A Person in Common
It was one of those nights that was just busy enough but not too busy that the staff couldn't handle it. Usually, the crowds on nights like this were docile enough, men warned off touching the staff by a look or a stern word.

Today, there was a drunk party of six in, some kind of bachelor party - a tradition Jessica could not quite grasp considering marriage was still a rather alien concept to her - and they were loud, obnoxious and didn't seem to understand the words 'no' and 'touching'.

She had been over twice, another guard over once.

The dancer on the stage was moving with the beat, all hips twisting seductively and finger trailing between her breasts to warm up the crowd before she took to the pole. The men were only human, Jessica supposed, they couldn't be blamed for wanting to touch something so blatantly flaunting its assets.

But that was besides the point. There were men covering the stage.

"They're at it again," one of the waitresses said as she crossed over to Jessica, knowing the other woman was more than capable of protecting her.

It would be their fourth talking to and therefore it was time for them to leave. Jessica supposed, since it was a party night for then, she would give them one last chance. However, if they touched her again... the first two times she had gone over, hands had been making grabs for her ass and her chest as if she was one of the dancers.

She liked to think she was wearing markedly more clothes than those women. Apparently that didn't make much of a difference in the eyes of men who were drunk and stupid.

"Alright, guys," she started, clipped and professional, noticing that there was one of them missing. "You've been warned, this is your last chance. Touch any of the staff again and you'll-"

A pair of arms snuck around her, hands traveling south. She froze for an instant before a cool anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach and Jessica thrust her head back, the back of her skull coming into contact with the man's nose, making him cry out in pain and let go of her. He dropped to the floor, cradling his bleeding nose.

"What the fuck?!"

"I told you before. No touching. That's what happens." she told them coolly, even as one of the others circled behind her to pick up his fallen comrade. A part of her wondered if she had just broken the groom's nose.

A bigger part of her didn't care.

She held out a hand to stop the other security guard from coming over. He was a good guy, but she could hold her own here. She could hold her own all the time, it was nice to know that she had back up though. If she needed it.

"Time to go. You could, of course, try and fight me, but you'd end up carting all of your party to hospital, not just that idiot on the floor there, so-"

"What did you call him? Cocky little bitch, aren't you."

Jessica rolled her eyes, she was not in the mood for this and when he got to his feet to try and physically intimidate her, she met his stare with her own, one that had seen far more horrors than his could ever have done, and when his hand lifted to slap her - apparently peeved that his attempts at intimidation had failed miserably - his hand was pinned behind his back, elbow twisted to breaking point, shoulder almost dislocated before he could do anything.

"If you don't leave now," she said, addressing the rest of his friends, "I'm going to break his arm."

It was said so calmly, so coldly that there was no doubts that she would, actually, make good on her threat. She even shifted her grip, moving his arm just slightly and he cried out in pain. "You have until I count to ten."

Anyone who was watching and knew their own kind would see a glint of something, perhaps enjoyment, sitting behind her eyes.

The men scurried off, but not quite fast enough, a second later the man's elbow broke, the snapping sound audible to those close by even over the sound of the music. The man fell to his knees and she nudged him with his foot.

"Leave. Or I'll break the other one."

He did. Quickly. Along with his friends.

The crowd quickly looked away. Displays of violence were, unfortunately, not unusual in this club. But those regulars knew not to anger the owner or any of the bouncers, particularly not the petite brunette that did appear to take a sick amount of pleasure from breaking bones.

From the door, Darian watched the parade of wounded egos, the last one in particular distress. He arrived too late to spectate, but surmised that the injured man broke the house rules. Bethany and her staff ruled Devil's Own with iron fists, so a scene like this wasn't uncommon. At the instant before the door shut, he turned his palm into the air, cupping a metaphysical sphere. The blue bubble lasted a mere second, long enough to show him the reason for the pinched set of the man's eyebrows. A look of fear instead of pain.

"Hmm." Darian's throat truncated the sound. He flexed his fingers and went into the club.

It was dark, but he could see the fuss dead center of the place. People's shoulders tightened as the brown-haired security guard walked past, flinching but trying not to show it, as if they expected Jessica to lash out at them, too, for imagined slights. Darian adjusted his shirt collar and went to the bar. Of all the blonde heads of hair around, none of them rested atop a body like his girlfriend's, so he sat down and took off his coat. Perhaps Bethany was doing business in her office. He imagined her grinding a sharp heel into a client's throat, examining her fingernails. The only thing enviable about that scenario was the view up her skirt.

"A bourbon," he said. The bartender was familiar enough with the Dealmaker to select the right brand. It slid towards him on a napkin.

Jessica returned to her position for all of a few moments before she felt that restlessness overcome her that had always come after a surge of adrenaline. It hummed in her veins, the need for a fight, some kind of release for the pent up energy inside of her. She needed that release. After all, she was a soldier through and through. Cassandra's words still haunted her; you'll fight because you can't afford not to.

She cracked her knuckles and walked over towards the bar. Staff were allowed a few drinks a night on the house because keeping the peace was thirsty work. She wandered past a regular who was a bit of a trouble-maker, but he never actually broke the rules. He just came very close to it.

Her eyebrow arched and he looked at her sheepishly before she passed him by and stopped at one edge of the bar.

She had spotted Darian sitting there but didn't know whether or not to approach him. After all, she didn't know him except as Bethany's boyfriend - at least that was what she figured they were, even if she found it hard to believe that Bethany would let herself get that close to anyone - but that was it.

She had to admit, though, he intrigued her.

"Coke," she said to the bartender, "please," was added on a second later as the glass was filled with carbonated goodness and passed over to Jessica.

She took a breath and tipped her head, eyes falling on Darian again and when she thought she had his attention, she lifted her glass in a silent greeting to him.

"Was that you earlier?" Darian raised his voice to be heard over an ear-splitting broadcast that 'Ember' would take to the stage next. She was an auburn-haired dancer with a birthmark on her inner thigh. Such details were difficult to forget. He wasn't averse to tipping his girlfriend's employees when they walked by. About a month ago, he held up a bill to the new employee, expecting her to take it and go. Instead, the redhead impaled his trouser leg with a stiletto and shoved the money into her g-string.

The demon had simply turned his head and raised his eyebrows at the owner, both hands empty and open in the air. A nonverbal version of, 'Angel, I am so not at fault here.' Ember was lucky to have escaped that performance with her scalp attached.

He tasted his bourbon. "With the groom," he clarified. His crisp, white shirt glowed under the lights. "If so, you've fractured his elbow. I suppose that will throw a kink in his honeymoon plans. Rock-climbing in South America." Darian's mouth twisted into a hard smile.

Jessica's eyebrow lifted as Darian spoke to her and she shifted a little closer so that they could speak without having to shout over the noise of the club. The music was changing, something with a far more thudding beat. Not her kind of music, she had to admit. She came to a halt a foot or so away from him, her glass having left a long, thin trail of condensation on the bartop where she had pushed it along the wooden counter.

His explanation of what she had interrupted brought about a tiny smirk to her lips and she shrugged, taking a long sip of her soda before she finally said, "His friends were given the choice, leave or I broke something of his and they didn't move fast enough." Darian spent a lot of time with Bethany, Jessica was confident enough that he wouldn't think ill of her for her methods.

"He deserved it, shouldn't be getting married anyway, he was going to hit me." She shrugged, "It's lucky I wasn't his fiancee." She wrinkled her nose. "Am I supposed to be feeling guilty for messing up his plans?" That elbow would cause him some problems for a while, as would his shoulder, even though she had reigned herself in from pushing it that little further and dislocating it. "I'm guessing the guy whose nose I broke was the best man?"

Wow, the wedding pictures would be priceless.

"It's lucky you weren't his fiancee, in more ways than one," Darian said. The topic of domestic abuse didn't stir an emotional response in him. Traditional marriage did, however, and it left him with a look of distaste. Tying oneself legally to a neanderthal of marginal intelligence and probable venereal disease struck him as stupid beyond measure.

"And no, Miss Haines." He straightened on his barstool. "If I were you, I wouldn't feel anything other than amusement." After holding up his glass in a mock salute, he sipped from it. Guilt wasn't identifiable to him. Disdain, he felt in spades. Anger, annoyance, satisfaction, occasional good humor. Love, when only one set of eyes looked on.

"There's definite amusement." Jessica reassured with a small smile. It should have been disturbing the pleasure she took from such actions. It would have been disturbing to anyone who didn't know her, or who didn't think in a similar fashion. She supposed Bethany understood. She wondered if Darian did. It was just something she had always done. She was good at it.

Something about the man made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. He was no vampire, though, and she often worried that her ability to kind of sense the supernatural was waning. She guessed it didn't matter so much, not really. "Like I said, he deserved it."

She still wasn't sure she even deserved to be in a relationship, or something like that, let alone the idea of being with one person for the rest of her life. This thing with Tseng, whatever it was, was still in its fledgling stages and whilst she wasn't complaining, she was ready to admit that it confused her and scared her a little bit. There were certain expectations and she didn't think she would be able to live up to them since she didn't know what they were.

"You can call me Jessica, you know," she added a moment or so later.

"Oh, I can?" Darian set down his drink. He held eye contact for a moment, and his middle finger tapped the rim of the glass. He was on the verge of smiling, finding humor in the girl's granting of permission. As he unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll his sleeves, getting settled into the atmosphere, he couldn't recall the last time anyone did that. Granted him a confidence he didn't simply take.

"Jessica," he said, meticulous with each fold, "Bethany tells me you're human. Normal, so to speak. A normal young woman acting as security for someone like her. Do you know how strange that is?" He tested the waters, dipping a foot in, wondering how much the brunette understood.

Bethany called her 'Jess', the only person ever to have done so. She wondered why he was asking her questions about her job. Surely Bethany had told Darian why she had hired Jessica over the other applicants? It wasn't just because Jessica had managed to draw blood when she and Bethany had fought.

"Strange because Miss Richards can more than take care of herself?" she asked, well aware that the woman was a Slayer and as such didn't need any kind of personal protection. More than that, Jessica knew that Bethany did her own dirty work, so she didn't need Jessica for that either. Sometimes she did wonder. "Why do you ask?"

"Strange that you're so accomplished," he said, allowing his bare forearm to rest on the bar. "Perhaps strange isn't the word I'm looking for. Unexpected."

Yes, he learned about Beth's personal security guard months ago, when the hire occurred. He figured it allowed her to pick and choose which security matters she handled personally and which she sidestepped, leaving the sweat and dirt to her staff. There were times when one had better things to do than haul testosterone-laden customers out of her path. He never questioned the hire. He wondered why it was Jessica Haines and not a vampire, as the case was in Las Vegas.

"It takes gumption to impress her," Darian said. "More to spend time with her. Why shouldn't I ask? It'd be remarkable not to."

Jessica looked down at his arm as he settled comfortably at the bar and then she frowned, tilting her head as he spoke. She chewed on the inside of her lower lip, "Gumption?" she asked, wondering if it was as insulting a word as it sounded. She thought it probably wasn't, but it was worth making sure. She was still learning, grasping words outside of the simple vocabulary that had done her more than well for most of her life seemed not to be enough here.

"I've found that here, women aren't generally so- accomplished without a little... supernatural help," she said carefully, almost fielding her comments. It wasn't unusual for someone like her to be in such a position where she came from. It was one of the things she found strange here; women seemed to still be largely subordinate to men. Women - women, that is, not soldiers - were prized in her world, carrying on the race and all that as well as being perfectly accomplished fighters. "I guess Miss Richards thinks she'll have some use for me," she added. It was a guess, but Bethany was not the sort to not think several steps ahead of herself as far as Jessica knew her, anyway.

"Gumption means courage," he said, as off-handedly as Darian ever got. Mentally, he was beyond that point and onto the next piece of information he wanted. "And where are you from?" Because his conversations with Beth never explored the biography of the staff member, and he hadn't sapped up energy to draw the answers from Jessica's head, as he had done with the broken-armed customer. Later on, he would approach the groom. Offer him a fast fix, a way out of explaining to his fiancee where he'd been and what he'd done, for a price.

But Jessica wasn't a potential mark.

Jessica felt a small surge of pride go through her. Courage. Gumption. She filed the word away just in case she felt the need to use it later, see if there wasn't a way to drop it into conversation or something like that. She liked to make use of the new words she learned. It made her feel like she was actually accomplishing something.

She eyed him warily at his next question, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in her when before he had barely looked her way other than to see where she was when she shadowed Bethany around the club. Perhaps it was just because they had never had the opportunity to talk. It was more that he had never had the inclination, and to be fair, she had never had it either.

"Elsewhere," she answered vaguely. He didn't look to be the Government type, she had seen a couple, and she was positive that Bethany wouldn't be in with the police or anyone like that. She had seen a couple of Bethany's dealings, they were definitely frowned on by the police. That dancer, too, whatever her name had been. Jessica wasn't stupid, she noticed the dancer's absence and the new couch in Bethany's office. "Different Chicago." She shrugged, it was almost specific enough for someone with knowledge of the portal. Anyone else could think she was just saying she went away and came back and the city was different. It was entirely possible. Chicago had changed drastically in the last few months.

He connected the dots. Darian had stepped -- or been roughly escorted -- through enough portals in his lifetime to understand what she meant. The information made sense of her otherness, a peculiar mixture of hard aggression and social hesitance. "You may be one of the only humans it's ever spit out," he said. On his wrist, a silver watch showed the time in plain hands and no numbers. He looked at it as a matter of course rather than impatience.

"You could've landed in worse places." Here, he thought about Elfleda's realm, a place that smelled of congealed blood and excrement and syrup. He preferred Chicago.

There, his questions ended, leaving conversation to Jessica.

"I like it here," Jessica said with a nod, "Better than where I came from anyway." That was the biggest adjustment for her of them all, not having to fight tooth and nail for everything. The people didn't realise just how lucky and privileged they were. She ran the tip of her finger down the tall glass her drink was in, disturbing the condensation. It coated her fingertip and she tapped it against the bar.

She looked at Darian carefully. "I didn't know spitting out humans was such a rare occurrence for it," she admitted, "Then again, I suppose all it's let out as far as we know are more monsters, right?" She gave a shrug, "Guess it only opens up to places where demons and things are more- uh," she had to pause, trying to work out how to say what she wanted to when she had led into the sentence wrong. "I mean those places that've got more demons than humans and all. Hell dimensions, I guess?"

Her nose wrinkled involuntarily. She thought of Connor. "I know someone who came from a hell dimension."

Darian wasn't sure how it worked, just that it caused trouble. Often the unpleasant kind, such as turning him into a high school senior or a miserable wretch. "I'd much prefer it turn demons loose than a few of its other charms," he said dryly.

On stage, Ember swung upside down from the pole, her legs outstretched in an open V. From this distance, the birthmark looked like a smudge. She wrapped her ankles around the pole and let go. As she spun, her red hair flared like a banner.

"This someone you know," Darian asked, noticing the look on the security guard's face, attempting to determine what feelings were attached to it. "Human or demon? I imagine it's quite the adjustment. This may not be hell, but it's not exactly heaven either, is it?" His drink was gone. The bartender hovered with the bottle, waiting for the signal to refill.

"It's better than where I was before. But yeah, it's been weird adjusting. Sometimes it sucks," Jessica said with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink and watching Ember for a moment before she turned her head back to Darian. Thoughts of Connor made her sink down in the seat she was sitting in a little. They made her uncomfortable. She associated it with a time where she had no idea what was going on in this place. And the more she thought about it, the more she thought maybe Connor had taken advantage of her naivety. Not intentionally - probably - but still.

She blew out a breath and crunched on an ice cube thoughtfully. "His parents were vampires," she offered, "but he does people stuff, you know, eats people food, goes out in the sun..." She frowned. "I don't know, I guess demon?"

His brow furrowed as a thought tried to gel. It was the hated loose thread, when a description felt familiar but a missing detail kept the picture unformed. Darian made eye contact with the bartender and he refilled the glass. "Somewhere in between," he said. Since he had qualities of both within himself, that was easily absorbed.

"I run a gambling venue. People compare it to a modern-day Coliseum. I think, save for the referee, professional boxing took care of that decades ago. So far as I know, only humans fought in Rome. You might be surprised at the species that show up at the ring. There are humans, demons, monsters, creatures that don't lend themselves to any label we've devised. What I love best is that you never know who's capable of the lowest blow." He smiled thinly, thinking sometimes it was the audience.

"Beth competes." He was about to sip his drink, but paused and added on, "You should come and watch."

Jessica tilted her head curiously. She did wonder sometimes why Bethany came in with bruises. She always figured it was from some kind of fighting. She never pictured the woman to be one to fight in a kind of ring.

The worst thing? Jessica wasn't repulsed by the idea. She more than knew she should be, but she wasn't. It appealed to that side of her, the one that didn't at all belong in this world, as far as she knew, the part of that would have repulsed someone like Connor. Rome, she knew nothing about. History was something that she'd never been taught but the idea intrigued her. She would ask Tseng next time she went to the library. "I might do," she finally said with a small nod as if agreeing with her own statement. "How do you work out the winner?" She paused for a moment, looking at Darian before she answered herself, "It's a fight to the death, right?"

It was a good thing Darian couldn't hear her thoughts. Otherwise, he might've been tempted to point out that some of those bruises didn't come from fights. Like the ones on his ribcage.

"The winner's the last one standing," he said. "The winner chooses whether to finish off their opponent or let them come back another night." In the Las Vegas version of the venue, it was always to the death. Quite frankly, that ran through competitors too fast, and the audience liked a comeback. It was seldom, but it did happen, that two humans fought and death wasn't the goal of either. It was the money.

Never before had Darian intervened. Most times, the outcomes didn't matter, unless his girlfriend was in the ring. Bethany took care of herself, but it was a certainty that if one of her matches looked close to going the wrong way, he'd be in the ring like a hurricane.

Jessica nodded in comprehension. "Sounds like fun," she said sincerely, wondering what it was like to watch, what it would be like if she ever took part. First, though, she supposed it would be better to just watch, get a feel for everything that was happening rather than diving in without knowing what she would be facing.

She shifted on the stool and finished her drink, chewing on another ice-cube. The condensation clung to her lips before she lifted a hand and brushed it away with her thumb. "I guess it can't be good business if half your fighters die every night."

"No," he agreed. "For one thing, where would I dispose of the bodies?" He gave her a stiff smile, because his mouth rarely opened wide enough to expose his teeth. One got the feeling that he'd find a place. More teeth and sweat and blood were mopped up from Darian's office floor than scraped out of the dirt downstairs.

Reaching for his coat, he found a business card and placed it near Jessica. It held the proper address and a phone number, which was used as often now for real estate as anything else. Recently, he purchased a tract of housing and a few commercial spaces in Lincoln Park. Unlike most developers, he didn't plan to renovate and resell it all. Some of it, he planned to lease. Whether that made him an up-and-coming real estate tycoon or slumlord, it was too soon to tell.

Jessica chuckled. "There's always burning. Though the smell tends to attract attention. Which isn't always a good thing. I don't know this Chicago well enough to know where to dispose of something like that. After all, here they're unlikely to get eaten before anyone notices they're there." She lifted her shoulders. Disposing of bodies had been a task left to those stronger than her, before. She had been the one making it necessary to dispose of the bodies, most of the time. She had never taken too well to traitors.

She looked at the business card for a moment, eyes flicking up to Darian before she slid it off the bar. She read the details on it before nodding and slipping it into the inside pocket of her jacket. It was fitted, as were the rest of her clothes, tailor made by someone that Bethany had ordered her to go to. She couldn't complain; Bethany took very good care of her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He sipped his bourbon. Through the distorted glass, he saw the door to Bethany's office open. A bedraggled man was led out by Ralphael. That was Darian's cue to pick up his coat and get off the stool. "If you'll excuse me, I need to steal your employer for a few minutes."

After tossing the coat over his forearm, he added a piece of last-minute advice. "By the way, Jessica, I recommend that you avoid burning Chanwa demons. When the pelt gets hot, it breaks into lesions. What weeps out of the sores can eat through the leather sole of your shoe in seconds. I learned that lesson the hard way." He raised his eyebrows regretfully. "Have a good evening."

Jessica nodded, refraining from commenting about Darian's need to steal Bethany. She wouldn't dare say anything teasing to Bethany or her boyfriend. More to him than met the eye, she knew that much, even if she didn't know the full story. He seemed alright.

"I'll be sure to remember that," she offered with a smile, thanking him for the advice without words as she, too, slipped off her stool. "I should be getting back to work anyway. It was nice to talk to you. Enjoy your evening."

And with that and a parting smile in his direction, she headed off to go back to patrolling the floor, leaving Darian to do as he pleased.