lancexdavenport-blog

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        "You know, I wouldn't be so keen on relying on luck when it comes to an important choice, witch."

“I’ve always been told that indecision is best solved by flipping a coin. So what will it be? Heads or tails?”

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        Well, at least someone seemed to be in their right mind, while all other New Yorkers seemed far too in awe to say anything. "You mean how did they haven't gotten arrested yet? I don't know, the police in this town just seem to be getting more inefficient by the day..."

“How in the bloody world did they manage that?! Are the aware of how ridiculous that looks?! What an embarrassment.”

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        His gaze abandoned the men on the floor, as he directed his eyes toward the vampire. Head shaking sideways, a malicious smirk slightly coloring his features, "Oh, no I didn't make you do A N Y T H I N G." His words were soaked with sarcasm, if HE hadn't teased those bikers, all of that could have been avoided, "YOU just happened to get in the way of my bar fight, Bordeaux." Yes, he knew how inappropriate it was for someone like him to be seen in a bar fight, which was exactly why, whenever he was looking for something other than just a fancy cocktail, Lance found himself in some dive bar in the outskirts of New York. "What are you doing here, anyways?" He knocked twice on the wooden counter, the bartender understanding his request of two glasses of whisky. 

“Now look what you made me do…” The tiniest fraction of indignation in her tone as she gazed upon the other, tilting her head to the side, those brown locks falling free across her left shoulder, stare unwavering. 

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        It was quite surprising, a little suspicious, even, that the employee of a bookstore was asking a client for book recommendations. He could sense her blessing, of course. She was a hunter, which was what made him suspicious at first. Had she noticed what he was? He figured it would be best to maintain a low profile... "Not much of a reader, huh? Well... It depends on the type of book you like." He looked down at the ones he had in his hands. Contemporary art and some classic he had read a thousand times but had only purchased for the unique cover art. 

❝You know,❞ she begins, ❝I applied for this job thinking that it would encourage me to read more, but I haven’t read one single book since I started here…❞ Sawyer lets out a sigh. ❝So, I guess what I’m asking is.. Do you have any suggestions for me?❞

[lancexdavenport-blog]

bia-tallis:

Bia wouldn’t disagree, it was up to her to tell him what she needed in order to forgive him, and every fiber of her being wanted it to be that simple. Bia searched his face, her heart squeezed in her chest and she felt as if her stomach was on some proverbial ledge threatening to jump into a nothingness that bloomed on the discovery of all the lies Lance had told her. The lump in her throat kept her from speaking and her eyes swam with the threat of tears, she fucking refused to cry in front of him so she chewed the inside of her cheek until the faint taste of metallic torn skin brushed over the tip of her tongue. Bia huffed; cared, this is what caring felt like? She wondered if caring was always the blossoming of a soul-deep ache that was so deep and so profound that even if she had wrapped herself tightly in the arms of someone she loved that love wouldn’t even brush the pain she felt or was this just the effect of caring too much? Bia took a stabilizing breath, she reminded herself that this was disappointment, betrayal, a broken heart. That caring was calling Lance at three in the morning because she couldn’t sleep and him answering without fail every damn time, caring was being homesick for a family an ocean away and a missing brother and finding a new kind of home in the comfort of someone who’d become something unnameable. She had believed she was so close to him, she’d have told him anything, even felt guilty for not telling him about her search for a cure for vampirism. Bia laughed aloud, a quiet and broken laugh that may have been more of a sob, she felt guilty. How fucking rich, she mused quietly and shook her head. “I guess that’s the thing Lance- I don’t know what to say, or what you could do that would make me not feel this way.” Closing her eyes for what felt like eternity Bia opened them again, a moment of relief washed over her when he was still there. Her eyes had in reality only been closed maybe sixty seconds, but every moment in this café seemed to drag on, seconds into minutes, minutes into hours and so on. “Do you still care about me?” Bia asked after her silence had passed, “I think I can find a way to not want to slap you in your face if I believed you still cared if I believed you could be honest with me." 

Hypocrite, she thought bitterly, her bottom lip twitched, she couldn’t even be as honest with him as she wanted him to be with her. "If we could be honest with each other,” Bia added as if she decided that maybe once this was all done and the smell of coffee didn’t make her stomach flip anymore then just maybe she could share with him something she didn’t tend to make a habit of wanting to share.

        The flooding DISCOMFORT that had fallen upon him, as the gap between them was filled with silence was almost as pungent as his REMORSE. Truth was that, in that moment, for the first time in years, Lance didn't have the slightest idea of what to say or do. Should he be making up more arguments to justify himself? Should he be prepared to leave, follow her, should Bia up and run? 

        Only then, halfway through that almost too long moment of silence, Lance noticed how lacking was his attention on their surrounding environment. His coffee had, long ago gone cold. The café had become much emptier. And the sun was finally setting. The shades of orange and yellow, emanating from the windows watercolored the skin on Bia's cheeks. With her closed eyes, she might not have noticed it, but Lance silently admired the small details of the face he knew so well. He had seen her like that before, or rather, they had seen each other like that before, many times. Either while walking through the Tuileries or having one of their long, philosophical conversations by the sunset at the immense gardens of the Versaille palace. 

        The smell of freshly-baked croissants, coming out of the kitchen invaded his nostrils and brought along another whiff of nostalgia. Breakfasts and afternoon snacks in some little bistro of the neverending Parisian boulevards... Walks along the infinite halls of the Louvre, where he would share with her Historical tidbits that he had lived through and therefore could recount to the tiniest, most insignificant detail. All was beautiful, again. Beautiful, and poetic and oneiric. 

        But then she spoke once more, and he was dragged back to reality, which was gradually turning into a nightmare. "Do I still care about you?" He repeated, though in a much more sceptical tone, with his head tilting slightly backwards and his eyelids narrowing to cause the impression of disbelief. "Of course, Bia. Of course, I still care." It took a moment, but he soon perceived that that question hadn't been asked with the intention to demonstrate, even more, how terrible a friend he was. Instead, it had been asked because it was, as a matter of fact, unclear how he felt about her. And she was right once more. All through their friendship, he had been convinced that he TRUSTED her, but when the time came to take a leap of faith, he simply followed the easiest, safest path. Sure, it was clear to him why he had done what he had done. But to her, it might have seemed as though he was simply throwing away all that they had built. 

        "We CAN be honest with each other... I mean, I can be honest WITH YOU. Now that you know who I am, there's no reason why I would hide anything from you anymore..." He replied, though internally nearly begging her to tell what in the world he could do to mend his mistakes.

[lancexdavenport-blog]

dinah-davenport:

Dinah glanced up when she heard her brother’s voice, offering him a smile when he agreed with her. “It was in my rather large cellar. I was attempting to have a look through some boxes and happened upon it. A few hundred years old I think. Probably from when I permanently lived in England”.

        He glanced over at the yellowed-out pages beneath her fingers, time certainly had gotten to them... But the book seemed to have been well-kept, which was no surprise, coming from Dinah, who had much better organizational skills than himself. "You mean from after the war?" One of the times in history where the two shared a home; when Henry Tudor conquered the Throne of England, putting an end to the Lancaster versus York conflict, once and for all. "You still take all those things with you wherever you go? How big is your cellar?" He tilted his head to the side, recounting how many objects from his past he still kept with him, in his own apartment. In the beginning, back when he was still YOUNG, Lance had tried to keep as many objects as possible, as reminders of the places he had visited of all he had lived through, but time and his constant moving around the world taught him that he should only hold onto the essential. The things he still carried with him were kept in a cupboard in his office, but most of the belongings he had gathered through his existence (mostly art pieces) were either gone or kept in a safe house in France, where he maintained all his most valued possessions.

[lancexdavenport-blog]

bia-tallis:

Every word he said held a certain amount of weight, he had lied to her about something very fundamental, about who he was. Her heart felt like it was on a wire, every slow beat threatening to be the one that sent her heart into the pit of her stomach. He spoke and Bia curled her fingers into the cushion of her seat; liar,liar,liar. Bia’s eyes fell closed a moment. In theory, it would have been so easy to forgive him. To let his one massive lie fall to the wayside, to drink her coffee, and nudge his leg under the table as she told a crass joke. They could go about their friendship, make new memories and everything would fall into place with a comfortable click. That’s how it had always been with him. In Europe when she was skipping her classes in favor of afternoon movies and late lunches with Lance. On long weekends and the occasions she’d insist they behaved like the tourist they were, she’d use her magic to make it feel like they were the only people at whatever famous destination they choose from a map and in the warm afternoon she’d read her essays for literature, insist he correct them for her and gorge themselves on French bread and pastries. It had been so effortless, so much so that when Bia thought of how horrendously his lie seemed to complicate things a lump crawled up her throat and sadness crept down the back of her neck until she couldn’t bear to look at him a moment longer. A shaky breath shook her shoulders and Bia raked her fingers through her hair. Bia looked back to Lance’s face, her lips twitching before she held the bottom offender captive beneath her teeth. Silence passed over them, the sound of her controlled breathing, Bia could feel her pulse in her fingertips, slowly she released her hold on her seat. “Look at me, Lance.” Bia’s voice shook, “please.” She reasoned slowly and once she felt she had all of his attention she laid her hands on the table, dusted imaginary things from her space,”You didn’t even give me the chance to have a reaction. You couldn’t have known how I’d have taken it, but it doesn’t change that it hurts. That you hurt me. Maybe I was naive, but I just never imagined out of all the people in my life that you’d been one of those who made me feel this way.” Bia wanted to just move on, to go on as if this was only a small bump in their histories together, but it was so much deeper than that; she had her own selfish reasons. “What am I supposed to do…how can I believe anything you tell me again? Fuck, Lance.” Bia sighed, her words fell heavy, she was clearly trying not to cry, “You mean so much to me, and I feel like a big part of us is built on a lie…tell me what to do, tell me how to forgive you.”

        The roles he had assumed in his life required that Lance learned how to become an effective communicator. To understand people's needs and struggles and to address them properly. And one of his most powerful weapons in that field was BODY LANGUAGE. Time had taught him how to read into people's smallest gestures, the fidgeting of a finger, the rise of a brow, the quirk of a nose... And, from what he could grasp from her body language, the future of that conversation didn't seem very optimistic. He knew, the moment he saw her hands wrap tightly around the leather of her chair, that she was not just disappointed. She was irritated, perhaps even angry. And that the destiny of their interaction, and maybe their friendship itself, relied on how he would he address the matter at hand. 

        He maintained his silence as she spoke, focusing his mind solely on her. Trying to put himself in her shoes, trying to feel what she had felt. A lump grew in his throat. And all of a sudden, he noticed the slight feeling of disgust creeping in the back of his mind. Disgust toward himself, toward his incorrigible habit of DECEIVING. It had been a while since Lance had felt that way, repulsed by his own actions. But now, with Bia sitting in front of him, telling him, showing him how she had been affected by his lies, that feeling was very much present. 

        But he had deceived people before. Lied to people, fooled them, manipulated them. And why, with that specific witch, did it feel REPUGNANT? Simple. Because he cared for her. Because he liked Bia, he enjoyed her company, their inner jokes and the long nocturnal conversations beneath the stars of the Parisian sky. Because she MEANT something. And, like a hurricane, he had blown it all away, and destroyed everything they had built. His fear of losing her was the one thing capable of pushing her away. And apparently, that was the case... But then, he felt like the world had suddenly halted...

        TELL ME HOW TO FORGIVE YOU.

        Those words hit him. Hard. For a second it was as though the wooden floor beneath his feet had been pushed from there. He was... destabilized. What was he supposed to say TO THAT?! After all that he had done, after having deceived her, after having trapped her in his huge web of lies, Bia Tallis still wanted to find a way to forgive him. It was all his fault. She shouldn't be the one trying to figure out how to forgive the unforgivable. "Bia..." In a thousand years of life, mortals had rarely ever left him speechless... And that was one of those times. "I–– You should be the one telling me–– Telling me how to make it up to you." His shameful gaze was constantly diverting from hers, "I just, I want you to know that I trust you, Bia. I always have. And what I–– I was scared that I might have lost you." SCARED. How long had it been since he ever said that? "I agree, it was foolish and this whole situation could have been avoided. But back then, when LIED to you, I was going through this period in my life where I couldn't afford losing someone I cared so much for..."

[lancexdavenport-blog]

fiery-witch:

Vivian nodded. She hadn’t had much contact with the Vale family, so she was unsure of how to approach them in the situation of forming some sort of agreement among the families, no matter how temporary. “You have a point. What happened between your family and the Vale family if you don’t mind me asking?” The witch asked with a slight curiosity. From what she could imagine, while shifters were powerful, they weren’t necessarily the most ruthless of the supernatural world. She could see that maybe Kane, Bent, or Asher could have been incredibly rude to them at some point and then the family held a petty grudge of some sort. “What about when I turn twenty-one?” The witch teased with a wink. However, she knew that Lance would be able to tell that she was only kidding. It made sense that long time enemies wouldn’t want such a young mediator. Though it would be unlikely to find such an old mediator that isn’t a part of one of the families or very close linked to one of them. “I know that it is a great deal to deal with Lance, but I would rather not see more senseless killings that upset the people I care about.” While the death didn’t bother her, the chance of being in the crossfires or watching Edith and Tabby get hurt did. Vivian nodded and was glad that both Dinah and Lance had been talking about something similar to the idea that she had. 

She could have guessed that it was not as simple as leaving, but she wanted to give the blonde werewolf the benefit of the doubt. However, she wasn’t going to pry further upon him mentioning that he didn’t want to them to worry about that at the moment. The witch sat herself upon the edge of the table and looked at him with a smirk. “You used your language for a reason, Lance. It is my duty to know what you mean by it no matter how grim the situation is around us. Not to mention, I practice in black magic and grim is sort of my thing at times.” Her deep brown eyes watching him carefully to make note of anything as he finished his glass of whiskey. “You all are important to me too. Not to mention, I know that Edith still considers me a part of your pack even though I haven’t made an affiliation with a side. It’s nice to hear that you do too.” 

        The Vales? Now, did HE know the answer to that question? Something exact and punctual? The bullseye? The bad blood had run in the veins of their relations for centuries now and still, Lance couldn't quite isolate the motive, "At first, I think the Vales were bitter because original wolves are immortal, whereas they just grow old and die as your average human. And the older Vales have always thought to be superior to us since they're not subject to the moon. They couldn't really digest the fact that us, inferior creatures, would live forever, and they would perish." He shrugged, eyes now at the glowing white sphere, shining through the enormous glass windows of his office, "Don't think they ever got over that... But eventually, this hate between us continued to foment and many other disagreements have surfaced through the ages. They never last too long, just long enough to make our relationship sourer."

        It was somewhat relieving to see someone young as Vivian worry about not only her beloved but the entirety of the people who could end up being affected by the continuance of that chaos. Perhaps, she was not that rare an exception. Perhaps not ALL Millenials were that terrible... Or so he hoped. For a moment, Lance Davenport HOPED that there were more people like her in the world. And then was when an idea crossed his mind, "Maybe if we gathered more people like you––" And if it weren't for her, the thought might have taken much longer to manifest itself, "And by that I mean, people who haven't sided with any families yet, people who remain impartial... And have them mediate the conflict with the most moderate players of each team, the idea of a diplomatic consensus wouldn't sound too far-fetched." 

        "You know, witch, there's brilliance to you." Compliments were something he often did, but only for the sake of politics, to galvanize sympathy. HONEST compliments, on the other hand, were ones most people wouldn't hear from him in their whole lifetimes. But Vivian was not as most people. He had met few characters like her in his entire life... But there was something to the young witches, these days... Those being Bia Tallis, and herself (he cared for them), it was as though their hearts harbored revolution. And she truly DESERVED to hear a compliment from him. Vivian had earned his trust, despite their disagreements. And that was his way of showing it. 

        Matters of the heart were not his forte. Lance knew that feelings only complicated situations that required REASONING. And, mostly, he would avoid emotional topics at all costs. But he also knew how to read people, to understand them and tell them what they wanted to hear. It was a part of making politics, which was why he didn't refrain from admitting that he cared for her. Not for politics, but because he knew that Vivian would appreciate seeing that there was warmth –– little as it may be –– to his cold, calculating exterior. 

[lancexdavenport-blog]

hawthorne-investigations:

‘Tell me about Lance Davenport.’

< He likes power. Or, he used to. But - >

‘- How much does a person really change? Yeah. Yeah.’

That was how their internal conversation had begun when Dorian recognized the name on the appointment. Caitlin had gotten a debriefing of sorts and she tried to not let interfere with the interaction now. It was good to know that Lance had seen some shit, it was good to know that he’d spied on some people, it was good to know that he liked power. It helped her build a psychological profile of the werewolf and even if he sat there now, in a clean cut suit and an equally clean shave, it didn’t really change what lay beneath. With each passing second Caitlin became more and more certain that he knew the dark spirit was there within her and with each passing second Dorian grew more and more restless to do something about it.

For the most part, Caitlin tried to ignore it. She tried to focus on how she would handle this particular case. She’d bring on Collins of course. That girl could hack her way out of a paper bag and no leave a trace and Caitlin was certain she could do the same with any police records. She’d done it before after all. “We’ll be able to get you the names of any suspects easily.” Caitlin said, and her eyes snapped up at his offer to come to him with any questions about the Davenports and the like. She didn’t take the gestures lightly. It would mean sidestepping a whole militia of security she would have otherwise had to snoop around. 

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” A beat. She wanted to say something more. “I’m sure it’s not - ”

Easy. That’s what she was going to say. It was never easy to willingly ask a complete stranger to traipse around in one’s personal affairs. Especially when it came to the death of a loved one. But at the thought, Caitlin shook off any excess sympathy. She had little time or heart to spare for that. She was already jotting down a list of possible leads within the company to inquire about when Lance glanced backwards towards the door. Caitlin registered the motion. Her eyes narrowed slightly. And then -

This is my first time hiring a P.I., so I am not 100% sure of how this works.

And that - that was the final red flag. 

“Mr. Davenport,” said Caitlin, setting down her pen. Pretenses were melting away. “Do I make you uneasy?  I ask because you’ve seemed distant this whole time and you just double checked my door - I’m assuming for my name. And am I really supposed to believe the District Attorney doesn’t know what a private investigator is capable of? Just what has got you asking questions that I know you’re smarter than? If something’s wrong, I’d rather know about it off the bat.”

Caitlin said this almost as if she was daring him to call her out on the weird feeling that he was probably feeling creep up his spine. After all, when forced to voice the origins of their feelings of unease, most people backed the fuck off. It was a weird brand of reverse psychology, but she hoped it would work. 

Say it. I fucking dare you. 

        With him having given little attention to DISCRETION, it was obvious that sooner or later she would have noticed his investigating gaze that, as an animal's, was continuously searching for a sign of danger. But his little slip... That must have been the catalyst for her to perceive his wariness. 

        Never hired a PI before?! The back of his mind now shouted back at him, repeatedly, as though to punish Lance for his stupidity. You imbecile! The self-purging continued. FUCK. Lance bit into the side of his cheek, filled with rage and frustration. He could sense the crimson dominate his mouth, the copper taste embedded his tongue. His teeth sunk into the cheek harder, longer, not allowing it to heal. 

        "Uh––" He swallowed hard, deciding he would embrace his nerves. "It's not YOU, who makes me uneasy." Both his hands were now on his lap, intertwined. Something he would NEVER do, but he felt that that time, it was necessary, to pass on as much an impression of uneasiness as possible. "It's the whole situation," He was still good at the excuses... Or so he thought. SHE didn't know him, they had only just met. And no matter how good she was, Caitlin couldn't just tell how he would act in every scenario. NO ONE would be able to tell from a first meeting... He had a good poker face. And he took pride upon that. "If I happen to be seen, or heard, by anyone, much more than just my career will be in jeopardy." 

        All those were true statements. He was somewhat uneasy at hiring someone instead of doing the job himself and he was scared that he might endanger his family and their empire while doing so. But that was far from being the reason for his watchfulness... 

        "I'm sure you understand my preoccupations... I'm not the only one who knows you to be a great PI––" Killing them with kindness. Not something he liked to do, but sometimes, that was the simplest way to make you seem more charismatic in a matter of seconds. A weapon he could not recall having seen fail all his life. "Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not saying the room's bugged, or anything." As a matter of fact, he could not sense any other frequency aside from the ones coming from her phone and the internet hotspot. "But trusting strangers is no easy business." He paused, allowing her time to digest, then went in for the final blow, "I do trust you. I'm just getting used to the situation at hand." 

        With his heart rate winding down, back to its usual speed, he allowed his attention to return to the task of DECIPHERING her. Infinite possibilities crossed his mind... But which of them was the ANSWER he was looking for?

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        Hearing the familiar vampire's voice from inside her office, Lance couldn't help but allow a smirk to creep upon his features. He knew that it was slightly sadistic, but still, he couldn't help but enjoy the sound of Millennials being put in their respective places. He waited for her student to leave the room, making sure that the kid got the best view of his side smirk on their way out, and then, Lance walked into the vampire's office. "You know, if time has taught me one thing, it is that some things never change..."

“And this is, what exactly?” Georgette asked bluntly, looking down at the stack of paper held out to her. “Do you actually think I’m going to take an essay that’s not only not a week late, but covered in, what is this, pizza grease and dried coffee stains? Absolutely not. Either you come back within ten minutes with a pristine copy that’s still warm from the printer or I’m not reading this sloppy excuse for a paper at all.” 

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        Another lesson that eternity had taught him was that despite all the horror one has witnessed in their lives and the villainy that one might harbor in their heart, they can A L W A Y S turn to ART for comfort. Be it in the pages of an Austen, perhaps Angelou's verses, or even the colors of a Monet... There was always a space for everyone in that universe. And that special connection with ART was something that the two had in common. And, although Lance would, more often, find himself experimenting with the chaos of paintings, while his sister turned to the sweetness of poetry, they would frequently converge to the same spot of common admiration in the endless realm that was the artistic one. "Very romantic." He admitted, rising from his seat and approaching her to read the verse from its source, "Where did you find that book?" 

“Listen to this; ‘O love, when you leave do not say: tomorrow we meet at twilight. For that is the time of the darkening hour. The ending of the day. For all is glowing gleaming in our love and all is pulsing and breathing’. It’s beautiful isn’t it? I can’t seem to find the author though. 

[lancexdavenport-blog]

        After hearing the crack of his jaw, Lance twisted his head and chewed on his own tongue just to make sure that everything was back in their designated place. The witch sure was a good opponent. As a matter of fact, much better than Lance had primarily pegged him to be. "It's okay." He said, taking in a deep breath, reestablishing himself in an upright position. The truth was that he had taken the witch for granted. Usually, he wouldn't put much effort into a fight, since humans and the like didn't have the same resistance to injuries as he, as a werewolf, did. But apparently, the younger man standing in front of him was definitely something. "Let's see if you're as good at taking a beating as you are at throwing punches." Lance propelled himself forward, feet abruptly colliding against the dusty, old cloth that covered the ring. His hand clashed against the witch's lower chest. 

Harrison had been in a set mindset when he prepared for his fight in the Sanctuary. It had been the anniversary of his parents passing and it always seemed to get him in a weird state. He hadn’t realized though that the weird state had made him nearly break the jaw of his opponent. “Shit. I really didn’t mean to do that. “ He replied looking over. 

[lancexdavenport-blog]

[lancexdavenport-blog]

cj-rhodes:

She wasn’t there because she wanted to be necessarily but because the Rhodes and the Davenports had a more or less tentative ….agreement that so long as they were supplying them and their affiliates with weapons, they’d stay out of their hair and no use their pack as target practice. It wasn’t a great agreement but one that had worked for years nonetheless, something her adoptive grandparents and parents would’ve helped established and continue. “Don’t you have quality control for this shit, Davenport?” CJ asked, taking it from him and inspecting the shoddy work.

        His years and years crafting arms had taught him that, like old cars, guns had secrets, little quirks, and details only known to their manufacturers and owners, which was why, when, months ago, he first received a complaint about a gun made by his predecessor, Lance fixed the equipment hoping that it might have been a one-time incident. Ironically, time proved to the wolf that he couldn't be more wrong... "Apparently we didn't until I arrived." In spite of the frequent arrogance regarding his own abilities, Lance knew what he was doing and knew his services to be better than anyone else's in New York and so, he didn't really mind filtering his opinions on The Armory's previous employee. 

        Aware that he couldn't let their best customers down once more, Lance opened a drawer and pulled a brand new piece out of it, "Here," He offered her a brand new gun, one he had just recently finished crafting, "This one's brand new. Much better than yours, already tested and working perfectly." He took back the older gun from her hand, not accepting the defeat, "I'll fix this piece of shit too and give it back to you, once I'm done." Lance threw the pistol on a counter, with some rudeness to his manners, clearly irritated by it, "Anything else I can do for you today, Rhodes?"

[lancexdavenport-blog]

jvmescn:

The wolf’s persistence catches Jameson’s attention. He does not like the fact this Davenport is asking question, that he’s so eager to learn of his name. He does not want to be heard of, not yet. He’s got phony perfection stitched into his expression, sealed with the friendliest of smiles. ❝Kyle Greer,❞ he lies, holding out his hand for the wolf to shake, ❝of Maddison, Wisconsin. Well, outside of Maddison. It’s a small town. I’m just here for work related things.❞ This act is quickly diminishing and he’s left with a glare aimed at Lance, his lips formed into a hard line. ❝So, do you regularly harass innocent people in coffee shops for their identities, or is this just a one time occurrence?❞

        With his response, a smirk grows clear on Lance's face. He stays quiet for a moment, lets silence reign over the atmosphere. Finally, he narrows his eyes, crosses his arms over the table, body projecting forward once again. Did he believe Kyle's words? Was that his real name? Lance couldn't tell... He knew one thing for certain though, THAT was certainly not the name he was looking for. The witch seemed to have a good poker face. Which cards could he be keeping up his sleeve? "I'm sorry, Kyle Greer..." He repeats the name in disbelief, "Never thought asking for someone's name was a form of harassment." He lifts up his hands as though stating his innocence, "In my defense, though, you were the one who fully debriefed me on your origins..." He shoots back, as his head tilts to the side slyly. "And if you weren't really interested in the first place, you could have just told me, instead of going for the eyes..." His teeth slightly sink into his lips before he takes another sip of the coffee.

[lancexdavenport-blog]

aurorarhodes:

Rory peered up from the desktop to see Lance Davenport enter the gallery. He was on of The Armory’s Show most loyal customer and an avid fan of art. Rory waved at him and walked around the desk to show Lance the newest pieces. “These just came in from Italy” she pointed to the abstract paintings on the wall. There are also a few more in the back that I have yet to uncover. Anything particular that you are interested in?”  

        Rory was, as a matter of fact, one of the few Rhodes that Lance actively L I K E D. Contrary to most of his families, he had always been rather suspicious of the hunters as a whole, knowing full well that they would take them down if that were possible. But the relationship between those two was different. When she was hired at the gallery, Lance figured that it would be best if he were, at least, civil to her, after all, he was a frequent visitor. Eventually, however, he ended up growing quite fond of the Rhodes girl. "Not really..." He replied with a shrug, his eyes attentive to the brand new paintings that surrounded him. "I came here to check them out before the other clients arrived..." He looked over to one side of the gallery, a painting he had sent them last week under a pseudonym still hung on the wall. He was slightly disappointed in himself, his pieces were generally picked up quickly... He simply shrugged the matter off and turned back to her, "Which ones do you like?" He had already found some interesting ones but had yet to hear someone else's opinion, he liked to see the world through others' eyes. 

[lancexdavenport-blog]