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 Posted: Thu Feb 16, 2017 10:53 pm
Kit didn’t usually hang out around bars. He didn’t really drink because he liked to be in control of his own body at all times as well as be in full awareness of all physical sensations which he felt alcohol served to dampen. However, there were certain reasons for which he found himself making exceptions. Sometimes it was to get to know a larger variety of people or out of curiosity regarding what kind of drunks people became. It was remarkable what sort of things people did and said when their inhibitions were hampered and even more so when it became clear just how many thoughts had been previously filtered out.
There was also the vitality of people living life the way they wanted to that attracted Kit to such hedonistic establishments. Sure, maybe a lot of the customers weren’t ecstatic with the way their lives were going, but those were still their lives made by their choices and the choice to gratify themselves with drinking their sorrows away was proof of that.
To be around individuals indulging in the moment - ignoring the hangover they were sure to have the following morning and unbothered by the fact they might not remember their poor decisions at all - inspired him more deeply and vividly than he was convinced any level of inebriation could have. Occasionally, he even attempted to capture that inspiration and trap it in the graphite etchings of a drawing for future revisiting. It just so happened that on that Thursday evening, after stopping into a bar to keep loneliness at bay with the sights and sounds of other people, Kit realized he had, indeed, brought his sketchpad. Beaming around at the bar's occupants, he endeavored to locate an intriguing drawing subject.Strickenized ((Apologies for the wait, the stupid title, and the lame start. Haven't rped in a bit, so trying to get back into the groove, so to speak. If you'd like me to change anything, please let me know~))
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Posted: Sat Feb 18, 2017 4:55 pm
Conversely, Ice hung out at bars often - especially on Thursdays, when his looming meetings iwth the Negaverse bore down on him furiously. The strain of such endeavors showed in the bags under his eyes, the gauntness incurred from insomnia, the slouch in his otherwise confident posture. The rest of the bar's denizens cared little for how he looked, as most absorved themselves in the televised rerun of the superbowl to criticize moves made. Isaiah himself sat a few stools down from a small group of married couples, where each sounded off against one another in furious debate over football tactics.
The white noise of it all washed over him easily, and lulled him into a sense of security here. Much of the same happened with the steady patter of rain against the windows - he imagined that, in inclement weather, even the Negaverse felt less motivated to go out and ruin lives. He half-hoped there wouldn't be a dead drop tonight, but he knew better than to plan on it.
At present, Isaiah finished his second tequila sunrise and switched to ordering shots. His vision swam when he turned his head, and his lips started to lose sensation, but he managed a good buzz from all the liquor. The tequila stocked at this bar carried a smoothness to it tha covered its bite, and their limes were some of the fresher stock from the local supermarket. And, whether due to his impeccable charm or his unfortunate physical state, the bartender proved kind enough to slice the lot of them for serving. So with the first shot, he offered his thanks, and took up the salted glass. He knocked it back easily and took up the lime afterwardto cool the alcohol's bitter tang.
The entry bell sounded just as he intended to get up and use the restroom, and in came a curious-looking sort that seemed much too happy to have found himself in a sports bar. Isaiah wasn't drunk enough to miss the sketch pad, unfortunately, but he tried to push the bitter reminder of pasttimes long gone from his thoughts. He lacked the privilege of dwelling on that now.
"Bartender," he started as he turned back to his glass, "how about a shot for the artiste?" A quick jerk of his head in the direction of the newcomer, and the bartender cocked a brow in response. He obliged, however, and another tequila shot found its way onto the bar.
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Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2017 9:21 pm
It took a minute or two between Kit's glances up and down from his paper for the idea to sink in that the term 'artiste' had been a reference to himself. When he finally comprehended the friendly gesture, the teen laughed and sat himself down beside the stranger who had so magnanimously ordered him a shot. He wondered if the man was sober enough to consider that he might have been underage or if he simply didn't care.
"Heheh...do you make a habit of buying drinks for all the random minors who happen to wander in here?" he chortled, finding himself a stool at the bar beside his sponsor. "Or are you just too far gone to be able to tell?"
Propping his sketchpad up on the table, he began to pencil in the contours of what he discovered was the stranger's asymmetrical upper body. It wasn't until he got to that part in his drawing that he noticed the discrepancy and it gave him pause. "Don't you have to have creativity or an imagination to be an 'artiste' have creativity?" he asked with a smile, now gazing upon the lack of the man's limb as if it were an especially charming beauty mark. "I have to rely on my subjects to be interesting for me because I don't draw anything other than what I see. Like a low-tech camera."
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Posted: Fri Feb 24, 2017 9:54 am
"s**t." The smile hadn't quite left his face, as if his brain worked more slowly in signaling his nerves. It soon did, however, and Isaiah shifted his attention from the newcomer to the glass in hand. He reached outward to pluck the shot from where it stood and moved the glass closer to himself; the last trouble he needed was a prison sentence on top of missing another Negaverse meeting. Last time, they forced a starseed down his throat. What would come next? His other arm?
They should murder me at that rate.
The stranger muttered something regarding creativity, and his earlier remark, but he focused so heavily on his impending Negaverse meeting that even thinking on the matter left him frustrated. So much of his bitterness urged him to snap at the kid, to call him an idiot for setting foot in a bar when the signage out front clearly stated 'no minors', to curse him out for announcing so blithely that he was a minor. He wanted to sneer at him for having the audacity to strike up droll conversation in a place where cops could be waiting to bust him for a straw sale or something of the like. And, of course, the insinuation that he was too drunk to know the difference between a minor or an adult only insulted him further. Isaiah knew he couldn't often tell when sober, either - the lines of youth blurred far too evenly.
"Look, I'm glad you're feeling chatty about your little artistic endeavors, but don't play around like it's all ******** rainbows after shouting about that you're a minor." His gesticulations came a little wildly, a little exaggeratedly, for the conversation they were having. "Don't you know there could be cops in here? That you could get your a** thrown to the curb for walking into a bar where it says no ******** minors on the front? Or that I, for stupidly assuming that people would read the ******** sign, might get my a** jailed because you thought it was a damned fine idea to walk in here and draw people? Did you stop for a moment and ask yourself if that was a shitty idea?
"Did you bother to stop and think, 'wait, maybe if I draw these drunk assholes, they might take offense to it and kick my a**'? No? Then here's a world of ******** surprises for you, doll - drawing people is a ******** disaster waiting to happen. They could sue you to kingdom come so long as their face is recognizable in your work. So no, you don't need imagination to be an artist. You just need to be ******** dumb enough to draw strangers in the middle of a goddamn bar.
"And stop staring at my arm. It's rude." Isaiah huffed, leveling a blistering, lidded glare toward the boy.
What a ******** day it was.kitomyx sorry he went full bitchmode
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Posted: Fri Feb 24, 2017 11:20 am
At the drastic change in the other man's demeanor, Kit's grin, primarily directed at his sketch, seemed to broaden the same amount that the long-haired man's smile diminished. He shook his head slightly as he pointed out, "But I never said I was a minor. Sorry; I couldn't help teasing. I'm eighteen going on nineteen in March." And it wasn't as thought he held it against the guy for not being able to guess an age at a glance. He himself was much too terrible at it to make any assumptions of his own.
Not quite daring to meet the irritated fellow's eyes just yet, he asked, "Besides, isn't that sign out there just to make sure minors don't drink? You can't get in trouble if you're not consuming alcohol, can you? Or does it really mean no one under eighteen can walk through that door?" He tapped his sketchpad with the end of his pencil in rapid succession, pondering something, before turning in his seat to fully face his elder. His grin hadn't changed, but his mismatched eyes flickered with mischief.
"Sweetheart, there's a lot of things I don't think about, but I know more about what I'm doing than the impression I'm sure I give off. If I was a minor and you didn't know, why would you be the one getting jailed?" Kit raised his chin a bit, as if having suddenly detected something in the air. "With the fuss you're making, it almost sounds to me like there's something else that's bothering you besides the slim chance that you might have gotten arrested. Is that any reason to take out your frustrations and unresolved tension on me; a perfect stranger?" Little could the insolent youth have known that the man before him had also once made a habit of drawing with the arm he now lacked, nor that he still had the threat of those who had stolen it from him hovering just overhead.
He waved his hand dismissively at the comment about someone taking offense and kicking his a** as he sat facing forward once more, hunching over his sketchpad. "Wouldn't be the first time. Even outside of bars, girls in particular tend to think I'm watching them for less-than-honorable reasons, so I'm used to it. But I enjoy the challenge, which is why I continue. Maybe to draw and not know the risks might be less stupid to you than to draw being fully aware of them, but what can I say? You only live once. Might as well do what you want provided you can handle the consequences." He smirked at the drunk out the corner of his eye. "But I wholeheartedly appreciate your concern."
He tapped his sketch again. "Huh...weird to think they could sue you only if your art is good enough for them to be recognizable." The teen held his utensil to his chin in contemplation, his head bowed to his work. "But that's only if you publish or sell your pieces, isn't it? I'm not making money off this stuff and I don't ever intend to. Drawing is just a hobby for me."
A certain kind of recognizable heat overcame Kit from within as he felt that yellow-green glare alight upon him as if to set him on fire. It was probably not the sort of flame the older male intended to kindle, if any, but that fact in itself only seemed to ignite more metaphorical sparks. He turned on his stool again simply for better access to his target as he leaned over, his falsely heterochromic gaze shifting purposely first to the empty air where the guy's limb should have been and then straight into those yellow-green pools.
The majority of his teeth were in full view as he innocently inquired, "What arm?" Depending on his level of inebriation, however, the amputee might have detected the sudden tension in the teenager's body despite the seemingly crass naivety of his question - as if he were bracing himself for something.Strickenized ((Don't be sorry; I love it. XD And as you know with Morpheus, Kit already has a habit of getting on people's nerves, so if anyone should be sorry, it's me. Poor Isaiah))
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 5:49 am
Isaiah stared at him pointedly. "You're still a minor," he corrected. "You can't drink until 21, Cupcake." The vitriol rolled easily from his tongue. The boy seemed to be in a mood to challenge anyone who gave him the opportunity, and he knew that engaging that behavior only compounded the problem, but perhaps that was part of the draw. Engaging this man proved another form of self-destruction - one that left no scars or ill aftereffects. "You're still a minor when you're in a bar."
The question concerning whether a minor could walk in fell to personal preference of the owner, really, and Isaiah left the comment be. There wasn't much point in starting a debate about any of this. His past transgressions around minors already left him in a precarious position insofar as arguing the law in these parts, and going into detail meant jabs about personal experience. Thinking about Sid at present proved a disastrous idea. The kid prattled on regardless, and while Isaiah attempted to block the lot of it out, he could only manage phasing out so much of his now-unwanted conversant's bullshit. Legalities soon gave way to trite philosophies and Isaiah wanted to grind his teeth. He never broached teens on philosophy for a reason, and it wasn't just because he was busy tangling himself in their bodies.
He could pass up the legality, the inanity of the boy's philosophy, and the inquiries about drawing. Hell, he didn't want to think about drawing regardless, and got away with sidelining that mental confrontation altogether until recently. But the brat across from his touched on a particularly sore point with his snide comment, and Isaiah saw no reason against taking up his drink in defense. A quick flick of the wrist dumped the contents in the stranger's direction, and Ice hope he caught the brunt of the tequila in his eyes. His heterochromia looked fake, anyway; perhaps it would wash out the offending contact.
"Get the ******** out," Isaiah grumbled lowly.
The bartender returned, looking highly unimpressed at the blossoming altercation. "I don't care who's doing what. Play nice or pay your tabs and leave. You don't get two chances." Piece said, he returned to the opposite end of the bar where other patrons requested new beers.
Isaiah felt half-ready to leave regardless.kitomyx short tag - accidentally swallowed my tongue ring so i'm all distracted >_>
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2017 9:46 am
The teenager gasped and sputtered at the unforeseen assault of cold, bitter-tasting liquid upon his person, squeezing his eyes shut. He supposed he should have suspected an alternative retaliation to being punched by a guy who lacked his right arm, but having a drink thrown in his face hadn't exactly been the first thing on his mind.
Perhaps he had been reluctant to consider it because it fell under one of the three things that actually tended to get on his nerves. He despised getting wet, but the splash of tequila guaranteed at least a second dousing if he wanted to wash it off. Kit wasn't exactly keen to go around wearing such a distinct odor of alcohol, either, because as the man had pointed out, he was still too young to legally drink.
Despite his efforts to shut them in time, his eyes must have gotten some of the drink in them because they rapidly began to burn. As if the stinging of the scent in his nostrils wasn't already enough. He wasn't sure he could open them without trying to wash them out first, but Kit didn't know the place well enough to try to feel his way to the bathroom, much less to the bar ********>" he whispered, and a deep, maniacal, mirthless laughter began at the base of this throat as he put his hand over his eyes. "I may or may not have deserved something, but I think this was going a little too far. Can't exactly get out if I can't see where I'm going, can I, Angel-face?"Strickenized ((Yikes! Sorry about that! No worries about the length, though; I appreciate quality over quantity.))
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Posted: Wed Apr 26, 2017 10:09 pm
"I'm sure you're resourceful enough to figure it out, wiseass." Ice snorted at the boy and stood in a slight sway. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and pinned it to the counter in a careful search of bills while the bartender prepped the sum total of his drinking tab that eve. The money exchanged hands in short order while Kit remained indispensed with his eyeful of alcohol. And when Ice saw the deal completed, he excused himself from his bar stool in as much grace as he could manage when the world curved on its side.
It still wavered and whorled when he started past the incapacitated teen. With nothing more to say to him, he headed for the door with a particularly keen hypervigilance, daring for the next person to comment on the state of his being. He knew what they were thinking and he heard the lot of it before, particularly by the drunk populace - gimp, cripple, invalid. Every single 'give me a hand' joke played through his mind while he reached for the door. Another couple entered in, the man holding the door open for Isaiah's passage out of habit. But Isaiah shot the man a scathing glance for such an action regardless, even as he walked through the opened door without a word.
The outside offered anonymity that the inside did not. Sighing into the cold night air, Isaiah just wanted to lose himself in the crowd.
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Posted: Thu May 11, 2017 8:53 pm
With a slow exhale, the teen simply listened as the man stood and paid his dues and presumably prepared to leave. Kit knew it was his own fault - both the dousing of tequila and the premature departure of the stranger - but he immediately found himself wondering what might have happened if he'd been more considerate and courteous. He'd been met with such friendliness at first and it seemed such a shame that he hadn't even gotten far enough to gather the guy's name. Now his beverage-splattered sketch was likely to remain unfinished.
He asked the bartender to guide him to the nearest bathroom where he could wash out his eyes of the burning alcohol. As he rinsed them, Kit pondered what he must have done wrong. He'd gotten so caught up in playing with such an interesting individual, teasing for fun, that he hadn't considered that said individual might have taken enough offense to leave before divulging his story. After having drunk so much, naturally the fellow would have been in a more vulnerable state of mind; at least Kit could have deduced that with the blatant warning regarding the man's arm. And besides that, it didn't give a very good first impression to jab at an obviously sore subject after being told to back off.
But it wasn't a total loss, the young man concluded as he dried off his face and studied the blood vessels of his sclera. He'd still gotten to learn a little about the guy through their brief interaction, and however sour it might have become, at least Kit felt he'd seen something genuine of the man. For that reason, if no other, the teen didn't regret what he'd said or done. Such displays of anger, pain, annoyance, and bitterness were rarely faked unless it was meant as a joke, he found.
Leaving the bathroom, the dark-eyed college student gathered up his things and set down some money on the counter before he left. He guessed it was an unusual request, he asked if the bartender would be willing to take payment in advance for whatever drink the one-armed fellow ordered if or when he decided to return to that establishment. It was the least he could do after the one purchased for Kit had been wasted. Perhaps some day they'd run into each other again and he could finish attempting to accurately depict the intensity of those yellow-green eyes.
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