11:46 PM
Camden Town Hookers
Camden Town, London

The sun had set hours before, leaving the streets and alleyways of Camden Town dark as Kurby had made his way to the particular establishment that was his quarry tonight.  Overhead, there was only a sliver of moon in the sky -- waxing now instead of waning, a reminder that his other quarry would soon be rising as well.

The Camden Town Hookers bar was set off the beaten path, hidden at the end of a street where it would likely be difficult for Muggles to accidentally stumble upon it, even if it didn't have wards in place.  From the outside, it looked unremarkable -- although it had a certain air about it, a signal that the style he'd noticed hovering about Tristan Vaillancourt and Lazarus Blackburn also extended to other members of the undead. 

No one interrupted him as he approached.  Kurby pushed through the double sets of doors, lowering the hood of his cloak as he stepped inside.

The pub seemed busy tonight, especially for a Wednesday, but maybe vampires had a different sense of the rhythm of the working week.  Many of the booths and tables were full, and there was a low buzz of conversation throughout the room.  An enormous mirror lined the wall behind the bar, reflecting the patrons of the room as they went about the business of the night.  Well, some of the patrons -- a quick glance about and a count confirmed that under a dozen were mortal.  The others, including the man standing behind the bar, had no reflection.

Well, there was no point in being anything but direct.  Kurby strode to the bar, unfastening his cloak as he moved.  Turn a blind eye, Vaillancourt had said, and he did his best to do so now, avoiding looking too long at any of the activity taking place within the various booths.  Whatever the living wixes here were after, he'd agreed not to make it his business.

"Evenin'," he greeted the vampire behind the bar, sliding onto a stool.  "Is Lazarus Blackburn about?"

The requested vampire was at the billiards tables, wandering around the rich red felt in poorly lit alcoves. He was unaware of who was coming and going or that a visitor had asked for him by name. That is, not until his table partner alerted him with a nod and a glance. Lazarus turned over his shoulder and turned immediately back again. It was Bagnold the werewolf hunter.

'Ah, aren't you happy to see him? Heard you two were becoming regulars.

Lazarus didn't take the bait. Instead, he bent low and lined up a long shot across the table. When he stood up, his partner was still gazing at Bagnold.

'Well, if you aren't going to have some ..."

Lazarus caught her lightly by the arm as she attempted to move past him. "Don't. That would be fun for, uh, no one."

Old Laz was an understated sort of vampire. Not the sort to get in a bloodrage bluster over volunteers and he had a certain quiet standing in the coven that lent his words some weight. He wasn't untouchable, though, and he knew his odd movements were becoming notable. He hadn't seen Bagnold since the full moon and he hadn't expected to - let sleeping dogs like while you counted your blessed fingers and toes.

The most likely impetus for a werewolf hunter hopping the fence was on account of who Laz had met on the new moon. One of the pups, Fenneken, had caught him out behaving naturally.[1] Stories like that could make the living behave .. unpredictably.

What was more predictable would be the coven's handling of a visitor like Kurby Bagnold. All things considered, there was a great deal of good will between Lazarus and Kurby and it would be kind, he calculated, to leverage it.

He left his cue at the table and meandered over to the bar. He opened an arm and chuckled a rasp.

"Bags, you're not really our type."

1.	24 Dec 2011 - Oh, Holey Night

It being just a few days since the last New Moon, he was not feeling peckish when the wizard approached the bar. Terry was serving - which was also what he called it when he chatted with their patrons who came looking for a thrill. Someone had to make sure they weren't rats. Tonight, he was that someone.

             "Evenin'...Is Lazarus Blackburn about?"

The rat in question looked familiar. Tristan had mentioned the name, recently. Hooker finished pouring a shot glass of blood liquor and slid is further down the counter for one of the coven members to snatch up as a drink. He pretended not to have heard the man at first, and put away the gleaming red bottle with deliberate lethargy.

Across the pub, he could hear Blackburn having a chat by the billiards. Terrence found it interesting that Laz didn't come over right away to see who was trying to tease him out. Neither werewolves nor werewolf hunters came to Hookers much. This was a novelty. It was interesting.

Clearly, Laz must have eventually come to the same conclusion because he was approaching the bar to meet this new acquaintance with what a strangely casual inflection. "Bags, you're not really our type."

"He might be my type, mate." Terry leaned against the counter, inserting himself into the conversation like he hadn't just ignored Bagnold from the get-go. "Terrence Hooker," he extended a hand and his teeth flashed brilliantly in a smile. "You not here to be bled, eh? Don't look scrubbed enough for it."

Usually, the one who wanted to be drunk from, they soaked and scrubbed themselves clean. Especially the first-timers who didn't know if there was etiquette to it (hardly).

He'd played the game of making an appointment wait enough times that Kurby wasn't really flustered when the tactic was turned on him.  The vampire behind the bar finished what he was doing without acknowledging his arrival, handing off a shot of suspiciously-red liquid and returning the bottle to its place with intentional procrastination.  Kurby leaned back on the bar stool and waited, his posture relaxed, shifting so that he could keep half an eye on the room behind him.

It didn't take long before he caught a flash of approaching movement out of the corner of his eye, and a familiar raspy voice spoke up to greet him.

He'd only ever encountered Lazarus Blackburn during their full moon adventures, both of which had been initiated by the vampire.  Now, he'd managed to locate his lunar ally in his usual place of skulking.  Kurby shot the undead American a fierce grin, quick and sure, turning to face him.  But before he could offer a retort and greeting of his own, the vampire bartender who had been ignoring him a moment ago cut in.

Terrence Hooker.  He knew that name.  The leader of Lazarus's coven, according to Tristan Vaillancourt -- and, also according to Vaillancourt, not a good man before he'd been turned. 

That was fine.  The werewolf hunter felt far more comfortable dealing with dangerous and morally-questionable people, undead or living, than he did trying to tiptoe around politics at the Ministry.  At least Hooker hadn't casually tossed Kurby's name into the conversation the way that the two other vampires had.

"Naw, just came to chat with Laz," Kurby agreed cheerfully.  He took the vampire's proffered handshake with a firm grip, flashing a quick grin in return.  "Kurby Bagnold.  Sorry for intrudin' on your coven," he added, reasonably politely.  "I'll try to be out of your lot's hair quick."

Lazarus had only once stood between Terry and a living neck and he'd wait a few good more decades before he tried it again. Bagnold was a grown fellow - a bit on the small side - he had to know what he was doing. Old Laz didn't dwell on speculations if he could help it, but if he did he'd have liked to know quicker than later what Bagnold was doing here and what Hook would do about it, if anything. Maybe nothing, nothing, and nothing.

Lazarus returned Kurby's smile, stretched and strange. Then he turned out to the room, leaned his back against the bar and crossed his arms. Then touched his hat, then his chin. He mumbled something low in his throat.

"Mmmmhmm."

He patted around in his jacket slowly and unperturbed even though he knew exactly where the cigarette and lighter were.

"How about that weather, then," he said putting a dart to his lips and lighting it. Kurby wanted to chat, Lazarus could chat. He liked a chat. Because this was a perfectly normal day for perfectly normal chats, werewolf hunters visiting a vampire in Camden Town.

The wizard  seemed plain-speaking enough, not here to dance around motives. Terrence himself could never be so direct but he appreciated the quality in people who dealt with the coven. As Bagnold was dealing with Laz, that made him the coven's business in Hooker's eyes. Therefore, open to casual investigation.

            "Sorry for intrudin' on your coven..."

Terry's smile turned a little crooked, amused. He kept his eyes on their visitor even as Blackburn made those nevergreen vocalisations that leant him a wizened air. "You're not intrudin'. Nobody intrudes on the Camden Town Hookers, am I right Laz?" he glanced at the other vampire, toying with words. "If you're here, you're here because we want you here."

And if they didn't want him here, well, then, he wouldn't be here much longer. But it did seem like Kurby had only come to chat with Laz about their mutual experiences, and Terry was inclined to be entertained.

"Now, can I pour you a drink while you two are talking about the," his black eyes gleamed hospitably, "ah, the meteorological conditions of this great city?"

The werewolf hunter grinned, flicking his wrist to give a quick two-fingered salute in acknowledgement of the coven leader's directive.  He'd seen how quickly vampires could move when Lazarus had taken it upon himself to distract the first direwolf.  If the residents here decided he wasn't welcome as a visitor, he had no doubt he'd find himself out on his arse or worse.

"Gin and tonic?  Cheers," he said, digging into his pocket for his coin pouch. 

Leaning an elbow on the counter, Kurby shifted position to give himself a view of the bartending vampire as he turned towards Lazarus.

The tiny bit of context that he'd built since the last time he'd seen his adventuring comrade made the other vampire stick out all the more.  Tristan Vaillancourt had been smooth and sophisticated, with a certain inhuman, otherworldly note underneath.  Hooker, too, gave off a sense of cool, controlled power.  Lazarus, in contrast, seemed much more curious about wixes than he did predatory, hemming and clearing his throat where the others were velvety and polished.

"Been a bit warmer since the last full moon," Kurby replied easily.  He arched an eyebrow at the American vampire, slanting him a quizzical look down the bar.  "I didn't get to chat with you much at the end of that.  Reckon you made it out in one piece?"

Oh, that. Well, that was to be expected. If he knew or cared about his meeting Fenneken off-duty he wasn't going to lead with it. Lazarus was finding that having the affection or affinity of a human or few - he was gathering a small collection - was sitting comfortably with him. He couldn't place the notion right now, but he'd find it. He'd sort it all out eventually.

"Sure, sure I did," Lazarus responded like fine-grain sandpaper. He drew in the smoke and let it out between his teeth in a grin.

"Sure, sure, sure. Intact, unsinged. Bracing. Hmmm. And you, in the flesh."

He looked over his shoulder at Hooker. "He worries after me."

If that sounded patronizing, it wasn't meant to be. It was an oddity. Volunteers could get attached and but this thing with Bagnold was purely ... platonic. Mutually fascinating, clearly, mutually risk-making as well. Another long puff of the cigarette. Old Laz was an odd bird.

Terry played a caricature of himself - pouring the wizard's drink with slow and deliberate movements on the counter itself, finishing the glass off with a edge of lime and a little white daisy. He slid it over while Laz was speaking. It seemed very obvious to the other vampires in the room that their coven leader was taking a particular interest in the exchange.

            "He worries after me."

"Don't we all, mate..." he replied easily and made a pretence of wiping down the already polished bar. "We keep an eye on each other around here, like a family," this he directed at Bagnold with a pragmatic shrug.

Certain secrets were hard to hide in the coven - they all made it a habit to check up on each other, more as a rule of safety than as a factor of keeping everyone honest. Therefore, if Terry felt curious about Lazarus' business, it was because he cared. Things were afoot in the wood and he wasn't going to tune it all out in favour of ignorance.

"Don't want to get burned playing with any Ministry badges, you understand?" Hooker added, almost as an afterthought, something you tacked on to the end of a dying conversation.

Worry was possibly too strong a word for the concern that he'd expressed, but he wasn't about to get into a debate over the proper way to describe something with a pair of vampires.  Kurby cocked a brow at Lazarus, giving the undead American a sideways look. 

Luckily, Hooker saved him from having to reply by choosing that moment to deposit his drink.  Kurby placed a couple of sickles on the counter in return, returning his coin pouch to his pocket as he picked up his drink.

Apparently, they were going to have this conversation in the middle of the bar, so that Hooker and all the rest of the lingering vampires could listen in.  The werewolf hunter might have sighed, but in a lot of ways, he couldn't blame them.  If Lazarus was getting mixed up with the Ministry and running afoul of someone like Cinaed Tawse, any ramifications would surely reverberate for the rest of the coven as well.  As Vaillancourt had said, his best tactic was probably to be direct.

He inclined his head slightly to Hooker, acknowledging the coven leader's statement as he lifted the gin and tonic to take a sip.  Plenty of wixes at the Ministry had a tendency to get hex-happy when vampires were involved, and that didn't take into account the fact that Tawse might exact his own revenge on anyone who took a stand against him.

"Aye, that's why I dropped in."  He looked back at Lazarus, even as he kept his posture still turned towards Hooker, including both vampires in his response.

 "I dunno if you're plannin' to run with us in January, or if you just came out the last couple of months because the 'wolves were gettin' too close to your turf," he began, brows furrowing, "but if you thinkin' about doing it again, Laz, I reckon I owe it to you to offer you an official job."

"Planning?" Lazarus lifted his eyebrows. He hadn't thought of that. Rambling around when there were rumors in the air, winding his way to Bagnold twice, it was a pattern sure, but had it been a plan? It took two plans to make a straight line. Where had he pointed it?

"Could be dreaming."

Hooker was deft at sketching a silhouette of their confederation. Tight. Influencing tendrils made of curls of mist. Insulated, though. Glamorous, self-loved, pragmatic. Well-loved, too, was their sense of self-preservation.

Hookers last bit was as applicable to himself as Bagnold and his Badge. Tristan Vaillancourt was a brother in so much as he was an ally, and that was where it seemed to Lazarus to stop.

All that considered, Laz had to face the fact that he hadn't expected anything like this to happen. He'd never heard of it happening before. He'd miscalculated the effect he'd had on Bagnold, miscalculated his demeanor. And miscalculated his own curiosity. This meddling altruism he'd been drawn to was fraught with miscalculations and the unexpected. What would that bring him?

He took time with his response, working his cigarette, looking Bagnold up and down. The offer seemed simple enough.

"He wonders how that works, mmm? Old Laz hasn't  had himself a boss in a decade or few."

He has affection for Kurby here, you see. His first reaction of having a new master didn't give him a good feeling.

An official job. That was the purpose of this cosy little drop-in. Terry's interest wavered a little.

Vaillancourt was easy to picture at the Ministry of Magic. He revelled in the history and paperwork and the opportunity to tease humans around him, a place full of certain kinds of life. Laz, though? Laz of the wood, whose strange way of speaking had put off more than one of their own kind before? Picturing him at the Ministry wasn't natural.

            "He wonders... hasn't  had himself a boss in a decade or few."

"Whatever you decide, mate," Hooker stepped back from the counter to reach underneath for a dark glass bottle of blood, "just remember where your loyalties are yeah?" he shrugged before taking a swig and handing it over to Blackburn. A couple of other patron trickled into the pub just then - he recognised them as regular. "Not that I reckon gin-and-tonic here would ask too much."

Terry gestured for the patrons to have a seat in the corner booth, where he would shortly be around to 'assist' them. He smiled at Bagnold. "I'll leave you two to hash it out."

Kurby hadn't been sure what kind of reaction he'd get after making the offer -- laughter, suspicion, some kind of threat -- but neither Laz nor his coven leader seemed that flustered by it.  Lazarus sat quietly, mulling the situation over, and Hooker barely seemed bothered, going back to his bartending.

Was there more brimming beneath the surface that he couldn't see?  Or was this simply the natural state of vampires, cool and unflustered after so many years of living?

Either way, he wasn't about to start questioning it, even if he might not quite take it for granted.  Kurby flicked his hand, giving an easy two-fingered salute to the vampire bartender in acknowledgment of his stated departure, and returned his attention back to Lazarus. 

"Depends on how you want it to work, mate," he replied with a shrug.  "My thought was that we could bring you on as a part-time consultant, and you can come out with patrols as you see fit around the full moon.  If my lot knows to expect you, that'll at least stop them from gettin' too jumpy," he said, raising his drink to take another sip.  "But I'm open to other ideas, too."

Hooker left to do what Hooker did and Laz could feel more at east on Kurby's behalf. The warnings had been laid out like bar napkins, just a part of being served. Kurby went on and Lazarus found himself laughing.

"Jumpy...!" he coughed and stood up straight from the bar. "Jumpy. Who's jumpy?"

He lifted his hat to run his hands through his hair. Lazarus returned to Kurby's side. "Your little fox, that's who you're talking about. I don't think she likes me, Bagnold. No I don't think so."

He really did seem amused. It seemed to Lazarus that Lazarus could continue doing exactly as he pleased so long as Kurby cared to let him hang around. Kurby didn't seem like the kind of manager to be very worried about grumblings from his team.

"What, who else is jumpy?"

Fenneken was indeed one of the jumpy lot he was worried about.  She'd cornered him earlier that week when she'd come back to the office, spouting off something about a Muggle and Laz and Christmas Eve.  But Tessa Fenneken was far from alone on her feelings on vampires; even a few months before, Kurby would have been one of the Ministry wixes eyeing Lazarus with suspicion. 

Facing down direwolves and terrorists had a way of changing things.

Kurby flashed the vampire a fierce grin.

"Well, there's the Head of the Auror Corps," he said cheerfully.  "You reckon you can make him a bit jumpy, I'm not goin' to complain."

Ed Pratt hadn't shut up since his Aurors had caught Kurby in Gen Garcia's flat a month ago and being able to stick a needle in the eye of his former schoolmate was one of the added benefits of this.  But that wasn't his driving reason for doing this, and Kurby already knew that he'd have to be prepared to snap down on people like Pratt. 

"I dunno how easy it will be for you," he said, a bit more seriously.  "There's plenty of wixes that have issues with vampires, even on Level Four.  But if you want to give it a try, I'll have your back."