Bloody Mary

[Marsaili]

London these days was nothing like its past. In some ways it was cleaner - but when one had lived through the days of the Black Death, many things, in comparison, seemed clean. Certainly it was more populated now, filled with people of all shapes and flavors.

Variety like that was good for the diet.

And so, despite the billowing clouds of iron dust that tried to sicken her lungs, Marsaili was, all in all, a very healthy kelpie.

But even healthy kelpies needed to eat.

With this in mind, Marsaili had slipped into a pristinely white ensemble, casual enough to display this form's assets well whilst being formal enough to give her an appearance of idle wealth. A light jacket hung open on her human frame, a concession to the cold weather that truly didn't trouble her. The jacket also helped keep the back of her shirt dry - the voluminous ponytail that flowed to a point midway down her spine had an air of dampness, as if she had come straight from a shower (or in her case, more accurately a loch).

She had visited the pub before, on occasion, and so she found no trouble as her booted feet (the boots, at least, weren't white, but a soft brown leather) made their way to the bar and perched her upon a stool there.

"Bloody mary, " she requested of the bartender, giving a sultry smirk of a smile that didn't bare any teeth.

[William Meeran]

William didn't want to be seen, but he wanted to wander. He wandered into a pub. The Marine. He always found pubs fascinating, because technically he wasn't allowed in. He was under age, but at the same time he wasn't. Either way, he couldn't consume anything, it would go straight through him and end up in a mess on the floor.

No one wanted that.

He wandered around the bar for a moment, not touching anything, and then sat down next to the woman, no, not woman, something else, though he couldn't exactly tell what. His identification was slightly off because he was stunting his powers by remaining invisible, meaning he didn't get the fullness of them unless he took solid shape. The downside of fitting into the mainstream human world.

He shrugged it off and sat down on the empty barstool next to the woman, as she sipped her drink. He looked at her, and could sense the non-human prescence about her, but it wasn't anything he'd encountered before.

[Marsaili]

Marsaili had lived long in the city, but not so long that she'd lost her inherent affinity for the otherworld. So when something entered that bar, she noticed, in the way that a mortal might notice a trickle of air across the back of her neck.

The fine hairs along her otherwise startlingly bare neck (to one who felt most at home in an equine form, anyway) stood on edge, and the kelpie couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Her smirk deepened slightly. Most things that could offer her threat wouldn't go about it like this, so whoever this was, it was beneath her on the food chain. Probably. Maybe not edible, but no danger either.

The feeling intensified, and seemed to settle somewhere close by, to one side of her she thought. Sending a quick glance in that direction, she let her true eyes show through for just a moment - a warm crimson glow spilled faintly from behind the shadow of her human irises, then faded back into the illusion.

"I can't tell who or what you are, but I know you're there," she murmured, taking a sip of her Bloody Mary with careful relish. It wasn't as good as a real bloody Mary, of course - though to be fair there wasn't much difference between a bloody Mary, a bloody Susan, or a bloody Gary for that matter - but the flavor was surprisingly enjoyable. Perhaps it was the nostalgia induced by the name.

[William Meeran]

William watched as the woman showed her true eyes. So she wasn't human, but whatever she was he had not encountered before. He made sure the bartender was occupied with another customer before he scooped up a napkin and tossed in the air, blowing a little to give the illusion that it was being blown by the wind, though there was no wind, any who saw it, it would give their minds a way to deal with the random floating object.

It was a standard ghost response to others who could sense them. It was mostly used by 'talkative' poltergeists. But either way, this was William's way of replying to her, that yes, he was there and no she wasn't crazy and no he wasn't malicious, well, at least not today. He knew that she couldn't hurt him, though that true form of her eyes revealed that she did have a taste for blood.

Despite his non-tangible state of existance, he knew he had to tread softly with this one. But hey, talking to her couldn't possibly hurt him, could it, for all he knew, it could be fun. Right?

[Marsaili]

As the bartender turned to glance their way Marsaili caught the napkin out of the air, dabbing at an imagined drip against her lips in order to disguise the gesture.

"Not a talkative fellow, I see," she murmured, dropping the napkin idly to the bar and taking another sip of her drink. "Now how's a girl supposed to converse with the invisible mute, hmm?"

She smirked at midair, tossing a wink that several patrons of the pub likely thought was aimed for them. The more the merrier, after all - particularly when one was in the market for dinner.

[William Meeran]

William smiled when he heard her reply. She wanted to talk to him. Well, he didn't want to cause a scare by appearing out of thin air for the whole pub to see, or get potentially kicked out because he didn't look old enough to be in the pub to begin with. He used his ghostly powers to be visiable and audible to her alone, she would look crazy talking to herself, but at least she would be able to see him.

He looked no older than late teens, dark hair cut short, and eyes that seemed to show his age. He was dressed in clothes that looked fitting for a young boy in the late 1800s America, looking over at her, he smiled.

"Hello" he greeted. "See, not so mute, now am I?" he looked at the napkin that she stole from him. "Clever cover," he commented on how she used it to dab something on her mouth before people started getting skittish.

[Marsaili]

He faded into view, and she knew him for what he was immediately - a ghost. Strong enough to be called poltergeist if he put his mind to it, if he could move more than napkins. But what other spirit faded in and out of visibility and looked like something taken from her memories of centuries past?

"Why, you're naught but a wee one," she chuckled, shaking her head in mirthful wonderment, and causing her damp tresses to tumble back and forth across her shoulders.

At his compliment, she dipped her head in gratitude, though still with a smile hovering about her lips. By the looks of his dress, though he might have been far older than the average mortal, he was still a child compared to her lifespan.

"Indeed, you're much more talkative now." Judging by the looks she was earning from a few of the closer patrons, though, she was the only one perceiving his new talkativeness. Wonderful. One of those situations.

A moment's thought glittered through her sharp eyes, and then she shifted from her stool, heading for a more private booth where her conversation wouldn't be quite so remarked upon. She presumed the thus-far nameless ghost lad would follow.

[William Meeran]

"Yes, which was the reason why I was so inclined to remain out of sight, wouldn't want to be refused entry into such a fine establishment based on those in charge holding that very same sentiment." he replied.

He watched her as she realized and figured out that she was the only one that could hear and see him. It was always amusing to watch how people reacted to this situation. Some would freak out and insist to others that they aren't crazy while continuing to talk to him, and others, like this woman, made a calmer reaction, a great deal smoother.

Following her to the booth he sat down across from her. Smiling again, "Clever cover again, I am beginning to think such shrewdness of mind is a natural attribute where you're concerned." he complimented again. It became apparent that the more he spoke, the more his voice was heard, that he had an accent. An accent not of current England or anywhere near the U.K. Time had worn it away to become more adaptable, but it ratted out his youth and revealed that he was older than he looked by a great deal.

[Marsaili]

She had to chuckle at the boy's reasoning. If he'd appeared to the bartender, he would easily have been tossed out to wait until he aged.

At his compliment, she smirked eloquently, dipping her head in acknowledgment whilst maintaining all the arrogant pride of her race.

"You might call it a necessity," she agreed, her own very Scottish brogue slipping through. He sounded... hmm, foreign certainly. She hadn't heard the like in... a long time. Colonial, maybe?

She studied the boy across from her in her typical manner - pure calculation on her part, but with the facade of smoldering interest on the outside. If he weren't a ghost, he might have made a decent meal, though he had the look of one taken ill, perhaps. Of course, since he was a spirit, it would be pointless to try anything of the sort. Her usual tricks would be useless, and he couldn't provide much in the way of sustenance anyway.

Hmm. That left only conversation.

"So, if you'll pardon the cliche, what's a lad like you doing in a place like this?"

[William Meeran]

William sat there quietly as she stared at him, with an odd look, almost like he were a pot roast undergoing the inspection of a butcher, but a very attractive and beautiful butcher, as he looked back at her and had to wonder why she felt so non-human and why he couldn't peg what she was exactly.

He liked her accent. He had heard it enough and knew it to be tied to the United Kingdom in some way, but they all meshed in his head, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, British. So he didn't want to voice his recognition of the wrong accent, and end up looking foolish.

Laughing slightly on her question, "Look around." he answered. "Pubs are one of the top places to watch fascinating people. You never know who will walk into a pub. You get a nice mix of just about everybody, its like stew or New Orleans slave gumbo" he replied, that southern accent coming out just a tad bit more.

"Like you for example, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of meeting a woman of your caliber before. " he added, hinting that he knew she wasn't human, and he knew it. Not that he expected her to reveal her mysterious identity, he hoped she would but part of him liked the dark allure of not knowing. He liked the sinister light in her eyes like she had a secret as deep and dark as any ocean.