|
|
Post by ODELL WILMONT on Jan 25, 2016 16:53:49 GMT -5
 Of course the bar was full, why wouldn't it be full there's hardly anything to do on this God forsaken— well— island. Odell wrings his hands together in frustration as he narrowly avoids someone walking briskly past him trying to chase a coin they had dropped. "Gimme a break..." He groans as he pushes past a gaggle of women trying to flirt with the bartender, ducks as a man swings his arm back trying to demonstrate just how big that fish he caught twenty years ago was, and is ready to give up and just go drop some money in the cash register at work and swipe up some bottle of alcohol when someone coughs on him. Who just turns and deliberately coughs on someone? It's unsanitary! Rude! Did that guy want to spread germs? Because that's how you spread germs! Odell stiffly walks to a less crowded spot in the bar to reach into his pocket for a pack of sanitary wipes and rubs his cheek and shoulder off with a look of pure disgust before tossing the wipe into a nearby receptacle. And that's when he spots it. An open seat, ripe for the taking, right in front of the bar. There is a God who's actually benevolent looking out for him! "Bless," he breathes out as he quickly hurries towards it and plops down without even bothering to wipe the spot down first. He wants to grin and announce his accomplishment to everyone, and he almost does when he turns to look at the person beside him and the brief moment of luck quickly turns into a bad one. "Don't you have some curfew to abide by?" Odell glares at the woman for a moment before moving his gaze to the alcohol on the shelves behind the bar, trying to figure out which one will get him drunk the fastest to actually deal with the nagging woman. "Why are you in a place like this?" A smirk almost creeps onto his lips as he looks back at her, but he isn't drunk enough for that much to show on his face just yet. "I mean, the bar of course. I know why you're here, because you're just like the rest of us." MADE BY ★MEULK |
|
|
|
Post by LYRA THORNE on Jan 26, 2016 0:46:38 GMT -5
I want off this roller coaster  How nice it must be, she thinks, to find freedom in confinement. Lyra watches her unfettered company slide into the seat adjacent to her own, as if he is a puzzle piece falling into the right place. This is true, she's the one that doesn't belong here in the first place. When he groups them — her, he, and this motley crew of drunk misfits — together, she thinks about dumping the contents of her drink over his sorry, ragamuffin self. But she doesn't. It'd be a waste of water. "Yes," Lyra affirms serenely. "I am exactly like you. Complete scum, in dire need of a bath, and carrying a stench that can only be described as" — she sniffs and then scrunches her nose in ostensible distaste — "Wet Dog Who Rolled Around In a Ditch and Ate a Used Car Freshener™. An acquired scent, I'm sure."She traces his gaze to the shelves of low-class alcohol behind the bartender. A scoff leaves the back of her throat. "And, let me guess, you're here to preach to the masses about how gluttonous and sinful it is to consume beer in excess. You, being the saint that you are."What a joke. Her light-eyed gaze sweeps over the entire floor of the karaoke bar. At one end, she sees a table of men making entirely inappropriate advances towards a well-endowed waitress; on the opposite end, a particularly rowdy group are play-brawling, knocking over chairs and tables in their game. The bartender doesn't even spare them a glance, oddly expressionless. If there is one thing Lyra is sure of, it is that there are no intermediaries of virtue here. "A refill, please," she says, pushing her empty glass forwards. |
|
|
|
Post by ODELL WILMONT on Jan 26, 2016 1:39:30 GMT -5
"Oh my god," Odell lays his palms flat against the bar against his better judgement and rolls his eyes, sighing out loud with the most pained expression. "It's like you swear I'm following you around. You show up where I am, like you're waiting to talk my ear off with that annoying voice of yours." He gets straight to the point and expressed his annoyance as he looks down at the bar and quickly slips his hands back to grab his pack of sanitary wipes once more. He cleans his hands and discards of the wipe appropriately— not because the last time he ran into this woman was because he missed a trashcan toss and was met with some strong words and he was frightened of what she'd say if he didn't or anything— but because Odell is a decent enough person who wasn't raised in a barn, thank you very much. Yeah, he's definitely never going to get over that little encounter anytime soon. His sanitary habits were questioned— he, who was bribed into being a God's familiar with the promise he could be in charge of keeping a damn shrine clean and tidy! No one gets away with that. "Pretty sure I'm more of a saint than you are anyways," Odell mutters as he eyes his alcoholic beverage of choice for the night, "because I don't waste my time thinking of petty insults in hopes of someday using them. My time is better spent making sure I actually do something productive with my time." He points to the bottle he's been eyeing and requests a glass of that and to keep them coming, saying a polite please and thank you as the bartender fulfills his request. MADE BY ★MEULK |
|
|
|
Post by LYRA THORNE on Jan 27, 2016 22:35:16 GMT -5
I want off this roller coaster He's baiting her. That much is obvious. The truth is, she doesn't know who he is. She has racked her memory again and again over the course of their conversation thus far, grappling to remember a time she did something to deserve such ire, and she can't. Such a time surely exists, it's just that nothing in particular stands out. Of course, regardless of whether or not Lyra recognizes him, she can't stand not having the last word. "Productive," she repeats drily, watching as the bartender effortlessly fills a pint glass to its brim with the chosen alcoholic beverage. "I can tell ."Short and sour, not exactly how Lyra likes it, but good enough. With that said, she is more than happy to direct her attention elsewhere. For example, the entrance. In one swift motion, Lyra turns her body towards the wide doors, flickering her narrowed gaze from face to face. She stops on one's whose eyes are just the right amount of dark and dangerous, but their nose seems to be broken in two places it shouldn't be. Moving on to another face, Lyra takes a small, measured sip out of her glass. Unlike the man at her side, she has a reason for being there, for enduring the obnoxiously raucous laughter and hooting. It isn't to get irreversibly piss drunk. (GOMEN GOMEN GOING TO KEEPS THINGS SHORT TO MOVE THINGS ALONG LAUGHS AND CRIES ILYSM) |
|
