Edward Cullen was not usually one for human refreshments. It wasn't because of any particular dislike of such - he had, in fact, greatly enjoyed Italian food as a human - but his vampire physiology simply rejected all forms of mortal sustenance. While he occasionally found himself missing the taste of the garlic against the parmesan, the flavor of a perfectly seared meatball or six, the feeling never lasted. His mind would turn to more important things with a quickness inherent to all immortals - things such as whether or not to fake Beethoven's Tenth, or a cost/benefit analysis of private foreign aid to the third world...or Bella.
"Bella...what would I be without you? It already seems like ages since I last saw you."
Actually, Bella had left to go shopping with Alice that very morning, making Edward's thoughts wildly inaccurate. But he loved her, damn it, and would have given up all his brooding time for the rest of eternity just to spend this day with her.
But Alice would not be moved.
Jasper, in Alice's absence, had challenged Edward to a round of Super Smash Brothers. Edward didn't know why his brother even bothered - the only way he couldn't read Jasper's intentions was for his brother to play blindfolded, and too many controllers had met their ends in Jasper's frustrated hands. Edward had, naturally, respectfully declined - he wasn't in the mood for another unfair fight (or for the sixth run to Gamestop in as many weeks).
Emmett and Rosalie were off spending "quality time" together, no doubt lowering the property values in some poor gated community somewhere.
Carlisle and Esme were in Alaska visiting friends.
Which left Edward alone for the day. The afternoon, therefore, was his personal brooding time.
And where better to do so than at the Factory Room?
It was a relatively new place - a pub in downtown Seattle, with a Colonial-era facade and a constant supply of strange characters looking to party or drown their sorrows. Edward had the slightest suspicion that there was something supernatural about it - the two-story outside didn't match the sprawling, lavishly furnished, four-level interior, for one thing, and there were countless doors leading to what could only be other places entirely. Edward couldn't be sure, but one time he thought he had seen a swirling vortex of chaos and horror behind one. He had resolved not to think about it too hard, and indeed did not as he entered.
He was greeted with the now-familiar sight of the massive pub. A multilevel open bar, its tiers connected by spiral staircases, served all floors, and the dining area stretched off farther than even Edward, with his perfect vision, could see. The usual rogues gallery was there - a collection of weird, beautiful ("though not as beautiful as my Bella...") and patently unnerving people of all shapes and sizes. A man in a tuxedo was at the bar, surrounded by women of varying races and stages of moral decay. Off in the corner, a heated argument was taking place between a man in black leather, carrying a massive, nine-foot katana, and another man in gaudy red and gold robes, in monstrous clown makeup.
"Business as usual," thought Edward, stepping up to the bar. "A shot of tiger blood, please." He was in the mood for something exotic.
The tuxedoed man next to him overheard, and gave him a somewhat disgusted look. "Looking for something strong, then?" he asked in a decidedly British accent.
Edward took in the features of the man next to him. Rugged, muscular, and world-weary - those were the first words that came to his mind. He ignored the eight or so attractive (for humans) ladies, most of whom had fixed Edward with appraising and/or seductive looks.
"Stronger than your drink, I'd have to say. Vodka martini?"
The mystery man studied Edward for a moment, then nodded. "Shaken, not stirred. You're a perceptive one."
Edward received his glass of blood, downing it without looking. Strangely, some of the ladies were even more attracted by this gesture. One had unbuttoned one of the buttons of her blouse, in what she obviously thought was a surreptitious manner. Edward might have read her thoughts, but half a second of this proved that it wasn't worth it.
"I don't believe we've met. My name is Edward Cullen." Half of the women swooned. "You're-"
"Bond. James Bond," the man interrupted him. The other half swooned.
In his thoughts Edward detected annoyance - who was this boy, coming in and stealing his women? Without lifting a finger, at that?
Edward quickly started to defuse the situation. "I'm married, if you were wondering." The question was directed at the women, just as much as James.
Five of the women were discouraged, while three smiled even wider. Edward could tell that they liked a challenge.
So did Bond, who decided to end this right here.
"Married, are you? You don't look a day over fifteen." Of course Bond could tell Edward was seventeen, but why give him the satisfaction of knowing that?
"Why, indeed?" Edward answered Bond's thoughts, deciding to put this human in his place. "I assure you, I was solving the mysteries of life before you were born."
Bond finished his vodka martini and signaled for another. "I'll just bet you were. Tell me," he said, turning to him and fixing him with a devious half-smile, "we're all friends here. How many women have you been with?" Bond's women giggled and exchanged excited glances - from what they were thinking, Edward could tell that better men than he had been cut down by this very question.
So he'd be the best man. He gave the honorable answer.
"One."
Bond didn't blink. "Apart from your mother."
The shrill laughter of the women was quickly defused by Edward's low snarl. "Leave my mother out of this."
Just before Bond could respond with something involving an Oedipus complex and REALLY shut Edward down, the conversation was interrupted by a new arrival.
And an intimidating new arrival, at that. Six feet of muscular, black-haired, purple-clad, green-skinned reptilian strode up to the bar, flanked by twins who, by all appearances, were under the influence of some kind of alien drugs. Both possessed bright blue skin and clung to the green man's arms, though one of them did so more out of weakness than attraction. She wore a green pendant, which glowed slightly.
The party was clearly not of this world, and both Edward and James could not help noticing this as they approached. James's women either did not notice or did not care, as they seemed focused on the newcomer himself - drawn to him rather like slutty moths to a flame with lots of money. Likewise, the green man either did not notice or did not care; he gave off the air of someone who was used to this sort of thing.
"A glass of Necr'ygor Omic wine, please. Be quick about it." Now this was a man who liked to get what he wanted, Edward thought. "James's women are certainly taken with him. I wonder if they know what it's like to truly fall in love?"
But Edward's wonderings were secondary. For the moment, he could bask in the frustration of James Bond by this mystery alien. Might as well rub it in his face. "Necr'ygor Omic? Certainly a wide selection - I've never even heard of it," he opened politely.
The green man shot him a glance of mock surprise. "Why, it's only some of the most exquisite wine known to any species!" He shook his head. "What a travesty that I am to spend my afternoon with the peasants." At that moment his drink arrived.
Edward considered snatching it and pouring it on the green man's head, before deciding he was above such things.
"Fresh from the cellar, Xizor," the bartender announced.
"Prince Xizor to you," responded Xizor icily, taking the glass and sipping from it.
By this point it was a miracle that he could do so, since the ladies that had formerly crowded around James Bond now clung to Xizor's arms, each offering various forms of entertainment. The girl with the pendant collapsed, clearly unconscious. One of Bond's women reached for the jewel.
"Don't touch it. You'll get radiation poisoning," Xizor said without looking at her.
Edward tuned them all out and glanced over at Bond, who was scowling at Xizor's back. "He's even better at this than me," Edward offered.
Bond merely nodded ruefully. "And less polite. I have an idea. Truce?" He held out his hand.
Edward hesitated. Bond was an unpredictable man - Edward could tell that he was making this up as he went. Nonetheless, he shook. "Truce." At which point Bond quickly looked around and saw an opportunity.
Immediately Bond drew a pistol, whirling and firing at a far table. It hit a silver-haired man in a red trenchcoat, with a massive sword strapped to his back. Edward could see a bullet hole right next to the hilt. He was about to ask Bond if he was out of his mind, but the Briton laid his gun down on the bar and scrambled behind Edward. "Don't worry - I know him."
The gunshot victim did not keel over, but instead remained seated for a second or two. The glass in his hand shattered, the hand that held it making a fist. He stood, and slowly turned around. The gun, laying next to the oblivious and uncaring Xizor (who at that moment was concentrating on his wine), told him everything he needed to know.
"Yo, green-dick! Got a problem?"
Xizor calmly set his glass down, then stood and faced the man in red, the women backing off reluctantly. "Do you often begin conversations this way?"
Dante strode toward the bar. "You're pretty mouthy for a dude who just shot someone in the back. Nobody shoots Dante in the back and gets away with it."
Xizor looked around, finding Bond's gun on the bar. "Clearly you are mistaken. I've never seen that gun in my life." He withdrew some credits from a hidden pocket. "Here, buy yourself some discretion and a shower." Some of the women giggled, but the others looked uncertain.
Dante slapped the credits out of his hand. "Here's your bullet back, assface!" Fast as lightning, he reached behind and dug James's bullet out of his back. He tossed it and caught it once, before driving it into the forehead of the shocked Xizor with a sickening CRACK.
Xizor didn't even have time to change the expression on his face. He simply dropped to the ground, and stayed there. A chorus of screams rent the air in two.
Dante flashed a winning smile at the ladies. "Hey, don't worry about him. He'll be fine." He picked up the credits and rapped them on the bar. "Bartender! Get him to Taylor Memorial. Keep the change."
The bartender sighed, took the money, then made a quick call on her cellphone. Almost immediately, a pair of valkyries burst from a set of nearby double doors, lifted Xizor's corpse (and that of his unfortunate girlfriend), and spirited him away.
Edward stared at Dante. "Am I missing something, or did that just happen?"
A voice from behind him answered. YES, ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Edward whirled. A cloaked figure with a scythe, rather like that traditional personification of Death, had appeared seemingly from nowhere, and was nursing a tall glass of gin. NOBODY DIES HERE. IT'S A NEUTRAL ZONE. TAYLOR MEMORIAL HOSPITAL FIXES THEM RIGHT UP. IT'S EXTRADIMENSIONAL, LIKE HERE, DID YOU KNOW THAT?
Edward was shocked. "How can I not have seen that before?"
IT HAPPENS AT LEAST ONCE A DAY, Death answered. NOT NECESSARILY IN THE SAME SECTION OF THE PUB, THOUGH. YOU MUST NOT BE A REGULAR.
"This is only my third time here."
THEN YOU AREN'T A REGULAR. Death took a long swig from his glass. SIGH. I COME HERE TO DROWN MY SORROWS, YET ONLY GET MORE DEPRESSED WHEN THERE IS NOTHING TO DO. I SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN LANCRE.
Edward nodded uneasily, then turned back to Dante, who was chatting up two of Bond's girls. The rest had turned back to James, who was quite satisfied with the way things had turned out. "A little rough, don't you think?"
Dante chuckled. "Like I said, nobody shoots me in the back. Besides, I can't stand how he treats the staff. I'm Dante." Dante offered his hand.
"Edward."
"Edward. You look a little young to be drinking, don't you think, Edward?"
The vampire sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.