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Post by Hawk on Jun 26, 2009 20:29:24 GMT -6
Belial had entered the bar on a whim, pulled there because it was familiar in one way, and entirely not in another. Popular tracks of the last few years were playing on a quiet loop in the background, but they were hardly discernable over noise coming from the various tables scattered around the bar. Almost every one was filled with people celebrating, couples getting to know each other, friends meeting up for a quick drink.
The Blue Orchid. That was what the place was called now, a name straddling class and mystery in such a way that it could pull in almost any customer. Much better than the names it had carried before, he had to admit. And the name was mirrored by the ambiance, with furniture fashioned out of wood that had a timeless quality to it, and walls that were covered in pictures that dated back as far as the location did. All of it was dimly lit with hanging lamps that cast a blue glow into their shadowy surroundings. In short, it was the perfect place to have a rare drink and reminisce.
Slipping onto a stool at an empty end of the bar, Belial splayed his hands out on the bar in front of him. So much history in that wood, he could practically feel it… And then a napkin was set down in between them. “What’ll it be?” asked the bartender. Must’ve been quite quick on her feet, to have noticed Belial so fast in such a crowded place.
Sending a polite grin in her direction, he said a quick, “Gin and tonic, if you please.” She gave him a grin and nod in return, and then headed back to the center of the bar. Luckily she also didn’t seem all that interested in him, if the feel of her energy was any sign. Belial just wanted to spend one night normal -- he wanted his time in the Orchid to be normal.
Figuring it would take a couple minutes for her to mix his order with all the customers she had, Belial turned the stool seat outwards to face the room. Best to take in every drop of the room while he had the chance, and enjoy the whisper of normalcy to its fullest potential.
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Post by Netreemic on Jun 28, 2009 16:13:00 GMT -6
Tipping his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head, Ilari rubbed at the ache forming between his eyes. It wasn’t from the lack of food, for he’d certainly had enough of that. This city wasn’t all that different from half the other places he had been, people scurrying like mad. No, the problem was speaking the blasted language. It was obnoxious, the energy and time spent blundering through the backwards muck. But the payoff, the payoff had to be kept in mind. Better one speaks the language, the faster points get across, faster things get done.
So, he stood underneath the dim sign, contemplating the luminous words. “The Blue Orchid.” Growling lightly, he tugged the well-worn Russian to English pocket dictionary out of his back pocket. That first was a color, no brainteaser there. He worked through the O section, growing increasingly agitated. He took a long drag from his cigarette after flipping another page. Oрхидея. Oh. He turned a confused eye towards the wooden door. Was it a flower shop? Open at this hour of the night? Then the liquor scented pair stumbled out. Ah. The burnt out cigarette was dropped to the cement and ground beneath his worn boot. Bar successfully found.
Calloused fingers pushed the door aside, releasing a wave of music, chatter and human generated warmth into the fresh night air. Tugging the band out of his hasty ponytail, his glasses fell back onto his nose as black hair fell to surround his thin face. Not that he was in the least bit sensitive about his scars, but it was extremely annoying having the inebriated staring and making obvious comments.
Stepping through the entrance, a most pleasant shiver tingled down his spine. People wanting to forget now, praying that their life changes before they’re too old to enjoy it, wanting into their drinking buddy’s pants, wanting to get home for that late night show, begging for the drunken story to cease and the speaker to pass out, something, anything. He felt a few eyes lingering on his entrance, but he’d long practiced being unobtrusive and quickly melded with the crowd. He brushed behind the woman vaguely listening to her drunken companion. Without warning, her dulled eyes lit and she slammed her empty glass on the counter. “Would you shut your bloody trap?!? Do you think I want to hear about your boring day in the office and all your shit?! Did you ever think to ask about MY day? No! Of course not!” The man trailed behind, dumbstruck, as his date stomped through the mingled crowd and out of the bar. A cheer lifted from the other side of the room as a brunette practically threw herself at the young man sitting next to her in the booth, hooting friends egging on the blooming make-out session. Ilari slid into the one of the stools vacated by the shouting lady/boring man and focused on reigning it in. Last thing he needed was another bar fight.
“Wwelrafa woeral?” Eyes slowly opening, the demon realized he hadn’t been paying attention and the bartender looked less than amused. At least it was simple to figure out, basically, what she wanted. “Smirnoff Blue.” It had been the next vodka on the list, one more step to quell his curiosity of what was available in America. And which tasted the best. He was really more of a whiskey guy, but his accent usually had bartenders asking about his thoughts on vodka, so he conformed to the stereotype to save on explanations. Seconds after the bartender moved on, his fingers started a harried staccato on the wood, ignoring the cries of “Get a ROOM!” and waited for his drink with flagging patience.
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Post by Hawk on Jun 28, 2009 22:57:59 GMT -6
Attention that had formerly been vaguely directed at a rather passionate couple in the corner was stolen by the feel of a subtle drumming through the wood under Belial's elbows. Tilting his head to the side, he eyed a man, someone who must've entered the bar after him. An odd one, what with sunglasses worn indoors, and not exactly the cheeriest of men either, if the slouch was any sign. And impatient, Belial mentally added with much chagrin, as the fingers continued their dance along the counter. Funny how the years had changed, but people's need for the world to work on their time never did.
"The drink will come in its own time, no matter how much you do that, you know." The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them, but he found himself not regretting them after the fact. A drink all by his lonesome had never been his style anyway, and the stranger seemed the type that could maybe use a bit of company. That, or he was an crank with a chip on his shoulder, and Belial would be doing the nice bartender a favor in exchange for all the favors that others had done for him back in the day when he'd been in her place.
Realizing that one line had probably come of as much ruder than he intended, he gave a little push against the base of his stool, turning himself to face the man. Average-looking, moderately tempered... Something was odd about him though, and not just his choice of eyewear. Something about his wants, his energy... There was an odd pull he had, a lust for something different from the norm. Covering his curious musings with a grin, he added, "Not that I'm condemning the act. Just adding my own two cents, if you don't mind."
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Post by Netreemic on Jun 29, 2009 19:40:39 GMT -6
Cocking his head slightly, Ilari eyeballed the man through his tinted specs. Some kind of proverb about liquor. Like Keep a green tree in your heart and a singing bird will come, or some shit like that. Frown stretching, his fingers stilled. Instead he wrapped them around the napkin and quickly origami-d it into a crane, never breaking eye contact. Placing on the counter, his eyebrow quirked. Better?
“So, why waste breath? Or money…” His brow crinkled in confusion. What did he even mean by that? This was no poker game. And if it was, that pathetic bet would get him nowhere. Wouldn’t chip away from the price of the vodka either. Ilari turned his attention back to the napkin crane, catching the wings between his fingers and absently flapping them.
God. Boring boring boring. The most he attracts is some oddball with a bad dye job who was nancing around some really vague topic. Maybe a bar fight would be a better plan. Maybe he should just head back to the hotel…or try again at the apartment complex. Either way he’d be waiting alone. Nothing to blow steam on except testing how fast he can flick through the channels. His head turned, mostly of its own volition, eyes searching for the waitress. Eons to get a drink, half a decade for the random man to come up with witty repartee…His hand twitched, desperately trying to resume its beat or grab a smoke from his shirt, but that would work this conversation into circles. He counted the bottles on the wall, memorized the faces in all the old photos, watched a fly drift by…why did every thing go so slow? Biting down on a long-suffering sigh, he leaned closer to Mr. Two Cent, weight resting on his elbow. “If I mind, am I allowed to seek retribution?” Please let that be the right word. As much as Blue oozed…something…strangely appealing, he didn’t want to be propositioning the man. Well…he really didn’t care if he was, but getting hit for poor word choice wasn’t really on his list of things to accomplish this night. Just needed to do something other than staring at a wall…waiting.
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Post by Hawk on Jun 30, 2009 23:55:22 GMT -6
The stranger sure was an odd one, that much was becoming even more glaringly obvious as time passed. Hostile or amused, or maybe a mix of the two, or maybe even something else entirely? And that trick with the napkin... Belial had already been starting to reach for his, only to let his fingers slide to a stop when the paper crane practically materialized out of thin air. Purposeless toying suddenly seemed to be some sort of failure at passing the time.
His speech just added to the mystery, short and to-the point while simultaneously hard to understand. And he had some sort of accent, one that wasn't intimately familiar, but he could assume was northern Eurasian of some sort. Not a very common thing to run into in these parts. And attractive in its own way, though not to the point that Belial was hurting for self-restraint.
He was definitely challenged in the area of waiting, too. Belial was almost tempted to indulge in another couple minutes of silent contemplation, just to see the man fidget. His grin widened of its own accord, amused at the idea, but his own curiousity won out in the end. "'Retribution?'" Leaning an elbow against the counter and propping his head in his hand, he continued in an amused tone, "That's vague at best, though I suppose it would be within your rights to do so. I did imply you had a say in the matter, it seems."
Sparing an appreciative nod for the bartender, who had finally got around to making his drink, he shifted it into his hands, idly spinning the glass. Finally, he thought jokingly, something to occupy his hands that he couldn't be upstaged at. "So, what happens to be the going price for unappreciated words these days?"
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Post by Netreemic on Sept 5, 2009 16:34:01 GMT -6
“Retribution?” Ilari watched the man lean on his elbow, annoyed how slowly the reply came but still interested, at least to fill the time. “That’s vague, though I suppose it’d be the best you could do, so…~ Did I really imply you had a say in the matter?” His fingers previously flapping the wings jerked, destroying the precise folds. It lay dejectedly on the counter, one wing ripped halfway off and its body a distorted blob. His jaw tilted up, green eyes looking sideways and down at the woman on the opposite side that had bumped his arm. He twitched forward once more, hearing a tch from the waitress as she set a glass in front of the other man. Now she would have to get another napkin. He could imagine that it was bad enough she had to waste precious minutes getting a glass, scrounging up the drink, bringing it over…now there was one more thing to do. Wasting everyone’s time.
He cringed slightly, grimace stretching sideways into a grin. Years he’d spent waiting on them, God forbid he get a second. It didn’t help that the world’s smoothest prick was sitting besides him, only too happy to banter words and questions. His grimace peeled back further still. The ease with which the man sat in the bar with no expectations and no goal but to prod those unlucky enough to sit by him was maddening. Not waiting for anything, playing with what was nearest on hand. His lip twitched when the woman bumped his elbow. Again.
The bartender plunked the squat glass on the counter, clear liquor sloshing against the sides, giving him a moment to ignore the man’s question. The glass barely touched down on the counter before he whisked it to his mouth, draining it in one go. Lips thinned in a deep frown as the liquid slid down his throat, smooth as silk. Nothing goes smoothly in this whole bloody trip except the words pouring out of the man beside him and the vodka. The man with his polite, yet insulting, words.
His knuckles popped, tightened fist resting next to his empty glass. Lord, he really wanted to punch the guy. Voices rose angrily in one of the darker corners of the bar, barely louder than the music. His other hand matched the rhythm of their voices, tempo increasing with the volume. The woman beside him laughed more raucously, shouldering his side as she swayed on her stool, chattering with her companion. “Price, huh? Words cost less than unappreciated action.” Eyes staring blandly ahead, his hand locked around the woman’s upper arm, halting its collision course towards his back. Tanned digits tightened, nails biting into the soft skin, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she slumped on the counter, drawing lazy circles with the condensation of her glass. He removed his hand, muttering “действие встретилось с действием.” [well…here's the hopefully "Net is less high" version. *shrugs* And it's not very much, given the last para is the only one happening after Bel talked….fail. I just altered the endish part…’cause I’m lazy and at the moment creatively drained. Blah.]
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Post by Hawk on Jan 20, 2010 11:59:52 GMT -6
Fast with his drink, to-the-point with his speech, even – as evidenced by the crane that had come and gone within the space of a minute – speedy with activities designed to be idle pastimes… As Belial took a short sip of his drink, eyes on the already-empty glass sitting on the bar counter, he felt the word ‘odd’ glide through his mind again. And the list of reasons grew more and more by the minute.
It was surprising, then, that it took the man a few extra seconds to respond to his comment. It seemed unlike him. That is, until Belial took note of the girl next to him. She was obviously drunk, but also obviously attracted to his new companion. Bumping into him whenever she got the chance, talking loud in hopes that she’d catch his attention… Ah, inebriated flirting. And it was made all-the-funnier by the obvious disinterest of the odd man. His attention to the humorous situation almost made him miss the answer he’d been waiting for.
He knew that the comment was directed at the woman, but he chose to play oblivious nonetheless. “Well, if I’ve done anything more than say words that are unappreciative, you have my wholehearted apology.” Breaking his gaze with the man he raised his drink again to his lips after he spoke, more to cover the smile that was threatening to overtake his face than to take an actual drink. The ironies of what lust drove people to do were just too funny sometimes.
But, he’d apparently missed something in the second he took to contain his amusement, because a change in the energy around him had his eyes snapping over to the girl, even as he continued to lounge against the bar. Whereas she’d been devoting her full attention to his mystery man a minute ago, now she was almost a blank slate. He turned back to the man and chanced a look at him. Same, oddness and all. So, what had happened, then?
The mumbled words in some foreign language didn’t help, in some dialect he was entirely unfamiliar with. Head naturally tilting as he pondered the all that he’d observed in the last few minutes, he let slip, “A bit of a mystery, aren’t you?” Realizing belatedly that the question might come across as rather rude, he set down his drink to wave a hand in some kind of vague, excuse-me gesture and tossed out a few apologetic chuckles. “It seems I owe you my apologies once again; sometimes I let my mouth get the best of me.”
Idly wondering if his ignorance of a drink left only half-drank would annoy his companion as well, he continued, “And it also seems I’ve entirely forgotten my manners in more ways than one. I’m Belial,” reaching out a hand to shake, he added, “And you are?”
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Post by Netreemic on Feb 27, 2010 3:19:44 GMT -6
Ilari honestly couldn’t tell if he was still being insulted or not. His jaw popped, eyes crinkling in confusion. What the hell is a “Miss Tory”?! Some character in one of their sitcoms most likely. These people seemed obsessed with their inane references. His current location next to the bar’s most sociable git seemed like a bad joke. One that just kept on going. Duct tape, he needed duct tape. Green eyes darted desperately along the wall of bottles, hoping that he had overlooked something. Or maybe the bar had a shotgun under it. Quick and simple. And the world would be one less ‘Belial.’
Then there was that hand. Shaking hands and trading names was the gateway to obnoxious relationships that often got in the way. Knowing someone’s name convinced people they had the right to intrude themselves. They’d catch you on street corners, in grocery stores, and everywhere in between with the intention of random chatter. “Haven’t seen you in months…what have you been up to…I’ve been doing fine….blahblahblahblah!” Useless. Just like those manners that the Belial character seemed so concerned with creating a passable illusion of.
He eyeballed the proffered hand. But not answering results in more questions and more chatter about his social faults that the other man seemed unable to NOT comment about. Besides, he’d already started interacting. All that wasted time if he had to start the whole process over again with someone else that would invariably go much more terribly. Decided, he eased from his slouch to slot his hand into the other’s grasp. “Ilari.” He shook once, firmly, and pulled back with a slight nod. Inwardly, Ilari couldn’t shake a sudden disconcerting feeling. Actually focusing on Belial and making contact, something didn’t feel normal. Curiosity warred for a second as he watched the other with narrowed eyes, wary. Pushing it aside, he quickly reminded himself this was not a permanent visit and chances of running into Belial again was unlikely even in this smallish city. No need to dig to the bottom of strange secrets.
Useless manners, however, would place the conversing ball in his court. Squashing his rebelling pride, he threw on a strained smile. “You are hard man to follow, Belial. Better than drunken people, but…” He rolled his wrist, hand twirling in a circle, “always going back to apology.” Not that he believed the sincerity for one second. “Strange speaking.” He grimaced, eyes scrunching as he tried to reiterate his butchered sentiment. Frustration growing as he mouthed the other possibilities, his fingers returned to their rapid drumming. With a defeated mutter of “English is stupid,” he pushed his shades up to rest on his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Casting a glance sideways, the physical woman’s friend seemed to be paying greater attention to the man on her other side than her slumped companion. Plucking her bottle of beer from the counter, Ilari swiveled on the stool to look out over the dim bar. Back settled against the bar top, he took a swig from the bottle and, ignoring the lukewarm temperature, reveled in the abrasive low quality. Without his shades, individuals in the crowd stood out in much greater relief. Most were merely bland remakes of each other, but a couple of interest flashed in and out. Twirling the bottle between his hands, he tilted his head slightly to the side to frown at Belial. “Mostly likely you are with someone yes?” He gestured at the crowded bar. Any number of the female occupants had glanced towards the man in the last few seconds, but none yet claimed him. No one showed up late, returned from the loo, or wandered over to say she’d found a table. As much as he didn’t want to be curious, the purposeless man was an odd one. Attractive enough to have his choice of the women…that is, if they could withstand his chatter. Charming. That’s what they would find it to be.
Ah, well. He had initiated possible small talk. A gold medal achievement in his standards. Taking another sip, he mentally patted himself on the back.
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Post by Hawk on Sept 2, 2010 17:25:10 GMT -6
A silent laugh had sprung to his lips at the man's blatant disregard for English. Especially amusing to Belial, since he remembered his own difficulties in learning the language. He pictured telling the man, 'Try learning it a century or two ago,' and could just imagine the array of confused responses that would follow. It really wasn't the most beautiful, or sensical of languages. And just kept getting more confusing as the years went on, slang taking the place of pretention.
But the laughter died on his lips at Ilari's question, fading into a weak grin. Usually the question wouldn't have fazed him, may have even been used as a segue into some experimental flirting. But in this place... History was practically screaming from the walls, and he found it harder to sidestep honesty than usual. "I've... been with countless people, and yet am inescapably alone," he murmured, mostly to himself. With a quiet sound, he downed what was left of his drink, eyes slipping closed as the alcohol burned down his throat.
When they opened again, it was to direct his gaze at the other man, hoping his expression carried more lightness than he was actually feeling. "But I guess using riddles with someone who doesn't understand English very well isn't very fair of me. What I meant is you have my undivided attention. Much as I'm getting the feeling you don't really appreciate it," he added with an apologetic grin. Then shook his head again, chuckling.
"I'm sorry. I'll try to speak more simply." Realizing the bartender had been giving him a silent, raised-eyebrows expression that asked, 'Done?', he handed his glass over to her with rather more hesitance than he should have. Not eager to have empty hands. The glass had provided him with something to do, something without complex emotions to focus his attention on. Finding that his hands seemed to be caught in some kind of freeze frame after losing the empty glass, he hastened to reach for the object nearest to him. In this case, the discarded napkin crane Ilari had created as naturally as he breathed. Hopefully the man wouldn't mind, given its ignored state for the last couple minutes.
"So... What brings you to the city?" he finally settled on asking, hoping he'd taken enough care to make it straightforward enough to be understood. And open-ended enough to garner an answer that would fill the unwanted silence.
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Post by Netreemic on Oct 3, 2010 22:53:42 GMT -6
Ilari continued to twirl the bottle between his fingers, shooting Belial a quick look. As surprising as it was to hear the man was unaccompanied, it was stranger to hear his depressed tone. One night stands and quick flings were the way to go. ‘One girl, one love’ had already proven itself a complete failure as far as he was concerned.
Hands stilling at the backwash of memories that stray thought awarded him, Ilari frowned at the following stream of apologies. It was past annoying and anger flickered to life beneath the constant flow of words. He realized, however, that it wasn’t so much directed at the man as it was at whoever had done this. Taken the man out of the man. Any comment, no matter how biting, was instantly de-fanged by his simpering apology. Even if it was a passive-aggressive tactic, Ilari could only imagine the woman that had ground out any constructive retaliation out of Belial.
He had to snort at the final question. Ah, small talk that wasn’t so small. What brought him to the city? A rather ridiculous amnesiac squatter who wasn’t really the person Ilari used to know anymore? How did one even begin to describe the events still not fully understood? So he shrugged, simplifying his answer to “Visiting friend.” Smirking, he lifted his hand to his face, fingers bent into the telephone position. Ilari lost the gravel and lightened his tone, “When are you coming to visit? You need to get out more! See the world!”
Shrugging again, he burrowed deeper into his slouch, shirt rumpling further. “Not answer door. Currently seeing world as advised.” He took another swig, blandly glaring over the darkened bar. “Same bunch of derr`mo.”
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Post by Hawk on Nov 11, 2010 17:29:55 GMT -6
"How does it go? 'With our thoughts, we make the world,' or something like that..." Trailing off with a bemused sigh, he gave the man a sideways glance. "I would say sorry for that, but I get the feeling you'd punch me."
He gave the wings of the crane a few tugs in an attempt to lighten his mood. But, the motion instead made him drop it as if he was burned, even using the back of a hand to carefully slide it further away. Better to be empty-handed than to be holding that. It made him even more uncomfortable, and for reasons he wished he couldn't fathom. Much as it looked like a bird, moved like a bird, it was obviously no longer as it should be.
Broken, it could fly no more.
"So, a cross-world visit to your friend, hm?" he asked, dispelling thoughts best left un-dwelled upon. Must be a rather absent-minded friend to not be around to greet an incoming guest, he added to himself. Or maybe it was a surprise visit? But it wasn't his place to ask, so he shrugged it off. "I'd offer you somewhere to stay if..." Unsure of which pronoun to use, he settled on female, leaving it to Ilari to clarify, "She doesn't make an appearance, but I'm decidedly lacking," he said instead, coupling it with a shrug to make it seem offhand, in no way the embarrassment that it was to most people in this day and age. "Or at least lacking in a place I have the right to invite you to."
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