Night's Omen

Bly liked the atmosphere of the place, the jazz, the people, the red lights permeating the relative gloom...it was almost enough to distract him from the fact that, at this moment, he would much rather be at...well, just about anywhere else in the city. Or out of the city.

"Wicked," he murmured to himself appreciatively and gazing around, a much more subdued entrance than usual, before settling himself at a conspicuous table. He'd supplied this "Rafael Ortega" with a careless, superficial description of himself, but the lighting was low and the red lights distorting enough that his telltale blue-and-green hair was rendered almost a muddy brown, so he felt obligated to watch the door and make sure he could catch the guy's attention when he showed up. He would have preferred to sit in a corner and hope Ortega wouldn't find him, so he could be spared all this partner nonsense...but damn, no, Lucien wouldn't stand for that.

Fine. Whatever. He ordered a whiskey and waited, folding his arms over his chest, careful not to touch his still somewhat-tender, healing injury, and leaning back in his chair, rocking it slightly and precariously (really, not the best habit).

Rafael wasn't much more pleased with the situation than Bly was, but at least he walked into the Mojo Lounge with a smile and one brow raised, taking in the atmosphere.  He fit in perfectly with all the red and the general decoration, and had to wonder if that had been expected by his new partner.  He didn't know all that much about Bly, but maybe the other man knew more about him?

He hoped not.

Fortunately for him (though perhaps not for Bly), Rafael wasn't stupid.  He'd gone to Lucien when he got the phone call, and took a look at the picture in the man's file, as well as doing a quick sweep of the information within.  He was a Quetzal, which was rather funny, considering that made the both tropical birds.  It meant that Rafael was also VERY able to find Bly at his table.  Even if he'd sat in the corner, Rafael would have found him.

"Evening.  Hope I didn't keep you waiting long," he remarked, taking his seat.  From the looks of things, he hadn't, unless Bly had gotten there incredibly early and was at the start of a second or third drink instead of the first.  Rafael really couldn't say that he cared one way or the other.

Well, wasn't this just a motley crue? Paris swung by, dressed in her usual attire - tonight she wore a pair of torn, fitted denim jeans, and a flourescent yellow halter top, with yellow and pink streaks in her bleach-blonde hair, and makeup done to match. She looked like she'd fit right in if these two had been in their natural animal forms, actually, but that was totally besides the point.

"Get you a drink?" she asked Rafael. She set a second whiskey before Bly, and resisted a comment about how skulky he looked. A brief read of his thoughts told her that now wasn't the time to be picking at him, as it seemed the men had business to discuss.


{Sorry for the interruption, but Paris is the tender, hehe.}

((quite all right! xD))

Bly wasn't stupid, really, but he hadn't thought to (or perhaps the phrase was "bothered to") look up anything on Ortega. He was so unenthused about the whole business that he'd gone in blind, which in any other situation would have been extremely foolish --potentially dangerous-- and there he remained, kicked back at his table with a flat expression, waiting for someone who could have been a shifter or a human or a witch or a goddamn vampire, for all he knew.

But then, "Evening. Hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

Bly looked up, and with a BANG let his chair settle on all fours again as he sat up straight, intently staring at the other man as he took a seat. For a moment he thought it was a trick of the light, but no: that was some BRIGHT red hair. Damn. Wicked awesome.

It was already clear in Bly's mind that this was a considerable improvement over Domingos (although he'd had his suspicions when he saw that the name was "Rafael Ortega": 'great, another fucked-up Spanish nut'), but he wasn't about to give in to his fate of receiving a partner, even a tolerable partner, not just yet. He didn't change his expression when the waitress came, though he was glad to accept the new whiskey.

But once she'd left, he cocked the other hunter a wide, irreverent grin and crowed, "An' what are you supposed to be? Tomato-shifter? Apple? A shapeshifting fruit? Crab? Lobster? Firetruck? Stop sign? I'm gonna keep goin'."

He gave his new 'partner' an odd look when he heard the legs of his chair snap back to the ground, but he smiled at the waitress without a word about it.  She looked unique enough to sit right down with him, and maybe if they were lucky, she would before the end of the night.  They had a few things to discuss first, though.

"That would be amazing," he told her, considering what he was in the mood for.  Considering he, like all shifters, couldn't get drunk, he ordered drinks based on flavor, and he was a sucker for sweet, fruity things.  Women could keep the chocolate, but he liked fruity.

No, it had nothing to do with being a parrot, shut up.

"How about a Mai Tai?" he asked, and fortunately, Bly had waited until she walked away to make his joke.  Obviously, the other hunter hadn't been nearly as efficient and careful as Rafael had, which pulled another grin out of the man.  This would be fun. 

"You have quite the imagination, my friend," he remarked, shaking his head.  Unlike Bly and Dom, Rafael had both the Spanish name and upbringing, but no accent to speak of.  He was American, just like anyone else. 

He was also a parrot, though.  Hmm, how to let Bly know without actually saying it...

Well, that was easy.  Rafael could, obviously, pull off a completely realistic sounding impersonation of a parrot, even in human form.  It was entertaining around those who didn't know what he was, which seemed to include Bly tonight, so he dropped a squawk before continuing with the parrot-y lilt to his voice.  "Quetzal's a shapeshifting fruit!  Looks like a crab!"

Yeah.  That about cut it.  He'd successfully mauled what Bly had said, and turned it around on him.  His evening was complete.  Now, he'd enjoy his Mai Tai without worrying about anything else.  Once the pretty waitress came back.

Bly burst out laughing. "You're a goddamn parrot, aren't you?!" he whooped, clearly tickled to death by this revelation. Oh, HELL yes, this guy was amusing! Still didn't want a partner, but OK, so far he could see partying with this nutter for the night. The Mai Tai had lost Ortega a few points in Bly's eye, but whatever, he'd just give him a hard time about it once the waitress brought it along, and he would probably get away with it, too. The guy seemed pretty easy-going, considering his response to Bly's obnoxious string of questions; and the best kind of person was one who could take things in stride. Bly certainly appreciated that sort of approach to life: do what you want, don't take things personal, don't bother with the things that don't interest you, and laugh at everything that doesn't hurt you.

"Birds of a feather, huh?" he quipped, cocking the taller man a sardonic grin. "Never met a parrot shifter. Ain't exactly common, I'm guessing, too many people killing ya for being too annoyin'. Parrots are noisy bastards." He was still joking around, but didn't really care if Ortega misconstrued and took offense. That's just the way Bly was.

He also didn't bother asking how Rafael had recognized his Azteka lineage. He figured the man had just picked up on his 'birdliness', lack of Avian reserve, and put two and two together (even though Quetzals were pretty rare). Checking his file at the guildhouse never entered into his mind.

Really, Rafael had good reason for the Mai Tai, and that was because they tasted good, and he couldn't get drunk, so why not?  Even if he COULD get drunk, Mai Tais had a surprisingly large amount of liquor in them if made correctly (four kinds of rum and triple sec) with enough fruity flavor to make it taste good.  It wasn't a chick drink in reality, and Rafael really didn't care.  Try telling a guy over six feet tall and built like an athlete with bright red hair and a punk dress code that you thought he was girly.

Good luck with that.

Rafael may have been a parrot, which Bly had cleverly put together by now, but that didn't mean he was a pushover.  He was easy-going enough not to take offense off the bat, though.  "You're a clever one, aren't you?  Figured that out so fast!" he remarked, obviously being insanely sarcastic.  He was smiling though, so he wasn't trying to be a complete ass, even if Bly deserved it.

"Actually, all things considered, it looks like you are more likely to be killed for being loud and annoying," he pointed out, quite able to admit that Bly was pretty damn noisy already.  "You wouldn't have run into a parrot because my mother and I are the only ones we know of in the country.  The others are mostly in Honduras, which is kinda far for you city folk."

Obviously, that was what Bly was.  This partnership was going to be DAMN interesting.  Rafael was almost looking FORWARD to it.

Paris eventually came back by with Rafael's Mai Tai, to which she set before him, and had even thoughtfully included a little umbrella. Bly's next drink also had an umbrella as well. "Didn't wantcha ta feel left out," she said, her Southern drawl evident in her speech. She gave them both a wink. "Holler if ya need anythan'. Name's Paris," she said.

As she walked away, she shook her head. Rafael's second form was prevalent just by glancing at him - hell, she didn't have to be a mind reader to see that. Bly, however - his attitude, she might have guessed peacock. It wasn't until she fixed on the surface of his mind - and their conversation - that she realized what he was. Interesting. She'd never seen an Azteka before, well, not except for that girl that hung around Darren. Persephone? Yeah, that one.

She'd have to tell Aristide.

"You're a clever one, aren't you? Figured that out so fast!"

Bly never missed sarcasm. He ate sarcasm for breakfast. He didn't mind it any more than he would have minded if Rafael had just thrown bacon and eggs at him (...all right, maybe he would have minded that). "Hey, I'm a friggin' genius," he laughed back, going along with it and making it sound like a joke. Though naturally he was telling the truth from his perspective: he knew he was a genius.

(Bly is not a genius.)

He shrugged off the next comment with a grin, but had to jump in when Rafael spoke almost condescendingly about Honduras and "city folk" and the like. Bly loved to counter people, it was practically a hobby. "Meh, not so bad, had ta pass through there to get down an' visit the folks in 'Rica. Jerks always made us come down, they never came up to th' city. An' hey, on that note," he went on blithely ("Blythely"), "somethin' wrong with city folk, Ortega? Hell, it's a jungle out there, ain't it? Ya can't deny that." He laughed some more. He was in considerably better spirits; he was liking this Parrot, he wasn't a complete idiot, and fun to lock horns with, so to speak.

At this point their waitress returned, bringing the Mai Tai and setting yet another glass of whiskey down...both adorned with those little paper umbrellas. Bly promptly picked up his umbrella and tucked it behind his ear in its open position, where it sat like one of those Hawaiian flower hair clips. "My night's friggin' complete," he rejoined, directing his quirky grin and lifted eyebrow up at the waitress. "Thanks, doll."

Once she left, Bly turned to Rafael and stared pointedly at the Mai Tai. It wasn't about girlyness. Didn't matter if you could get drunk or not, good liquor was strong liquor. "If that ain't 151 rum in there it ain't worth shit," he remarked glibly. "I mean, this place is pissah, good service an' all, but lotta idiots have no idea how ta make a good Mai Tai." He snorted and took a swig of his newest whiskey. "Okay, fuckin' WICKED service. Didn't even ask for this one."

It really wasn't all that uncommon for Rafael to sit and observe more than talk in a situation with a new person, and that was exactly what he was doing.  He thought Bly was pretty damn funny, in a quirky way, but he still wasn't one of those people that made him comfortable yet.  If they had to work together, it would hopefully happen eventually, but Rafael was going to take it one step at a time.

Starting with bringing that 'annoying and loud' thing back.

"Did you really have the nerve to call parrots annoying a few minutes ago?" he asked as he started in on his drink, obviously amused, but somewhat serious.  Damn, Bly didn't shut up.  "This is the Mojo Lounge, my loud, obnoxious friend.  The owner doesn't let anything of low quality pass through."

There was no way that Rafael was pointing out that said owner even had a liquor that could get shifters drunk.  Bly didn't need that.  Ever.  That'd be bad.

Bly didn't miss a beat. "Hell yeah, I got nerve," he cackled. "I'm FULL of nerve. I got nerve comin' out my freakin' ears." And then, without warning, he switched tacks. "Gotta have nerve if yer a hunter, right?" he prompted, and, amazingly enough, he didn't SHOUT those words. In fact, there was a strong possibility that he had lowered his voice a smidgen-- highly, highly uncharacteristic of this Quetzal. As he said this, he quirked an bedecked eyebrow and lifted his glass in a halfhearted, nonchalant toast.

But then he was laughing and leering again, shrugging off Rafael's "loud, obnoxious" comment and easing back in his seat, grinning around at his surroundings. "Hah! Good quality, I believe it. Place's growin' on me fast, I'm definitely coming back. And that's saying somethin'!" he went on, throwing up his hands to illustrate his own bafflement. "Nevah cared much for just 'hangin' out', but if I gotta do it, I'd do it here. CHARACTER. This place has fuckin' character."

Really, Bly was enjoying himself. He almost always found ways to enjoy himself, unless he was being deliberately pissy or obstinate about something --like he HAD been about this whole "partner" situation up until this point-- but right now he was truly having a good time. He didn't stop to think about it (since he rarely stopped to think), but there was a chance that his good spirits had been revived by the presence of a fellow tropical bird. There could have been an unspoken, untapped kinship between them, which Bly, of course, was not perceiving as such; Rafael was just a cool guy, from what he'd seen so far. The fact that he was a parrot was just amusing as hell.

Still, whatever the reason, Bly's attitude towards the notion of a partner had improved for the better.

Character.  That was funny coming from the guy with all the character at the table.  Rafael definitely had 'character', but his was more understated until he got to know the person.  He'd get loud later.  For now, he was just in awe of the Quetzal before him, glad that there was no obvious knowledge of the real liquor the place could offer.

Wait.

Rafael suddenly grabbed Bly's glass to give it a sniff, trying to decide if maybe he'd been wrong.  Maybe Bly DID know, and that was why he was so crazy, but no, it just smelled like whiskey.  "Sorry, had to make sure you weren't drinking arsenic or something," he explained with a grin, more than willing to tell Bly that he sounded like a drunkard without the liquor affecting him. 

"So, Bly, now that I know you're in your right mind, which doesn't seem to be saying much, I gotta ask.  Are we gonna have problems working together, or do you think you can handle it, because I'm not gonna be the one going back to Cobriana and telling him that his second attempt at partnering you up was a failure," he explained, sipping at his Mai Tai again and watching Bly with a raised eyebrow.  He definitely wasn't going to be the bearer of bad news with as much nastiness as Lucien had on his plate lately.  Let Bly be the one the snake exploded on.

What the--?!

Bly immediately reached to reclaim his glass, expression scandalized, more than ready to tell Rafael off. You don't grab Bly's whiskey from him!! But Rafael didn't hold onto it long, and he was already making the strangest apology Bly'd heard in a while. He snagged his glass back with a mystified stare and a somewhat twisted, confused smile. "Uh, WHAT? Arsenic? The hell would I be drinking arsenic for??" He was still taking this for some sort of obscure joke, but there were other possibilities... He cast a would-be casual glance around the Mojo Lounge and laughed sardonically. "Someone tryin' ta kill me, huh?"

Well, Ortega was grinning. Probably just a bizarre joke.

Bly's good humor wavered a bit when Rafael reminded him of the abyssmal failure from before (damn Spaniard and his damn gun), but at least that stopped him from laughing and grinning like an idiot. Slightly sobered, but still not entirely serious (such a thing was nigh impossible) Bly cocked an eyebrow back at the macaw. "Uh, problems if ya think grabbing my drink away is acceptable partner behavior," he smirked. "Nah, yer pissah, Ortega, I like ya. You don't seem t' take things WAY too personal like that asshole Verde, and you haven't done anything ta make me wanna kill ya." He shrugged and finished his whiskey. "Good enough? Or YOU got problems?" he added with a leer.