The Devil's Pockets [Leon/Yuuko/Lazarus]

[Lazarus Carter]

8:09PM
FEBRUARY 4TH, 2012
THE RIVER LODGE
SOUTH LONDON

The empty pint glass fell upon the bar with a refreshed sigh. Then a burp. Then an intake of air. Then another, longer, burp. Ah, England. Of all the things he had missed, the strange pub culture was one that America didn't have almost as much of a parallel for. And since landing in Heathrow two days ago, meeting with the lovely Ms. Kingsford notwithstanding, he hadn't imbibed a single alcoholic beverage, so much as tasted one. But now, with a wallet relatively full of cash, a ten minute walk to get back to his flat, a knowledge of the cheapest pint in his local, and Yuuko left at home, Lazarus had found a spare moment to do exactly what he did best: indulge. "Same again, Laz, mate?"

The redhead shook his head, surprised and defiant. One pint down already. "Of course not, Si!" Lazarus put on a mask of faux astonishment, and for a moment, the stocky, short, glasses-wearing bartender paled a little and looked from side-to-side, wondering what was going on. "I'll take a quart of your finest whiskey over two ice cubes and a margarita for every pretty girl at the bar!" An odd silence hung between the pair of them as the teenager, for the moment, kept his serious demeanour, before it broke into that trademark cheeky grin of his. "Of course. Same again."

Simon, the bartender in question, nodded knowingly, not much older than Lazarus himself. "Can't trust you to ever be spending more than you have to here, eh?" Chuckling to himself as the teenager grinned, he slid the pint glass down from under the bar to the taps, pulling it to the third one along - the great amber nectar of Australia. Foster's. Sure, some said the lager tasted a little like kangaroo piss, but at £2.60 a pint, and the cheapest in this area of London by a long shot, it was better than nothing, and a taste he'd certainly himself acquired. "So, how was the colony?" The barkeep inquired with a cheeky grin, sliding the perfectly frothy glass over as the teen returned it with his change from the last.

"Cheeky fucker," Laz jabbed back with a grin, shaking his head. "Nah, it was alright." The teen shrugged; of course, this wasn't the truth. The things he'd seen out in Washington had changed him. And they were so very permanent; he would stay changed, quite probably for the rest of his life, unless he took a fairly prominent blow to the head that gave him some kind of memory disorder. And, frankly, he found himself half-wishing for that, in the early stages; but, eh, being a Hunter was just a natural part of life, now. Second-nature. He was still human, and, thankfully, he could still drink. "Same old shit, you know? Seeing family, rushing for friends, unavailable plane tickets..."

The bartender responded swiftly."Yeah, Ron told me he bumped into you, and explained that. Sounds pretty wank to me." Lazarus nodded glumly before shrugging. That had been his cover story. For friends, acquaintances, and university. Stranded in Washington D.C. for two weeks after university classes had begun. They had threatened to kick him out; but when he explained the "details" of what had "happened", they were somewhat more understanding. A minor discrepancy with the FAA had kept him grounded until they could verify his tickets' legitimacy. And even the university's senior student management directors didn't really want to fuck about with federal agencies overseas. Too long-winded and too much hassle for, really, no reward. "Eh, well, we missed you, lad."

Another sip of the golden lager and Lazarus shook his head with a grin. "Don't lie to me, Si." He set the pint glass down with a gentle clack and continued that infallible, trademark smile of his. "You may have missed the money burning a hole in my pocket - all of it - and I may have missed the finest cheap pint this side of the Thames, but you certainly didn't miss me," A false look from the barman as the teenager took another sip and sighed, the pair both breaking into laughter; well, there was some truth to the teen's words, at the very least.

[Yuuko Koizumi]

"For fuck's sake Laz, can't even do one thing in your damn apartment without it fucking up," Yuuko hissed venomously under her breath. Her "stripper heels" clacked against the sidewalk as she stormed down the sidewalk (carefully though. If she stomped any way she wanted to, she'd up breaking the heels and probably her ankle too). Her short skirt threatened to flip up whenever it walked over a vent that blew air up, but it was tight enough that it managed to stay down.

Why was Yuuko so angry at Lazarus Carter? Well that's a good question. The answer? She couldn't get the washing machine to work, and it had just pushed her temper a little bit over the edge. After arriving at Laz's apartment from the airport, Yuuko had discovered that some liquids in her luggage had spilled all over her clothes so she either had to wash them or go naked. Laz left to go drink when Yuuko had started to wash them, but he never really told her how to work his damn washing machine. So she was without clothing, frustrated, and pretty much hating everything. So what did she do to solve this? She stole one of Lazarus' tank tops, one with the band name "Red Hot Chili Peppers" on it, pulled on a skirt and heels, and hauled her ass right over to the bar. Why skirt and heels? Well, if she wanted to slip in there without trouble she had to look the part now didn't she? The pigtails had to go as well, replaced by a simple ponytail.

Now, she stood right in front of the smelly bar. Ugh, she really didn't want to go in there. From her job in America, she was used to a gross smelling bar full of drunk people. But this one.. bluh. Yuuko could tell it wasn't exactly top of the line. It reeked of cheap alcohol. Still... clothing was a necessity. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, Yuuko slipped inside of the bar and shut the door behind her. And lo and behold, just the idiot who she was looking for was right there. Yuuko began to make her way over towards him, but kept a calm expression on her face. She didn't need to attract unwanted attention for such a simple task.

[Necris]

"Hooooooboy!" The Russian roared out as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway, a small spoon in his right hand, and an even smaller bag of white powder in the other. The spoon made its way out of his nose, a thin layer of powder covering the tip, with a tiny drop of snot just on the tip. With a look of disgust, Leon quickly brushed the residue off on his shirt, and tying the bag, deposited it back into his wallet. He spun on his heels, feeling the rush of the drug coursing through his whole body, amping his heart-pace up and making his blood run.

"'ey, bitch, you know I'm in here! Ease up on that shit!" The voice inside Leon's head roared out - despite it being a demonic entity, Vitaly felt everything Leon felt during his wild substance rushes. "Calm down, fucker. It's Saturday. You know the routine..." The voice sighed to itself, and quieted down, leaving Leon back to his wild thoughts. His eyes surveyed his surroundings with renewed vigor, and as he began scraping the front of his teeth with his pinkie, getting the residue coke into his gums, giving it a pleasing numbing sensation. Didn't look questionable at all, oh no.

He was in the back of an alleyway right by a bar that the Russian favored, away from the view of most average citizens milling about this side of town late in the evening. It was party-night, with no classes tomorrow, and both young adults and older males and females milling about, wanting to wet their whistles and wet their tongues. Leon began walking, dancing with each step to a song in his head, whistling to himself as he felt his heavy pockets bounce with each step. It was alcohol night. Why not get a little shitty tonight. As much as the next person would hate to hear it, but what the hell: #yolo.

His skin-tight sleeveless shirt hugged every contour of his body, resilient to the breeze that hit him the second he got out onto the streets, making a right turn for the entrance to the bar. Flashing the bouncer his ID, making creepily-direct eye-contact with him, almost like a staredown, Leon was let in. He grinned a bit wildly to the man, giving a wink, and marched in, speaking to the bouncer as he passed, "Thanks a ton, comrade." The smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap bar food hit his nose. The coke only made it smell that much better.

Sparsely filled, there was enough room for him to walk, but enough people for him to be social. He scanned the area, ranking every man and woman he could get his eyes on, until his eyes set on two individuals, or to be more exact, a girl with the sexiest stripper heels, and an individual who reeked of self-importance. His eyes fell upon the ass of the girl, admiring the skirt and whatever could be hidden underneath with narrowed eyes, causing him to lick his lips for the briefest second, until he snapped out of the coke-induced sex trip, and he marched up on ahead. He leaned against the bar counter, to the right of the man and woman [Yuuko and Lazarus], and grinned sheepishly at the bartender.

"Ten shots of vodka. Smirnoff. And don't be a bitch about the shot-glasses, please." He pulled out a 50 euro bill, and slammed it on countertop. "Keep the tab open, keep the change when I'm done..." he paused for a bit, and turned to his side, eyeing the two individuals to his left, and with another wild smile, rolled his head to glance over at the bartender once more, "Oh, and whatever the lovely lady and her boyfriend want. Like I give a fuck. This world needs more drunk people." His accent was thick, and his quick change from English to Russian and back, was very prominent. But thus was the effects of drugs and alcohol. Turns a man fun.

[Lazarus Carter]

The very same pint glass slammed against the countertop once more, though this time still half-full with that same amber nectar, when the ambient background of faint, old Britpop mixed in with idle chatter and glasses clinking against one another was not so much broken as compounded by a mixture of sharp clack noises - irregular and uncomfortable - coupled with stifled grunting became prominent. It had begun in the corridor near the front, and drawn closer and closer with every passing moment. An arching of his eyebrows and he turned around... to be greeted with a rather perplexing sight.

His live-in flatmate, and seventeen year old Hunter partner, Yuuko Koizumi, in heels, wearing her hair in a ponytail, with a questionably short skirt, and one of his baggy Red Hot Chili Peppers tees.

For a moment he simply blinked. Then he looked her up and down. Blinked twice more, and, finally, burst into such hysteric laughter that he almost fell backwards off his stool. And it was no short bout of chortling; no stifled chuckle; full-blown, absolute, and complete, chains of minutes-long laughter of which no attempts were made to subtly cloud it as his back arched back and forth, slamming against the counter and causing abrupt spurts of golden lager to splash up and catch the lip of the pint glass. The pub itself fell silent after a solid ten seconds of the redhead's screaming and its patrons all focused their eyes on him.

After thirty, he was still going strong, and every head in the bar had turned towards him, the bodies they belonged to pausing momentarily. He wound down at around forty-five, and by the time he was easing off to a full minute, Lazarus was exhaling sharply, cheeks still red, a residual giggle still sputtering out uncontrollably as he spoke. "Y-you look..." He knew she was going to kill him for this, but he was three pints in and had no intention of stopping now, rising the glass of Fosters up with a cheeky grin and taking another hearty swig before setting it back down with a prompt sigh. "...nice."

Turning back to the bar, he gestured for her to take a seat to his left, taking another sip as he still smiled heartily to himself. It wasn't that she looked... bad, just that, for her, an outfit quite so... casually... how to put it... inviting, or for lack of a classier term, slutty, was not at all suited. Infact it was completely outlandish. Were it not for her ample cleavage cutting through the appropriate low neckline of the top - his top - that she'd stolen, he would have told her immediately to go home and change, but he figured she'd be fine. Plus, she was only going to drink Sprite most likely either way. "C'mon, si'down, before someone comes and picks you up off a street corner." He jerked a thumb behind himself nonchalantly to her "footwear".

It was then exactly that the doors swung open to his left, and Lazarus laconically looked up to stare at a man apparently showing some nonchalant and unexpected - though stocky - pub patron garbed in business gear his wallet, before barging past, as if the guy was some sort of bouncer. As the new entrant pushed past the suit-clad "guardian" turned back to his own pint, ignoring the foreigner and chuckling to his friends - pubs didn't require ID for entry in England as a policy, only for a drink, so it was clear this guy had knocked back a few drinks - or something else - at the very least already. He swerved around the pair of them - stopping to admire Yuuko's hindquarters, which, in that skirt, he couldn't blame him for - before pulled up at the counter adjacent to the pair of them.

"Ten shots of vodka. Smirnoff. And don't be a bitch about the shot-glasses, please." Arrogantly the foreigner - definitively eastern European, though he couldn't pin the country yet - slammed down an overly colourful crumpled piece of paper on the counter, glistening in the overhead light of the bar. A fifty Euro banknote. Before Si could respond explaining the minor currency issue, he continued on. "Oh, and whatever the lovely lady and her boyfriend want. Как я уже похуй. This world needs more drunk people." Well, he hit the nail on the head there. Though the way in which he'd gone about achieving his goal was somewhat flawed.

Si stuttered for a moment, but slyly Laz shook his head, reaching into his own pocket and producing a handful of crumpled banknotes - though of the correct type here - swapping fifty pounds Sterling for the Euro note on the table, retracting it and tucking it into the jacket. Score. Exchange rate was in his favour either way. "Get the guy his vodka, Si. I'll take another Foster's, and she'll have a Coke." The American accent chimed out to join the melting pot in with the unknown Russian man's, and the redhead grinned at him. "I'll get these changed up in the morning," He tapped the pocket he'd slid the Euros into. "...but you might wanna go and get the rest of yours swapped over, too, comrade."

Another hiss of the taps and a fresh pint landed on the bar next to the empty one he slammed down in complete synchronicity with. "Currency of the UK's been pounds for as long as anyone here can remember, and those are all the drinks you're getting, I'm afraid, bro, cause I'm outta cash," Another sigh and he gestured to the shots of vodka that the River Lodge's chief barman was racking up, before tending to his fresh pint as Si swiftly and silently pulled the empty glass from the counter. "And don't pull the foreigner card either, cause I'm not a limey either," The barkeep hit him with a sharp glare. He threw up his hands defensively moments after making the connection. "No offense intended." The bartender turned back to his duties and Laz let loose that signature grin of his, lowering and offering his hand to shake the Russian's. "I'm Laz, and you clearly haven't been here long." Cocking his head, he saw the guy looked a little... pale. And kind of erratic. He hoped the Russian was ill. Cokeheads were unpredictable.

[Sponsored content]