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Quick question...does anyone else have a gold ball like this?

( She holds up the thing she's talking about for the camera. )

I'm just wondering what it is? Does it do anything or it's just a decoration or...?

( Truthfully, she's pretty sure she's overthinking it because overanalyzing is just a thing that Lydia does. But, she figures, it doesn't hurt to ask. )

Oh, also, I'm Lydia. Hi. I probably should've led with that, but I'm a little distracted.

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She's still sort of adjusting to this place, but it seems nice enough so far. Lord knows, she can't complain; it's a nice break from the crazy. All day, though, she's spent oscillating between pondering that golden ball she hasn't been ready to try to open yet and reading. It's been forever since she's had the time to just sit and read a book uninterrupted and without an ulterior motive of some kind. It's especially nice that she'd found one on astrophysics that looked especially interesting

Lydia leaves her message on the network, but then she's picked up the ball and headed outside, with Prada on a leash as he trots beside her. He needs to go out and she needs a breath of fresh air while she tries to decide whether this thing is a good idea, a bad idea, or not even a thing she should worry about and she's just overthinking it entirely.

Prada's walking in little circles near the curb, trying to find the perfect place to pee — she'll never understand why dogs do that. Lydia's accepted this as a fact of life — and Lydia transfers the ball from one hand to the other. "What do you think, little man?" she asks the dog who looks up at her and snorts before turning in circles again, as if affronted that she has the gall to interrupt his search for a potty spot. "Should I open it or no?"

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"One thing I know about anything this place gives you," comes a voice from the shadows. "Is that it's not free."

It's not quite dark yet, which is why Jerry leans against a wall where the sun doesn't shine as of now. He's not a huge fan of dogs, even little purse dogs, he gives it the eye, but gives the woman a smile: she's pretty and nearly blond, right up his alley.

Lydia's so engrossed in muttering to Prada and mulling over the golden ball that she doesn't actually notice someone lurking in the shadows — although, who knows? She might not have noticed anyway. It gives her a physical start; a little jump and gasp before she settles almost immediately thereafter, turning toward the sound of the man's voice. "Anybody ever tell you that's kind of creepy?" she asks, looking partially amused and partially indignant. "Standing in the shadows like that? Derek 2.0," she laughs the last part mostly to herself.

But then she's thinking about what he's actually said, and her eyebrows arch. "What kind of price do the gifts here usually carry...?"

If "creepy" is the worst that someone can call Jerry, it's a good day. In about ten minutes, he'll be able to step out from where he is now. For the moment, he just crosses his arms over his chest, smiling with a wide grin that has wooed no few women.

"Who knows," he says with a shrug. "Nothing's ever free, is it, though? I mean, you know that, don't you?"

Lydia looks back at him for a moment. Is he serious? Does she look like the kind of girl who thinks that anything at all comes without a price? Her eyes widen and she bats them at him with over the top shock she doesn't actually feel coloring her expression.

"It isn't? Nothing?"

Then her expression drops back down into something a little more Lydia: a little more no shit, Sherlock. I'm not an idiot. "I didn't say that it was. I'm asking what kind of a price. Some prices are worth it. Some are too steep." Lydia knows all too well about that by now. She's been through enough as it is to ever be naive enough to think that any choice one makes will always find a way to bite them in the ass, it's just a matter of sifting out the bites from the nips and the nips aren't so bad, at least, if the payoff makes it worth the trouble.

Feisty. Jerry likes feisty; his grin turns into more of a smirk.

"If I knew that, sweetheart, I'd tell you. All I know is I'm not trying that," he says, of the little golden ball. "But by all means. See what happens."

That could be fun, too.

"Lydia," she corrects him. Hypocritically, she uses pet names on practically anyone, but feels condescended when others she doesn't know very well do it to her.

She gives him a little facial shrug before shaking her head. "Oh no, I definitely need something more concrete before I open it. I'm leaving it alone until someone who has opened it already weighs in on that price," she tells him.

Prada moves to sit beside her on the sidewalk, having finished his business. "You got a name or...?" Lydia prods.

Jerry didn't touch the thing and doesn't know anyone who does, so he's not of much help. Of course, he doesn't want to be help, so there you have it.

"Jerry," he tells her with a tip of the head, all chivalrous-like. "And who are you?" He hasn't seen her around before.

"Jerry," she repeats. "Jerry who hides in the shadows and should be a better listener," she teases. Okay, they got off on a creepy foot, but he's hot. She's not blind. What is it with this girl and the fact that she's a magnet for gorgeous, older men who never, ever seem to mean well at all?

Bending down, Lydia scoops Prada up with her free hand. "I'm Lydia," she repeats. "I'm kind of new here. Have you been here long?"

[Katniss isn't very good at remembering how to make proper introductions either. Really, she's just not good at most anything that involves being even the least bit social. That's okay. It's not as if she cares very much what people around her think. Or so she keeps telling herself that.

Katniss doesn't see any reason to introduce herself now. That she's replying is more than she's historically done. Still, she and Prim had open their balls. The effects are hard to forget.]

It sings. And makes you happy.

( Then why, Lydia wonders, does the girl look so...unhappy? )

That sounds doable...that's it? There's no catch?

( Because if that's all there is to it, then Lydia is all for opening the thing. She could use a burst of happy, because Allison's birthday is coming up...and Allison will never, ever turn nineteen. )

Just...sings and makes you happy? I can handle that.

Jerry is hot; he knows it too. It is very beneficial to his cause. Were he an ugly vampire, his "life" would have been dramatically harder.

"A couple months, Lydia," he says, able to come a bit closer now that the sun has slipped behind a building on its way down. "How do you find this place?"

Prada starts to growl at Lydia's feet when Jerry moves away from the building and out into the open a little. Lydia frowns and tugs gently at his leash, shushing him.

"Jury is still out," she says with a shrug. "So far, it's easier than home, I'll give it that much. How are you finding it?"

Stupid dog.

"Boring," comes Jerry's easy reply though. Boring as hell, honestly. And he's been good and hasn't fed on anyone, which is not just boring but tedious. He'll break soon; it's just a matter of time.

Lydia huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. "Boring," she echoes thoughtfully. "I love boring. I love boring so much." Nobody dies when it's boring. "I could use a few months of boring, so if that assessment is accurate, I think I'll like it here just fine."

That sentiment gets her an amused sidelong look. "That so? What's it like where you're from, Lydia?"

Depending on her temperament and susceptibility, as he gets closer, she might just feel a pull to come closer to him. To let him do anything to her, really. It's convenient.

"Pretty bleak, let's just put it that way," she replies vaguely. This place might have its own flavor of madness, but she's not exactly feeling all that interested in sharing and caring the darker side of her own home. Especially since she spends more of her time than not in the thick of it.

Wetting her lips and smirking a little, Lydia takes a few steps closer. "You ask a lot of questions," she observes, amused. Prada barks. Lydia stops and her expression pinches for a second with the ever-present whispers in her head starting to buzz with just the tiniest bit more urgency. The sun is setting but it isn't down; the street is quiet. Prada's not going anywhere and Lydia's between this guy and the street, so who, exactly doe the voices think is in danger, here?

Who indeed.

Most likely Lydia is.

Jerry smiles a bit more brightly as she moves closer and his amusement shows as he asks - yes, another question. "Does that bother you?"

Laughing in spite of herself, Lydia's eyebrows arch and she shakes her head. "I think bother might be a bit of a stretch," she replies. Her eyes give him a quick scan before settling back on his.

"I think you just want to keep me around," she says playfully, giving a quirk of her eyebrows.

"Would that be so bad? I mean, you're beautiful and as I said, this place is boring, so."

Just a few more minutes and he'll be able to get out into the street proper.

A sly grin tugs at the corners of Lydia's mouth. She knows she's beautiful, but she does rather enjoy hearing other people say it. It's been a while.

Following the grin with a little facial shrug, Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out in a lofty little sigh. "Well, thank you. I wasn't really planning to entertain," she says, looking up at nothing in particular before looking back at him. "I don't typically bring my dog when I do..."

It isn't a rejection, but it isn't an agreement just yet, either.

Hey, if she wants to ditch the dog, all the better. That little purse mutt is scowling at Jerry anyway.

"Do you drink beer?" he asks, nodding toward the bar down the street.

"By choice?" Lydia asks. "I'm more of a cranberry vodka or whiskey sour kind of girl, by choice, but I'll drink beer if it's there," she replies, her eyes shifting to look in the direction he's indicating. She'll need her fake ID and to put Prada back in the apartment if she's going out drinking, but...

"Give me ten minutes?" she asks, eyebrows arched with interest as she nods down at the dog.

"I'll meet you there," Jerry says. He thinks of Faith, but pushes her from his mind. He needs this, see. There's only so long he can be good.

Lydia heads back upstairs after a little wink and a wiggle of her fingers meant to be a wave. She makes fairly quick work of getting Prada settled in, doing a last minute primp to make sure her makeup and hair looks good, and grabbing her purse, and then Lydia heads back outside and down the street a little ways to the bar.

It's not super busy in there, so it's not terribly loud, but there's a decent buzz of sound and a smallish crowd, so she wonders if maybe the voices are on about some unlucky bastard in the bar.

It takes her a second to find him, but she notices him after a moment and makes her way to him. "There you are, sorry I'm a little late."

"No problem," Jerry replies, his hand cupped around a half-drained beer. He hails the bartender. "Whatever she wants, on me."

See? Chivalrous.

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