(If you want to live here, you have to see the whole town.)

Myah leaned against the railing, watching the water wash against the side of the boat. It was... calming, actually. She hadn't been on many boats in the past, and the idea of this being the only transport to a part of the town was entirely bizarre. But the gentle rocking of the boat as it moved didn't make her ill, as she'd worried about - instead, she felt about as relaxed as she had been since making the move to Scotland. It was a clearly public place, and a hunter-affiliated one at that, so there wasn't a need to immediately stress about—

A hand settled on the railing, just in range of her peripheral vision, and the recoil was automatic.

(Danger— coming for you— what are you doing, you can't see anything here—)

She caught her breath, and gripped the railing again, metal rings clinking against metal rail. "I..." Myah took another deep breath. "Sorry. You startled me." She hated being jumpy— it was such a stupidly over-the-top reaction to something as mundane as someone standing near her. With her pulse back under control, she gave the stranger a once-over through her sunglasses.

When threatened Bo response was flee, he wasn't a fighter, he would rely on his own preparation, hidden escape routs, traps to give him an edge. The train station was littered with them for the eventual day he was found out.

He wasn't a fan of being of the ferry as there wasn't many places for him to run to, the lack of options worried him, the only things brining him peace was that he was pretty sure no hunters were onto him.

Bo had brought a mobile tool kit with him, it wasn't stubble he was practically dragging around a large suitcase in size with him. He was a bit of a handy man to obscure his underground tasks, today he was heading to see Juniper, something about a leaking tap.

But in short he was obviously there, not trying to hide, not trying to be quite. It's why he looked so confused at the other "You must have been deep in thought. Just don't jump in it looks cold down there." he was trying to make light of this.

In a way, vampirism hadn't much changed the pattern of his life. Daytime was for working in the studio, maintaining the home, and exploring the latest in human culture; the night was for him, time to live and to roam the city, to socialize and enjoy himself. Restricted for the day, free at night... not all that different from the constraints most had to live with.

The night was his time to indulge in the world, and revel in the life he got to live. Eden Ros was no Paris or Marrakech, but it had plenty enough to entertain if you looked in the right places. Tonight, he was hoping for a quick feed, and that brought him to the floor of the Crossroads. Full of oblivious, intoxicated humans (and a few supernaturals, if he was lucky) that could handle losing a pint or two of blood.

Orville leaned against the bar, watching the party rage out on the dance floor. His drink sat next to him on a napkin, catching beads of condensation from making a mess of the countertop. Despite his hopes for a meal tonight, he'd opted for style over function in prosthetic choice. It didn't quite hold up under close inspection, but no one passing by would give a second glance, and he preferred that in a setting like this.

That, of course, meant he didn't notice a drink splashed onto his sleeve. Instead, his attention moved to the person now next to him as they said... something. He couldn't quite tell over the music. "Apologies," he said, breaking into an easy smile. "What did you say?"

Bowen wouldn't come to the crossroads voluntarily alone but to him what was worse would be leaving the letter that had arrive on the train in the yard, that would point to him being a member of the underground if the hunters came knocking.

Part of delivering the letter was to be discreet, he couldn't just walk in pass it to the recipient and walk straight out, that would look to suspicious under review. So he had to bide time in the feeding grounds of vampires.

A non-alcoholic drink in his hand maybe it was his fault that he stood in the way of people coming and going to the bar, but he wasn't going to take the blame when his drink spiled on the other, who knows how much that shirt cost with the wealth that normally came with vampires. "I said it that dickheads fault" Bowen was trying to blend in with his suit that he had wore to a wedding and a funeral once.