A/N: So the words 'Lost Boys' and '1920s' popped into my head and wouldn't leave. This was the result. Companion piece to 'The Good, the Bad, and the Undead', but reading that isn't necessary for this. This is going to be way shorter than the Paul/OC story – three short chapters-ish, depending on how the next ones go. Kudos if you catch the reference I blatantly slipped in, ha. Silvia is an arrogant little brat and I love her for it. Oh, and I picture David in this as similar to how Kiefer Sutherland looked when he was in Stand By Me, in terms of hair...which is definitely historically inaccurate, but c'est la vie.

The blonde wove through the crowds, chin up with a haughty smirk on her face, like a wolf amongst sheep. Then again, that's exactly what she was. If anything, all this prohibition nonsense was just making her life easier. People could hardly report to the police that the last place they saw their mysteriously missing friend was a speakeasy, now could they? But for her, easy went hand-in-hand with boring. A flash of her knee would have most men in here at her beck and call, and tonight she wanted a challenge.

That was when she saw him, leaning against the bar with a lazy, aloof smirk that rivalled her own. His fedora lay on the bar beside him, but other than that he looked surprisingly well put together compared to the others in the room. His suit jacket was even still buttoned. All of this reflected an air of superiority that she couldn't wait to disprove. Perfect. Lightly patting a hand over her meticulously curled hair, cut fashionably to her chin, she nodded in satisfaction before sauntering over to her newest victim. Not bothering to waste any time with that childish hard-to-get nonsense, she shot the blond man a smile before turning to the barkeep.

"Vodka on the rocks," she called over the blaring jazz music before lowering herself onto the closest stool.

"That's a serious drink," the blond acknowledged her with a condescending kind of amusement.

"I can handle it," she shrugged, giving him a very slow and shameless once-over before meeting his gaze and winking, blue-green eyes sparkling as she did so.

A flicker of genuine amusement crossed his face at her boldness and he angled himself towards her "Can you now? I'm David."

"Silvia de Lioncourt," she introduced herself, offering her hand, which he kissed.

"Fancy name."

"I'm a fancy gal. These stockings are genuine silk," she splayed a long, slender leg out in front of her before turning to the bar keep and accepting her drink from him, draining it in one go and gesturing for another "So. David. What brings you here?"

Silvia's mother, God rest her soul, would be turning in her grave at her behaviour. Then again, the fact that she'd forgone a corset alone would've been enough to kill her. Times had changed drastically since her little transformation. Still, she didn't miss the way David's eyes lingered on her leg and how the corners of his lips twitched upwards. She felt her heartbeat pick up slightly but didn't let it worry her – he was very attractive, how was she supposed to react?

"We're celebrating," he gestured to two other men across the room.

"I'll drink to that," she grinned "What's the occasion?"

"Paul," he indicated to the blond one of the two, whose jacket was long gone, leaving him in a shirt, a mostly unbuttoned suit vest and an undone tie "Recently found a new, uh...appreciation for life."

Paul was grinning down at the brunette on his left arm...and then he turned to the redhead on his right and said something that made her cheeks match the colour of her hair. He wore a fedora, tilted almost comically to the side on his head. The other one, the darker of the two, looked ready to drag his squeeze for the night from the building altogether already.

"Looks to me like he's appreciating the girls more," she quipped with an amused smirk.

"Jealous?" David challenged.

"If I wanted Paul's attention," she lifted her new drink from the bar and took a sip before returning it "I'd have it. What about you? Why aren't you appreciating the fairer sex?"

"You're here, aren't you?" his eyebrows arched "Although I'm not sure what kind of proper young lady would be here without a chaperone."

"You're here, aren't you?" she mimicked his words "And you, my friend, made the mistake of thinking that I'm a proper young lady."

She wasn't truly alone – her sister was around somewhere, but he didn't need to know that.

"We're friends now?"

"Aren't we?" she pouted "Careful or you'll hurt my feelings."

"I doubt that," he shrugged calmly.

"Are you saying I ain't an honest woman?" she feigned offense.

"I think you're a lot of things. Honest ain't one of them."

"How intriguing," she grinned "And do I want to know what things you do think I am?"

"Some of 'em."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if anybody could find one single bad quality about her. Other than her tendency to kill her playthings, of course.

"I look forward to finding out. Dance with me?"

"You're very forward," David eyed her hand lazily.

"Better than bein' backward, now is that a yes or a no?" she stood and held her hand out, tilting her head to the side.

David looked from her hand to her face and then back again, and for one incredulous moment, Silvia thought he might actually turn her down. However, then he chuckled.

"You're an interesting woman, Silvia," he commented, accepting her hand and leading the way.

David was an enigma. No matter what Silvia did, his facial expression never ventured beyond one of condescending amusement. She wondered if that was just his face. However, whenever her patience began to wear thin, he'd suddenly show a burst of interest and renew her resolve. Part of her wondered if he was messing with her, but that just made her more determined. She wasn't going to let a mortal get one over on her. Even if she did have to do it the boring way and pounce on him as he headed home.

"Last call, folks!" the barkeep yelled above the music and she blinked in surprise – had that much time passed already?

"You want one last drink, handsome?" she turned to David who shook his head, producing a flask and smirking.

"Ooh, I like a man who comes prepared!" Silvia teased, ordering one last drink for herself "So what's your poison, David?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he shrugged, unscrewing the lid and taking a drink.

That was when Silvia froze. She knew that smell anywhere – any vampire would. That drew her to two conclusions. Either David was a psychopath with a taste for human blood...or he was just like her.

"You alright?" he was eyeing her oddly at the change in her demeanor.

Silvia snapped out of her thoughts and did her best to stay nonchalant "Peachy! Got a tad dazed, is all. Say, how'd you feel about lunch tomorrow afternoon?"

If he said no, he was the same as her. If he said yes, that was his own problem – she'd hardly be turning up.

"I'm not much of a daytime person." he shrugged, pocketing his flask and watching as she drained the last of her whiskey "Wanna get outta here?"

That settled it, then. Silvia considered her options, stifling a laugh at the impatient look on his face. She turned to the bar and set her empty glass down infront of the barkeep who was watching them, probably impatiently waiting for them to be on their way. She only had two options, realistically – one, tell him the truth and end their little game prematurely. Two, go along with it and see what happened. For Silvia, the former wasn't even a real option. If this David thought that she was prey material, she couldn't wait to see his face when he learned otherwise. She turned back to him and his eyebrows arched expectantly.

"Sure. I've got a room at the St. Regis. Let's go, baby," she grabbed his hat from the bar and put it on her own head before settling her hand into the crook of his elbow with a grin.

This would be fun.

A/N: In my head, Silvia looks like Amber Heard...and her hair was inspired by Renee Zellweger in Chicago. I hope you liked it!