—you've got no place to hide

While the sibling pair were often inseparable, there were definitely times in which Rhiannon wasn't stuck with Hywel. Frankly, he was a pain in the ass at times, and despite requiring his so-called 'special talent' to carry out their little time-thievery trick, she wasn't here for that specific reason tonight. One could say she was scouting for a target, but another possibility was that she was just out here having a good time. Sometimes, she enjoyed the anonymity that New York provided her; being with her coworkers and 'friends' was nice, but part of her enjoyment of life was the transience of it all.

It wasn't often that Rhiannon found the time to be dressed to the nines, but here she was, in one of the little speakeasies, decorated to be nostalgic for a different time. In fact, that was probably why she was here too. The place wasn't exactly accurate–too much flair, the decorations too clean and neat to truly be a speakeasy from the 20s, she'd know from experience–but it was still an enjoyable place to get her poison.

The sleek black dress certainly accentuated her figure, as she sat by the bar, holding the lowball glass, swirling the block of ice, with a certain level of disinterest in her expression. It was a nice place, and the bartender was always friendly enough; she'd been here often enough to know the man's name now. She could hear snippets of conversation, from the girls nearby talking about someone's cheating boyfriend, to an awkward first date–the girl certainly wasn't interested in him–to what seemed like a celebration of someone's promotion.

Her eyes flickered to the man in question, and she gave a little smirk. He was easy on the eyes at least, and he walked differently than the others did, with an air of confidence and elegance that few seemed to have. As he left to the smoking area, her eyes followed.

"Did you want a refill on that, miss?" a polite voice asked.

"Not at the moment, but maybe later," she smiled at the young bartender, before taking her purse and heading out after the man, digging a pack of slims from her bag. She stepped outside, before glancing around. A few groups of people huddled around, and she spotted her target.

"Mind if I borrow a light?" she asked, brow raised, a small smile on her face.

Hm, interesting. She took the lighter from his hands–it wasn't even the cheap plastic ones you could get from the corner shop for a dollar or anything. It was a nice one too. Hm, her brow furrowed in thought for a moment, as if wondering what kind of person would just...give out a free lighter like that. Interesting, to say the least.

"Not a regular smoker I'm guessing?" she suggested, bringing the device to her lips, her words mumbled as she quickly lit her own cigarette, taking a long drag, before the smoke left her lips, leaning onto the planters that stood guarding the restaurant next door.

The other man's question made her chuckle. So he was suspicious too, huh? "Way to flatter someone," she scoffed, no offense taken to his words, "but no. It's a good spot to smoke and I'm not with anyone else right now." She gestured towards the other people, all in groups of friends and coworkers. There weren't a lot of individual smokers out here, it seemed.

"Hope you don't mind me staying here, unless you know, some jealous girlfriend's going to come out and start a fight or something. If so, I'd be happy to leave you alone." Her smile was polite, practiced. After all, Rhiannon had spent decades pretending to be but an innocent bystander. This situation was no different.

She understood the escape part well enough; one thing that hadn't changed in a hundred years. Humans were always looking for the same thing–love, death and some kind of high–and there was nothing more certain than that, except maybe death and taxes. A chuckle left her throat as she breathed in the smoke once again, exhaling from her nose.

Actually, she changed her mind. There was definitely one more thing that had been consistent over the years, that men like him would always see her as someone to be protected. Of course, she didn't mind; it was her little charade for decades, a facade she had all but perfected. A smirk appeared on her face appeared, before giving him a shrug.

"You don't need to worry about me," she laughed lightly, "I always carry that extra pepper spray in the bag, you know?" Of course, her little trick was a bit better than pepper spray, but that was for her to know and for everyone else to find out. "A girl's gotta know how to defend herself in this city," she grinned, "though it sounds like you'd do that for me, prince charming."

She glanced forward to the streetlights and the couple of people crossing the street, taking another drag from her cigarette as he spoke. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Sometimes a girl's just gotta feel herself and get away from the usual chaos, you know? I'm not the only one dressed nicely," she eyed him with a smirk, "you're looking pretty fancy yourself, mister."

She shrugged at his words, her eyes eyeing his expression. "I didn't mean it in a rude way, you know," she rested her elbow on her other arm, before taking a last drag of her cigarette, slowly feeling the heat of the ashes nearing her fingers. He was an interesting guy really; most men would take it as an opportunity to flirt, maybe score a lay for the night. He didn't, which made her wonder whether he was truthful about that lack of girlfriend she had pointed out.

"Mm, suit and tie all looks fancy enough if you ask me," she winked, before laughing lightly at his words. Ah, flattery. Of course, she shook her head with amusement as she ashed the last of her cigarette on the side of the wall. "Flattery won't get you anywhere," she teased, her teeth meeting her lower lip in a half smile, before flicking the cigarette to the ground.

"They sell flavoured ones in special shops," she hummed, "they're not as sickly as vape, but they're a nice touch, you know? Kind of prefer tasting grape than ash, I guess."

She turned to him, no longer leaning on the wall. "I never got your name...I think. I'm Rhiannon, nice to meet you."

She gave him a good look over, a faint smirk still on her face. "Yeah?" she mused, "not gonna say I can tell but you did seem a bit suspicious of me when we first met." She seemed more amused than anything; a man who didn't trust a pretty girl wasn't unusual, but more often than not, it intrigued her enough to play along.

Her smirk turned into a grin. "I suppose it does," she shrugged, "guess you just have to catch it before anything." He did have a point; how many times did she flirt with a man simply to find out something she had yet to know? Here she was, doing the same thing once again. It was always fun, seeing men assume she was heels over heads for them when in fact it was all an act. It had been near forever since she had felt anything near a romantic notion for anyone–frankly she wondered sometimes if she could feel that way at all–but it didn't stop her from figuring how to play that role, and playing it well.

"Maddox Cain," she felt for the words in her mouth, "interesting name. I've never met a Maddox before, at least. You born and raised in New York?"

She chuckled, a raised brow directed to the other man. Oh? Either this man was one of those 'complicated past' kind of characters, or he was going through something. "You know, you can't say that kind of stuff without explaining, right?" she replied in good humor, "what is it? Some evil hag in your past? Did a pretty girl mug you once?" All her poking comments were in good fun, though part of her expected the man to get frustrated. It wasn't that she enjoyed making people angry, but there were moments in which she reveled in poking a sleeping lion with a stick.

Touche. Rhiannon wasn't a common name these days, was it? "What, you've never listened to that one Fleetwood Mac song?" she grinned, "has a pretty great guitar opening, to be honest. According to my brother, it's a song about someone who's being possessed so I mean...hope my parents didn't name me after that. Still a good song though." It was funny because Hywel often grumbled about how they probably wrote the song about her instead of the other way around.

"Not going back to your pals?" she offered, glancing back to the speakeasy bar, "I pinned you as someone who'd come here with other friends." Of course, she knew he was here with others, but her expression betrayed nothing but her oblivion.

She laughed. "Hey, mugging isn't about how tall and intimidating you are," she shrugged, "the whole point of getting mugged is that you don't notice it, right?" She had done her fair share of stealing when she was young; how else could anyone survive? They were children in a city that didn't care all that much about its immigrants. Living in slums hadn't been easy, but the occasional extra coin had made things better.

There was no way he'd get her to sing, even if she could carry a tune, but it seemed like he could remember it, at least. What could she say? The 70s and 80s had excellent music–some of her favorites were still from that decade. They had been traveling around a lot more back then, she reminisced, and she could remember the trouble they used to get into. "Yeah," she mused, before glancing back to the speakeasy again.

Well she didn't have a reason to stay, and while she had no plans on going home with the man, she was intrigued, and she could play the part of an easy hookup well enough. After all, she was here to scout, wasn't she? Rhiannon wasn't an idiot; there was no reason to scout this guy. Too much work, and he definitely swung her way, so even if they played tricks, it'd be...effort wasted. As much as it seemed like she didn't care about anyone, she'd never put her brother in danger, at least not on purpose.

"Guess you are a ladies man, hm?" she teased, straightening the strap of her clutch, "did you have somewhere you wanted to go, or are you the wandering type?"