Phillip has tried very, very hard to keep the fact that he's a Reincarnate, and specifically one with powers, on the down low. But due to an incident when he was a child, there is record of that in the court systems, though hidden deep under victim protection policies. Not impossible to find, but difficult.
It seems certain agencies are trying really hard to find anyone in the system, though, which is really starting to get on his nerves. Not just because of the reminder and the fact that someone knows without his permission. No, because they keep trying to get rid of him, and he literally can't die.
He's sitting at a bar, mostly minding his own business and just chatting with whoever is near by. But he's always aware of anyone watching him.
Hey, Kate! Hey, Kate! You wanna get a drink? Sure, she'd said, like an idiot, not knowing that get a drink was code for "Rosenberg wants us staking out this guy's haunt". If she'd known that, she might not have dressed up so much. Might have decided on her usual jeans and a vest top combination instead of the sleek, form fitting romper she'd been saving for a night to forget how shit her job is.
But she didn't. So here she is, in this random bar in the city — which she's never actually been to, at least not while sober enough to remember — searching out some random guy who probably hasn't done shit other than be unfortunate enough to pop up on Rosenberg's radar. At least the bar does some good drinks, and she drains the last of her Screwdriver before returning to the bar, leaning over to get the bartender's attention and brushing past...
Well, her target, apparently. She tucks loose pink hair behind her ear as she settles against the wooden bar, catching sight of the guy out of the corner of her eye and stopping in her tracks.
"Hey, what d'you want?" repeats the bartender and it shakes her out of the distraction.
"Anythin'," she finally answers, and the guy bites back a glower. "Beer's fine."
More importantly—
"You look familiar." She very nearly scoffs at herself for that one. Christ.
Phillip glances over at her, a little surprised by the comment but not enough to not shoot one of his natural charming smiles at her. "Do I?" he asks, taking her in curiously. He certainly doesn't recognize her from anywhere, but that doesn't mean he doesn't remind her of someone. Or that she can't use an old and tired excuse to start up a conversation. Honestly that's also just fine with him.
He really doesn't look like any kind of threat, dressed mostly like an artsy hipster with a variety of accessories that somehow kind of work, but then again looks don't necessarily mean a lot in magic. "Maybe I just have one of those faces." He absolutely does not.
She's never been that hard to mistake, even before dying her hair a shocking shade of pink. Always with too much hair, with too much energy — drumming her fingers against the bar even now. And she's hardly mistaking him, with his ID photo all but burned into her head after it was stuck on her mirror the whole time she was getting ready.
But, for the moment, she'll play along, waiting for the opportunity to get him alone, and ignoring the voice in her head that tuts and speaks of this being wrong.
It's not like she has much choice in the matter.
"Y'think?" A tilt of her head, her tone shifting lightly. She doesn't quite believe that. "Thought y' were from my to-do list." It's a testament to how rarely she laughs that Kate keeps a straight face during that, her stomach cringing at that line, only saved from total humiliation by the fact that Carl is at some other end of the bar and out of earshot.
Phillip snorts, bringing up a hand to his mouth. "I have to believe you've got better lines than that," he says with a little laugh, but he's not put off. It's kind of funny, honestly, though he does wonder why she's trying something like that. Maybe he's just overly paranoid, from people who keep trying to follow him around, but...
He gestures to the seat next to him with a smile. "You can sit, if you want."
She doesn't go into things like this intending to make people laugh, but he does because that line was fucking awful. Kate glances ever so briefly at the seat before sliding down onto it and letting her legs dangle in the air, the softest twinkle of amusement glittering in deep brown eyes.
"Never have to use them," she answers, and that's entirely true. When she picks people up, it's usually just a thing that happens. Someone tries to approach her and she thinks why the hell not after one too many drinks. But nothing about this situation is usual, and she's not trying to pick him up.
"I can see that." Something her gives off the vibe that she doesn't really feel the need to do anything other than let people come to her- the fact that she's hot helps with that. Phillip grins as she sits next to her, taking a sip of his drink. "Should I be flattered that you even tried with me?"
At the question, he just shrugs a little. "Wanted to try and relax, for a little bit. This place usually has good drinks. You?"
Usually, she doesn't really want to. Usually, she just wants to get drunk alone or with some friends. People just happen to get in the way of those plans. Instead of responding to his first question, Kate merely raises her brows with the briefest curve of a smirk playing at her mouth — that is for him to decide. If he wants to be flattered, he can be.
"A—" And here her eyes flick towards the crowd, searching out a man in a terracotta coloured suit and promptly shifting away when she sees him chatting up a girl and her (presumed) boyfriend simultaneously. "—cquaintence suggested it. Long day at work."
Phillip glances wherever she is, unable to pick out who in particular she's looking for, but guessing that whoever told her about the place is here. "Ah. Yeah, I get that. What do you do for work? Or was it bad enough today that you really don't want to talk about it?"
Ah. There's that question, one she can't answer honestly without making it entirely obvious why she stopped to flirt with him. (Though, all ulterior motives aside, he is pretty good looking. She'd let him approach her if the situation was anything but this.) But it's also a question her work colleagues have discussed before — what to say when you need an impromptu cover — and she answers it with only the briefest of hesitations.
"Contract security." Or close enough. "Demanding private clients," she supplies with a roll of her eyes, though in this case the client is actually her boss and the demand is... well. All of this bullshit.
Phillip looks over her, a little smile on her face. "I believe that. You look like you could probably kick my ass." Or, at least, if it was actually possible to hurt him and he didn't have the ultimate way of ending any fight. "I've never understood that about any job dealing with people- being jackasses to the people who control whether you get what you want or not." Being demanding at your security detail seems like a particularly bad idea.
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It seems certain agencies are trying really hard to find anyone in the system, though, which is really starting to get on his nerves. Not just because of the reminder and the fact that someone knows without his permission. No, because they keep trying to get rid of him, and he literally can't die.
He's sitting at a bar, mostly minding his own business and just chatting with whoever is near by. But he's always aware of anyone watching him.
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But she didn't. So here she is, in this random bar in the city — which she's never actually been to, at least not while sober enough to remember — searching out some random guy who probably hasn't done shit other than be unfortunate enough to pop up on Rosenberg's radar. At least the bar does some good drinks, and she drains the last of her Screwdriver before returning to the bar, leaning over to get the bartender's attention and brushing past...
Well, her target, apparently. She tucks loose pink hair behind her ear as she settles against the wooden bar, catching sight of the guy out of the corner of her eye and stopping in her tracks.
"Hey, what d'you want?" repeats the bartender and it shakes her out of the distraction.
"Anythin'," she finally answers, and the guy bites back a glower. "Beer's fine."
More importantly—
"You look familiar." She very nearly scoffs at herself for that one. Christ.
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He really doesn't look like any kind of threat, dressed mostly like an artsy hipster with a variety of accessories that somehow kind of work, but then again looks don't necessarily mean a lot in magic. "Maybe I just have one of those faces." He absolutely does not.
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But, for the moment, she'll play along, waiting for the opportunity to get him alone, and ignoring the voice in her head that tuts and speaks of this being wrong.
It's not like she has much choice in the matter.
"Y'think?" A tilt of her head, her tone shifting lightly. She doesn't quite believe that. "Thought y' were from my to-do list." It's a testament to how rarely she laughs that Kate keeps a straight face during that, her stomach cringing at that line, only saved from total humiliation by the fact that Carl is at some other end of the bar and out of earshot.
He'd never let her live that one down.
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He gestures to the seat next to him with a smile. "You can sit, if you want."
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"Never have to use them," she answers, and that's entirely true. When she picks people up, it's usually just a thing that happens. Someone tries to approach her and she thinks why the hell not after one too many drinks. But nothing about this situation is usual, and she's not trying to pick him up.
Not yet, anyway.
"What brings you here?"
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At the question, he just shrugs a little. "Wanted to try and relax, for a little bit. This place usually has good drinks. You?"
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"A—" And here her eyes flick towards the crowd, searching out a man in a terracotta coloured suit and promptly shifting away when she sees him chatting up a girl and her (presumed) boyfriend simultaneously. "—cquaintence suggested it. Long day at work."
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"Contract security." Or close enough. "Demanding private clients," she supplies with a roll of her eyes, though in this case the client is actually her boss and the demand is... well. All of this bullshit.
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