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If Rory could breathe, he would have waited with his being baited. It was always hard to tell if Mateo — a stickler for the rules — would ever consider bending them, no matter how good for humankind it’d be. But his face cracked into a bright grin when Mat made a joke regarding vampiric powers again. A glimpse of his figurative soft underbelly, that he was more than the hardened hunter persona he presented to the supernatural underworld. He wondered briefly, if there were other creatures that got to see this sight of Mat. Or if he was just special. 

“Oh for you, Saint Mat, I’m always a bit animalistic.” He glinted his fangs for good measure. “Is that the type of freaky shit you’re into? No judgment here, I’ve had a few turns ‘round  the sun, seen some things. Done some things. But it’s nice we’re sharing our preferences this early on, huh?” Another sip, as if alcohol could do anything blood could. “Moonstone. Eleven o’clock Friday. And I’ll help you with the latest bump in the night.”

As a general rule, Mat didn't get involved in inter-supernatural affairs if he could help it. So long as the general population wasn't at risk, he had no interest in meddling in their politics. Given his position as a hunter, he wasn't exactly a favorite among any of them as it was and there was no reason to paint even more of a target on his back. And while he didn't know exactly what Rory had planned with a moonstone, he also knew they didn't exactly come a dime a dozen. If he procured one to give to Rory, he not only gave him leverage but also weakened the wolves. It would be one less for them to use. And generally, the more evenly matched everyone was, the less likely it was for one side to get the foolish notion to attack the other.

But this was one of the rare moments in which the general population was at risk. Rory hadn't exactly been his first choice for procuring information. If Mat thought there was another way to get what he needed, he wouldn't be here. Which meant he didn't have much room for negotiation. "Are you trying to tap into your animalistic side?" he questioned, trying to keep his tone casual in the hopes of getting at least a hint of his plan out of Rory before he agreed to anything. "Trying to finally turn into a bat?"

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Fuck around and find out.

(Be a brat, get pinned and used)

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Rory was good at reading people. He was good at getting people to do what he wanted them to without the need of compulsion, but Mat was different. Perhaps his years of hunter status had built up a type of immunity, though it was most likely some protective wards and rituals that Rory couldn’t quite puncture through. And honestly he didn’t want to; this was the fun part after all.

Biting his lip as Mateo had the audacity to lick his lips right in front of him, his eyes darkened, glinting dangerously. “Apart from the obvious?” He teased, smiling coyly that delved into a deeper smirk. “I need a moonstone. Not just the cheap bits of rock being shilled at crystal shops, the real shit. The ones the wolves use.” He explained, eyeing Mat as if dangling a big fat, heroic carrot in front of him.

Mat did his best to watch Rory impassionately as he went into what was essentially personal fanfiction. He wasn't afraid of Rory, per so - they'd worked together often enough that Mat felt relatively sure Rory wouldn't actually try and find a hole in his wards but maybe that was stupid, too. It were moments like this, with the light glinting off his teeth and the hunger in his eyes as he tried to find a weak spot that Mat was reminded in what Rory was. Not just a crass informant but one of the monsters he usually hunted. And Mat would do good not to forget that and get too comfortable.

Licking his lips, he set the bone he had just finished with down and wiped his fingers on a napkin. At least they were finally getting somewhere. If all it took was the shiver running down Mat's back and the reminder not to play with fire, he counted himself lucky to get somewhere productive so fast. "Of course you do," he replied evenly, folding his hands and leaning back in his booth. "What do you want?"

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Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008)

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There was a hunger in his eyes as he watched Mat eat, salivating at the way his teeth ripped through the meat of the chicken, sauce landing on the corner of his lips. It was a funny thing, the way of how nature just was. Yet, the humans had the decency to hunt the likes of Rory for giving into his, like there weren't so similar. He took another sip of his drink, figuring Mateo wouldn't like that perspective.

"Are you asking because you want to try, or because you're jealous?" He countered, leaning forward, smelling the delicious richness of warm, live blood pumping through the hunter's veins, under the mask of barbecue sauce and aftershave. "You know...I don't think I said anything about being on my knees. You came up with that on your own. Is that what you think about Mat, late at night? Hoping the protective wards in your home won't work, and I can just sneak in. At the end of your bed, lowering myself, my mouth on you..." He leaned back before Mat had a chance to grab him, smirking again. "My information is transactional. Scratch my back etc. If I tell you what the newest monster of the week threatening your little, what is it the fae calls it? Fang club, is it? Then I want something in return."

As Mat bit into the first of his wings, he hoped his expression conveyed what his full mouth couldn't - that this was exactly why he was here. Sure, perhaps Rory had a certain charm about him - as evident by the way the waitress nearly ran into the counter in the aftermath of that wink. But Mat couldn't help but feel that much of it was a ... performance. Like a Venus fly trap playing at being a harmless, pretty plant to lure in its prey and strike when they get stuck on the sweetness. Fortunately, Mat had encountered enough of that kind to be plenty wary.

"Does that work?" he asked after finishing off his first wing, raising an eyebrow at Rory. Clearly just pushing the reason he was here wasn't getting him anywhere. So if he had to indulge him for a few minutes to get there, so be it. "Has any hunter you've encountered ever settled for having you on your knees rather than sharing what information they came to get from you?"

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He couldn’t help but grin in amusement as Mateo downright refused his suggestion, himself only ordering another drink. That was the fun part of vampirism, after all. Pesky things like addiction simply didn’t get in the way anymore. Despite what the slayer and her cohorts believed, and technically science too — what with the lack of pulse and beating heart and all — Rory truly believed himself as being more alive now than he had centuries ago when he was a mere mortal. And perhaps removing the obstacle of death (well, limiting what could actually harm and kill him) really helped Rory live more, unlike the poor human before him, with his conscience and awareness he and his soul were on borrowed time.

“And we know the right steps and where to hit the high notes.” He raised his drink, passing a wink off to the waitress. “Mat, Saint Mat, you know it hurts my feelings when I feel like you’re only using me for my paranormal knowhow — para-knowhow, if you will.” He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret, voice dropping to a deep timber. “You can always use me for other things. I have time and experience on my side. Oh, I’d be so, so good for you…”

At last, Mat allowed one of his hands to come up and pinch the bridge of his nose. When they'd started this, he'd been mostly suspicious of Rory. Concerned. And there was still plenty he found dubious about his everything but more often, he found himself exasperated by him these days. Of course, if you're a century old vampire with both all the time in the world and what he assumed was "generational" wealth, there was no reason to rush. The citizens of the town didn't have those proviliges.

But Mat also knew there was little use trying to force Rory to comply. This was a tenuous alliance as it was and exhausting as it was, it was useful. So the next time the waitress glanced their way, Mat waved her over, ordered wings and fries purely to spite Rory. He could work with the vampire for the greater good but he wasn't about to follow his dinner suggestions. "Does it physically pain you to be straightforward?" he asked after the baskets were placed in front of him and he had a wing in his fingers. "We do this whole song and dance every time."

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Oh, it was fun when Mateo let loose slightly, with his biting wit. Sharp teeth glinted in the fluroscents, reminding the hunter who and what he was dealing with here.

"Granddaddy issues? Now that's a new one..." He mused with a smirk. Rory couldn't help but roll his eyes when he diverted back to the main issue, because if he played his ace now it meant cutting down their time together. "I know many things, Mateo. Such as that the cheeseburger here is divine. I wouldn't know, being a vegetarian and all." He winked. "Why don't you order yourself something and we'll talk?"

Mat interlaced his fingers on top of the desk in an attempt ti fight the urge to drag them down his face. Despite the time he'd spent working... with (? Alongside? Despite?) Rory and the admittedly necessary help he occasionally provided, it was like the man was bent on making this experience as grueling as possible every single time. Why was it never 'of course, I'd love to be of assistance! so glad you asked - here's a list of things we could be doing because i actually came fucking prepared!'?

"Apologies, I'll remember to bring some Werther's to bribe you next time, grandpa," he deadpanned. "I've been slightly distracted by the uptick of murderous monsters roaming our streets as of late. Which brings me back to why I'm here - what do you know?"

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The thing about being the semi-evil, anti-hero archetype that the fucking 'Fang Club' referred to him as, was that Rory was to expect the, well, unexpected drop-ins of the little gang who spent most of their days trying to save the world. As if they'd ever really truly succeed in the end.

He tolerated most of them, enjoyed them all when his humanity was on, but no matter which way his morals were switched to, there was always one face he preferred to see out of that group. Currently approaching him as if he'd rather drop down dead then and there. All he had to do was ask, Rory supposed.

"Well, hello to you to Mateo." He smirked, as the hunter slid into the seat opposite. "Y'know, you should treat your elders with a bit more respect, young man." His eyes — scarlet from recently feeding — twinkled with mirth, taking a sip of his cocktail.

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It was never entirely quiet in this town. If it was, Mat would have packed up and found somewhere else to live and work long ago. Every now and then, someone or something would always find their way in through the thin veil that separated this world from... whatever else lay beyond. But that was usually a problem of the small to medium variety. Something Mat could take care of in a timely manner and that didn't threaten the town, let alone the world as a whole. As of late, though, the numbers had been increasing. Creatures slipping through, making Mat sleep with one eye open more often than not. Which is why, after another long night, he found himself once again sliding into the booth across from Rory Flanagan, local semi-reliable informant on all things Creature Of The Night on account of being one. His thoughts on that matter were a whole can of worms Mat wasn't going to get into now - not if Rory could help him, anyway. "What do you know?" he asked in lieu of a greeting, settling down with a huff. He'd always been rather direct.

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alex

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CLUELESS (1995) dir. Amy Heckerling

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Some more would be nice ;-;

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There are days that i have to listen to music every second i'm awake and conscious or ill kill myself