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 Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 9:32 am
Lorne left for his knightly patrols over an hour ago, which meant Isaiah was left to stew in the overly comfortable bedroom of his fellow squire. And while Isaiah knew that he did not need to even thank Lorne for his accommodations in his healing process, the bedridden shopkeeper felt terribly resentful toward his situation. Isaiah had known, for much of his life, independence. And yet, now he required assistance to remain standing in the shower.
Perhaps, he considered, that sparked his need to rebel against doctor's orders.
Isaiah had, with effort, donned the two jackets and a pullover that would keep his wasted body warm for the trek. Loose pants (for all of them were loose now) and long underwear carefully pulled over the injury sites were to keep his legs from freezing. Doubled socks and leather boots were intended to keep the cold from cutting through his toes (and he realized, disappointingly, that he forgot to ask Lorne to help him cut his toenails). Lastly, he pulled his glass-encased cane from the basket near the front door and started out into the algid weather, expecting to find its embrace altogether repulsive.
And he was correct - the temperature dropped into the 50s on this holiday, which meant most likely stayed indoors while cooking their family feasts. It was a tradition that Isaiah didn't particularly care for, as the occasion only found positive use when living with Sidney, but it meant that the bars would be full of lonely souls tonight and the roads would know either drunk drivers or severely impatient ones.
Which also meant that one crippled Isaiah Zähne would be avoiding as many crosswalks as he could.
His quickly-building roster of bars informed him that one resided in a short five (meaning twenty) minute walk away. Managing the distance was slightly easier in the cold, for it helped chew away the constant, malignant pain in his leg and shoulder. Isaiah managed the distance slowly, with frequent stops to recover his body from the duress of cane walking, and when he reached the location in question, one man and his girlfriend were kind enough to hold the door open for him.
O'hare's was, in essence, an Irish pub. They remixed the traditional turkey dinner in a fantastic manner, though, by the look of the menu and the surfeit of plates piled high with foods not quite endemic to the holiday. All the bar looked filled with people chattering under the dim lights, and many of the tables looked quite full with friends and families that protested the cooking obligation to celebrate the holiday. The pub itself looked no further dressed up to reflect giving thanks - it still sported its many Irish paraphernalia, the owner's expansive collection of rock and roll records, guitars, and signatures; and more beer glasses suspended from the ceiling than he cared to count. He knew the seating rules as 'seat yourself', so he started through one of the crowded aisles toward the back of the establishment.
In a brush of misfortune, one woman excused herself from the table, which sent her chair scooting back into Isaiah's staple-laden lag. He hissed a breath, held it, and leaned against the table nearest him while the surge of pain paralyzed, and the woman might've apologized profusely or mumbled something about pierogies (he wasn't certain which). By the time the room reduced from a shock of red to an actual image again, he realized he was leaning on a table belonging to a lone blonde woman that was stacked to the ceiling.
Which he considered very highly fortuitous.
"Sorry," he offered with strained smile, removing his hand from the table. Behind it remained a shadow of his fingers and palm, borne of a pain-induced cold sweat. Someone further ahead rose from his table, effectively blocking his path. "Hard to navigate around the sea of humanity here."DaisyMilk a rambling start for you~
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 9:48 am
Bindhi hadn't quite expected to end up sitting alone in a bar (though it was a very good bar, all things considered). Alas, most of her friends had their own familial obligations and she hadn't felt like dealing with guilt induced invites once they realized she'd be home alone again and likely drinking. Going to O'hare's had neatly circumvented that problem.
As she toyed with her food and wondered how much she could safely drink without completely shattering her promises to remain sober, her eye caught a tall, dark haired guy with a cane heading to find a seat.
She didn't really think anything of it when the bimbo nearby slid her chair out. At least, not until the guy got hit, went pale and leaned against her table for a few moments. She knew that kind of blanching. Somehow, he'd gotten himself badly hurt, and unless she missed her guess, that chair had connected right with the injured spot. The faint shadow of his hand on the table confirmed her theory.
Inclining her head slightly as he apologized, she offered a half-smile before waving her hand in an unmistakable invitation to sit. If he was that hurt, he needed to be off of that leg.
"No worries. Some people don't bother to pay attention when they should. So. How'd you get banged up," she asked bluntly. She was assuming a car accident or maybe he was a poor, innocent victim of a Negaverse agent attack. Either way, she was curious. And curiosity kept her reasonable sober. So hey. Win.
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 10:44 am
Isaiah was no fool to turn down offered kindnesses. He sat, carefully, and hooked his cane on the edge of the table where he hoped no one would knock it down. He expected, however, to be proven wrong at least a handful of times throughout the evening.
"I think we all just fall into the notion of reacting and expecting nothing bad to come of it," he mused as his eyes followed the retreating woman. Both elbows touched the table and he latticed fingers together as a perch for his chin. He looked to the blonde stranger whom he now sat with and tried his damnedest to keep his gaze on her eyes. The ones in her head. "This just happens to be the worst possible city for that habit."
Her directness in her next question quirked a brow, but he smiled welcomingly. "This is going to sound like I've completely lost my s**t." Isaiah shrugged lightly, and closed his eyes in a tilt of his head. His conversation started whimsically and lightly, but progressed to more serious and sardonic tones as he pushed on. "But I was... Harvested? By some young man wielding a farming implement. He seemed to think that scythes weren't old school lawnmowers and tried to use one as a weapon. I think he's really onto something, considering that I very nearly died. He left me with a significant number of staples, and possibly a permanent limp. I'm not helping it any by walking on it, but... I can't stay in bed any longer."
She was cute, this stranger. Eyes like grapefruit, a rack bigger than grapefruit, blonde hair that didn't looked bleached with impunity, and a demeanor that suggested no nonsense. Isaiah was already starting to project just how long he could abuse the sit-time to weave conversation with her. It might even go somewhere.
"So how did you wind up alone in a bar on Thanksgiving Day? That takes a special kind of talent." Considering she wasn't prodding her cell phone and she didn't look terribly happy here, he surmised that she wasn't waiting for anyone. And if she was, she looked like she would rather not be. He hadn't himself suggested that he was here under similar lonely circumstances, but that much could wait. Often he found that sobering tales of losing relationships and enduring a continual slog of s**t often spoiled good food and drink for others. Not many possessed the faculties to commiserate over misery.
"And if we're going to be up front with each other, are those real?" He issued a nod toward her assets.
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 11:07 am
"You would be amazed at the sorts of things I will believe," she muttered under her breath, her eyebrows rising in alarm. A scythe? She hadn't heard of any agents who went about armed with scythes, so this was either someone new or a complete wacko loose on the streets. And sadly, the two were not exactly mutually exclusive. Still, in spite of her alarm, she had to like the way the guy explained. Matter of fact with just enough humor to keep the average listener from going directly into panic mode.
"Well, I probably should yell at you for not taking care of yourself, but given I spent about a week doing without sleep when some friends were kidnapped earlier this year, I guess I'm in no position to judge."
Eyes narrowing slightly at his questioning, she forced a smile she didn't feel and shrugged.
"If I am here, that means I won't end up having to deal with well-meaning friends suddenly remembering that I am single and unhappy about it," she said drily. "And yes. Yes they are. Since I was about thirteen, thanks. Made school interesting."
Flagging down a waiter, she arched an eyebrow at her tablemate and allowed a faint grin to flicker over her face.
"All right, stranger, first round is on me, tell the nice boy what you'd like."
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 11:25 am
"Exactly right," he replied with a broad smile. "Because hypocrisy makes you look like an a*****e." Which, in turn, meant that he could say nothing of her week without sleep. The kidnapping mention made for interesting conversation, though - he wondered just how often non-affiliated civilians endured attack. Similarly, he wondered if the kidnappings were related to declared 'terrorist activity'. And lastly, he considered how much of a possibility it was that she laid claim to a powered alter-ego. However, Isaiah had no statistics on the matter, and no further clues to deduce any sort of answer to his questions.
"Looks like we're both here under similar circumstances. Only, hopefully, minus the mangled leg on your part." Long nails pressed to his jaw idly. He wondered what came of her relationship - if with a man or a woman or someone beyond the gender binary, if she was engaged or married or in a closed or open relationship, if she loved the person, if she didn't love the person, if she only loved the circumstances of her togetherness. If she only hated being single. And, in turn, he wondered half of these questions for himself. He wondered if it meant too much to ask.
Or if it meant anything at all.
"But usually if I'm here to commiserate, I prefer to make a drinking game of it. A shot for every shitty circumstance you roll out of your sordid past." He watched her flag down a nearby waiter, and observed how one of her jugs pulled with the motion. Real is right. Her food looked relatively untouched, and Isaiah wagered that he touched on a sore point, so drinks were likely necessary.
He wasn't wrong.
"Tequila sunrise," he ordered without a blink. Supplied was his ID, impeccably legal, and perfectly matched to his likeness (beyond the loss of some weight that left him looking much more gaunt and much less sexy now).
When he looked back to her, he wanted to look at those two beautiful assets nestled within her shirt. I have three tongue rings, he considered pointing out. "What's your name?" He asked instead as he tucked his ID back into his wallet.
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 11:54 am
"And I do try to not be an a*****e," she said, relaxing slightly. Then, she chuckled and tapped a single finger against her scarred cheek before winking. "All of my mangling has long since healed, though I imagine that the last batch had the docs slightly worried. Couldn't tell you for sure though since I don't even remember how I got to the hospital that time."
Becoming slightly more animated, Bindhi clearly was having a better time talking about physical injuries and nonsense than anything remotely resembling introspection. Her eyes were thoughtful for a moment as she considered the idea of a drinking game. She had a decent tolerance and it wasn't as if she'd driven. And as long as she didn't start downing drink after drink recklessly, she'd be obeying the spirit of her promises.
"And what sort of rules should there be for this game? Because I don't think either of us should be chugging pints for each lost round. I'd like to avoid stomach pumps if possible, y'know?"
She wrinkled her nose slightly as he ordered. Not the typical drink one usually saw in a pub, but for now, it made him a bit more interesting. And it didn't hurt that he was easy enough on the eyes and clearly had a sense of humor. With a bright smile, she held out her hand to shake.
"Bindhi. And you?"
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 12:10 pm
"At least we're both not living in a city that might imminently kill us." The scape on her cheek looked neither of human descent or felid - a bird, perhaps? Some kind of youma? "Scars tell a lot of exciting stories, though," he returned as he studied her cheek.
So, then. I'll make this up as I go. Bindhi here goes out a lot now, likes to party since she lost the SO. She does what Sid does, and drinks because it's easier that way. Maybe flirts some. Maybe picks up a few stragglers for a little mutual usury. Yes, that sounds about right. Mutually assured destruction is always the most interesting kind. It's so nice to see two people agree to ruin themselves.
But much like the way crime rises at night, so do youma incidents. She gets wrecked there, maybe hit once or twice by Negaverse agents looking for quota fulfillments, maybe even flirts with one by accident and that goes awry. Maybe worse than awry. No, not worse than awry. She doesn't look like the type to stand for that. And maybe some of those scars are from good old-fashioned bar fights, the kind that involve bottles shattered on the counter and all the stellar one-liners you get to hear on spaghetti westerns.
Or, maybe she's a Negaverse agent. Or Dark Mirror senshi. Or knight. Or White Moon senshi. It's not like I need to think up a story with the s**t that happens to each of those.
"Hmm?" Isaiah zoned back into the conversation quickly. "Alcohol poisoning is a very real possibility right now, because I recently got out of the hospital and currently weigh about as much as my cat. So, I'll have to change my usual rules - each time you think of some awful circumstance from your past and don't say anything of it, take a sip. Whoever reaches the bottom of the glass first has to order the next round. We're both strangers here, so we might as well start the pity olympics on who's the shittier person. This place doesn't close for another four hours."
He appreciated her for giving her real name, but a pub was as much a bar as the run-down sports dives he hit on occasion. "Gwen Stefani," he offered back. "But if you happen to be a special kind of bad person, you can have my legal name."
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Posted: Thu Nov 26, 2015 12:32 pm
Expression souring slightly, Bindhi sighed and absently traced her fingers against her side, thinking about the causes of her scars.
"Well, if that's true, my stories are all about failures."
She listened intently as he outlined the rules, wincing in sympathy for her fellow invalid. She wondered briefly what his usual rules were, then decided that it didn't really matter for the moment. She even had a sneaking suspicion that she'd end up getting to the bottom of her glass before he did. Then, with a gleam of amusement at the absurdity of it all, she wondered if murdering her step mom and her father would count as one sip or two.
"Aight," she drawled lazily. "I can work with those rules. There any stakes in this game or are we just aiming for run of the mill drunken hijinks?"
Snorting in amusement as he introduced himself, she managed a straight face, though her lips twitched a bit at the laughter she was holding back.
"Pleased t'meet you, Gwen. Glad to see you ditched the token Japanese girls, they were a shitty career move."
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Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2015 3:05 am
"The aim of the game is to be as awful as possible, thereby getting as drunk as possible. As for any stakes, well... I'm sure you can weasel a few out of me when I'm holding onto the grass to stay on the earth," Isaiah stated simply as he leaned on both elbows. "And, if my name isn't an indicator, you can lie as much as you want. just make it believable - I've been serving liars and cheaters for years."
Fingers drummed against the table in one quick rap, and the drinks arrived shortly afterward. The waiter wasted little time; he took off to the next table to take further orders. Thanksgiving, curiously enough, left them quite busy. "Don't tell me, 'cause it hurts," he replied in simple mockery of the lyrics. "Maybe I liked those Japanese girls. You wouldn't believe the crazy s**t they were into.
"Now, the other half of the game is pretty boring and straightforward. We get to know each other. And by how much we drink, we really get to know each other. "So, you first. Where are you from, Bindhi?"
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Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2015 3:28 am
"Oh, this will be fun," she said drily, looking amused as she steepled her fingers and rested her cheek against the back on one hand. "I may be in trouble. Never been much good at lying or cheating. Still, I'm willing to give it a go."
Grinning at his comeback, she shook her head in mock sadness, "Always knew you had to be into some kinky s**t, Gwen. Gonna maintain having the token silent Asian posse was a bad move career-wise though. Also? Blake Shelton? You can do so much better."
As far as drinking games went, so far this seemed pretty tame to her. Just sharing information and making up goofy lies wasn't all that worrying. Relazing into her seat, she leaned back slightly and grinned.
"Oh, I'm a California girl. Grew up on the coast. Mom was born out there and Dad was from Sweden."
For a moment, she worried that even sharing that much might ruin her new identity. Except, she hadn't given her her last name. For now the Selvig's memories were safe enough.
"You?"
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Posted: Thu Dec 03, 2015 5:19 pm
]Oh, you have no idea what kind of kinky s**t I'm into, he thought with a smile. Isaiah took a drink.
"Bit far from home." California. I suppose she's not too far off from the stereotype. Grew up on the coast... Interesting that she doesn't call it the beach. I thought most did, from the few times I visited. "There aren't really any beaches here in Destiny City, last I checked. No beach ball games, no surfing, no tanning opportunities. Is it kind of a bore to you? Well - I suppose the terrorists liven things up a bit." He considered for a moment if youma could swim. Of the few he'd seen, they came in a multitude of shapes and sizes. Perhaps it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that some could.
"Born in Wisconsin, raised in Chicago. Mom was from heaven and dad was from hell." It seemed the easiest way to explain his interesting living situation. Luckily asking after someone's roots wasn't the same as looking for a life story, so no further explanations were needed. Not that he couldn't fudge a few himself.
"What had you moving from California to Destiny City? It's kind of a dump, has a lot of terrorists, and is probably hemorrhaging money because of all the property damage so the roads are total s**t. Not exactly a dream town." Added to that is the hokey name, the high casualty rate, and the lack of police presence to control it all. Sometimes Isaiah wondered what he was doing in this city - and why he didn't just flip Scholomance the bird and move back to Chicago. It sounded, at least currently, far more appealing than trying to trudge through life in the heart of a war-bound dump like this. But, he wanted to hear Bindhi's reasons for moving here, not his own mental complaints.
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 4:35 am
"Bit, yeah. But this town was wished on me by my step-mom. Apparently, she thought sending me to St. Mags would cure me of being a disgrace to my family. Can't imagine why she'd have thought that."
Left unsaid were the pranks she'd pulled back then and some of the compromising positions she'd been found in. And since, according the the rules, that meant taking a drink or two, she did just that.
"Personally, I think the sorry b***h just knew I hated her and wanted me as far from my dad as she could safely manage. Not that he was much better. He married the cow right after my mom died. He at least was trying in his own, dumb way."
Sighing a little, Bindhi shifted in her seat, trying not to think about how her father had looked as the wraith had drained him dry. Whoops, that was another drink there.
"They died not long after I started school out here. Found out from the nice detectives after that they'd found information stating that my step-mom had been planning to ship me off to some hellhole boarding school in Europe. Since I already had a fair bit of money from my real mother and then the inheritance my dad left me, well, why not stay here? I was eighteen and stupid. I had some good friends to help me out. Leaving was never really something I'd considered. Besides," she added with a twinkling smile, "I can fly out to anywhere I want when the surfing bug bites. And the terrorist stuff is just interesting."
She took another drink. Interesting. Yes, her life since becoming one of the "terrorists" had certainly been interesting. Though the more she thought about it, she was a little shocked that the thought of packing up had never crossed her mind. Not even after Ava had left her. That was a loyalty there. Or complete stupidity. She couldn't be sure.
So instead, she drank.
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Posted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 6:31 am
Isaiah listened to the story, but more pertinent to his interests were the two sips she took after all was said of her parents. This caused the shopkeeper to smile wryly; he said nothing of it, however. "It's a pity when no one learns how to fix that 'disgrace' part. I can't imagine that sending you to Seminary was the sole reason to move across the United States."
Tacking on the information concerning her father helped clarify the story. Trying in his own, dumb way. I wonder. Was he moving too fast for you, Bindhi? Did you want more time to grieve before having to readjust with someone you perceived as a replacement? "How long ago was this?" Not that divorce is easy at any age. I was fortunate enough to learn that on my own.
I wonder how dear old dad is doing. Isaiah took a sip. It tasted weak; part of the alcohol sank to the bottom already.
"Sounds serious. Can I ask what they died of? Terrorist attack, perchance?" If his business reflected current trends in the war, then murder via Negaverse or even collateral damage proved highly likely. The casualty counts soared over news reports, and the vigilant and wary witnessed the decimation as it slowly claimed the city. It was, he surmised, impossible to live a year in Destiny City without witnessing either the murdered or the unconscious - before the police and cleanup crews scrambled to the location. Idly he wondered if anyone cleaned the blood off the roof where he met Labyrinthite. Did that constitute a drink? Isaiah decided against it; he wanted to remain at least slightly more sober than Bindhi.
Who, according to her, had some significant inheritance money. So you've got enough financial security that you can charter a plane to the coast on a whim? Or do you fly commercial? Not that it matters - either way implies quite a lot of money. Luckily for me, I'm not so sentimental that I can only marry for love and not money. The tits certainly aren't a deal-breaker.
Share your fortunes, Bindhi. It's only kind. Isaiah took a sip.
"The terrorist stuff is interesting, at least until it tries to shear your leg off." Isaiah nodded his assent. "With any luck, he'll get hit by a train and that'll be the end of that.
"I can't say my story's as interesting as yours, but I wound up in DC after I found out that living in New York was much too expensive, and I lost an engagement for a relationship I had for four years. I needed a new hellhole, and all the interesting news stories came out of here, so I tried it to see if it's any good for business. But, attack aside, living hear beats staying in New York and weathering the vitriolic judgment of my former friends." He left out large swaths of crucial detail to complete the story, but Bindhi didn't look the part for accepting the more sordid parts of his past.
He had to cut a somewhat decent figure here.
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Posted: Sat Dec 12, 2015 3:33 am
"Oh, they never moved. They stayed out in California and just shipped me off wherever bitchface could find a school willing to take me in. At least until I got myself kicked out and started up the process again."
Sighing, she stretched and rolled her head to the side to pop her neck. For a moment, she eyed her drink longingly, but left it alone. She wasn't hiding any sordid details at the moment.
"Mom died when I was little. Car crash that put her in the hospital where she held on for about a week before her poor body just stopped. Dad remarried a few weeks later to his personal assistant. It hardly gave me a glowing opinion of either of them."
The words were stated drily, she was doing nothing more than reciting fact, after all. This time she did reach for her drink, though more to wet her throat than because she considered some of the tantrums she'd thrown to be game worthy.
"According to the very nice detective who called and proceeded to interogate me over the phone, Dad just died. No evidence of trauma, forced entry, nothing. Guy said that he just looked like he was sleeping."
She allowed herself a shudder for effect before continuing. "Bitchface, apparently, went out like an extra in Final Destination. Detective showed me the pictures when I went out to be properly interviewed. Near as I can tell? She slipped in the bath, knocked her a** out and proceeded to drown. Detective was pretty they died within minutes of each other."
Another drink. Let Gwenny-boy there assume it's because I was thrilled to see the b***h gone, she thought. After a moment, she shrugged and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"Well, I went out there, y'know? Only child and to them, I would have had a motive. Except I was at school out here. Once all the legal bullshit got dealt with, I grabbed some things of Mom's and Dad's that I wanted to keep, gave a s**t ton of the rest to charity and let the lawyers sell the house and cars and such."
She nodded sympathetically as her tablemate wished train death on his attacker. Perfectly human reaction there, she thought. Someone hurts us and we wish hurt right back on them. Though when he mentioned losing an engagement, she quite visibly winced and took a long drink. Oh, she could understand and empathize with that. Unlike him, though, she didn't have the option of finding a new hellhole. Responsibility held her to Destiny City.
"A toast, new friend," she said, holding up her glass. "To ******** up engagments and losing long term relationships."
The bewilderment and hurt she still felt at being, essentially, dumped was plain. But at least, she didn't have anyone throwing vitriol at her. Well. No one but herself, anyway.
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Posted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 11:14 pm
I suppose you don't remember her much, then." Isaiah himself couldn't imagine forgetting his mother - while she was not particularly stellar at her job of raising himself and his step sister, she tried in a manner that some mothers simply didn't. He could've been put up for adoption after what happened, but she still took him along and remarried and defended him against the many boyfriends that littered the path to his current stepfather. It wasn't a bad trip, just a necessary one.
By contrast, Bindhi endured a somewhat similar cycle, though it sounded like her father felt absent through the whole of it. She never mentioned much but that he tried, in his 'big, dumb way'. That he might've remarried for her. He wondered if that was half the reason Bindhi's life looked so spotty and out of tune. But hard lives often shaped the most interesting people from it. Certainly past the bitterness and the leagues of money, there was a girl before him that no one else could match, and that no one beyond this point could ever emulate with perfection.
And the manner in which her father died almost said starseeding, but he knew not what that would look like. "Unnerving," he responded gently.
So you have all this trauma and relationship malfunctions, leading up to... What? Certainly no catharsis, not for someone who's been strung along by her parents and never given a chance to finally rectify their dysfunctions. Or was death catharsis enough? That would be most likely here, I think. Otherwise, I suppose she could've killed them herself, but this isn't an analog. Besides, I don't think even Dear Old Dad could pull off the first. He sipped his drink. The ends of his fingers and toes felt an accumulating numbness; he knew he shouldn't drink much more, but there was quite a bit left of his chosen poison.
"I'll add ******** up coping mechanisms to that," he said, as he toasted with her. The glass rang clearly over the backdrop of a hundred conversations. She looked raw, and he wondered which part of their conversation struck her hardest. "It's interesting, isn't it? How you want to hate them, how you'd give every last good part of you to just spite that person and walk over them and just act as though they never really affected you, but the best you can get is hurting yourself. You just start ripping out all the best parts of you for no damn reason at all."
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