a muggle bar that had a sign which properly announced it was still Happy Hour –a bit odd, considering it was already ten pm, but the animagus was certainly not one to complain. Pressing past the open doors, he paused to glance around the large bar: tables were set up for dinning, couches awaited at the entrance for those with reservations or who had to wait for a table, but the long bar that ran from one end to the other had a few empty stools. Cheerfully, he maneuvered towards it and sat, resting forwards and signaling for the waiter. With a jolly smile, he ordered his usual. “Vodka. Straight.” He planned on getting properly pissed tonight.

The day after Valentine's, and Darian still had a spring in his step. A little muscle exhaustion, too, but he'd never complained about that. He loved Valentine's day. So many lonely, single people: it worked out very well for him. Eloi had his lovely parties and Darian's friends had their typical Valentine's day disdain and his other "friends" had a pressing urge not to be alone for the night. Thank Merlin for the Floo system.

He preferred something a little more restful for tonight; he had not slept at all. So to the Muggle world it was for some casual mingling, some drinks, who knew. Even if he went home with someone, he wouldn't have to lift his wand. Not the magical one, at least.

According to his audience he was wearing the proper clothes, though even the Muggle world couldn't convince him to be lowkey. As soon as he sauntered in he gained himself some looks, some admiresome, some "why does that bloke match the metal furnishings." Ah, doubters. His sheer presence which pushed in front of him like some invisible tide had the bartender pulling out a glass before he even reached the bar, and his ever-present confidence rendered his gold ensemble eccentric but somehow, impossibly, charming. He hopped onto a stool and smirked at the bartender, who got him the G & T he asked for.

Only then did he cast his attention out like a net to the crowd. Because Adam was closest, he caught it first. Darian only had to turn his head before his eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise and his lips curved into a generous smile. "Well, what do you know," he said, delight filling his voice. "Adam Turner. It's been a while."

When on killed for a living, there were certain moments that came as quite threatening and made it all rather unappreciated, even if one certainly loved their job. For example, there was nothing worse than that moment –right after a kill-, when one came by someone one knew and all of the sudden one would wonder if there was blood in their hair, or any type of evidence on their persona. Adam Turner had not experienced such situations often, but when they came they tended to set his heart to skipping beats and his lips to dry. Perhaps it was a miracle that he had a glass of vodka placed before him tonight, then, his fingers wrapped around the luke warm beverage, as a familiar voice stated his name and he found his head turning in the right direction.

Darian Morgan sat a few stools away, a drink on his hand, and something bright on his face. Adam fought to smile himself and wasn’t entirely certain it looked convincing, as he gulped down dread and quickly made a mental check of his current composition: he had made sure not to make a mess of the body this time, so there shouldn’t be any blood on him; there might be a faint scent of transpiration but that wasn’t exactly a give away. Deciding that he shouldn’t be sporting any evidence of what he’d just done, Adam finally allowed his smirk to grow as he stared at his old Hogwarts mate.

“Look at what the cat dragged out,” Adam winked as he tossed back his head and downed the vodka, signaling for another one as he patted the stool next to him with his other hand. “Come. Sit. It’s been far too long,” The assassin placed the empty glass on the bar, as he waited for another one, silver eyes on Darian. “For some reason, I thought you were dead.”

Happily Darian slid down to the stool beside Adam, his whole posture open, welcoming, interested. For the second time in as many minutes his brows rose in astonishment, though something in the wry quirk of his mouth indicated an equal amount of amusement. He laughed, a warm and startled sound. He'd never heard that excuse before.

 "Why on earth would you think that?" he asked, poised for the answer over his untouched drink. It would be a good one, he was sure. And it was revealing - Adam must not read the gossip rags. Fair enough. Darian wouldn't read them either except he was far too egotistical to ignore his own occasional inclusion. He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "How pessimistic of you."

Darian settled down on the stool Adam had indicated, just as his second vodka was placed on the bar before him. The assassin let one finger lean against the glass, as he managed a steady, peaceful smirk. It wasn’t precisely that he had any reason to believe the other man dead, but he was a morbid person who dealt in death and when someone he’d known well many years before simply dissapeared off the map…

“Oh, don’t take it personal, mate,” Adam said, with a care free shrug as he took a slow, small sip of his drink. “Just hadn’t heard from you, so death sounded like the most plausible explanation,” At this, he paused, and forced a consternated, almost offended look onto his face, while inwardly very much amused by what he said next. “Although, if you’re alive… have you simply been trying to stay away from me, Darian Morgan?”

Darian was still amused. It was a very straightforward way of looking at things, almost too straightforward to be cynical. Merlin, the amount of acquaintances who fell by the wayside, it was just the way of the world! Adam must think he had a lot of dead mates.

"Fair enough," he said. "But don't look at me like that! It was a mutual fault. I hadn't heard from you either." He arched his eyebrows pointedly before drinking, appreciating distantly the taste of juniper. G and T's were difficult to bullocks up. Darian snapped his fingers insouciantly. "What've you been up to, where've you been, etc etc." The slant of his smile was arch, good-humored; he knew there was a limit to what Adam could tell in a Muggle bar and his expression suggested that. If anything, it was an invitation to tell an excellent story.