Michael. Clarice made a mental note to remember that. Harper was terrible with names and the woman was probably going to ask her at one point or another, if not her name again, what this man’s was. He’d said something...complimented her name. “Oh, thank you.” Awkward and about ten second later than it should have been, but then that summed her up, now didn’t it. She was offered entrance to her room and manners had her stepping through the threshold before her mind caught up and mentioned it might not be the best of ideas. But the man was polite and she knew the gun at his hips would be faulty.
Clarice sat in silence in the old wingback chair that matched the rest of the room about as well as she fit in with the crowd downstairs and watched his produce funny little cards. When he began pasting them around the room, her mouth drew into a little O and her eye brows disappeared beneath her bangs. The man asked after the library and she just shook her head.
“Yes, there is, um… I don’t know that Harper would like you posting things…” She had seen Harper ripping down posters of bikini clad women on cars from another guest’s room a few weeks back. She watched him place his guns in one of the dresser drawers, noted the symbols carved into the dark metal. “Do you…do you hunt us?” She asked softly, fear creeping into her voice. She knew if she screamed harper would be here instantly, not to mention the oddly dressed bouncer. But if he was skilled enough to hunt Supernatural beings, she may well be dead before getting the chance.
In the end, sex and hiding in her loft won out over dropping 500 bucks on food for random patrons. Go figure. “Hey, you hungry?” she asked Joel, hearing the door open and shut. “I’m thinking Lebanese tonight. We’ll just add it to your ta-“
What plopped down next to Joel drew her attention, mostly because it smelt like a stray dog that had been rooting in the trash behind Mio and it was dripping blood onto her counter. Her sentence trailed off and the flirty smirk was replaces by a pissed grimace. To make matters even better, something tiny and pale as a corpse slipped onto a stool next to him and began sipping something she knew wasn’t clamato juice. If the idiot who’d sprung a leak got himself bitten under her roof, she was going to have to step in and – oh, who was she kidding? They guy looked like he was going to fall off his stool. The time for intervention had come. Faraday paused to wipe up the drops of red and the half dead witch ordered a drink. “I got it,” she told him.
"First drink's free for new faces," she said, reaching one hand behind herself the bottle of whiskey flew from the shelf into her hand. A glass appeared on the counter before his as she tipped it to pour. “So, you alright there, buddy?” She asked, taking in the gashes bisecting his chest through the haze of the man’s aura, red and blue combating to take over in a weird violet swirl that matched the man’s eyes. “You kinda look like you’re about to kick it, and I’m already responsible for a drunk kid, don’t need a corpse on my hands, too.” She set the bottle down and dredged up the moral code she’d decided to live by when she’d decided to make the joint a safe place. “You need a place to crash, you can have room six for free until you’re done doing the polka with the reaper. There’s a ton of medical shit in the bottom dresser drawer and showers through the door marked bathroom. Now quit dripping blood on my fucking bartop. It’s reclaimed walnut and it was expensive.” The little copper key poofed itself into form next to his glass and she looked to the vampire. “And you, other newbie: no eating him.” With an aggravated sigh Harper returned her attention to Joel and asked, “so, falafel?