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 Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2016 6:17 pm
Thorne had decided that bars were a dangerous thing for him a few nights ago when he'd done something Stupid by going out with Chris to one. But somehow he still ended up at Darlenes, eyes fixated on a tumbler of whiskey as the world worked its way around him in slow, measured doses. It was early enough for the bar not to rattle with the sound of other people in clusters, in tight knit groups.
His eyes flicked up to the glowing lights above his head, a deep hum of sound in his throat, and when he looked back down to the bartender across from him, and paused. And thought, oh?
His mouth quirked slightly, and then, raw and low, he said, "Don't I know you?"
He paused, thinking, the tumbler cocking to the side in his hand, eyes wild-bright and dangerous.
"Oh," he added, a slow soft drawl, "you were at the ball, weren't you?"( total word count: 564 157/208/199 )
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2016 11:29 pm
It was a busy night, but not in the way where the bar was packed, just in that the orders had been coming in steady for a solid hour or more. Though really, Connor hadn't been paying too much attention to the time, just instead attempting to remain in the groove of pouring drink after drink for the servers to take to their tables, while keeping those sitting at the bar itself satisfied as well. It was simple work to him, almost mindless really, but he performed it with finesse, with a good natured smile, with chuckles of laughter when necessary, with nods and and a show of enjoyment that was very much exaggerated. Because it was just that. A show. He needed the tip money, plain and simple, and so the moment he stepped into that bar and slipped on his servers apron, it was like he was walking onto stage. Gone was the wisecracking, foul mouthed jackass. In it's place was all the charm and charisma he could muster, no matter how ******** exhausting it was. His customers were all the same to him, blank, featureless, nobodies. It was easier that way, for some reason, to treat them all the same, to feign camaraderie with each and every one. It was much the same as how he treated patients, though that was for entirely different reason. Of course, this only worked as long as he really didn't know (or care to know) the people he was serving. Sometimes, as in cases like this one, somebody recognized him, forcing him to focus on them with stark clarity. They had a face, a name, a history. It did take him a moment, when Thorne caught his attention, but once realization struck, it was all there, laid out on the table. "Yes." Came his reply, slow, almost wary but not quite. "Actually, I believe we met once before that, though I wouldn't blame you if you don't remember it very clearly. You were in pretty rough shape." He approached nearer to the bar across from where Thorne sat gaze flickering down briefly towards the other man's abdomen and back up again, eyebrows raising slightly. "But really, I guess I can't expect every damn person who's life I save to actually remember it, can I?" He smirked, and held out a hand. "Connor."
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2016 11:54 pm
Thorne tilted his head, put the tumbler down, and laughed. It was a dark, rich sound, velvet and regal. It burned through his throat and marked him someone dangerous. Someone that walked easily between two lines - here and there, predatory and preternatural, but gentle all the same.
"Oh," he said, "I'm sorry. It's unfortunately difficult to remember the semantics of what's happening when you're bleeding out." His eyes flickered to Connor, curious, grateful. "Thank you, though. For helping to save me back then." He hummed softly, a smile tearing across his face. "I came to Ashdown for quiet, and here we are with werewolves and nobles instead."
His eyes danced, sharp and lupine, hungry. He was not sure of Connor yet - his intentions, who he was. They'd crossed paths in jagged, uncertain ways. This was the first time they had solid footing around each other, and Thorne wondered how it would go.
His lips curved though at the smirk, and he grinned himself, predatory.
"Thorne," he said, straightening and shaking Connor's hand. He hummed, a sweet-sharp sound like soured honey, and said, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you somewhere where I'm not in mortal danger. Though I'd never expected it to be at a bar."
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Posted: Sun Oct 02, 2016 10:50 pm
Connor studied the other man, guarded, remembering that he had been one of those at the ball who had been unmasked, duplicated, one of the tithes. He had been one of the ones to shout at Temperance and the others for her interference in Melany's near-death, before Connor had stepped in to lend his help as well. She had become a patient then, another faceless nobody to him, just a person who needed help. Just as Thorne had been. He might have wondered if there was somebody out there that might have scorned him for saving this man's life as well, if he could be bothered to actually ******** care. "I came to Ashdown to rewrite myself, to create a new story because I was unsatisfied with the first, and yes, now, here we are." His smile was as bland and dry as his tone, and his gaze gave away nothing. A firm handshake was given, pleasantries exchanged. Thorne's assessment was met with a scoff. "There was a time when that would have been the most likely place you would have met me, though I'd have been sitting where you are now. Unfortunately, at some point, the rent does need to get paid." A side glance was given to the tumbler, "Want that topped up?"
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Posted: Mon Oct 03, 2016 4:54 pm
"Oh?" Thorne asked, his voice low and raw, curious but not prying. If Connor wanted to indulge him, he could. If not... well. "What story do you want to write now? You've certainly found yourself a fascinating setting for it."
He dragged his finger over the rim of his glass, a low sound rising in his throat. He wondered about the other man. If he was a player in the great game that Other Ashdown had pulled them all spiraling into, or a bystander. Or something else. He wondered.
"Well, unsatisfactory endings here usually have a way of being changed here," he said, "or repeated until they're corrected into something right. All the same, good luck."
His mouth curved into a predator's smile, regal and hungry. He was something not quite human in the right light. Something that spread itself thin between the lines of here and there, human and - not.
"The universal struggle," he agreed, a low laugh in his throat, "Unfortunately my line of work never has regular hours, so somehow I always end up here when I'm too restless to sleep."
He tilted his head at the tumbler and sighed.
"Sure," he said, "why not."
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