maskormenacelogs | Oh, my knight in black leather

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Oh, my knight in black leather

WHO: The Midnighter and Rupert von Hentzau
WHERE: Mooney's Alehouse, a gay bar in Nonah
WHEN: Beginning of September
WHAT: Rupert finally meets the leather man of his dreams
WARNINGS: Violence? Rupert? Will update as/if necessary

[Were Rafael not a close asset and good friend, M might believe that the bartender for the first floor of Mooney's Alehouse was mocking him. M sits up at the bar, a familiar duffel bag under his feet, while Rafael works, trying hard to ignore the throngs of people surrounding him. It isn't the fact that the bar was more crowded than usual that M was trying to ignore, but rather the bar's preferred choice of clothing. Of all the nights Rafael could have called him here, it was on "leather night."

Decidedly one of the few people not currently in some form of leather anything, M sticks out in his white button-up shirt and jeans. The bourbon in his hands helps, but as he can't get drunk, it's a temporary distraction at best.

Finally, Rafael has a moment to swing back over to M's side of the bar.]

Rafa, you know I like you, but this is a bit much.

["It wasn't on purpose, I swear," the bartender replies with a sheepish grin, knowing the other man's supposed reputation all too well. "But I need your help."]

So you've told me. What's up?

[Because Rafael wouldn't have called him if something wasn't seriously wrong.]

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[ Gay bars aren't a place that Rupert bothers to visit - he's never struggled to find pretty and willing partners of any gender at quote-unquote normal bars, so why should he limit himself? But the allure of the so-called leather night was almost impossible to resist. Rupert's curiosity was almost as strong as his desire to show off; of course he had to go.

And despite his initial reservations, Hentzau is certainly enjoying himself. He's equal parts handsome, charming, and mean enough to quickly command a small harem of admirers, despite the fact he's nowhere near the most leather-y in the room. His riding boots are a picture of dazzling patent leather splendour, polished to a sparkling sheen, and the well-cut leather jacket is more elegant than hardcore. He's tame in comparison to other patrons, but handsomely so.

Detchard would have found this entertaining, he thinks to himself with a stab of amused fondness. Antoinette would probably have set up shop by now. Hentzau could imagine all of them here, together, a perfectly wicked trio. And thinking of them here makes the grey, provincial, miserable, boring reality of Ruritanian life feel even more drab than usual. God, Rupert would be more than happy to never return to the nineteenth century, if only he could bring his companions here. They belonged in this vibrant time of adventure and warmth and passion so much more than that cold little century.

It's with this in mind that he excuses himself from his latest admirer and heads to the bar. There are plenty of men who would buy him a drink but Hentzau wants a moment to himself, to shake himself free of the uncharacteristic pang of sadness. Pining doesn't suit him and it's stupid besides; there's nothing he can do about it and there's no point being annoyed by it. Slipping into a seat at the bar he forcibly puts any thought of his missing companion aside; hell, Rupert will drown it if he has to, he doesn't mind.

The barman - what was his name? Something angelic, Gabriel maybe? - is in conversation, distracted by the man sat beside him. Hentzau waits for a brief moment, letting them exchange a few words each way, then taps a nail impatiently against his empty wine glass. ]

Another, if you'd be so kind.

[Rafa had just begun his story, speaking quietly to not be overheard by the patrons, when M suddenly shakes his head and abruptly changes the subject. The bartender is confused for a moment, but upon seeing another patron slip into the spot next to M, understands. He's been around Midnighter long enough to know he does that sort of weird stuff every now and then... though not enough to ever get used to it.

They break up their faux conversation about the crowd at the bar as the newcomer starts rapping on his glass.

M is very tempted to take it from him. Clearly no one ever taught this guy some manners.

Rafa nods and takes the glass to refill it, walking away from the duo.]

Impatient, aren't you?

I was thirsty, [ Rupert replies with a careless shrug, and manages to refrain from pointing out and it's his job. He hadn't deigned to give the man sitting next to him a glance, not until he spoke up, but now Rupert finds himself looking at him properly. ]

Although I now realise I shouldn't have blamed the man for neglecting his duties, [ He adds, salaciously inspecting the stranger with unapologetic frankness from head to toe. He's an imposing looking man, startlingly handsome, a little rough around the edges, and altogether far too easy on the eye. Rupert approves. ] I would too, in his position.

[For a moment M decides to correct this blatant thot, but decides against it. Let the guy think what he wants and let whatever Rafa's been trying to tell him between them.]

That so?

Quite so, [ Rupert simply replies, silently deciding that yes, this man will do very nicely. Normally it's other people who buy Rupert drinks, not the other way around, but for a man like this he'll definitely make an exception. Breaking off eye contact for only the most fleeting glance at M's half-drunk glass, he nods. ]

What are you drinking?

[Once again M pauses, wondering what Apollo might think about someone else buying him a drink, even if he wasn't interested. He decides to ask the other man later, and for now try to get this guy out of the way so him and Rafa can finally chat.]

Bourbon, but I'm not looking for a refill at the moment.

[A repudiation, but not a strong one.]

And you?

[ A highly attractive man sitting alone at the bar, tonight? Of course that wasn't answer wasn't a no. It was just a 'not yet'. Undeterred, Rupert smiles coyly and indicates where the bartender is refilling his wine glass. ]

Red wine. [ And then, said with all the innocence his filthy mind can scrape together: ] Personally speaking, I'm always looking for a refill.

[ Moving on, he tilts his head and nods again at M's glass. ]

Do you know, I'm not certain I have ever had the pleasure of trying bourbon. It's a type of whiskey, yes?

[Making eye contact with the bartender again, he ostensibly leans his head against the hand farther from Rupert, subtly tapping his temple with his index finger. Rafael looks confused for a moment, before nodding and turning back to another customer.

Midnighter! Asset 67 Reporting. Connect?]

Mmhmmm.... [M glances over at, his head still resting against his hand.] Along with Scotch and Rye. It's the sweeter of the three. I'm going to guess it would be your style.

[Rafael talks quietly as he has his back to the patrons at the bar, looking for all the world like he's just cleaning glasses. He mumbles a story about some troublemakers from the bar the other day that had attempted to follow him home. Thanks to the asset chip and M's implants, he can hear the bartender perfectly.]

But from what little I know about you, I have a feeling you'd want to show off with some Scotch. You don't seem like you can leave well enough alone.

[Rafael huffs, knowing that last part is aimed at him.]

Edited 2019-09-09 01:31 (UTC)

[ None of this is still an outright no, Rupert is delighted to realise. He regards the other man over his wine glass, rubbing the stem delicately between two fingers in thought, and smiles with perfect innocence. ]

Whatever makes you say that?

You've been one of the most forward guys at this bar, and that's saying something. [He spares the other man a sideways glance, dropping his arm naturally.] Don't think I haven't noticed you peacocking all over the place.

The question I have for you, [M glances past Rupert at the bartender.] is what do you want from me?

[Rafael chuckles and continues, murmuring that he's pretty sure they have abilities of some kind and are harboring a grudge... and that he doubts he's seen the last of them.]

There's no shame in pursuing one's interests with enthusiasm and style, is there? [ Rupert replies with a cheerful grin. After all, they're all in the same place, at the same time, with mostly similar intentions. And peacocking isn't something he's going to be ashamed about either. It's all part of the grand game and Hentzau knows he's a very good player. ]

What an interesting question. [ He follows M's line of sight, glancing curiously over his shoulder towards... the bartender. ] And here I thought I had captured your attentions. Now it seems I'm still only sharing them.

I've found that all depends on who it is you're pursuing.

[Because sometimes people have a tendency to bite off more than they can chew.

He shrugs it off at the mention of the bartender.] I'm a regular, and Rafa just needed reassurance that you weren't trying to eat me alive. He worries.

[Rafael scoffs silently and his eyes threaten to roll out of his head, his back now to the pair.]

[ He lifts his glass, sipping at his wine with his gaze fixed heavily on Midnighter's. There's nothing subtle about the way he watches, inspects, the other man. After all, being a 'regular' can only mean one thing here. ]

And what if I were? [ He pauses, then leans in fractionally. ] Trying to eat you alive.

[ A hazy, lazy smile blossoms on his lips. ]

You're quite delicious, you know.

And you're a real smooth talker.

[M's flattered, and were this another place in another time, M might even knowingly make an extremely fun mistake with the man seated next to him. But this is not the time nor place, unfortunately for Hentzau.]

Unfortunately, my partner isn't big on sharing.

[ Again, nothing about that was really a 'no', was it? Hentzau's indulgent smile of temptation remains in place - his partner isn't him and this is a barrier he has climbed many times before. There are multiple persuasive answers he could give, so many ways to overcome this particular protest, all to the same conclusion. Rupert pauses as he selects his weapon, sucking his lower lip briefly between his teeth in a thoughtful bite as he assesses the man beside him with a lascivious eye. God, Rupert loves this part.

What would work best?

A. He can watch
B. He can join in
C. He doesn't have to know
D. He does know you're in a bar full of sweaty twunks in leather off their tits on molly, right? What does he expect to happen to his beautiful, dangerous six-foot-something hunk of a man, sitting alone at the bar like a god damn SNACK

Rupert smiles finally, and decides not to make it about the partner at all. Beneath the lip of the bar he extends a leather booted foot, nudging playfully against the other man's calf. ]

And what about you? What are you big on?

[ Say 'monogamy' and Hentzau will be sick. ]

[Thanks to the fight computer in M's head, M gets to go along on the magical journey of poor decisions along with the pushy little minx next to him. M is especially grateful for the man to not go with C, because it would have been such a shame to ruin that pretty face of his.]

Apollo. My partner.

[Which, while not exactly "monogamy", is pretty damn close.]

[ Not realising he's being so easily read, Rupert's mind idly circles back to his previous possible questions. This time he actually selects on. Option D, in fact. ]

And he lets you visit places such as this, all alone? How very dangerous.

[ The foot that had nudged Midnighter's comes to rest oh-so-very innocently against his calf, resting there as if for all the world the touch was purely accidental. ]

The gentlemen here tonight are only after one thing, you know. Does he know that?

[M leans forward, his smile more predatory than sultry.]

I'm more than capable of handling myself.

[With a free hand, he cups Rupert's chin.]

I also know that I'm far too much man for you, kid, if you think that a taunt like that's gonna get a rise out of me.

[ God, Rupert is so overwhelmingly sure that yes, this man can handle himself, but what he wouldn't give to handle him as well. He opens his mouth to say as much when he finds himself being touched, boldly, and the touch leaves him temporarily silent. The hand is rough against his smooth cheek, cold from where it had been cupping his drink, and smelling faintly of alcohol and sweat. Why the fuck is this man touching his face if he doesn't want this as badly as Rupert does? To hell with partners and Greek gods, Rupert isn't about to take that no for an answer. ]

Do you think so? [ He murmurs, not looking even remotely disappointed as he keeps his gaze trained intently, unblinkingly, on Midnighter's. ] You should know that I don't like to take these claims on word alone...

[ His eyes glitter with coy delight as he pauses, savouring the words that Midnighter has left for him to take advantage of, adding: ]

I think I'd like to decide for myself whether or not you're too much man for me.

[What he's doing is attempting to grip him like a supervillain about to gloat over their capture foe, but apparently that's not working, so he just grips Rupert's chin just a little too hard before dropping it.]

Unfortunately, Casanova, it takes two to tango, and I've already got a dance partner.

[He gets up, taking his drink with him.]

Learn to take a hint, and a rejection, kid. It'll take you places in life.

[ The pain is unexpected but hardly offputting; Rupert flinches a little underneath M's grip with a flash of something like confusion crossing his face. But it's gone in an instant, as soon as M drops his grip, and Rupert raises his fingertips to wonderingly touch the red mark it had left on his chin. ]

You could give me your name, at least?

[ He says to Midnighter's departing figure. Perhaps they'll run into each other again. ]

A small consolation prize, seeing as I am forbidden to have anything else of yours.

[M pulls a business card out of his back pocket and hands it to Rupert. He almost feels bad about the mark, but then he remembers that the other wouldn't take a hint.]

And you're welcome to my friendship, Don Giovanni, but not my pants.

[ He takes the card, staring at it with mute surprise. What a bizarre thing to put on one's calling card. ]

How very novel, [ He remarks as he tucks it away in his pocket. ] Do you give these out to all the handsome strangers you meet at bars?

[He's a bizarre sort of person.]

Just the nosy ones that ask a lot of questions.

I'm afraid I don't have a card to give you in return. You'll just have to make do with my name...

[ He slips off his bar stool, straightening himself up. Rupert's nowhere near M's dimensions - he's leaner, more lithe, and practically dwarfed by the other man in terms of height. Still, he fearlessly extends a hand to shake. ]

Rupert von Hentzau, at your service.

[M eyes it suspiciously for a moment before shaking it firmly.]

Should I have been referring to you as "your lordship" or something this whole time?

[No matter what he's not going to, he's just going to ask.]

Edited 2019-10-02 20:55 (UTC)

Not at all, [ Rupert replies breezily. There's a good few years of life left in his uncle, the Count von Hentzau. But of course he can't resist adding with a glittering smile: ] Unless you're into that sort of thing.

[ Sir. Master. Your Lordship. That sort of thing. ]

If I was, that would be between me and my partner.

[Remember that thing, Rupes? M sure hasn't!

All of a sudden M stops his graceful retreat and stares off into space for a second. He turns and makes eye contact with Rafa before looking at Rupert.]

You might want to get down.

That's what I've been trying to do for the past five--

[ Rupert's words are luckily cut off by the explosive sound of the bar's wall imploding. He crouches instinctively, one hand moving to seek out the edges of a portal just in case he needs to make a quick exit. The noise is terrible, leaving his ears ringing and dust billowing as a band of someones burst through the wreckage into the bar and Rupert decides very quickly that this is not a place he should be sticking around in. He turns around to say as much to Midnighter before realising the guy has completely and utterly vanished. ]

[Perhaps not utterly... but rather ducked down behind the counter with Rafael to perform a quick change. Emphasis on quick, as he utilizes his second bursts of superspeed to get changed into work clothes. He smirks at the bartender.]

You sure do attract interesting company, Rafa.

[He quickly vaults over the counter, fully dressed in his work clothes, to address the assholes ruining leather night.]

The bouncer just told you there was a dress code. No reason to trash the place just because you can't listen to simple instructions.

[ Well, shit. Rupert wasn't expecting that. It's painfully obvious that the leather-coated man of Rupert's dreams is the same one he'd been talking to just ten seconds ago, considering that voice and that brand of shit-talking. Rupert is captivated for a moment, entranced by the sheer animal swagger in how Midnighter addresses their attackers, and only belatedly realises that he really should move.

Not leave. Move. Because Rupert isn't going to miss this for the world.

He quietly weaves through cowering bystanders until he reaches a break in the bar, before darting behind it so he can safely crouch and watch. And who knows, if this really does turn into a shit show then he can at least fix himself a good drink before making a swift exit. ]

[Rafael drags Rupert farther away from the chaos once he decides to join him.

"You just couldn't take a hint, could you?" the bartender whispers harshly. He knew something was going to happen, which was why he called in M.

The party crashers begin a well-rehearsed monologue about how unfair the bar scene is, and how Mooney's Alehouse only caters to certain people.]

Are you serious? Is this is an incel thing? A homophobia thing? Either way, you're boring me with this bullshit.

[With that, he kicks a knife off a nearby table into the hand of the one wielding a stupidly large gun.]

Can you blame me? [ Rupert hisses back at Rafa, gesturing delightedly at the scene unfolding before them. His eyes are alive with delight as he watches M kick a knife into someone's hand, good GOD. ]

He's good. I wouldn't miss this for the fucking world.

["Of course he's good! He once regaled the entire bar about a time he headbutted a goddamn alien!"

The guy with the knife begins screaming, as his buddies start to rush Midnighter. One of them spits fire as M flips out of the way, grabbing a glass of water as he moves. He rushes in close and slams the glass into the guy's face.]

[ There's absolutely nothing about this fight that suggests Midnighter needs any help - it's all very one-sided, actually - and Rupert can't help but watch in delighted fascination at the carnage Midnighter orchestrates. He creeps along behind the bar, still crouched low but not low enough that he can't watch, and waits for the perfect moment...

He sees it - another attacker, shoving the screaming knife-handed man out the way as he closes on M. From his crouching position behind the bar Rupert moves his hand quickly, top right to bottom left, and rips a noisy portal beneath the attacker's feet. The man disappears through the floor with a shriek, only to be neatly dropped from somewhere up high around the nightclub's light rigging, to fall with a vivid crunch headfirst into the dance floor.

Because Rupert's helpful like that. ]

[For a brief second, M's eyes dart in the direction of Rupert before returning back to the fight. It gets him back on target just in time to dodge one of the remaining ones spit some sort of sticky goo at him.]

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

[Rather than spit at him again, the goo guy changes targets to attack the bar, while a stone-skinned attacker rushes M. He catches the guy's grip in his hands and starts to grapple him backwards.]

[ Now that he's been spotted there's no real point in hiding; Rupert slams a hand on the bar top and vaults neatly on top of it to take a stand and survey the scene all the more clearly. It draws attention to him, sure, but Rupert likes attention. Even from goo-spitting villains.

With a swordsman's keen reflexes he jerks aside as a gob of sticky liquid flies past him, aimed at the space where his portal-casting shoulder had been moments ago. With a fiendish grin he throws out his hand and yanks it sharply across once again, portalling the villain to land directly on top of the first one he'd dumped on the dance floor, who was starting to struggle to his feet. The pair slam together, the second on top of the first, and they go quiet. ]

Watch your step, [ Rupert calls breathlessly to M; there are now two large squares of empty space on the floor: the left-open portals, that Rupert is conveniently leaving there just in case they're at all helpful. ]

[M's eyes dart from the 3 conscious assailants--the gun guy wisely not removing the knife in his hand while he nurses it, the spluttering, bleeding firebreather with shards of glass sticking out of his face, and the man with the stone skin that he currently avoids with a well-placed side-stepped paired with a burst of super speed, to Rupert, to his portals. The computer runs through a variety of different scenarios and plays out a variety of conclusions, some (most) more fatal than the others.

Even if he wasn't playing nice for the sake of the import community as a whole, these idiots didn't deserve to die for this.]

You make too much noise, you know that?

[M says, ostensibly to the stone-skinned man as he reorients himself for another charge.]

Sometimes there is merit to the subtle approach.

[Like the Roadrunner to Wile E. Coyote (not that M would know the reference), he once again side-steps the stone skin man, this time first faking him out with a feint, letting him fall right into one of Rupert's portals. But at the exit of said portal, a large, golden portal appears beneath it, and exits perpendicular to the floor. The result leads the stone skinned man to drop into one portal, only to slide out of the other one, where his momentum knocks over and traps the man with the knife hand and the firebreather beneath his weight.]

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Oh, my knight in black leather

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