Damien Sullivan was having one of those nights. Or days. Hell, he was having a week. Or was it a month?

Bah, the details didn’t matter. It just meant that the last while had been rather hard on him. He could feel it in his bones, the weariness that begged him to go home and just sleep it off. It drooped his shoulders, and put bags under his eyes. But as he stood in front of The Cauldron, one of the most popular night clubs in town, he shook the feeling off. Tonight, he would celebrate.

His fingers brushed against his pocket, feeling the paper tucked within. On an impulse, he pulled it out to look, unfolding the little scrap in his hand. All it had written on it was the floor and suite number of his new department - Floor #5, Suite #507.

Shoving the paper back into his pocket, he pulled out his ID to show the bouncer. The large troll took it, looking it over with an intent frown. His deep set eyes slide to Damien, then back to the ID in his hand.

“Little far from home, ain’t ya, pretty boy.” The troll’s tone was friendlier than the words that came out of his mouth.

“I have heard good things. I figured I would check it out.” All he earned in response was a grunt, and the troll waved him inside of the nightclub.

Stepping past the threshold was like walking into a wall. The air was thick with scents that assaulted his elven senses. Body sweat, booze, arousal, longing, sadness, adrenaline, joy…All of it tainted the air as he shouldered his way through the crowd. People were packed together out on the floor tighter than sardines. The rest of the crowd mingled in and out of the floor, getting drinks, walking this way and that, looking for places to make out.

Damien would have settled with a place at the bar and a nice bought of whiskey. The idea of dancing suddenly filled him with dread. One shot, and then he’d go home.

As he weaved through the crowd, ignoring the delicate hands of women trying to get him to stop, that is what he thought of. Just taking one shot and dipping. Clubs weren’t exactly his speed and he misjudged the fullness of this one. But he hated the idea of his usual haunt more than this. He needed a break from the constant droning on of his kin.

There was a commotion near the bar, drawing a bigger crowd in. Damien pushed his way through, intent on his goal of just getting to the bar. He could care less about what was going on, he just wanted his shot so he could get out of this overly crowded establishment.

When he burst out of the crowd, his eyes widened at the scene before him. Some human was raising his hand to strike a pixie woman who seemed to be bracing herself for it. Everyone around was watching in awe, no one moving at all to help.

Damien moved across the room, his feet carrying him on autopilot. Everything always seemed to slow down when he focused, using his elven attributes to be able to move quickly, though the distance was small. He reached the stranger’s side in record time, his hand grabbing his wrist as he physically got between him and the Pixie.

“Let go! She started it!” It occurred to Damien that the man indeed looks as if he took a rather solid hit to the face. A smile curled his lips, casting a glance to the Pixie behind him. She certainly did not look as if she could pack a punch.

“Oh, if that's the case, then by all means,” Letting him go, Damien stepped out of the way. He inclined his head toward the Pixie. “Hit her.”

It did not take long for the guy to shove off. Which was good, as Damien would have punched him had he actually done it. And he had a suspicion that this woman was not as innocently cute as she appeared, so another blow from her was possible.

Sitting down next to her, he was not surprised she wasted no time to talk to him. Her attitude was crass, a stark contrast from the prim Elven ladies he normally dealt with. In fact she openly stared at him for longer than normal as well. It was cute.

“Is that anyway to say thank you?” He said for the second time, as he looked her over while idly drumming his fingers on top of the bar, which yielded a more in depth assessment of her. He had no idea why he'd thought she looked innocent - the woman was certainly dressed her age in a dress that left surprisingly little to the imagination. Through it's clingy material, he had a very good idea of the

“No. But I wasn't planning on thanking you.” Damien found the way she turned from him and propped her chin up on her hand while tugging on her bottom lip to be rather attractive.

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“Ah, so you wanted to get smacked?” His fingers continue to drum on the bar, an absent-minded habit of his. Once he realized he closed his hand but resumed it almost immediately as he watched her.

“It certainly livens the evening.” The corner of his mouth quirked into a small smirk. She reminded him of the tales of old, of warrior women who craved the thrill of battle.

“I'll remember that for next time.” He remembered his goal to have a shot, but perhaps he could stick around past just one though. Flagging down the bartender, he turned to her for a moment. “Shot of whiskey for me. What do you want, Miss?”

As Damien turned back to the Pixie, he watched a rather interesting interaction. Out of the corner of his eyes, he witnessed the bartender make various erotic gestures and he had to hold back a chuckle. Clearly his companion was less amused, but he humored them by looking toward the bartender when she mouthed back a rather forceful No! a moment later.

He winked in response to a kiss the bartender blew at him. Damien knew she was not flirting with him for her sake, which would have been easy to turn down anyways. He did not favor blondes, nor sirens.

Instead he focused on his conversation with the Pixie next to him. It was rather refreshing to be near someone that treated him more as an equal, rather than someone to pander too. Or at least she just wasn't pandering to him.

“I did not peg you as a whiskey girl.” Leaning against the bar, he regarded her intently. He was positive she did not realize she worried her lip with her teeth, which smudged off some of the red lipstick she wore.

“I’m not. Tonight just sucked.” The Pixie averted her eyes for a moment, shrugging one bare shoulder. His eyes narrowed a little, but he did not press.

After all, they were just strangers in a bar. He did not even know her name. Though, he wouldn’t mind knowing. In fact, there were a few other things he wouldn’t mind knowing about her, he thought as he gave her another look over.

The drinks arrived, and he handed her hers. As he glanced down at the shot in his hand, the feeling of the past month, week, day, whatever, came back and he couldn’t help himself.

“To shitty nights!” Damien tossed it back, enjoying the hot liquid burning into his chest. It blossomed out, and he gave a deep inhale. That did feel good.

“To shitty nights!” The Pixie echoed, promptly falling into a coughing fit. He patted her back firmly, mindful of her elegant wings. “I-I’m Madelynn, by the way.”

“Damien.” A name! At last. Perhaps they would hang out here a bit longer.

“Want to get out of here?” She asked the question, glancing up at him through thick lashes and his mind went blank.

It would definitely get him out of here, which was his original plan. He had no idea what she had in mind either, but…

“Let's go.”

The cold fresh air was refreshing after the heaviness of the club. Madelynn stretched her arms above her head and arched her back as they adjusted. Then she started to flit away, her wings pulling her a couple inches from the ground.

“Come on! I have a craving!” She looked over her shoulder at him, her red painted lips spread into a wide smile. Her blue eyes twinkled in the moonlight, the curls of her hair highlighted by the glow of her wings.

Damien paused for just a moment, staring after her as she turned to continue down the street. That image had instantly seared itself into his brain and he was positive his heart had stopped working. He felt entranced by her beauty.

“Hurry up, slow-poke!” Madelynn stopped at the corner and waved an arm to him.

Damien broke into a light jog to follow after her, a grin pulling at his lips. Maybe it was the new job, the drink still warming his heart, or the moon-lit night, but he found himself rather excited by his up-coming adventure with Madelynn.

Madelynn took him to a street cart near the pier to purchase empanadas. He got himself one filled with a warm gooey cheese, whereas Madelynn got one filled with mango. Walking side by side, they decided to walk around the pier and its small, circular spot for food trucks. There were a few people out, but most people would be partying tonight, or just indoors.

New Dark was like that. The nightlife happened in enclosed spaces as much as possible. Probably for the best.

“So, Damien, you're a cheese man?” She arched a brow at him, nibbling on the corner of her empanada.

“Sometimes. This is surprisingly good. I do not eat street food often.” The warmth of the soft, flakey empanada complimented the melted cheese wonderfully. Savory and a bit sweet.

“Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the type.” Madelynn nudged him with her shoulder, shooting a grin up at him. He chuckled down at her, an easy going smirk spread over his face.

“I’m not. But tonight isn’t a bad night to start.” They had slowed to a stop, looking at each other.

There was a bit of mango on the corner of her mouth, contrasting with her pale skin and red lips. Damien reached out, using his thumb to brush it away. In his head, it’d be kind of romantic. In reality, he just smeared the fruit across her cheek.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to…” His eyes rose to her, noting how blue they were, and how big, surrounded by long, black lashes. Her cheeks were flushed, and he was positive she wasn’t wearing any blush.

His hand slid to cradle her jaw, and he leaned in, pausing before his lips brushed hers. She closed the gap with a small intake of air, and their lips brushed lightly. Then more firmly. Then again, forcefully.

The empanadas fell to the ground as he wound an arm around her waist, gathering her up off the ground. Her hands dug into the front of his jacket, pulling herself even closer. The hand on her jaw moved to the nape of her neck, tangling itself in her curls while their tongues did the talking. They kissed deeply, ravenously, either forgetting to breathe without the other.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, enticing her own to dance with him. She tasted smoky, with a fruity undertone and the scent of lilacs wafted off her gently. When they broke the kiss, both of them were panting, cheeks flushed as they regarded each other.

Then he kissed her again.