Idle Conversation.

Who: Grayson & Marguerite
When: After sunset/late evening
Where: Jazz club

The human she'd drained with Rey had lasted Marguerite a full week, and while she wasn't planning on making that a habit (she preferred her humans alive for return visits if they were particularly delicious), it had been a rare luxury. As all good things, however, her feeding-free time ran out and she once again had to go hunting. Not that it was ever difficult. She'd intercepted a human out and about on her way to the jazz club where she'd previously met Kurt, given him several pleasurable moments while she fed, and sent him on his way none the wiser. Temporarily sated, Marguerite fluffed her hair and straightened her clothes as she made her way into the club, once again charming her way past the door without paying the cover. She'd gone more casual this time, a lilac silk halter that gathered at the throat, leaving her shoulders and upper back bare, cream colored blazer with elbow-length sleeves, and tight jeans tucked into black stiletto boots. The piano was currently occupied by the house band; she decided to have a drink or two before charming the band's piano player out of his seat for a few songs. Heading over to the bar, she lifted a hand for the bartender's attention to put in her drink order.

Given that the lead hadn't turned up anything at the Wooden Nickel, Grayson had only stayed there long enough to finish the drink that had been bought for him and see if he could pick up any new directions. The fact that he then found himself outside a building that wouldn't otherwise have caught his attention was testament to the fact that he had found another lead, or at least something that had the potential to become one. Hell, for all he knew it was another dead end, but he would cross that bridge if and when he came to it. Once inside, the wolf in him briefly took control as it normally did in a new place and he did as much of a scan of the place with his senses as possible. There was nothing familiar, but that didn't mean he wouldn't dig up something worthwhile; all he had to do was stick around long enough to ascertain whether or not the rumour he'd heard about someone roughly matching Liam's description was worth anything. Unlike in the last bar, Grayson actually went so far as to removing his jacket, revealing the dark shirt and simple shirt underneath; he wasn't the type of man who spent a lot of time fussing over what to wear at any given time. Comfort was key. In order to settle himself in and at least make an attempt to look like he belonged, he headed for the bar, catching sight of the blonde not far away but taking his gaze from her before he could be accused of staring.

"Are you playing tonight?" asked the bartender as he brought her vodka tonic. While not quite a regular, she'd come by and taken a turn at the piano often enough that people were starting to remember her. "Peut-être," Marguerite answered playfully, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "When they take a break, possibly. For now, I am just here to listen." She brushed a fingertip over the bartender's hand with a dazzling smile, adding just enough of her vampiric whammy that he wandered off with a goofy grin and conveniently forgetting to collect payment for her drink. Taking a sip, Marguerite swiveled on her stool to scan the rest of the club. Her eyes lit briefly on the man who'd just entered, and she gave him a polite smile before he looked away.

With a wolf's ears, it was difficult not to overhear the conversations of others even if you were standing at a distance. Still, Grayson at least made it look as if he wasn't listening, catching sight of the blonde woman's smile and returned it in the interest of keeping things pleasant. Just because he was here to try and track someone down, that didn't mean he had to be rude to the other patrons, especially not if they were the ones making the effort to be cordial in the first place. And it wasn't only that; just because he'd been doing his best not to stare, that didn't mean he'd missed what had just passed between the bartender and the woman. There was something there, Grayson suspected, but should he really be jumping to conclusions when he was still very much a learner? Distracted from his thoughts by the approach of the bartender, the werewolf ordered a whiskey and passed the time while the man collected his drink watching the woman, and not so discreetly. They said curiosity killed the cat, but he was no cat.

Marguerite had been mentally cataloging the other patrons in the bar, making note of the ones who were attractive enough to potentially provide her dessert that evening and dismissing those who weren't worth her time. Her attention eventually wandered back over to the others at the bar; the gentleman who'd been looking at her moments earlier was certainly a potential. She added him to her list, noticing after a moment that he was staring again. And not very discreetly at all. Raising an eyebrow at him, she smiled slightly, crooking a finger to beckon him over.

If Grayson had wanted to be discreet, he could have been; he was good at that, despite what had happened at Sophie's, an encounter that didn't exactly make him look like the stealthiest of wolves out there. He'd slipped up, gotten too engrossed in his hunting, and he was just lucky it hadn't led in another direction. Just as his drink was placed down in front of him and money exchanged hands, the blonde beckoned him over, and he went over, seeing no reason not to. At the very least he might find out what had just happened between her and the bartender. Rather than helping himself to the stool alongside hers, he stood, not wanting to overstep and yet managing to come across as casual rather than confused or wary. Odd how that worked out. Then again, being beckoned by an attractive blonde female and being approached by a middle-age-plus man were two entirely different situations, and ones that Grayson, as a result, handled with varying degrees of ease and comfort.

Marguerite leaned back against the bar and crossed her legs, giving the man an appraising look as he approached. "Please, have a seat," she invited after a moment with a faintly wicked smile. "If you're going to look, you might as well have the best possible view, non?"

Her words were met with a low, deep chuckle of a response. Well, she had a point there, and if she was extending a genuine invitation, then who was he to turn it down? Yes, he'd followed a rumour here in the hopes of tracking down an enemy once and for all, but he was a wolf and there was no way he was every going to forget Liam's distinct scent. He would have known the second he'd walked through that door if the coward had been here. Slipping onto the stool and calmly drinking from his glass, he regarded her as the alcohol worked its way down. "You have a point there." He offered her a smile. "I didn't mean to stare." Except, of course, that he had, though why exactly he couldn't say.

"Of course you did," Marguerite answered with a low laugh, twitching a lock of hair out of her eyes with a quick flick of her head. "Thankfully, I do not mind being stared at." He seemed delightfully healthy. She mentally moved him up a few notches on her list of potentials. "I am far from a regular here, but I do not believe I've seen you here before," she added.

Well at least she didn't mind the attention. Not everyone appreciated being the centre of attention in any way. His shrug was light and accepting, the werewolf knowing better than to argue when he'd already been caught red-handed. "First time," he acknowledged, taking his eyes from the room as a whole and turning them in her direction once again. "I'm sort of new in town, so I'm still getting my bearings."

"There seem to be quite a few of us who are new in town," Marguerite observed. "I've been here just over a week, myself." She extended a hand to him, giving her drink an absent stir with the other. "I'm Marguerite Devereaux," she introduced. "From where do you hail, Mr... ?"

"Grayson Saunders, from Denver," he returned, accepting her hand with his own in a shake of greeting. At least this first meeting was a lot more casual and comfortable than the previous one this evening. "Is that right?" he asked, setting his glass down on the bar and considering her with interest. "If I didn't know better, I'd say something's drawing people here." Maybe it was a joke and maybe it wasn't; not even Grayson was sure if he was kidding.

"Oh?" Marguerite questioned as she shook his hand, letting that one word carry her interest. "I can't say I felt anything in particular that drew me here," she said. Besides the obvious - early sunset, long nights, and enough people to provide a ready supply of blood. She could have found that in any small northern town. "What brings you to Marquette?"

That was good to know. Grayson hadn't felt anything drawing him to Marquette either, but then, apparently he'd been seeing ghosts without realising so who knew what else he was oblivious to? "If you want the truth, I was running out of money. Travelling's expensive." There was a light laugh running through his words before he gave another shrug and recovered his glass from the bartop, taking a drink.

"Depends on how you travel," Marguerite said, smiling. She'd done her share of hitchhiking when she'd first come to the states, but then, she didn't exactly have to fear an attacker the way a normal human woman would have. All she'd had to do was raise sufficient lust or awe in her mark and not only did she have a driver to nearly anywhere, she had a meal to go as well. She had the funds (and possessions, now) to travel in style after a few decades of building her wealth, but there was always something to be said for traveling light.

She had a point there. If there had been a way for Grayson to travel all the way he had on foot -- or rather, on paw -- then he would have. Anyone who had any interest in wild animals knew that wolves could lope comfortably for miles without having to take a break. Maybe if things got dire and he ended up with nothing but the clothes on his back, that was how he would go from place to place. "So what about you? I'm going to go with France?"

"Originally, yes," Marguerite said, nodding. The accent had given her away - it hadn't faded much even after twenty years in America. She could mask it if she chose to, but didn't usually see the point. "It's been a while since I've been there. I've mostly traveled around the U.S. - I haven't really stayed in any one place long enough to call it home." She'd been chased from her home. No chance of going back to Paris until Francois was dead. And unless she did it herself, she didn't think that would be for quite a long while.

The accent had indeed given her away, especially when combined with her name. There were some interestingly named Americans out there in this day and age, but most people knew a French name when they heard it. "I know the feeling," he said in a deceptively level tone of voice, drinking more of the whiskey he'd ordered and setting the glass down once again. "And do you think Marquette could be the place you finally come to call 'home'?" Maybe it was asking too much too soon, but he was curious. It was her choice whether or not she replied.

"I think I haven't been here nearly long enough to answer that," Marguerite said, taking a sip of her drink. "It's been only about a week or so - I haven't even seen the entire town, let alone been able to decide whether or not I like it as a long-term residence." She never could have a long term residence, unless she was with clan. And once again, Francois stood in the way of that. Eventually, residents would notice she didn't age, only came out at night, and she'd have to once again be on her way.

Grayson chuckled and nodded. "Fair point." It would help to have a fuller understanding of the place before making a decision of that magnitude, he had to agree with her on that. "It's certainly different, I'll give it that," he went on to say, turned on his stool so he could converse with Marguerite and have easy access to the glass he had set on the bartop; it also gave him a perspective of the rest of the club, keeping him from being completely blind to his surroundings, not that he ever was thanks to his senses.

"Surprisingly exciting for such a small town, too," Marguerite agreed. "Rogue animal attacks, traveling biker gangs, some sort of shadow people that attacked, and now the ghosts everywhere." She watched him carefully, though remained casual about her observations. She liked to see how news like this affected others. "Though some have said the first two were werewolves and vampires running loose. And the spirits now are worldwide, so I suppose that cannot in good faith be listed as one of Marquette's special eccentricities."

That was another point where he couldn't argue with her, and the tilt of his head to the side showed that he was in agreement with her. For what looked like a lazy little town, Marquette was actually surprisingly action-packed, at least from what he could tell. And it seemed as though Marguerite had the same information that Grayson himself had; being on the same page was a plus. "I heard the same thing," he said to her, finishing his -- first -- drink and setting the empty glass on the bar again for the bartender to collect when they next went past. "Though not the part about the spirits being worldwide. That's new information for me.

"I suppose if it weren't for the ghosts," Marguerite ventured, "that it would be quite easy to dismiss the other supernatural rumors. After all, vampires and werewolves? How silly." She couldn't resist a little teasing, even if he wouldn't get her humor - as a human, he had no idea she was one of those supernatural creatures that popular culture so fixated upon - that she was quite dead, despite appearances. "But yes," she added. "It's been all over the news - spirits are cropping up everywhere. It's sending the religious into absolute fits, I hear. Talk of the end times, cults with more members now than they know what to do with. It's quite entertaining, really."

Grayson could still appreciate her human in his own way, though he didn't like to make it obvious that he was a werewolf himself. If people found out, then they found out and so be it, but he didn't exactly like to advertise it. That was not only reckless but just plain stupid a lot of the time, and with what he had heard about hunters, he wasn't in the mood to take that kind of risk. There was something off about Marguerite that he just couldn't put a finger on, some kind of instinct, maybe it was his senses trying to figure it out, but he wasn't about to ask. "I'll bet," he agreed when she mentioned the religious. Fanatics or not, those who believed in any religion tended to be the first to react to the preternatural when it was thrown in their faces.

"How delightfully neutral of you," Marguerite remarked. He was certainly a man of few words, wasn't he? If she hadn't already eaten, she'd have dispensed with conversation and had him out the door already. But she wasn't quite ready to leave, wasn't quite hungry enough, and she was still perusing her options. Debating whether or not she wanted to go back for seconds, so to speak - she'd be fine for a day if she didn't.

He laughed quietly, shrugging his shoulders under his shirt. "I haven't been here long enough to swing one way or the other. Not yet, anyway." If she didn't understand quite what he meant by that, then she was free to make assumptions or interpret his words however she chose. He wasn't about to lay it out for her; she seemed like the kind of woman who appreciated the freedom behind making her own choices. "Though I could do without the talk of, how did you put it? 'The end times'? That doesn't sound fun for anyone, does it?"

"I suppose it rather depends on your beliefs," Marguerite commented idly. "All the dutifully religious would almost look forward to their immortal reward, I should think. Those who truly believe, that is, not the masses for whom church is a means of showing off their latest designer shoes or Mercedes. I can't say I particularly fear death or dying." If death was the next great adventure, it had so far been severely lacking.

Having never been one of those 'dutifully religious' types, all Grayson could offer in response, at least honestly, was another shrug, rather noncommittal but it was better to do that than pretend he knew more than he did and end up looking a fool. "I guess it depends, from person to person." He was talking about death now, dying. It was different for everyone, it had to be. "For a lot of people, it would depend on the circumstances, the time and place. If they were alone."

"People certainly have some strange ideas about life and death," Marguerite mused, half to herself. She'd already died once, after all, so she felt rather blasé about the whole thing. It had hurt, but after a few seconds of terror the worst was over. Of course, she'd woken up later so it wasn't exactly as if she was traditionally dead - but she hadn't known that when Francois was biting into her. The bastard had left a scar, too. One she could conceal, thankfully, but knowing it was there still rankled. "Dying alone or with a witness is still dying."

Grayson was no fan of death, and was in no rush to try it for himself. He had lost enough people in his life to that final goodbye, and he planned to stay as far away from it as possible for as long as he was able. "True. I can't argue with that." Death was death, there was no dressing it up or romanticising it, and anyone who said differently was disillusioned. "This conversation got a little morbid, didn't it?"

"Only if you find death to be morbid," Marguerite said, putting a teasing lilt in her voice. She figured he would likely take it as a joke, despite the fact that she was half-serious. She didn't think death was anything special. "But please, do steer us in a more lighthearted direction."

Having never experienced it, Grayson couldn't be nearly so light-hearted about the subject, but he gave her an easy smile all the same, tilting his head again as a kind of confirmation to her semi-request. "All right. In that case, feel free to ignore this question, but I can't help but ask..." How to put it, that was the real question? "That moment between you and the bartender." The werewolf paused, studying the blonde woman seated nearby. "Was that just feminine wiles, or something else?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you could possibly mean," Marguerite said innocently, meeting his eyes dead on. She used a little of her 'vampire whammy' (as she whimsically referred to her powers at times after hearing the word used) as she met his gaze - a very tiny bit of lust and awe, just enough to make it hard to argue with her, to turn aside this line of inquiry. "I was just ordering my drink."

His shrug was casual as he let it slide, completely oblivious to the nudge he had just received, giving a nod of confirmation to the bartender who gave him an inquiring look in regards to his empty glass. "Feminine wiles at their finest," he remarked, almost like the full stop at the end of the sentence, content to leave it at that. His fresh drink was set down on the bar next to him and he picked it up to sample before looking back towards Marguerite, almost in a way that said 'so what do you want to talk about now?'.

"If you insist," Marguerite said sweetly, with a smile to match. It wasn't worth the power to give him a stronger push; she'd decided against using him as a snack. It appeared that everyone in the bar that evening was officially safe, not that they'd ever know how close one of them may have come to being dinner - if she got hungry again on the way home, she'd just find a wanderer and steal a few sips. "It's been delightful to meet you, Grayson, but I'm afraid it's time for me to be going."

Her smile was met with one of his own, faintly amused on the werewolf's part. Her announcement that she had to be moving along didn't come as much of a surprise, and he tipped his head in a kind of nod before he said, "And you, Marguerite." He wasn't about to offer to escort her home or to her next destination; she seemed like the kind of woman who wouldn't appreciate those sorts of gestures, and besides, she looked like she could take care of herself just fine. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

"I'm sure you will," Marguerite murmured, sliding off her barstool. She hadn't bothered with a coat - the dead weren't bothered by the cold, after all, and it was one more thing to carry around - so all she had to do was set her glass on the bartop and she was ready to go. "Small towns, and all." She inclined her head to him. "Enjoy your evening." She might not have turned him down if he'd offered to escort her out; if dinner was going to make itself so easy as to walk into the night with her, who was she to say no? But he showed no signs of moving, and she really didn't doubt they'd run into each other again somewhere. But now it was time to go, and so with a small smile she was gone, making her leisurely way out the door.