2007-03-02: Black and Tan and Blackmail


Lachlan_icon.gif Eliana_icon.gif


Lachlan runs into Eliana at Oldcastle Pub and informs her that he knows of her secret power. He then attempts to blackmail her. Things don't go well.

Date It Happened: March 2nd, 2007

Black and Tan and Blackmail

Oldcastle Pub and Restaurant

Where's the best place to be on a Sunday evening? A pub. Especially after a day like Lachlan had yesterday. On top of a first date (/ever/) and getting drunk due to a major shoot-out /while/ on that date, he has had to deal with a nervous wreck of a dog while hungover, and he had a hospital checkup today. The Scotsman is glad to find himself back on a stool with some good whiskey in front of him and a game of footy on the TV. He's dressed in his usual ensemble, but the bandages around his head and hand have disappeared. The left side of his face is still covered in ugly looking bruising which has turned yellowish around the edges. The only part of the bandages that remain is a wad of gauze taped over his cheekbone, covering the stitches from the surgery he had to repair that particular part of his face.

While she's far from a regular, Eliana has started frequenting the Oldcastle Pub. Her appearence isn't one seen often in this sort of place, even in New York City, which is maybe why the bartender knows to send a tall Black and Tan, a Guiness and Bass, to the table that the comfortably dressed writer walks to. She shrugs off her peacoat and pulls out a moleskin notebook and pen from the pocket of her hoodie. Eli reads a few pages quickly to herself before she bends over the book and starts to write, looking up only when the waitress sets down a coaster and the glass.

It's the waitress who gets Lachlan's attention first. She's pretty; he's buzzed. Naturally, he'll ogle her a bit. Inevitably, however, his eyes move to the person at the table that the waitress has just serviced, and he perks up immediately. Pink hair! He recognizes that. Picking up his drink, he swivels around on his stool and stands, then moves toward Eliana's table with a smirk. She's writing? Oh well. "Ye a regular here?" he inquires once he's within hearing range. "Havena seen ye 'round much b'fore."

Lachlan's approach marks the second time Eliana looks up once she's seated. She immediately closes the notebook and sits back, picking up her drink and shooting a smile to the turning waitress. "Not really," Eli says with a somewhat cold tone. "I just stand out, I guess. And I'm predictable."

Sure, sure. Lachlan puckers out his lower lip in thought and nods as he glances away toward the bar again, lifting a hand to rub at his scruffy jaw. He contemplates something for a moment, or perhaps he just got a bit distracted by the telly. Regardless, after a brief pause, he takes the seat opposite Eliana and leans forward with elbows on the table, smirking in a decidedly smug sort of way. "So, uh, how's it werk?" he inquires in a low voice, bouncing slightly in his seat like some giddy schoolboy about to be let in on a secret. "D'ye hafta concentrate, 'r d'ye just fart out X naturally?" Hello, Eliana. I've figured out your powers.

Eliana stares across the table wide-eyed, her face slowly getting pinker. But she keeps her heart rate down enough so that she /doesn't/ expel any gas. "What the," she starts, but then her face grows reddish, and gas /does/ however about an inch from her skin in a trembling cloud. Gritting her teeth, Eliana flings her pen at Lachlan. Take /that./

Probably fortunate that Lachlan is not close enough to get a whiff of that inch of gas, though he'd much rather get high than be blinded by an airborne pen. He turns his head and raises an arm defensively. The pen is deflected and clatters onto the floor nearby, and the Scotsman keeps his arm up and head turned for a moment after, just to be sure the assault doesn't continue. He's grinning now — it's a fiendish expression. "Whoo," he whistles lowly, slowly turning to face the woman once again, "ye've got a righ' bad temper. Just asked a simple question an' ye go off at me." /Gawd/.

The sound of teeth grinding isn't a happy one, and Eliana's maternal uncle the dentist probably wouldn't b very happy if he could hear it. "Because it was a horrible question," the writer growls under her breath. She takes a long drink from her glass and sets it down with a loud clink, the gas only extending out an additional inch, but it now hovers above the fabric of her sweatshirt.

"Was no'. 'Twas a simple question." Lachlan settles back against his chair with his hands folded over his stomach, that grin still pasted to his features. "Figured somethin' was screwy when the dogs an' tha' woman went nuts 'round ye at the studio. Then tha' nigh' inna pub confirmed it. Ye've got a bit o' magic in ye." /Drug/ magic: the best kind! "Figure I've got a nice bit o' infermation on ye." And here his grin only grows broader. Heh. /Heh/.

It would be horrible if Eliana lost control and flooded the area of the table with that airborne E. X. Whatever you want to call it. Eliana is taking deep breaths to keep her heart in check, and with her hands free again, she tucks the notebook slowly into her hoodie pocket. Then, Eli's hands grip the edge of the table tightly. "You're crazy. Hallucinating maybe. I bet whoever patched you up gave you some good meds."

Vicodin is great, but Lachlan knows that it's not causing him to hallucinate anything. He /knows/ what being high on ecstasy is like. He also knows that the only times spontaneous X exposure have occurred, Eliana has been the only link — and she's been in the middle of it during both instances. The Scotsman may be a bit dense sometimes, but he's not really stupid. Right now, he looks thoroughly pleased. "Nah, I'm no' hallucinatin' nothin'. 'M no' daft like ye migh' think either. 'Course, if ye wanna take tha' risk— " he trails off and starts to rise from his chair as though to go. This sort of secret could net him plenty of money, if he told the right people.

Which is exactly why Eliana is scared, and Lachlan's departure only exacerbates that fear. Eliana nearly knocks over her drink as she reaches across the table, groping for a grip on Lachlan's shirt. C'mere. "N-no!" she says in a quick, intense whisper. "Look, I don't know who the hell you are but a… a reckless dog trainer, but you…well, you're dreaming./ Nobody can do stuff like, well, like you're talking about. /Farting/ out anything but methane." Eli doesn't fart Ecstasy. /Seriously./ Still, the pink-haired writer looks very uncomfortable, and mostly scared.

It's not hard to snag Lachlan, as he's making no real effort to get away, and his grin returns once he feels the tug on the hem of his shirt. /Ha/. He's easily coaxed back down into his chair, where he settles again in much the same position as before. "Ye think so, huh?" he grunts, eyebrows jerking upward. "Ye can obviously do tha' sort o' thing, b'cause I've seen it happen. 'R I dunno, mebbe ye dunna fart it out — mebbe ye've got some other way — but I know ye do it." His grin widens before he adds, "Can ye stick it in bottles, ye think?"

Eliana doesn't let go of Lachlan's jacket even once he's back in his seat, and she leans still closer. If a breeze happens by, Lach will get a face full of Ecstasy. "You don't know a damned thing," she hisses through gritted teeth. "But I want you to know this. I want you to know that I could break your brain if I had a small enough room to do it in."

It's fortunate that nobody passes by right this moment, otherwise Lachlan would be /really/ liking Eliana right now. He does lean back a bit away from her, knowing exactly what she could do if she put her mind to it, but the grin remains. This is /fun/. "An' I could have a shitload o' dogs in here ta rip yer fuckin' throat out b'fore ye could finish tha' thought," he responds in a low growl, his grin taking on a more malicious sort of gleam. It might be an exaggeration, but it's hard to really tell.

Eliana 's eyes widen at that, and for a moment, she loses control. The gas rushes from her pores as if someone turned on a tap. With a squint, Eliana shuts off that tap. "You wouldn't do that," Eli says with an uneasy smile. "Because you think my throat is /pretty./" And she gulps.

Whooooo boy. Now Lachlan gets a nice whiff of that gas, and he can almost immediately start to feel the buzz. One of his hands goes down to grab Eliana's where it grips his jacket, but he doesn't attempt to remove it. Nope. He starts to /rub/ it. Hee hee hee, /texture/! He's starting to feel a little less ill will toward the walking Ecstasy unit, but at the same time, he realizes what's going on and is fighting valiantly against the effects. Focus. Focus. "Yer throat's pretty," he agrees with a bob of his head, "but I dunna like havin' m'head fucked with." And he likes having his head un-fucked-with a lot more than he likes Eliana's throat. With a little effort, he sends a signal to Padfoot outside, and the Doberman begins to bark loudly and wildly where he's tethered outside.

Eliana calms down a bit more, but all she does in response to Lachlan's hand and the wildly barking Padfoot is narrow her eyes and let the smile slip from her face. "Bottles, you said?" Eliana says slowly, arching an eyebrow. "I don't know if that will work. Besides, it's a controlled substance. I doubt the FDA would sanction a phenethylamine."

"Who says the FDA's gotta sanction anythin'?" Lachlan's hand does not stop its stroking, though he's no longer getting hit in the face with gas. He's still clearing his head from the initial blast — maybe. "Ye could make a nice bit o' money from sellin' it, yanno. X is no' cheap ta come by." Padfoot calms down outside, and Lachlan smirks.

Eliana shakes her head, finally letting go of Lachlan in order to lean back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "No," she says simply. "I'm not going to be a factory for you, Lachlan Deatley." Oh yes. Eli remembered your name. "But you can pay for my drink." With a soft snort, Eliana gets out of her chair, coat in hand, and pulls it on as she walks toward the door.

"Suit yerself." Lachlan shrugs a bit, then grins as he raises his voice to be heard over the distance Eliana is putting between herself and the table: "Hope ye know how ta keep yer mouth shut. Yer no' the only one tha's got a tongue." In other words: tell anyone about this meeting and some information might fall into the wrong hands.

Eliana turns when she's only a few feet away from the table and looks at Lachlan, pulling her coat straight with one good yank on the lapels. "I'm not in the business of putting people in danger for selfish reasons, Mister Deatley." In other words: I won't turn you in if you won't turn me in.

"Good. Yer smart. Ye stay smart, an' life'll be easier fer ye." Another grin, and then Lachlan raises a hand in farewell. "Take care o' yerself."

But Eliana is already out the door. This will likely be the last time she visits the pub, or any bar near it. She gives the Doberman outside a cold look as she unlocks and mounts her bicycle, and, with a determined look on her face, Eliana peddles off into the dying light of the evening.

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