To Enjoy an Evening [Open]

[Kara Barnhill]

It was a clear night; one that, had it been any other Friday night, Kara would have loved to spend on a park bench watching the skies. But it was the first Friday of the month, the Salsa Night at the local bar.

Kara was not a heavy drinker, normally opting for water over anything else. But the woman was a dancer. Ballroom had been ingrained upon her from a young age. And now that she was away from home, her mother and father’s dance studio and their monthly socials, she was having to release her pent up energy in any way she could. The bar was known for its good music, and prospects of karaoke on Thrusdays. But the Salsa Night was what had put it on her map.

It was hard, it seemed, to find any that were interested in going dancing. The brunette had come to terms with such reluctance many years prior to this evening. Or at least in the way of men; many deemed it too feminine. Though, it was always refreshing to see men who had simply stumbled upon the monthly salsa night by chance, and ended up having a grand time. Even if they had to get a beer or so in.

She was a regular there, for that event was one of the few ballroom related activities she could keep track of. There weren’t many in the area, which saddened Kara a slight and made her a tad homesick. Still, her frequent visits and skill in the dance had actually made her acquainted with one of the organizers and owners of the Pointe. Perhaps a bit too noticed. The man seemed to have developed an interest in the young woman, and she was not at all eager to reciprocate.

Sometimes, being nice was a real drag. Still, Kara always was polite. Even if it did warrant more trouble than it was worth. None of that mattered at the moment though, for all she could feel was the night air; all she could hear was the sound of her lovely little black heels as she approached the door, and the faint echoes of the music inside.

The beat was strong. It was, in fact, the first thing Kara noticed that evening. It seemed the DJ was quite intent on keeping things festive and lively. Despite the fact it was a “Salsa” event, many other dances tended to be slipped in as well. The Merengue, the Bachata. On occasion, Kara had even experienced the Tango. That one, however, she normally avoided unless it was her dancing partner back home in New York. It just gave men the wrong idea.

She went directly to the bar to get herself a nice water. Salsa, after all, was a dance for two; and though perhaps one of her friends from class was to join her later, she was utterly alone at that moment. No dance partner meant no dancing. It never failed, though. Someone would be around shortly to whisk her to the dance floor. No woman was safe on Salsa night. Even if she had already come with a date handy.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked brightly.

“Just a water,” Kara responded with a smile.

“Water? Oh, come on. You want to try something a bit stronger,” the man flashed a grin. It was, perhaps, strange to ignore the alcohol at a bar, but Kara was steadfast in her decision.

“No, thank you. Just the water.”

“Alright, miss. Coming right up.” And so, the wait began.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

Friday. If you went around and poll-ed a group of people a good percentage of them would have probably said that Friday was their favorite day of the week. It was the last day of work, sometimes an easy day, the day that kickstarts the weekend. It meant the week was almost over but not quite. A lot of people enjoyed their Fridays, Matthew however wasn't the biggest fan.

Now he certainly didn't hate them, or even mildly dislike them, he just enjoyed his work and was quite relieved that he didn't have a usual 9-5 job. His job kept him busy. He was on call almost all of the time even when he was out of state (like now where it was currently tucked in his back jeans pocket) so he always had his cell phone on him (except when he was undercover). Sure it was the evening, and getting later, but still, a part of him still expected a call. You never outgrew that after becoming a part of the FBI.

He was in the area to help out the local PD AND keep tabs on Krys (he couldn't help but be protective). Truthfully the FBI had only given him one of those jobs and you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to guess which. Matthew often put a lot of extra work on himself out of concern, and that was something no amount of lecturing or scorning would ever change. But just because he was in town on business didn't mean that in his downtime he couldn't swing around some of the local hangouts and listen to the local music and grab a brewskie.

One of the man's weakness was homegrown beer. He often chose to buy one of the bottled local bears over whatever was on tap. While his friends sipped Coors at bbqs back home, Matt preferred to sip on a Saranac. He had just always been that way, and he certainly didn't mind shelling out the extra buck to help out local breweries.

He had wandered into this particular bar/club purely on a whim. He had been walking the sidewalks unable to fall asleep, and he enjoyed his walks, when the sound of latin music got the best of him and he decided to peek in. He managed to slip right through the doors and made his way to the bar unnoticed. Sitting himself down quietly he listened to the music and the beat (he had a good ear for it) and nodded a bit to himself before sliding a few dollarbills onto the bar countertop. He was definitely NOT a dancer, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the music or watch the sport.

"Whatever local brew you have on ice, please." He announced in a soft, gruff voice. Currently he wasn't all that intimidating, in fact as he leaned across the bar though he looked sullen, he also looked like a friendly kind of guy.

"Sure you don't want a tequila? Suits the night?" The bartender asked with a hint of a smile.

"Nah" Matt shook his head, looking rather serious but not in an intimidating fashion. "Whatever the locals get is fine with me."

In one swift motion the bartender ducked behind the bar and fetched a bottle, popping the top for the gentleman and handed it to him. Matt gave him a few bucks, plus a tip, only to notice the woman a little bit down the bar looking like she was waiting for her own drink. Apparently the bartender had forgotten on his own accord and Matt couldn't help but feel bad.

"Excuse me." Matthew interjected, clearing his throat before nodding toward the woman. "I believe she's waiting on her drink." The bartender apologized and Matt nodded his head in return showing it was no big deal. He wasn't the sort to pick fights for no damn reason, let alone over a simple mistake.

Turning his attention back to his beverage he wrapped his fingers around the cool, wet beer bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a sip.

[Kara Barnhill]

It seemed with the coming of a new customer, the bartender’s attentions shifted from fetching a simple bottled water to getting a local brew. For a moment, the woman shifted her weight and changed her stance; delicately displaying a bit of displeasure in being passed over. Still, she was too gentle to approach him on it just yet. The gentleman next to her was, after all, asking for something that was quite a bit more interesting. Above the pulsating beat, and loud chatter and talk of the people there, she heard the man speak to the bartender on her behalf. "I believe she's waiting on her drink."

Kara smiled and nodded, to show that she was, in fact, still waiting for her water, and the bartender apologetically moved off to actually get it for her.

Kara took the moment to flash the man a thankful smile, before taking the bottle from the bartender’s extended hand. “Thank you,” she chimed; though the statement was a blanket for both the man behind the counter, and the one that had diverted his attentions back to getting her water.

Kara took a sip of the drink, shifting her brown eyes to the dance floor once more. It seemed slightly less crowded than it had been last month, though it was still quite early in the evening. She turned, then, and threw her gaze back to the man at the end of the bar. He certainly was new; Kara had never seen him before.

She took another swig of her water before taking a few graceful movements over toward him. As she took the steps, the woman began to mull over how to strike up a conversation. She certainly didn’t want to seem as if she was at the bar to bring about some sort of fantastic one night stand; still, he seemed a bit out of place. If he was there for the dancing, she was going to make him feel comfortable enough to at least make it to the floor.

“You here for the Salsa?” Kara asked, finally deciding to open with a very obvious statement of her intentions. She did offer a friendly smile, though, on the chance it would coax him to feel more at ease.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“Thank you.”

Matthew looked up at the feminine voice that had nearly been lost amidst the shaking of percussion instruments mixed in with string laced with various ongoing conversations and the clinking of glasses. Initially he hadn't been sure if it was even to him, but upon recieving her gaze he gave a little smile, he was never one to outwardly grin and show teeth, before turning his attention back forward toward the bar.

Sitting all alone he didn't actually mind. It gave you time to think and enjoy your beverage without having to be a Chatty Kathy. Lifting his beer bottle he took a sip, feeling the bitterness against his tongue before he swallowed and set the bottle back down. Say whatever you wanted but local brews were always the best. That's something Matthew would always stick by.

He could hear various people's conversations and could even pick up on some of the words and phrases. He managed to do this without looking like he was listening in. This was all something he picked up from his years in the force along with his occasional undercover work from the FBI. At least a few good useless talents came out of it aside from: no family, his sister being dead, and always being away from his family. But that was just him being bitter and he promptly silence these thoughts with another sip of beer.

It was after a few long lingering moments that he felt a pair of eyes on him (another little trick from his line of work). He certainly didn't feel threatened by this pair of eyes and so he remained remarkably calm, instead pretending that he didn't even notice. He could play dumb and the young woman wouldn't be the wiser. That's right, the young woman who ordered a water at a bar. Anyone who did that was worth knowing and certainly wasn't going to slit your throat or start a bar fight. Then again he had been mistaken before...

Now he heard her approaching with soft footsteps. For a split second he was reminded of his baby sister Tess who seemed to float and frolic just about everywhere she went. She was young, like this woman appeared to be, and for a fleeting moment Matthew actually missed her. That's what often happened when you lost a sibling, you clung to the ones you had left. He made a mental note to call Tess the next morning. Just to check in on her.

“You here for the Salsa?”

Matthew looked up at the friendly voice. It appeared she was trying to be nice, perhaps pity him. Matthew would aid her in her plight and turned away from the bar now facing fully out to her (to the side). A small, closed lip smile on his face his dark brown eyes looking almost apologetic. He was a decent actor. He could make himself appear weaker than he actually was, more gullable, he just didn't want to let this young woman down when she was just trying to be kind.

"More so by mistake than anything else." He admitted in his soft, somewhat gruff voice. His beer now momentarily forgotten beside him. His left arm draped over the bar, the other resting atop his thigh. After eying her once over he gave another little smile that pulled at the left corner of his lips. "But something tells me you're not here by accident."

Ordering a water made sense. You couldn't dance while intoxicated. Well, you could, but certainly not very well. And if she was the designated driver she wasn't going to pay double the price for a water. She could have just brought something in her car. No, this young woman wanted to help the vacinity that had these dance events. At least that's what he was assuming. His profiling had never been all that great but his detective work was getting there.

He leaned back a little bit in his stool, glancing up to the ceiling for a moment with a bit of a chuckle. "Unfortunately I'm not much of a dancer. Never have been." Looking back to the young woman he gave her a very gentle smile. "I was very sheltered out in the country." He added, though aside from the gruffness in his voice there was no hint of country accent. At least not stereotypically so. He could very well do one, and had on a past, fairly entertaining, mission. But this current situation didn't call for it.

[Kara Barnhill]

Kara leaned against the bar casually, on hand holding fast to her bottled water, the other lightly playing with the hem of her black dress. If there was one thing a dancer never wished to do, it was sit completely still. She could have, of course, if the need had arisen. Still, there was no reason to be so stringent with herself tonight. She was not in school, she was not working at the restaurant, nor indeed volunteering with the police agency. She was simply Kara Barnhill; a lover of all things dance. Not even her slight movements were distracting though. If anything, they were lost amongst the business of the scene.

"More so by mistake than anything else. But something tells me you're not here by accident."

A smile played across the man’s lips, and she returned it rather amusedly. “Was it the heels, dress, or my eyeing of the dance floor that gave that away?” She asked lightly. It was, perhaps, easy to pick a dancer out of a crowd. Generally they had a certain air about them. An air that relayed the idea of grace and precision; though, in Kara’s experience, many a dancer was clumsy off the floor. It was a blessing that she herself was sound in her movements, and rarely tripped, stumbled, or otherwise lost balance. It seemed an awkwardness of movement was alien to her. Or, at least that was what she had been told often.

“It happens once a month here.” She added, with a small but fluid motion to the rest of the club. “I am here just about every time.” Did that make her sound horribly lonely! As if she looked forward to this and had a clear schedule to accommodate it. Still, she was not ashamed in the least of her passion for ballroom, and Kara had a feeling that even those who did not enjoy partaking of the sport—and in her opinion, it was certainly a sport—respected it.

"Unfortunately I'm not much of a dancer. Never have been."

“Well that’s too bad,” Kara interjected warmly. She did not carry it further, for something in the way he worded it at least gave the impression that he had tried before. That was enough to keep the curly-haired woman at bay. Now, if he had complained that he did not know how and that he did not wish to try, she might have been a bit harsh.

If there was one thing Kara was bothered by, it was when people refused dance lessons on the grounds of never having learned. That was what a lesson was for. Nobody was expected to be perfect their first time. It would be ridiculous for anybody to hold someone to that kind of standard.

"I was very sheltered out in the country."

“Ah, the country.” Kara grinned. It was the polar opposite of where she had grown up. “It must have been nice and quiet,” she laughed. “I myself grew up in Manhattan. Never a dull moment; always busy. A good place for a ballroom studio.” As a profiler-in-training, and enthusiast, Kara often tried to take a good look at herself from a rather critical standpoint.

Profiling herself was quite the task, really. For she often found herself wishing to discount certain behaviors as unimportant, no matter how significant it could actually be. Still, taking such a look at herself led her to believe that she wasn’t completely thrilled to be from a city. There were times when you could look at her and see the high-class, fast-paced and iconic New York in her dress or perhaps her mannerisms. Other times she simply looked blank; as if she had molded into her setting. It was her ability to “blank slate”, as she liked to think it, that let her in a few notable undercover operations for the local PD. It was nothing extreme, mind you, but it was rather exciting to be of such help.

Fleetingly she wondered which air she was presenting tonight. Though, with her heels and black dress she was sure to look rather sleek and city-slick. He had probably guessed she wasn’t from some small town---it didn’t always take a profiler to just know.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“Was it the heels, dress, or my eyeing of the dance floor that gave that away?”

"Honestly?" He watched her with an amused raised brow as the young woman seemed unable to stand completely still for longer than a milisecond (if that). Yep, exactly like Tess and he couldn't help but feel a bit more at ease and at home with even this bit of comfort in body habits. "The way you walk." His dark brown eyes were firm, yet gentle, he wasn't pulling her leg.

Of course this wouldn't be enough to satisfy a normal human being who had no ties to the law, and he did not know this woman did. He was well aware that he couldn't outright say 'I work for the FBI so I know these things', instead he settled for the latter reason as he turned back to the bar to take a sip of his beer. "My little sister dances. She's just as light on her feet as you are." He commented, as if that reasoning would be enough before he turned his head back to look at her. "She loves it." A hint of a smile at the memory.

He couldn't count how many dance recitals his entire family had gone to so to watch Tess dance. They had to drive a good halfhour both ways to each lesson and then an hour to the recital venue which was a huge theatre. Jill was alive then and Matthew occasionally longed for the times he was crammed in the back of his father's van amidst machine parts and his mother's various vegetation she had shoved in the back for the animals to eat.

Tilting his head up some in thought he shut his eyes, trying to remember the words and reciting them as they came to him. "Lyrical, Ballet, Jazz, Pop, Tap, Pointe, and..." Hm... Reopening his eyes he looked back to the young woman. "There's another one but I can't think on it. Definitely not Salsa though. Closest I ever came to Salsa is at a Superbowl party." He noted with a chuckle as he looked back to his beer. Okay, that was a horrible joke, but hopefully she'd forgive him.

“Well that’s too bad.”

"That it is. That it is." He nodded in agreement though there was a softness now to his gruff voice that almost always bridged on a modest murmur. "Not to say that I don't do it. I just make a fool out of myself when I do. So I always am sure that when I do it I am in the company of people that I do not know and will never see again." He offered the kind woman a little smile, in hopes that she could at least laugh at his own travesty and some good would come out of this admittance.

“It must have been nice and quiet.”

"Occasionally." He nodded, taking another quick sip before setting his beer down again. "There's farms and the likes of all that but that doesn't make the kids any less loud. If anything it made us more so. We had to make our own fun and it was usually loud." He was suddenly recollecting hanging out his friend's truck window with a baseball bat, swinging at mailboxes. A crime obviously, but once again he was never caught and if that was the worst of all of his offenses, he really had nothing to worry about.

"Have you never been?"

“I myself grew up in Manhattan. Never a dull moment; always busy. A good place for a ballroom studio.”

Ah. Manhattan. Well that made sense then. Matthew knew the burrows well and this young woman definitely looked like someone Manhattan raised. Manhattan meant one thing: MONEY. If you lived there you had a lot of it and this young woman apparently had claim on a ballroom studio. Matthew understood now. Rich girl. And yet, she was here which was pretty much no where compared to New York. What did she have to prove?

"I live in New York." He commented, though somewhat vaguely. He knew that the next logical statement would be where he worked but for now, he left that part out. He avoided it partially because there was no exact answer that he could give in full. And if he did give her a partial answer she would no doubt want more information. There was no 'winning' but he certainly would try.

"Nice place." He forced down another sip. Really, New York had it's bad days, and Matthew was around to see them all.

[Kara Barnhill]

Kara laughed slightly. “The way I walk.” She repeated amusedly. Well, it was quite believable. Studying profiling, she was quite certain that those little hints meant something to somebody. He must know a dancer; there was no thought in Kara’s head that linked him to the FBI in any way, after all. “Yes, I guess after years of being told to hold up, be graceful…it tends to seep in the other aspects of your life.”

He spoke more on his sister; love, adoration and just a reverence there seemed to be in his voice, and it caused Kara’s heart to warm. She, of course, had never had any siblings. So, seeing such devotion only made her wish she had. Still, as a professional ballroom dancer, her mother was quite paranoid about her shape and frame. Having more than one child would have been detrimental to her dancing. Or, so her mother thought.

Still, she wished to have them sometimes. Like when she was lonely, mostly. Still, it was quite well. It made it easier, in her opinion, to leave home. Her mother and father, though, had a horrible case of empty nest syndrome. And they called often enough to remind her.

”Closest I ever came to Salsa is at a Superbowl party."

Kara laughed, though part of her was thinking the joke was completely awful. She doubted, unless it was fresh from the appropriate place, it was actually real salsa then, either. “Well, now you have come close, then.” She offered through her laughter.

“It’s never too late to learn, really.” She offered, though inwardly she doubted he would consider taking her up on it for a moment. So, she coupled the words with a blazing smile.

"I live in New York. Nice place.”

Kara smiled, though wryly. The way the man was looking at her changed. She could tell immediately that he was looking at her a bit critical. It was common, she assumed. He probably thought that she was some stuck-up, rich kid. “It can be,” she offered dryly.

Something that came to mind was in a particular episode of the Cosby Show. Dr. Huxtable had told his children, “No. You’re not rich. Your mother and I are rich.” It applied there. Perhaps the only expensive thing she had access to was her parent’s home, the place she grew up in. A rather average studio apartment.

For heavens sake, she waited tables to make ends meet at the moment. “I like it here well enough.” Kara finished.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“It’s never too late to learn, really.”

She had laughed at his joke. It didn't really matter to Matthew if she had done so out of manners, just the fact that she had done so which spoke levels about her character. He was no profiler, anything he picked up on about people came from simple observation with skills he had picked up on undercover or in the force, while some was just common sense or a natural god given talent. Most of which came from his ability to metaphorically sit back and just watch people. He was a people watcher, that was for sure.

"But one must also remember the old saying: You can't teach an old dog new tricks." He joked quietly, he rarely spoke any other way being a very softspoken man (unless in a bind when someone's safety was at risk). "No matter how much they wish to learn." He told her in a gentle voice before silencing himself with another sip of his beer. No point in saying too much, though he rarely said more than a sentence at a time. And besides, he doubted this young woman wished to hear any of it.

“I like it here well enough.” Kara finished.

"It is a very nice town. Definitely wouldn't mind living here." Matthew agreed as he looked to her. He could already tell from her tone and body posture that she was upset by something he said. But thinking back on it rather briskly he hadn't said anything to merit such a reaction. He hadn't been looking down at her, he hadn't insulted her mother, nor had he kicked her in the kneecaps. What could he possibly have done? Still, he his this rather well (he was good at hiding things).

"So is your dance partner anywhere?" Matthew attempted to make conversation though he couldn't help but feel this woman wanted nothing more to do with him because he had insulted her in some way. Placing his hands on either side of his jean clad legs he attempt to peer around her to the dance floor (though he wasn't really looking for her dance partner, just trying to 'sell' his question).

"Perhaps that fellow over there." He was just trying to amuse her, the man he was pointing out was sloshed and had his head resting on the table, practically passed out. "Or that one. He looks absolutely thrilled." Nope, this guy was making out with his girlfriend in the corner, and had been doing so for the entire time Matthew had been in the bar (the agent picked up on things like that). Hey, he already told her he couldn't dance, perhaps she would buy that he had absolutely no clue, then again she appeared to be an intelligent young woman.

[Kara Barnhill]

“Old dogs can learn new tricks if more time is given to them to learn.” Kara replied back with an amused smile. She was not one to press matters, and she felt that after that last quip she was done. After all, she didn’t want the man to feel that she was nagging or hounding him to get out on the floor. It was his prerogative, not hers.
Her profiling skills, or at least the ones she had acquired so far, picked up that the man was very reserved. His speech pattern, of saying very little, said more, perhaps, than he did himself. She was curious, though not rude. She did not make any motion to pry into himself. She was, after all, not on a case or indeed working for her classes. Still, it seemed that perhaps he desired to dance, and just didn’t know where to start.

"It is a very nice town. Definitely wouldn't mind living here."

Kara nodded in agreement. “It’s a great place.” She fell silent for a moment then, and shifted her weight once more. It seemed that he had grown uncomfortable. Her demeanor had changed over the past few sentences. Her skills at reading people sometimes prompted such changes. It seemed he was adept at reading others as well. She must have made him uneasy. Luckily he spoke again and readily changed the subject. She would have felt utterly horrible if she had hurt him any.

"So is your dance partner anywhere?"

At first, she was not quite sure if he was being serious in inquiring or not, though as he pointed out two of the candidates, it was clear he was joking. She smiled and subdued a laugh as she answered. “Well, you are quite good.” She flashed her eyes to the fellow at the bar, and motioned toward him with a playfully sorrowful look upon her face. “He has grand confidence; but his footwork is always a bit off.”

Then, she could contain herself no longer. Kara let out a short laugh and then quieted herself with another sip from her bottle of water. Under the impression that this gentleman was aware she was joking, Kara decided to answer truthfully. “My dance partner is actually back in New York,” fleetingly she pictured her parents’ studio with the class full of privileged children learning to dance. At first all the students switched partners, so that they could learn to dance with anybody. However, as they got to the age where they could compete, they were paired off by height and trained only with one person.

“Can’t say that I miss him.” She found herself saying without thinking. She had, by some horrible luck, found herself partnered with the one guy in the whole studio that had an ego the size of New York itself. Oh, good times.

“My name is Kara, by the way.” She offered quickly to change the subject. No use in talking about that lousy partner anyway. She rarely had to deal with him anymore. Only for competitions and the occasional practice. Aside from this, she had been speaking to this man for a few minutes now and had yet to catch his name.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“It’s a great place.”

It was then, out of nowhere, that Matthew turned out to face her and without warning his hands promptly moved to either side of the young woman's shoulders, holding her still in place. There was nothing exceptionally intimidating about his touch, to a point it was even gentle, yet firm so to keep the young woman still as she insisted, like many dancers did, to move back and forth or shift about. Of course this wasn't an entirely fair assumption, given the awkwardness of speaking to someone like him could have added to it, but even so...

After a few seconds of holding his hands there his rather serious face then gave a hint of a gentle smile before turning back to the bar, releasing her. In his own personal quiet he took another sip of his beer. He was a tad amused by his own action but hid it well, afterall, he wasn't sure how the young woman would take it. There really was thousands of actions or reactions she could choose from. Now it was just the waiting game.

“Can’t say that I miss him.”

"One of those hm?" He had heard enough of Tess' stories about fellow dancers, particularly male ones, to last him a lifetime. They were either too cocky, god awful, or too grabby (which made him want to pop their little heads off like you could do with dandelions). But he was by nature a gentle man, except when he was on the payroll and his profession called for a more, insistant kind of approach.

Turning back to face her he rested his hands on either side of his jean clad thighs. "Then who will you be dancing with this evening?" It was an honest question. Matthew had absolutely no interest in dancing. As far as he was concerned he had two left feet when it came to the dancefloor and he wouldn't wish that catastrophe on anyone.

“My name is Kara, by the way.”

"Nice to meet you Kara." Matthew nodded, offering his large left hand to her for a handshake. "Matt." He wasn't undercover now, so he could actually give her his real name which would save him a whole lot of guilt and her any future trouble if they ever met again.

"So what are you in town for?" Matt inquired, squeezing his thighs lightly. She couldn't have just been in town for this modest little bar salsa night, especially without her partner. Then again Matt had been wrong before, nothing saving him from being wrong now. She did look young though. Maybe she was a student, unless she had the type of cash to keep flying everywhere for every little modest dance competition that came up. Heck, for all he knew she could have been a regular jetsetter.

[Kara Barnhill]

Kara’s uneasiness had manifested itself in her shifting her weight once more, which had apparently caused the gentleman she was speaking with great distress. For, no sooner has she found herself comfortable, he held her firmly in place by her shoulders. She was shocked, certainly that he would be so offended by her motion, or indeed that he felt comfortable enough to grasp her that way.

She thought of wriggling free; who knew what this guy was? She was going to make it her life goal to catch murderers, rapists, the occasional terrorist. For a moment, Kara wondered if her profiling skills were that off; that she could look at this dark-haired man and see someone who was calm, gentle, soft spoken, but have him actually be a threat. Clearly, she was overreacting. He began to smile and finally released her. “Sorry,” she mumbled turning her attention back to her drink. She would have to watch herself. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to be in control of herself then, either. She sighed inwardly.

"One of those hm?"

Kara scoffed shooting him a glance. “Oh. One of the worst.” Apparently he understood. Of course, he had spoken of his sister being into dancing. Undoubtedly she had run into plenty of those. It was strange. You either found men that were gay, or complete pigs. You think men would pick up that women weren’t looking for an egotistical jerk to date.

She didn’t continue any further, and in fact found herself thinking on some grand line of tangents that seemed to stem off of one another. She was, of course brought back to the now by Matt’s offered hand and mentioning of his own name.

She took it with a smile and added a, “Nice to meet you,” before returning to her stillness.

"So what are you in town for?"

Kara looked up at him for a moment before answering. “I live here, actually.” She smiled. “I came down here for college some five years ago, and never left.” Wow, that made her feel too young. Quickly the brunette tried to fix that. “I am going back for a second degree. Hoping to find a place in the FBI.” She smiled a bit more, before turning her face back to her drink. Oh, that must sound ridiculous! She was small, from upper-class New York, and apparently fidgety. Matt would surely think she was crazy.

She probably could have said she waitressed at one of the local restaurants to make ends meet, but that seemed to make her situation all the more humorous and strange. So, she willingly left that out. She then turned her attention back to him and inquired herself. “Well, I have moved here. But you haven’t. What brings a New Yorker down here for pleasure?” She was sure it wasn’t for fun and games this man had come to Quantico. There was nothing exceedingly special about the area…other than the FBI Headquarters. Or perhaps he was passing through to check out the DC area? Either way, she made light of it, hoping that she wasn’t being to intrusive, and nosey. That was the last thing she needed.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“Sorry.”

Matthew chuckled softly, not to make the girl uncomfortable but some coincidences were just uncanny. "You really are a great deal like my little sister." He seemed happy about this though really his phrasing was off. Nowadays Tess was his ONLY sister but he didn't have the heart to just say 'my sister' Jill, though deceased, was still a constant in his life. The proof of this was around his neck. She had put his guitar pick on a necklace and gave it to him about two years before she died. Jill had always been crafty and Matthew never took it off.

"Both of you dancers, unable to stand still, bright little things." This was a compliment and not a nasty one at that. It was just a bit of southern hospitality escaping and his fondness for his little sister. He took care of her, took pride in everything she did no matter how farfetched her dreams seemed, and this young woman, Kara seemed to have the same bright personality. He could definitely appreciate, whether she found him interesting or not.

"It's actually kind of a relief." Taking a final sip from his beer he ran on empty and sat it on the bar countertop to be picked up by the bartender when he got around to it.

“I came down here for college some five years ago, and never left.” Wow, that made her feel too young. Quickly the brunette tried to fix that. “I am going back for a second degree. Hoping to find a place in the FBI.”

This announcement in particular caught his interest and he looked up. FBI. There was a term he knew pretty well, sometimes more so than he would have liked. And yet it was his job that he loved, and like a wife he came back to her every single night no matter what awfulness the day before had offered.

"Well then, you're definitely keeping yourself busy." He commented with a friendly smile. Though he had finished his beer he found no real reason to get up and walk out. And besides, a small part of him wanted to stay and watch some of the dancing (something he hadn't planned on doing when he had arrived). "It's a pretty rough job if you make a go of it."

“Well, I have moved here. But you haven’t. What brings a New Yorker down here for pleasure?”

Well, there really was no delicate way of putting the next bit of information. He didn't want to lie to the woman, then again he didn't want her to think that he was lying about his own job just because of what she had said. So, he tried to phrase it as casual as possible.

"Actually I'm here to help out the local PD and check up on a friend of mine who's giving a lecture on the FBI at a college." This was also known as: Operation keep Robin out of trouble, but this woman didn't need to know that. Heck, Krys didn't even know he was here to check up on her. "I work for the FBI in one of it's New York branches." There not too much information but just enough. Question was would she even believe him?

[Kara Barnhill]

"Both of you dancers, unable to stand still, bright little things."

Kara smiled, and looked down bashfully. Bright little thing? She prided herself on grades. It was, in fact, almost how she defined herself. Still, she had done nothing of the sort that would make the man think that she was smart. Unless he meant bright as in cheery? Well, she laughed and smiled plenty.

“Nonetheless, I will try and keep my fidgeting to a minimum.”

"Well then, you're definitely keeping yourself busy."

He had no idea. She offered a smile, and nodded. Homework, working, school, studying…it was an endless cycle. And she was certainly busy. “I surely can be.” She acknowledged with a slight laugh.

"Actually I'm here to help out the local PD and check up on a friend of mine who's giving a lecture on the FBI at a college."

Kara faltered for a moment; and let her brown eyes intently examine the man as he returned to his drink. He was with the FBI? Now, she was not one to judge the types they employed. Still…to learn something like that in such short succession to her own expression of wanting to be an agent? Was he trying to lull her into some sort of predatory trap?

“FBI, hm?” She mused, swigging her own water for a moment. He didn’t seem like a predator. Of course, many of them didn’t. That was why they were so dangerous. She had the mind to ask and see his credentials. Still, that was probably excessive, considering she was in a bar, and men often exaggerated their careers to impress ladies. Or, there was the off chance he was actually telling the truth.

There was an office in New York, after all. “So you’d know first hand,” she offered, opting to study him a bit more. Profiling was, perhaps, more useful than she let on. And she used it all the time.

The song changed, and a few of the dancers that had been out on the floor came to the bar to get themselves some drinks. That might mean a few of them tried to coax both she and Matt to the dance floor. How they would react to that remained to be seen. She thought it could be humorous to see the man squirm.

[Matthew Grimaldi]

“So you’d know first hand.”

"I know well enough to know that you're trying to figure out if I'm making it up or not." Matthew informed her as though it was no big deal, currently pondering if he should purchase another beer so he had something to do and occupy his mouth with other than saying stupid things. He always seemed to get himself into that kind of trouble by opening his mouth. He always ended up digging himself into a hole that he couldn't get out of.

Really he didn't have to work for the FBI to figure out that this Kara woman was trying to figure out if he was lying or not. He encountered a facial expression much like hers quite often in his undercover work when criminals tried to figure out if he was legit or not. He couldn't really blame her. "But that's fine." He let out a bit of a sigh as the bartender slid him another bottle of local brew in front of him, and Matthew handed him a few bills to cover the drink plus the tip.

"My badge is in my coat pocket if you want to get daring." He offered really just expecting her to take his word or deny it completely. Either way he wasn't going to flash his badge in the middle of a little bar, not really the best of ideas and it could cause unnecessary alarm. "Or phone it in to the local PD or Quantico if you feel especially suspicious when you get back home." A hint of a smile pulled at his lips as he could picture Kara the type to rush right home and as she was doing homework, phone the two locations because she always had to have the answers.

The music then changed and the dancers came to the bar to get their drinks, some began to request dances with himself and Kara. Well, one lady seemed focused on him. "No. No. No thank you. That's alright." Matthew blushed red, something he RARELY ever did, and chuckled out of nervousness, shaking his head while trying to respectfully deny the offer. "No. I just got my drink anyways." His dark eyes moved to his lap a bit shyly as finally he was left alone.

It was then he realized that he didn't know if the young woman he had been speaking to had left to dance or not. So, somewhat hesitantly, he dared to look to the side.

[Kara Barnhill]

"My badge is in my coat pocket if you want to get daring."

Kara laughed nervously, and leaned against the bar in an elegant line before tossing him a glance before turning her attention back to her water bottle. She was, however, somewhat amused. She was one to always seek answers. But sometimes, she just knew when to back off. Something, she mused, would be helpful in the field someday.

“I will take your word on it, agent.” She stressed the word agent playfully, and said it softly; so that none around would grow uneasy or panicky. Though…in the privacy of her home, there might be time for a phone call. Perhaps not. She smiled slightly at the very thought of her going through with such an act. It seemed a bit excessive. Even for the sake of knowledge.

"No. No. No thank you. That's alright."

Kara watched as the man floundered with one of the females that had approached. And her smile widened as she caught the blush. It was always interesting to watch those who did not wish to dance avoid the act. Most of the time, it caused more pain than actually consenting would have. She had a mind to help, though she had come that evening to dance. Matt would probably be there when she returned.

And so, she moved off with the man to take him up on the dancing. It was a rather fast paced salsa, or at least that was what the man was leading her toward. She followed his lead almost flawlessly. It had taken some adjusting to; street salsa. Especially after being formally trained.

It was lively, fast paced. Her footwork wasn’t terribly intricate, but he was not a completely superb dancer. She concentrated on her own form, keeping her steps light. Using the heels she wore as spur to keep her on the balls of her feet and movements quick.

It finished, and she politely excused herself to head back to the bar. It seemed the Matt was still there, with his new beer. “Still hangin’ around?” She asked, flashing another smile.

“The local beer is that good?” She jested lightly.