NO AFTERPARTY [sean!]

[Sean Threatt]

"Well, um, yes, I'm sure you'd make a difference to many people!" When she said this, he blinked his brown eyes in a bit of shock. Had he really said that aloud? Was he always this comfortably open with strangers? The thought made him smirk a bit. He didn't mind it though. Sean never had anything to hide from anyone, so being open wasn't that bad. "I'm sure you'd . . . make a lovely psychologist." What was that in her tone? It seemed more... forced than when she previously spoke. Was she trying to cheer him up? Did she think he was upset about something? Replaying the conversation in his head, he realized when he spoke his thoughts aloud it may have come off as subconscious distress.

He smirked, then shook his head slightly, but before he could speak again, Romy continued. "You've been very nice to me, listening to me babble on, so I'm confident that anyone you see in an office would be just as pleased to pay you for their services. . . . Not that I'm paying you," He laughed at her awkward stumble of words, but it wasn't a taunting one. It was just a quick snort followed by a bit of a snicker.

"It's no thing." he replied with a dismissive wave, "But thanks anyway... That made me feel a bit better." He returned her smile with one of his own.Though he wasn't feeling down in the first place, it was nice to see she would make the effort to try and cheer him up if he ever was down and blue. She definitely seemed like a nice girl to hang around and it made him a bit more comfortable when hanging around her.

It didn't take long, though, before he realized his eyes were locked with hers, and then the panic started to set in. It felt like the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and a freezing wind was creeping down his spine. He needed a scapegoat quickly: something to take her attention off of him without making it noticeable. His eyes floated around the room before falling upon a generic Dutch painting. Before he even had time to analyze the piece, he reacted. "What do you think about that one?" His tone was semi-casual but wasn't rushed. He was good at controlling his words to make sure they didn't seem too forced or too shaky. He was good at hiding his anxiety in situations as well, which he was very thankful for. Perhaps all those terrible years caged in the Philadelphia Educational System did him some good: If you can survive those social misfits, you could survive anyone.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

Romy's eyebrows raised at Sean's laughter and his dismissiveness. "I don't think it's nothing," she argued, shrugging right back. "Most people are too impatient with my rambling to bother with listening. Or they fake it and think that buying me drinks because they've seen me in a magazine or a coupon book means they are not obligated to actually listen to me. So it's honestly very nice to just . . . say things without worrying that you'll expect something from me. Unless you're taking mental notes to write a paper on me for your courses or something," she said, leaning in accusatorially. Her broad grin and sparkling gray eyes gave away her gentle intentions.

"And if that is the case, then I demand some dinner in compensation." She grinned widely. "Then at least I could get some beer in me before I start spilling all my juiciest secrets." That was unlikely to happen, growing up in a country where beer was a regular breakfast beverage (especially during footie season!), but it was alright to pretend. "I know a hookah bar a little further downtown that has very good fish and chips in the pub downstairs?" She tilted her head, fringe falling into her long eyelashes.

"This one? I like it very much, actually. I love the vibrant colors, compared to some of the others--the backgrounds just . . . wash everything else out, because they are too drab, but everything here just highlights the figures. It's a classic gothic theme to have a prone, helpless woman with a doctor figure looming over her, though I think usually it is a man. Collective social anxieties, and all. Though it's interesting that male painters would be recording hugely female issues, especially in the golden ages!" She peered in at the plaque below the portrait. Danae by Van Loo. She would have to look up more information on it. "I really love the highlights on the folds of the curtain, and the shadows in the pillowcase. They look like I should be able to feel the textures if I could touch them." If talking about general themes in literature and tying them in with basic psychological theory brightened her up, being able to look at a new source right there in front of her eyes, with vibrant color, and visual themes, and tropes that appeared in many of the novels that she had read and studied already in her time at Temple. "But look, all of the dark colors are by her knees, or smothered by the light ones. The light, heavenly colors are up by her head, though the blacks are right aligned with the nun. I'm not sure what to think of the orange draping, though. Fire, perhaps, with the way that it flows and the sharp creases and highlights . . . the nun is breaking through hellfire to get to the prone figure?" Romy hummed, tilting her head this way and that, very much like a curious dog. If only she had the ears, they would be perked to complete the effect.

"What do you think it means?"

[Sean Threatt]

"I don't think it's nothing," Romy argued, almost stopping Sean short of breath. "Most people are too impatient with my rambling to bother with listening. Or they fake it and think that buying me drinks because they've seen me in a magazine or a coupon book means they are not obligated to actually listen to me. So it's honestly very nice to just . . . say things without worrying that you'll expect something from me. Unless you're taking mental notes to write a paper on me for your courses or something," She leaned in closer to the young teen, her broad grin freezing him to the bone. He could feel the gravity of her presence applying pressure on his shy nerves, but her sparkling gray eyes kept him somewhat sane. He felt ensnared by a web of attraction; too overly stimulated by her presence to bare being so close to her, yet far too drawn in by her eyes to tear his gaze away.

"And if that is the case, then I demand some dinner in compensation." Her grin widened and Sean remembered to start breathing again. "Then at least I could get some beer in me before I start spilling all my juiciest secrets." It sounded like she was joking a bit, and it reminded him that he needed to maintain his cool. He smirked a bit, smothering his flight reflex into submission. "I know a hookah bar a little further downtown that has very good fish and chips in the pub downstairs?"

Sean froze again. Did she just invite him out on a date? He'd never himself been asked out by a girl. It was always him who made the forward progress. He felt out of his element and at a disadvantage, not that he minded though, he just didn't know how to respond. Thank god he saw a painting just then that he could comment on to hopefully give himself enough time to process what had just happened.

It worked, and she immediately started to dissect every part of the piece that caught her eye. It amazed him at how much detail she was able to make out from what appeared to be a simple painting. Everything she said about the vibrant colors and her quest for meaning behind the piece actually made him want to look a little harder. "You really know this stuff, don't you?" An impressed smirk made its way across his face as the woman finished her analysis. "I'm impressed."

She asked him about his opinion and, at first, he was quick to give a ghetto and uneducated comment just for a laugh, but at the same time, she made him feel like he had to step his game up, which is why he actually looked at the picture and thought for a moment before saying something reckless. "Well I'm not an expert on things like this, but maybe it has more to do with the characters themselves." As a writer, Sean's strong points focused more on the psychology of his characters and less on scenery and backdrops, which is why he chose this approach instead of attempting a stab at hers.

"The girl looks dead to me, so I'm just assuming that the old woman in black symbolizes death; especially with the way that she's touching the girl. So it might have something to do with death." Again, he was a little subconscious about overly-educated conversations. The type of people he's been exposed too tend to make a joke out of anything that scraped the edges of anything that sounded educated, but he continued anyway. "If that's the case then it's probably a message about how the good die young. Maybe it's just me, but the girl in the picture doesn't seem that old and maybe, since she's so pale, it could be to show how pure and innocent she was when alive." He stopped, feeling as though he could go at this all day, but he didn't want to seem like a know-it-all. Shit, he didn't want to say something stupid either.

He smirked a bit. This was the most educated conversation he's had in quite some time. So Romy so far was pretty,smart and foreign. Sean couldn't help but take some mental notes on her, but when he did, he remembered something she said to him. ...they fake it and think that buying me drinks because they've seen me in a magazine or a coupon book...

What did she mean by that? Was she some sort of celebrity or something? If so, how would he go about asking. This girl was such an enigma. Sean's smirk held strong though and his passive attitude slowly took over. He decided to leave it up to father time. Eventually, some of his unasked questions will be answered.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"You really know this stuff, don't you?" Romy raised her eyebrows. No response to her offer of a night out. Well, that was alright. Maybe he would change his mind, maybe he wouldn't. But having brought up the idea, she had a very strong craving for their fish and chips, and then she could follow up with a smooth hookah and some reading. It might have been better with someone else, but Romy was just fine being alone with a good book and a good hookah. Maybe that would be her early dinner plan, and then she would take the bus back home, and collapse on the couch with some Schwarzbier and some delicious breads. The thought of it made her mouth begin to water a little.

"I'm impressed." Romy waved her hand.
"Don't be," she said. "I don't really know much about art. I have some friends who would be able to stand here for an hour and still bicker about the details of the fabric and what they mean." She shrugged defeatedly. "This is . . . I mean, the analysis is a part of what I want to do with myself when I am all grown up. So this is just how I spend my time, I suppose." She didn't mention how she had buried herself in book after book and become involved in the little details of word choice and truly begun to understand the point of things after her mother had died. It became more then escapism; it evolved into something far more real, giving her a purpose and a renewed flame in her belly for all things that literature meant. The same was basically true of her modeling, because that kept her from utterly retreating into herself, and kept her moving in her mother's footsteps without becoming a clone of her. Not that her mother was a werewolf, though--that was always something for which Romy was grateful. She would gladly admit that they had the same hair, the same piercing eyes, the strong jaw and slender, curvy limbs, but never would she have be able to subscribe any goodness to that particular similarity.

"...It's probably a message about how the good die young."
Romy's eyes flashed. Yes, she knew that all too well. Maybe she and her mother did have one more thing in common. She rubbed the back of her neck and focused on the painting intently. "That sounds good." She let her hand drop slowly. "Though I don't think she looks dead. She's not . . . limp enough. That arm of hers, the one tucked beneath her head . . . I don't know, there's just too much life in her. I see more shame than death. She is covering herself, shying away from the nun--like the nun has come to scold her, and she is hiding. Her white skin could just be alluding to her purity. She has a very young face and body, and is probably unwed, if she is being attended to by a nun. The nun is . . . full of sorrow, though. They are both slumped and slouched . . . and the nun is swallowed up by clothing while the young woman is naked." Romy chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, putting her hands on her hips and tapping the toe of her left boot against the marble floor. "Well, I don't have enough Dutch history education to give this enough context, I think. But it's very pretty either way, ja?"

This was the kind of conversation Romy had to have every day when she was in classes, so it wasn't too exciting or novel or anything, but it was still kind of nice. Finding a stranger who would indulge her so easily in analytical chatter was honestly a surprise, but one that she would take happily. She began shifting and trying to find something to do with her hands. The wolf was kicking in, amping up her energy, fighting against the chill of the museum and craving the open, hot air of the city, full of smells and stimulation, and movement. She tried to fight it, but settled for shifting her weight from foot to foot to keep it content. She also took the time of agitation to focus on her thoughts to distract her body from its need to move and thrive. Sean hadn't said anything about her proposal to go after a meal, not even so far as to correct her choice of venue. He also hadn't said anything about her passing mention of her appearance in local magazines. Did he know about it already? Did he not care? Was he just not sure how to broach the subject? How puzzling.

[Sean Threatt]

"Yeah, I still think it's cool." He replied with a casual smirk. His eyes caught hers again and that nervous feeling crept up his spine. He went to say something, but as his lips trembled in preparation to part he realized he didn't have anything else to say. Shit... what now...? he thought to himself. A split second later he felt the panic easing in and the fear of an awkward silence slowly made itself known in his subconscious. These were the dry parts of conversations that he never learned how to deal with: those awkward moments where he runs out of things to say. In a normal situation maybe it wouldn't be as bad, but now... when he was with Romy... he didn't want the conversation to end so abruptly. She might start to think he's boring and uninteresting. Then he'd be finished. He had to think fast, but he was turning up a blank. Hopefully, if he opened his mouth, maybe the right words would come out.

"Hey..." he started casually as if he had a thought, but he drew a blank. Suddenly, not a second too late, the Saints Row ringtone went off in his pocket and startled him. He patted his right thigh and his shocked expression slowly twisted into that of someone being surprised with a birthday party. He already knew who was calling him from the ringtone, but he pulled his phone out and looked at the caller I.D anyway before smirking. "Sorry, I gotta take this." He said in a hushed tone before turning away from her and stepping a few paces out of hearing range.

This had to be the only time he was happy to get an assignment and couldn't have wished for a better moment. Though as he conversed with the dispatcher, his happiness was soon drained into a melancholy expression. Apparently a new family of Werewolves have moved in to the city and needs to be introduced into The System, so they were calling on Sean to play Tour Guide for the rest of the afternoon. He sighed, accepted his assignment, then hung up his phone. When he turned back to face Romy, his expression was low, but his lips tried desperately to feign a smirk.

"Work..." he says apologetically as he gestures to his phone. "Sorry for cutting out so early..." His body goes to take a step away, but his mind pulls him back in place. He felt like he should ask for her phone number. Going back and forth with himself he felt his stomach turn at the thought. He didn't make it a habit of asking women for their phone numbers and he didn't know exactly how to go about it, but he knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity that he might never get back. The worst she could do would be deny him, but it wouldn't hurt too much. He'd just never see her again and move on with his life.

"Would you mind if I asked your number?" He did his best to not seem like he was coming on too strong, but at the same time there was some confidence in his smooth voice. "We could do something like this again sometime?" He smiled instead of smirking, but there wasn't much confidence behind the facial expression since he felt his smile was always forced and unnatural, so he let it fall back in to a smirk. He was so nervous and so shy, but at the same time, proud of himself for at least trying.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"Sorry, I gotta take this." Romy nodded, peering around the room for more things to look at to give Sean his space, and to feel a little heat emanating from the long scrapes across her back from the were who changed her when she was small.

"Work... Sorry for cutting out so early..." Romy shook her head softly.
"No, don't worry about it. I understand." She smiled softly.
"Would you mind if I asked your number?" The hesitation in returning to ask for her number made the werewolf smile and drop her gaze.
"I wouldn't mind at all," she said, taking his phone gently, and punching in her number.
"We could do something like this again sometime?"
"Yes, that would be fun! Perhaps we can . . . find a place that is a little less--" she cut herself off, biting her lip as she searched for the right phrasing, "--school-like. Not that this wasn't fun, but I wouldn't mind a chance to spend some time out of class not focusing on work, ja?" She held his phone back out, letting it rest in her palm for him to take and rush off to save his employer from disaster. Whatever disaster that might be.