He was flirting, or as near to it as Katrina could tell. Truth be told, Katrina had very little experience with romance. All of her previous attempts had failed so badly, it had put her off the dating scene semi-permanently. The chance lay somewhere in the future, preferably far, far away, beyond the curtain of doubt and uncertainty that shrouds her path. She certainly couldn’t entertain thoughts of romance in the current political climate, for sure. There were certain individuals that needed to be taken care of before that happened.

Draining her second glass of the evening, she signaled for more, the bargirl practically on standby now for the two dangerous individuals sharing a table. Katrina wished she could express that she, the waitress, was in no danger - Katrina only harmed those undeserving of mercy - but couldn’t quite find the words. It was a common problem for Katrina; as pretty and charismatic as she was, she never could connect with people, even after years of therapy. There was always a voice on the edge of her thoughts detailing all the million and one ways any random stranger can betray her.

The introduction was short and brief, which fit for Katrina; perhaps her fingers lingered a bit too long, marveling at the strength contained in his rough, calloused fingers, but not so much as to be impolite. Immediately after, she returned to drink, savoring the cold, bitter liquid; an acquired taste for sure, but one she had in spades. The show of tasting the whiskey was both the apropos way of drinking it, but it also served as a means for her to marshal her thoughts. Why had she come here?

Originally it had been to punish those she deemed to have slipped through the numerous cracks in the law, but she had done so with those thugs before. A secondary reason was, of course, to relieve some of the frustration that had been building up in her in recent days, a result of the general ineptitude her actions have been taking. So much injustice in the world, and she was only one woman, albeit one with deadly skills and powerful abilities. Even if she killed a dozen a day, thrice that amount were propped up around the world by the corrupt government that claimed to be helping.

The thought angered her; her fingers, painted a color like robin's eggs and flecked with gold glitter, turned white on the glass, an expression of utter contempt crossing her face. There were few things she hated more in this world than corruption; evil exists, as the light cannot exist without the dark, but to masquerade as an angel and use your halo to hide your horns, it was unimaginably terrible, and the root cause of all that is wrong with the world. If there were any justice, these bastards would rot in hell for eternity for daring to think they were on the side of good. At least Katrina had no delusions to the contrary.

”Well …”

Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. Ease up on the glass. Remove emotion. Emotions are weakness, it brings catastrophe, it invites conflict. Slowly, one knuckle loosened on the glass, then like dominoes each knuckle relaxed, gripping the cup now with a purposefully delicate grip. The words, echoing through the years came to her; “emotion is unbecoming of a lady. You are there to look pretty. It’s your greatest strength, don’t ruin it.” An ingrained psychosis of her fathers, she supposed, but it filled her with irrational stress whenever her mask slipped, exposing the tumultuous, emotional wreck underneath. She must, always, hide the anger, hide the sadness, hide the pain, because if she did, they might just know she was human.

’tis not an easy answer.’

How truthfully should she answer? She again sipped her drink, savoring the liquid as she thought long and hard. The first two reasons had proven to be shallow, at best; she could simply answer the reason she was here, but she got the feeling Athren was asking “why are you still here?” For a moment, Katrina studied his face, but could find no ulterior motive or duplicity in the lines of his face. He just seemed genuinely interested, which was a breath of fresh air. Most men would not contend themselves with such trivial things as “curiosity” when a pretty girl was draining whiskey like it was the last bottle in the world.

”Let us just say, I had some things to work out.”

There. A non-answer. That was the best this stranger was going to get. A smile was on her face as if she knew exactly what she did, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips in response to her answer and brilliantly blue eyes blinking once, slowly, in a facsimile of innocence. She let the comfortable silence stretch between them for a moment, enjoying it before she put her drink down with an audible click. Pointed nails entwined underneath her chin, an intense look of curiosity lighting up her face.

”Answer me this, Athren; ‘tis it not uncommon for a Saiyan to be so far from home? It is not within your kind to waste your time amongst this rabble, is it? Surely our petty human problems are nothing compared to the might and pride of the Saiyans.”

She was needling, pestering, annoying on purpose, saying things that might, and should, get her chastised or worse. With the alcohol in her system and a devil-may-care attitude quickly approaching, however, she found she didn’t care. She was either going to have a good debate or a good fight, or something else, something that hinted at her heart racing and cheeks flushing. No, not gonna think about that, or how calloused and rough his hands are. That was firmly in the “am not thinking about” category, up there with her childhood, her parents, and Athren’s ridiculously blue eyes.

”You are quite precocious, aren’t you? Is it a Saiyan thing, or are you unique in that aspect?”

Despite the admonishing words, there was a playfulness in her words and a mirth in her sparkling eyes that certainly didn’t match the words. Plus lips, stained bright pink, quirked upwards at him over the whiskey glass in a manner so insidious and so subtle, he would question whether he had seen it all; as soon as the glass was placed back down, her face as cool and serious as a snowstorm. Except for her eyes; she had very expressive eyes. All the things she refused to show with her lips, the tightly controlled facial expressions and tightly language, it was all fruitless because of her eyes.

Oh, yes, he was flirting; even her limited experience with romance could tell that. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome; in fact, she found it quite flattering. But if he thought she was the kind of girl who could be easily won, Athren had another thing coming. If there was one thing Katrina had, it was stubbornness, and when tempered with a playfulness that bordered on the mischievous, it made for someone not easily swayed by others, even in the best of ways. Her eyebrow quirked at the Saiyan, holding his gaze for quite a long time before deigning to shake her head. A wince, and then her hand came up to the neat bow holding her hair in the ponytail. With a tug it came loose, long raven locks cascading down, easily touching her knees. Having spent so long in a ponytail, one would expect them to be curly or at least wavy, but they were stubbornly straight.

”Ahh. Much better.”

She gave a little shiver of relief and a small, satisfied moan. Ponytails weren’t her style in the first place, they were always so uncomfortable and a lot harder to control than other hairstyles. Plus it exposed her weak shoulders. As she took another sip of her drink, she tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear, lips curling in delight now that her headache was fading.

”And you’re quite persistent. It’s quite admirable, in a way, and flattering, though ultimately pointless.”

Now she was outright smirking at Athren. Call it the alcohol, call it building up a tolerance to the male across from her, but she was starting to see him as … an interesting diversion, at least. Certainly not in the way he seemed to be hoping, but maybe murder and violence wasn’t the only answer to her solution. Katrina was not a social person; despite hearing the benefits of social interaction for years, she avoided it like she was allergic. She never had any close friends, no siblings either, and so she never really held an extended conversation with anyone beyond what is required for business interactions.

It was surprisingly refreshing.

”Mm, perhaps some humans say that. I am not one of them. Home is a concept I have thought long and hard about and .. something I hope to one day rectify.”

She grew silent for just a moment, twirling her glass in one hand and staring daggers into the fireplace. If looks could kill, the brick and mortar would come alive just to be torn into unlife by the intensity of her look. She took a brief foray into memory, across the twisted landscape of shadow and gossamer, into the distant land of her childhood and the home that was taken from her. It was her primary goal; return home and throw the usurpers out. Still facing the fire, seeing something other than ash in the dancing flames, she spoke again.

’tis not something easily acquirable, a home. ‘Tis a place you can relax. Where no enemy can reach you, no bullet can find you, no blade to knick your skin. With your loved ones there, perhaps. Home is not merely a place you rest your head; ‘tis a place where comfort is your only objective and all the worries and stresses of life can be washed away by a lavender bath. Perhaps the humans that say such things are those who have never been away from home long enough to miss it.”

Then her eyes snapped back up, focusing back on Athren with a sharper look than any she had given him today.

”But I would not be so quick to disregard humans, Athren. Perhaps I need to teach you what it is, exactly, humans can do?.”

There was an edge of something … else in her voice, not quite a flirt, but hinting at the possibility of attraction. She stood silently, pivoting perfectly on the tips of her toes as she did so, moving to stand next to Athren. With a flick of her wrist, suddenly there was a knife in her hand, the glistening black blade inches from Athrens face. A perfectly weighted, expertly crafted weapon, she held it like an expert, perfectly balanced in the palm of her hand. A hush fell over the bar, as expected when this dangerous woman brandished a knife, but she ignored the loud silence; only the loud buzzing of some large insect could be heard.

Then her wrist flicked.

And the buzzing stopped.

And the knife came to a quivering halt, vibrating on the wooden wall. There was a look of immense satisfaction on her face. She seemed to mime dropping something at the table; it wouldn’t be immediately identifiable, but a closer look was taken, it would be obvious what it was; a fly. A dead fly, it’s wings cut almost perfectly in half. Katrina didn’t yet sit down; the challenging pose and self-satisfied smirk on her face was a direct challenge to him. And if that wasn’t enough, her next words were a smug purr, as if she had suddenly sprouted a long tail and furry ears.

”If you can do something more impressive, Mister Athren, I will pay for your drinks for the night. If you cannot, you take me flying.”

Perhaps she showed her hand too early, the alcohol really was going to her head, but she honestly didn’t care. At this point in the night, she was going to release stress one way or another, and if that meant a genuine challenge with a Saiyan or a nighttime flight through the sky, so be it.