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[bonescientist]

[ Ms. Tempe Brennan loves to roam the streets of the City after it begins to get dark and the flickering lights illuminate everything softly. The wealthy and the poor, the wicked and the goody two-shoes alike come out to play, and something especially mysterious is in the air. However, tonight she's not as happy as she usually would be. She's

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Action

[cuffmeonce]

[Castle is sitting on a bench, journal and pen at hand. He is hoping to catch sight of his muse but a writer never closes the door on inspiration. He is busily scribbling in his journal while he waits. When he hears Brennan's complaint he lays the book aside and stands up]

I gotta say, I agree with you. Ought to be a rule that's obeyed.

[He holds his hand out to take hers and kiss it in greeting]

Rick Castle.

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[bonescientist]

[Brennan raises a brow, a glimmer of interest in her eyes as she allows him to kiss her hand: she doesn't get greetings quite like that horribly often. She knows this person, if only by reputation.]

Glad to see someone still has manners in this place.

[Smiles and bends her knees slightly, dropping into a cheeky curtsy.]

Temperance Brennan. A pleasure. Say, you're that poet, aren't you?

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[cuffmeonce]

My mother would be terribly disappointed if I didn't.

[Her acknowledgment of his poetry makes him chuckle and preen just a bit. He's not so famous that he gets noticed much so when he does it's quite an ego booster]

Indeed I am. It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Brennan.

[After all, he's American. Madame and Mademoiselle aren't titles he's adopted yet.]

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[bonescientist]

[Brennan chuckles a little, smirking at his obvious pleasure at being recognized. Men are so easy to please, really.]

In that case, my compliments to your mother, she raised you well.

I figured, Mr. Castle. I know a fellow American when I see one. And what little I've read of your work wasn't bad, either.

[She nods her head at the journal he's holding.]

Working on something new?

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[bonescientist]

[Brennan's head snaps up and her gaze zeroes in on the source of the cheerful exclamation, recognizing the voice easily. A wide smile spreads on her cherry red lips and she waves back at Angela.]

Ange, cherie!

[She picks up her pace and walks as fast as she can towards Ange in her heels on the cobblestone street, nearly jogging as she draws closer. Brennan pulls her friend into a hug and pulls back to kiss the air over her cheeks, careful not to stain Angela's face with her rouge.]

Angela, you're just the person I wanted to see. You won't believe the day I've had.

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[bonescientist]

[Brennan almost wants to cry: Angela is reading her mind! Drinks, yes, that is exactly what she wants and needs now.]

You, my friend, just became my personal hero. A drink is just wanted the doctor ordered! Preferably several drinks.

[Brennan loops one arm jauntily with Angela's as they start to walk, cheerfully ignoring every social stipulation advising against such an act between two women. Especially two women from such vastly different backgrounds. Grinning, Brennan lowers her tone to mimic discretion: over the course of their friendship, they've established a sort of push and pull-camaraderie. Brennan knows Ange will not take offense.]

Offering a glass of wine to a dancer in public. Tsk, Ange! What would your peers say?

one nerve remaining, waiting on one look

[backbefore]

Claire's head is down, mostly to hide the fact that she's roaming around after what constitutes as a decent hour, though the people that might have something to say about it are waiting at home to actually scold her rather than slipping along the same walkways and streets that she is. She could be one of those so-called goody two-shoes, but her shoes right now are decidedly less than good, and Claire has the hems of her skirts pulled up so that they don't drag across the dirty ground

one nerve remaining, waiting on one look

[bonescientist]

Tempe's frazzled nerves are slowly beginning to calm, her mental equilibrium returning sluggishly. She's still angry at getting fired: the money was already tight to begin with, but now she's truly going to have to tighten the proverbial belt. A curse no well-brought up lady should know escapes her heavily rouged lips at the thought. It's a good thing she's not a well-brought up, and certainly not a lady. The cobblestones under her heeled feet are uncomfortable and she sways a few times precariously, the eye patch she insisted on wearing today further limiting her orientation. As if that wouldn't be enough, Brennan only has time to catch a sudden of glimpse of soft blonde with her seeing eye before something - someone - slams into her. Startled, Brennan exclaims in surprise, struggling to regain her balance even as the girl hurries to speak, "I am so sorry. Are you alright

one nerve remaining, waiting on one look

[backbefore]

It occurs to Claire that something about the taller woman is familiar, almost as if she's seen her in passing or reflected through panes of glass while rushing by. Anymore, every face is familiar, an endless blur of cosmetics and tight hair and spine-achingly good postures, tinted through the lenses of Claire's boredom and overall detachment from the scene she's constantly surrounded with. Somewhere after she turned eighteen, parties and dresses and trips to the French countryside stopped being fascinating and the world right under her nose checkmated in to take that place. Her mother called it the lure of the unobtainable, and her father said it was because she was biologically inclined to disobeying him when she thought she could get away with it. Claire had always been of the opinion that she just had a good grasp on common sense

one nerve remaining, waiting on one look

[bonescientist]

Brennan watches the subtle emotion flicker on the girl's fine features, hoping she didn't offend her by being so brash and impudent. But does it really matter? The girl probably already thinks of her as a paid woman, anyway. She narrows her eyes and studies the girl. Brennan can honestly say she doesn't recall ever meeting this specific person, although she could be one of Angela's acquaintances, or perhaps Chase's. There is something strangely familiar about her. Maybe they have been introduced before, and Brennan was just too intoxicated to remember. It has happened before. And if she is one of Ange's friends, then it may make sense as to why she's running around in the slums like a chicken with its head cut off. But there's something elusive about this girl, something Brennan cannot pinpoint. She almost seems like she's running from something. But hell, wasn't everybody running from something