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nightmaretist · 1 year

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TIMING: Recent PARTIES: Owen @apaininyourneck & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: The Wor Hole SUMMARY: Owen and Inge meet officially, in real life, and chat as the hunter serves the mare drinks. Things get ... heated. CONTENT WARNINGS: Wrspice (suggestive)

Her return to the Wormhole (the Wor hole tonight) was a matter of principle. It wasn’t even a nice bar, hardly a place that she couldn’t live without — but she would not let some Cortez hunter keep her from a place she wanted to go to. This, however, didn’t mean that Ingeborg hadn’t used the astral to her advantage to have a peek into the bar after sundown, to try and see whether Emilio Cortez was drinking his stupid sadness away.

Coast clear. So she entered, taking off the hat that kept her eyes shielded in the darkness of the street. There might be a glint of red in her eyes in the wrong light, but generally a bar like this offered just enough light for her not to worry about such a thing. And even so, what did it matter? Life was boring without a little thrill.

Settling at the bar, Inge let her eyes pass through the crowd. Perhaps she’d go home with one of the patrons, have a glorious night in their bed only to feast on their sleeping mind once they’d succumbed to their sleepiness. Maybe she’d just drink and indulge in fanciful conversation. Lips spread at the sight of the barkeep, and once she’d caught his attention she leaned forward ever so slightly, “Hiya! What draft beers do you have? Any seasonal ones worth my time?”

—

It was a night of phone scrolling, mind numbing enough that not even the thought of ‘at least I’m getting paid for this’ was doing its job of clutching onto his last thread of sanity. Owen barely even glanced up when the door swung open, finishing off a text before finally raising his head. It hadn’t registered at first, overpowered by the sheer amount of annoyance currently filling his brain but sure enough, there it was. Faint, much too faint for a vampire, but the hairs on the back of his neck were definitely raised. What kind are you, then…

Sidling closer to the new customer, letting his eyes roam for a beat despite the crawling sensation across his skin - he was a slayer but he wasn’t blind - Owen mirrored her smile. “Ah, woman of taste. Can’t say we have the best selection but…” In a rare display of decent customer service, Owen grabbed a small cup and filled it with a taste of one of the draft beers. “Red ale. Not Scandinavian but decent enough.” Passing the cup over, he braced his hands against the bar, watching her curiously.

—

At his comment all she could do was smile and lift her shoulder, as if being a woman of taste was something that had just happened to her — rather than it being completely in her control. “Well no, you’re certainly not the Short & Stout, but they lack your …” Inge’s eyes moved around the somewhat-empty dive bar. “... ambiance.” There was something to be said about dingy bars, of course, and she could say it all if she wished to. It seemed a bit much to get into it all before she even had her drink, though.

Inge hummed in appreciation as the other poured her a sample and she downed the sip, nodding in approval. “Good. Very much. Not Scandinavian though, you’re right. Let me guess … Irish?” She pushed the cup towards him, wondering how many samples he’d let her try. “Do you have anything more summer-y, though? It’s nice, but a bit dark for the season if you ask me.” This was the time for blondes and weizens, after all. Even if the red ale had been nice.

—

Ambiance. Owen scoffed in amusement. That was one word for it. They got all sorts here but this woman should have looked out of place. He knew better, of course - the clientele was far from always being human and she was no exception. Looking for an easy victim, perhaps? Someone stumbling home drunk and alone, a common sight here. Not many people came here to drink with friends so vulnerability was definitely a pro for an undead looking for a meal. This train of thought was in no way visible on the slayer’s face, which still carried a faint smile and unreadable gleam in his eyes.

“German,” he corrected, pushing the glass to the side and cocking his head at her statement. “Not sure that any beer is going to make you feel light and summer-y in this town.” Still, Owen moved back for the taps, allowing for one more glass of tasting which was all his patience would afford. A wheat beer, not seasonal and nothing special, really, but the best she would get with a wish as vague as ‘summery’. “It’s this or white wine, darling.”

—

“Hm. You should get a good Weizen, if you’re gonna do German in summer,” she said, perhaps having too high expectations for a place like this. Still, he had offered a red ale, which insinuated they were capable of making somewhat solid choices when it came to beer. “And come, that undermines the power a good beer can have at the right time. Though maybe I should be sitting somewhere outside, in the sun, to feel exactly that.” In here it was dark and musty, but Inge didn’t quite mind.

She took the glass and a sip, nodding appreciatively this time. “Yeah, give me a full glass of that. You can keep your white wine, darling.” Her tone was saccharine, yet annoyed. It was an annoying notion, after all — how archaic, to equate her with wine, rather than beer. Hendrik had hated it when she’d drank beer, considered it his much like he did with anything. She pushed the small glass towards the barkeep, “Quiet night, then?”

—-

At her casual suggestion, Owen pursed his lips and nodded, the gesture somehow laced with sarcasm. “Yeah, let me pass that on to my boss so he can tell me to shove the suggestion up my ass.” The words were delivered dryly, the faintest hint of a grin visible through the facade.

Putting away the small cup, he poured her a glass, giving a small shrug. Her annoyance was obvious but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Especially since he’d suggested the wine because of her vague request and not just because she wore a dress. But Owen could push that button if it really bothered her. “Not my fault that you look like a white wine drinker. Glad you’re not, though. They always have the most obnoxious laughs.” Passing her the beer, Owen went on to fill up a smaller glass for himself, letting out a pleased sigh once he’d taken the first sip.

“Not so much quiet as dead.” Amused at his own choice of words, skin still prickling with discomfort at the woman’s presence, Owen offered her a hand. “Which is why I’m happy for some half-decent company. Owen.”

—

She let out a sound of amusement at his sarcasm, his delivery quite sharp and on-point. “That’s the key to a good workplace relationship. Regularly shoving things up the arse of your coworkers.” She said it with a light air, as if this was a completely true statement. Inge didn’t interact much with her own superiors at work.

Inge didn’t think she was someone who looked like she just drank white wine. She drank any kind of alcohol (barring anything anise-flavored, thank you very much), after all. “Everyone can look like a white-wine drinker in the right light. It’s good with fish.” She paused. “Which I don’t eat, so. Beer it is.” Besides, this hardly wasn’t the place to entertain herself with a glass of wine. She had some standards, and this place wasn’t going to meet them wine-wise.

She took the beer as well as a hefty sip, then extended her hand. “I don’t know much about dead, though I wouldn’t say it’s quiet,” she said, shaking his hand. “Ah, I believe we've spoken online. Owen, the lazy bully.” Lips spread into a smirk. “Ingeborg.”

—

“Yes, I truly have found that to be the case,” he said, matching her casual tone but unable to keep the mischievous glint from his eyes. “Thank god there’s no HR at this place, huh?”

She had jokes too, amused by the comment on death, not knowing that the entendre was indeed not lost on Owen. God, it felt good to have the upper hand, to hold information unbeknownst to the other. Would he tell her at some point? Force a confession from her like he’d done with the ranch-Zombie? Maybe she’d admit it willingly with some gentle encouragement and no need for Owen to reveal his cards in return.

Distracted for a moment by her next words, Owen’s grin matched the quirk of her lips. “The crazy jewelry lady,” he replied in greeting, hand lingering in her cold one for a moment longer before he pulled it back. “Lucky me that I get to judge first hand whether you really are interesting.” Inge was definitely interesting, but probably not in the way she wanted to be right at this very moment.

—

There certainly was HR at the university, but Inge knew better than to let them in on the fact that she’d gotten close to a few colleagues. “What, no HR at the Wor hole? I’m shocked. This place screams bureaucracy.”

He had been funny online, and he was funny now. She liked people who offered something of a verbal (or written, in the case of online) challenge, who weren’t afraid to push buttons and let their own be pressed in return. A back-and-forth, a cheeky grin and a jest to try and get under the other’s skin while secretly hoping the other would get under yours in return. Inge turned her head, as if offended.

“Crazy is such an outdated term, Owen, you really ought to know better than to call an expressive woman such a thing.” The word could sting, though it hardly did in this case. Inge took a long sip from her glass, turning slightly in her seat to lean against the bar with her side. “And, what is the verdict thus far? I’m still trying to figure you out.” As far as bartenders went, he was quite interesting — but surely his snipes and knowledge of beer wasn’t all there was to him.

—

“We’d all be fired if anyone cared about the bartenders’ attitudes. Especially towards each other. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of assholes that work here.” Taking another sip from his drink, realizing that it was definitely another thing that would have been banned if this workplace had any sort of standard. Not that Owen would have stuck around if it did. The second they’d bring in a blender for daiquiris, he’d be out of here.

Scoffing at her fake offense, Owen simply leaned in closer, still taller than Inge despite her being seated on the high bar stool. “I rarely know better,” he replied simply, using the lack of eye contact to try and catch a glimpse of anything unusual in her eyes. He thought back to the undead woman from back in the caves and her red eyes, similar to vampires yet different. Whether it was involuntary or not, he couldn’t remember. It would be an interesting experiment to check on the lack of sensation but stabbing her hand now was bound to draw attention.

“Jury’s still out,” he admitted honestly. “Kinda stuck between two or… hmm, three options for verdicts.” Pushing himself away from the bar, Owen spread his arms, smiling. “I’m an open book.”

—

She pulled down the corners of her lips, shook her head, “Nah, hadn’t noticed. You’re actually the first asshole-bartender I’ve come across here,” she quipped, and though it was a lie it was spoken with such ease that it might as well have been true. Inge didn’t mind asshole bartenders, most days, especially not in dive bars. You got what you came for, right?

He was tall, which was a point in his favor, and she decided not to mind that he loomed over her. Inge looked at him, taking in those expressive eyes and the swoop of his hair, and she decided she was glad to have ventured into the bar once more. It was proving to be an interesting corner of town, after all, even if a Cortez sometimes showed his face. “It seems that way.”

Taking a sip from her drink, she chuckled at his dramatics, “Sure you are.” No one was an open book, that much she believed. Inge cocked her head to the side tutting her lips in thought. “I would hope there’s more to you than meets the eye. Which isn’t to say it isn’t interesting but …” She shrugged. “Come, there must be more to you than being a tall, bartending Scandinavian. Ask me a question and I’ll answer honestly, but I’ll ask you one in return.”

—

Owen couldn’t have asked for a better distraction this evening. He would have settled for interesting, snarky and pretty but undead was like the cherry on top. His focus was still very much on the vampire scum of this town but it was clearly time to learn more, not just when it came to other undead. It was a decent enough place to start, though.

Inge’s sarcasm wasn’t veiled in the slightest and yes, Owen was obviously the farthest thing from an open book - he lived his life loudly and unapologetically but it was still all superficial. There was no need to hide anything in particular when everything that mattered was too deep for even him to reach. A good thing, since his attitude almost always invited curiosity. Case and point, Inge had started her process of digging. Good, a perfect opportunity for him to do some digging as well.

“You forgot devilishly handsome but… deal.” Arms crossing, Owen leaned fully back, finally leaving the woman’s personal space; for now. “Don’t think I’ve ever played truth or dare without the dare part,” he mused as cogs turned, trying to find a question that balanced the line of pushy without giving away his real agenda. “Worst nightmare you’ve ever had?” he finally asked, green eyes glinting slightly.

—

Whether his confidence was performance or true, Inge didn’t know. She found she didn’t care much: it was entertaining to speak with someone so self-assured, so seemingly convinced of his own handsomeness. In all fairness, he was handsome, and not just because of his height. She wouldn’t so readily reveal her hand and attraction to that bone structure, though.

“Did I?” She feigned confusion, naivete, and then she chuckled. “We could introduce dares if you’d want, at some point.” There was a small beat as he posed the question, a small flicker of something washing over her face. Inge wasn’t sure whether this was strange coincidence or something more malicious, something more potentially dangerous. Knowing this town, she was considering it was the latter.

She considered the other, thought about the Cortez she’d seen in this very bar. Thought about Rhett. Inge needed to get out of here. Even if this was nothing, the feeling of unease was unwelcome. “I don’t really dream,” she answered truthfully, “But the worst I ever dreamed must have been a flock of birds eating me alive.” That was a lie. But it was the best meal she’d recently had. “My turn.” She threw caution into the wind. “Have you ever killed someone?”

—

Inge was disarmingly charming for an undead creature and Owen was at least grateful that she wasn’t a bloodsucker. That would have been a really cruel twist of fate. At least this way he could allow himself to have a little fun. Like, for example, getting to enjoy the way her face dropped ever so slightly - easily overlooked, if he hadn’t been looking for exactly that. His own expression barely changed, maybe growing a little bit more amused if anything.

Kudos to Inge, she didn’t make an instant run for it. Her playfulness was dampened, though, which was a shame. Only in spirit though, it seemed, as she shot back a question of her own. Playful was perhaps the wrong word for it, confrontational was better - either was fine, Owen was game. “Scary,” he mused sarcastically, dragging out the silence before finally answering her questions, eyes intently locked on her. “I’ve been known to be a little aggressive, sure.” A vague answer at best but the point would definitely come across.

Before his new distraction for the night would take this new information as a sign to leave, Owen continued. “Not feeling aggressive at the moment though, no worries. You’re not my preferred type for that.” Gently pushing her glass across the bar to encourage the now-confirmed mare, he smiled. “My turn again, I guess. How long have you been on your current diet?”

—

His sarcasm was possibly even less tolerable than her suspicions about his hunter nature and Inge made something of a face at the response. She’d like to see how he’d respond having his flesh ripped from his body by bird beaks, eyes pecked out so he no longer had his sight to tell him what was happening — just his sense of touch and sound. But she wasn’t going to argue him on it, as that would hurt her pride a little too much.

Besides, what he said next was much more interesting. So here they were, both confirming what they were without really, explicitly saying it — he had to be some kind of slayer, but at least not the kind that specialized in mares. Hardly a comfort. The Cortezes were vampire-focused, and yet she bore a scar that Elena Cortez had put there. Rhett hadn’t even seemed like a slayer, and yet.

“I don’t mind a little aggression from time to time,” she said, though it was more innuendo than threat. Inge finished her glass, pushed it back towards him and tapped on the rim to wordlessly ask for a refill. “Close to half a century now.” It was honest and true. She could have lied, told him she was older than she was like she had with Parker. “What is your preferred type?”

—

The downside of being able to sense who belonged to the group of things deserving only of pain and death, was the odds of missing out on conversations like this. Should have been a good thing, really, since the last time Owen had indulged in a suggestive conversation with something pulseless, it had done a decent attempt at ruining his whole life. Something he should have learned from, should be pushing him to dig information from this mare to track her down later but…

“A woman of taste, then.” He smirked, refilling her glass but gaze never straying from her. His skin, previously rippling with that faint discomfort, was starting to get nicely muted in lieu of curiosity and definitely a bit of recklessness. She wasn’t past the line of a century, which probably explained why Inge wasn’t completely insufferable - the older fuckers always had this air of grandiose around them, which made them so much more fun to take out. “Sad to say we don’t have a discount for the elderly,” he sighed, bringing back a full glass for her before polishing off his own.

“I’m usually not too picky but it depends on the mood. Some nights I like them a bit rough but it’s always a nice change of pace to bring back a more innocent one who’ll let you lead- Oh, you meant that sort of type,” Owen cut himself off, the mock innocence audible as he corrected himself, eyes glinting. “Let’s just say I’m not a Twilight fan. Been known to disapprove of the others, if they give me reason to.”

—

This was uncharted territory. Inge didn’t often engage in conversation with hunters, after all, especially not slayers. When she did, it was usually about the way they were going to kill her or how she deserved to permanently die or how poor innocent people didn’t deserve nightmares — boring, really, if it wasn’t for the weapons they usually wielded. This was hardly like that: this was comparable to many of the conversations she had in bars with others. Suggestive, a little bit exciting.

She hummed appreciatively as he did his job and filled her glass, muttering a soft, “Good boy,” with an impish look on her face. Whether she was joking or not, she left up to interpretation. She chuckled. “Oh, I don’t want one. I like to think I don’t quite look my age.” How dreadful it would be, if she did actually look like she was nearing 80. No thank you.

Inge rested her head on one of her hands as the other spoke, lips curled up in a smirk. “Ah, so you usually prefer being led, I see.” That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? To hold dominance over a hunter, even in a different context. She chuckled, waving her free hand. “Don’t worry, I’m interested in both. And then I’ll just hope I’m not going to give you reason to. I’m not in the mood for that kind of fight.”

—

After an evening threatening death by boredom and honestly, the last few nights not being much better, Owen was so easily tantalized by this particular kind of excitement. The forbidden one, where whatever part of his brain that could be donned ‘reason’ was begging him to listen. He rarely did - ignoring it was the fun part. “It’s a nice change of pace seeing as I usually dominate every situation I’m in but… takes a special kind of person for the job.” Inge definitely seemed interested and not in a way that implied she was just excited for a chance to stab him afterwards.

He was leaning on the bar again, bringing his face closer to hers than he had all evening, eyes shining with mischief and bad decisions. “What are you in the mood-” Off to the side, someone obnoxiously cleared their throat and Owen had half a mind to throw a glass at their face, knowing it would shatter on impact and cause permanent damage. Instead, his annoyed gaze turned to the impatient customer, a middle aged man who was frowning deeply.

Pushing himself to stand, Owen’s hands moved to rest on his hips, staring down the customer until his eyes averted. Yeah, that’s what he thought. “I’m off in half an hour or so,” he told Inge, turning his attention back to the mare with a shiver of excitement. “Stick around?” Without waiting for an answer, Owen moved to serve the impatient drunkard, skin now tingling with the presence of an undead and the promise of something bad.

—

She should check herself, now. Glance at herself in the rusting mirror behind the bar and tell herself that she was wiser than this, more experienced than this — better than falling for the exciting prospect of continuing this dance with a hunter. Not just a hunter, but a slayer. But there was a thrill running through her too at the prospect of having the upper hand over the other, of making this dynamic not just one that could lead into violence but into something else.

“I could –” Her finish remained unfinished by the intrusive customer, making it obvious that if they wanted to go further with this, they’d need to find a more private place. It seemed Owen thought the same. Inge contemplated this for a moment as he turned to his rude customer, eyes trailing over the curve of his shoulder as he served him. She was, at times, a simple woman. Human in the way she listened to the song of desire.

Life on the earthly plane could prove boring and depressing, and thus risk had to be found, things to thrill her. There wasn’t much she hadn’t done yet, but entangle herself with a hunter? That would be a first. And so she waited for Owen to be done with his shift, and walked into the night with him.

#owen.#threads.#the promise of something bad.

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