He was confident, this one. Darcy watching the easy way in which Erik made his way through the crowd and up those stairs to his own little stage above the rabble and noise below. The tall, broad-shouldered vampire was aged, that much he was certain about. Darcy capable of feeling that steady undercurrent of power that so seemed to exude from vampires whom had lived longer than most. Though just how old the other man was remained to be seen. His own mismatched gaze made little effort to hide his appraisal of the other vampire as his hand gestured loosely to that chair opposite him. An invitation to sit and one so few were ever afforded. Darcy rarely having the patience for idle chat and yet- this man was intriguing. His fingers shifted atop the table to pluck a singular playing card from the stack, Darcy turning it about near absentmindedly as the other vampire took that offered seat. Both men merely regarding each other for a moment before Darcy gestured down toward Lorelai again. Her initial interest, after all, the very thing that had prompted Darcy's own curiosity in turn. The Scandinavian vampire opposite him shifted forward, leaning closer as if about to offer some grand secret, his gaze meeting Darcy's own head on. Hmm. This man really was from out of town then. So few outside of Risque ever dared to meet his gaze directly. Darcy's reputation so often proceeding him when it came to his curious eyes- and what they could do. That sudden, bold reply to his own words however was unanticipated. The other vampire so insisting he'd like to know exactly what Lorelai looked for in a man- if only because he aimed to pleased. Several precarious seconds of silence seemed to exist then, as if Darcy so considered whether or not that joke was worth laughing at. His lip so suddenly quirking upward. A short, sharp bark of laughter escaping him den. Darcy eyeing the other vampire again. How rare it was for him to find anyone he enjoyed amongst their own kind- yet just what he so enjoyed about Erik remained to be seen.

"Yar got balls. Das respectable. What she lookin' for 'hough I dun tink ya got, 'hough dat depends on who ya ask. She's lookin' fa soul. Succubus dat one."

His head nodded toward Lorelai again. The woman having already ceased onto her next victim. A human man this time, one whom had already fallen for her batting eyelids, bright smile and fake laugh. Lorelai always put on a show and yet there was little need to stop her pilfering those victims from the bar itself. She rarely, if ever, killed those men. She merely had other uses for them. Darcy entirely content to let her hunt as she pleased so provided her victims did not return on mass to irritate anyone. At least she was careful. Not like fucking Ian or Chase. To many dead patrons was bad for business. Those small-minded imbeciles to often taken with that blood lust to remember it. Yet- the mystery of why Lorelai had taken such an interest in this vampire still remained. Vampires, after all, had so little soul to give on most occasions. Hardly worth her effort. His looks maybe. This one was....pretty. How Darcy loathed pretty in anyone outside himself. A shame really. A vampire like this might have been useful to them and yet there was every chance he might prove far to....intriguing to Risque in turn. That vampiric cowboy so disliking any competition for his mates affections. Darcy decidedly well-practised in eliminating those very beings. That card within his fingers was flicked lightly again as he lent back within his chair, a picture of relaxation within his own territory even if his gaze so hardly faltered from the vampire before him. Darcy not nearly fool enough not to keep his eyes on a being older then himself. That query of where Erik was from seeming to coax a broader smile from the Scandinavian.

"Sweden? Dun reckon I ever been dare. Why'd yar leave dis Sweden place? To cold for ya?"

He had seen a fair portion of the world with Risque and yet he hardly remembered any trips to those more nordic countries. That cold and driving snow so often displeasing to his Mistress enough to prompt her to shift her business ideas to those countries in which her preferred outfits were more suited. That very mention that Sweden had not been called Sweden when his companion had lived their however was an indication enough of his age. Fucking old. Thats how old he was. The other man's sudden question on Darcy's own roots prompted that simper to his features. That Southern pride hardly having dampened over the centuries.

"I'm from da great state o'Georgia. Way down. Ranchin' Town. Yar been ta Georgia?"

How he both loved and hated that place all at once. His love for that state conflicting with his disdain from his hometown all at once. Nearly two hundred years it had been- and he still hadn't been back to that shit hole of a town he'd fled from at the start of the civil war. A war Darcy was still inclined to be sore over at the best of times. A different, sudden thought occurred to him then as he eyed that other man. Darcy asking suddenly after Night Train. After all, if this man was from that casino it was better to have it out in the open now wasn't it? All friendly like. Darcy's own gaze narrowed once more at that near confused look on the other man's features as if assessing whether or not he believed it genuine. Erik admitting that this one was lost on him before asking why that name made him 'squirmy'. That choice of words prompting a sudden flare of that temper that slithered and coiled beneath that calm cowboy exterior. Darcy's lip curling back from his fangs in that clear disdain, fleeting thought it was.

"I ain't fuckin' squirmy."

Those words were very near snapped upon a growl. Darcy cutting off that sound quickly all the same as he lent back within that chair once more. That aggression disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"It's a vampire casino on da outskirts of da city. Day gettin' to big for dare boots, ya know what im sayin?"

One eye lifted neatly upward, what was unsaid, in that moment, far more telling that what had been spoken aloud. Vampiric turf wars however were hardly knew, not amongst their kind. Those battle for territory frequent enough that the vampiric community hardly battered an eye any longer. The destruction of Haunt and its coven leader- impaled to the floor with his own flag- had barely made the papers for longer than a day. Few beings bold enough to involve themselves in vampiric wars. Darcy's head tilting curiously then. The vampire in an oddly ...friendly mood tonight.

"I ain't asked ya yar name yet. I'm Darcy Blackjack. Who are ya den?"

That playing card within his fingers was spun loosely once more. Darcy having effortlessly collected each of those 'Jack' cards in those few moments they had been speaking, each of them fanned out neatly now in that slight of hand trick.

"And whats a fella like yar doin' in dis city? Dun be takin' offense but de old ones like ya, day dun normally travel less day lookin' for soemthin' or someone. Who yar lookin for?"

We are rough men and used to rough ways.