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 Posted: Mon May 28, 2018 9:53 pm
"You ever been down to the cat café out there on Laurel and Winston? There's this smoking hot barista that works there. Every Tuesday he wears some fantastic combination of tights and whatever else falls out of his closet. I mean it's ten-out-of-ten stuff. Probably eleven. As in, pretty much anyone would be dee-tee-eff if he just… Wait, are you listening?" Three fingers and a thumb curled against his face as Ice pouted his hardest at tonight's surly bartender.
The bald, bronzed bodybuilder-c**-bartender only grunted into his task. Swallowed up in his hands was a single glass, polished nearly to perfection through his uncomfortable conversation. The man often livened up at sports conversations — Ice recognized that he favored the DC baseball team over all things sports — but this interaction left him soured. Before Ice could mutter another word, his bartender drifted off to check on his other patrons.
"So much for that." Now left to stew in his own stories, Ice returned his attention to the bottom of a half-empty glass. His namesake rattled and clicked near the bottom, as if impatient, as if expectant that Isaiah drain the rest and order a third. And while another whiskey on the rocks sounded far more palatable than stewing in his own failed conversation, he knew he should be fairer to his wallet.
So he looked about the bar. Much of it looked like a 1920s generic establishment on the a** end of its maintenance cycle — busted and battered wood paneling, a musty carpeting smell that clung to the air, old cigarette smoke from decades past cloying the nose. Mismatched tables collected over the years made up most of the seating areas. At the back, a few arcade games sat that the owner collected as a mild hobby. Even now, some barely-legal was trying his hand at a time-forgotten racing game and laughing more than he should. And toward the front, windows plastered over with sun-bleached posters peered into a largely empty alleyway. Most people seldom knew a place like this existed.
Glancing at his phone, Ice gave himself five minutes. Five minutes, and if someone took a seat beside him, he'd spare his liver and buy them a drink instead. If no one walked through that door in five minutes, then he could have his third whiskey. Simple business, he supposed.
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Posted: Tue May 29, 2018 10:26 pm
As much as he knew Destiny City like the back of his hand, two years was more than enough time for some new shine to add onto those knuckles. Or dirt, as it were.
Brendan chose the establishment in the same way he often did: through absolute whim. The rumble of his Indian Red quieted as he found a spot to slip her in and kicked the stand up. Bars were one of the few places where the shadier it looked, the more interesting it ended up being. Besides, if things really got rough, he could handle himself. He was an intergalactic soldier or whatever now! And it had been two years too long since he had a drink.
Restraining the impulse to push the doors open like a cowboy, he stepped into the bar and began to wind his way to the counter. The background sounds of conversation, glasses clinking, and arcade buzzing were music to his ears. Not even the smell deterred Brendan, although it did make his nose wrinkle a bit at first. He took the next available seat and, unable to help himself, injected himself into the conversation when he heard something interesting.
"New cat cafe, huh? S'that the one they were renovating before?"
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Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2018 6:41 pm
"Hmm?" Hazel eyes slid across the bar to meet Tall, Dark, and Burly nearby. A courtesy seat remained between them, but Ice never cared much for respecting the personal space of strangers. He easily straddled the distance, shifting himself and his drink a foot closer to this new victim patron.
He hadn't met many in Destiny City that disappointed him, and this new stranger was no exception to that determination. Clothed in familiar leathers, he brought their distinctive smell with him to add to the bar's ambience. And in sporting sculpted muscle, he drew positive attention from more than just Ice, likely enough. Flame red hair and pleasant eyes granted him a comfortable attractiveness that Ice wouldn't mind indulging in for the next hour or two.
Easy on the eyes, he was. Ice smiled into his answer. "Yes, actually. It's been a few years now. Turned out quite nice, what with the renovations being overseen by an art student. Not sure who the owner is, but they've got great taste in employees." He lifted the glass to his mouth, ice clacking together in protest, and he paused the motion when he realized nothing sat in his glass. <******** me twice. A small shake of the glass caught the bartender's attention long enough for service, at least.
A few words exchanged between them assured that the redhead's first drink would go on Ice's tab.
"And the cats… You should hear about their turnover rate." Now equipped with a new whiskey, Ice took a much more palatable sip. "You ever been?"
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Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2018 2:35 am
Brendan watched the short exchange between Conversational Charmer and the bartender and grew curious. Maybe he was the natural product of a bar of this kind of quality, but even beyond that he felt there was something different about the man than usual. Something in the eyes, maybe, much like the eyes of Marines he knew on tour; it looked as though he had gone through an amputation for sure. Or that he was pale and dark haired and that somehow made his eyes stand out even more, in the way of classical paintings. Or he was just simply beside him now which made it easier to take the handsome package in full. Or--
God, he was in his head too much, and he never wanted to linger there for too long ever again. <******** comas.
"Huh...Nah, I've been out for a while," Brendan replied before the bartender gave him a look. He ordered a simple rum and coke on the rocks for now, to show gratitude but not greed. "Kinda re-touring the old stomping grounds. Sounds cool, though. Not sure if I'm really a cat person, but I'll check it out."
He offered his hand and smiled. "Thanks for the drink, by the way. It's Brendan."
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2018 10:02 am
"Ice," he passed off easily, receiving the shake with his left hand. It made a spot of awkward in every conversation — a light undercut to otherwise perfectly good self-esteem when someone went for a handshake. And Ice often felt bad for it for reasons purely personal. Like it was his missing arm's fault that he wasn't getting laid that night.
And in the dim, milky ambience of the bar, where gussied-up patrons polluted the musky air with their tortuous conversations, he doubted he ran that risk. But he had a soft spot for firecrotches and didn't want to see this one go to waste.
Whatever 'waste' would be.
Ice watched the new drink touch down on a sharp, black napkin. 'Not sure if I'm really a cat person.' His smile resuscitated, Ice shrugged into his response. "Well, it isn't like some other cat cafes where they sell you this awful type of dirty bean water. They've still got great coffee, even if you don't much care for cats. Bar is separate from the cat area and all that, too." All of which, Ice figured, was beside the point.
The real question, Ice decided, centered on his new company. "Where've you been, Brendan? And what in hell dragged you back?" Lack of ring said no wife. Maybe a mother?
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2018 1:15 pm
Hmm. Play this dramatically or straight? He wanted a little of both column A and column B, and so he took another gulp of his drink and set it down carefully, with the weight of something precious.
"Well, Ice, I've been out of commission for two years," Brendan told him with what could have passed for a grunge-y noir cop voice. He was trying not to smile. "Failed hit from the mob knocked me into a coma instead; damn lucky they didn't bother trying to finish the job. Now I'm trying to track down a lead in a world where everything I knew is different. This city has changed..."
He went for a sigh and instead just laughed at himself.
"Okay, okay, no mob," Brendan said, back to his normal voice. "s**t, how does Christian Bale do that Batman voice without hurting himself?" He coughed. "I was in a coma, though, for real. Motorcycle accident. Now I'm drinking to a second chance at life." With a smile, he raised his glass again and downed the rest.
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Posted: Wed Jun 20, 2018 12:16 pm
Ice's brow arched as he listened, going higher as a tall tale wove its way into being. He was hopeful then — interested, even — to chase that fantastical thread. The delivery on point, replete with a familiar movie-famous Dillinger gravel, and Ice leaned toward his new acquaintance with chin resting on palm. But as he looked on with a quiet intensity, Brendan spoiled his own tale.
"Oh, come now." Ice's brow returned to its normal height. "If you're going to tease, you'd best edge me for a while before you spoil my fun. Makes the letdown that much better." He winked, both in assurance of double entendre and jest. Then Ice straightened again with a roll of his shoulders. Spell broken, released back into the tawdry airs of a dive bar, he felt their trust shift.
"A second chance at life. I'd drink to that." Ice offered his own drink to a light cheer before taking a heady gulp."Hope that motorcycle made it worth your while. Dangerous little buggers, but any man on that kind of metal is… Mmph." Ice pressed his lips together in a moment of divine enjoyment. "Could never get into one myself, but I could get into a man who is." And had; he came out of that tryst with a leather jacket neatly poached but long forgotten to the wasteland of his old wardrobe.
Perhaps the fire was his second chance. "Well, if you're looking to cover medical costs or just offload bad memories, I run a pawn shop. I'd buy the scrap for the right price."
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Posted: Wed Jun 20, 2018 7:03 pm
"Hey, man, I wasn't lying when I said I was out for two years," Brendan tried to placate playfully. "I don't last long. Gimme a bit to work on that."
He coughed, feigning a sputter at the very idea of pawning his dearly beloved. "I'd rather get kicked in the balls by Cristiano Ronaldo than sell my Indie," he told Ice with a shake of his head. "Scrap, he said. Jesus...No, medical stuff's covered, thankfully." Eventually, anyway. The VA was, as per usual, a bit slow on things. "Motorcycle's not that much more dangerous than a car. If you're not an idiot about it, it's worth the ride. She's been my baby for a couple've years now and treats me right if I treat her right.
"I'm curious, though. I thought pawn shops were for, like, small things. You saying I can toss my uncle's gas guzzler at you for some cash?"
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Posted: Thu Jun 21, 2018 1:28 am
"Yes, yes, I suppose we don't all come back with full faculties after that long. You kept up so well, though, that I —" He paused, smirking half at himself and half at circumstance. I wonder if that's the real story, or if it's much more fantastical. "Well. Nevermind that. I assure you, you're doing quite excellently after such a damaging crash."
Or you're bullshitting me like a damn fine wizard. Either way, I'm impressed.
"But suit yourself on the bike." Isaiah leaned back and his booted feet met the wall of the bar. Aglitter as they were with rhinestones and lacquered black, those boots were nearly hidden by too-tight leather. "Really, I can't imagine anything surviving a crash that leaves its rider comatose. Must be a salvaged title by now. And keeping that salvage spells sen-it-men-tal," he finished in a singsong voice.
"I won't grind you down too much on that, though. I'd have been the same way about my Charger if it hadn't died in a fire." Ice took a wistful swig, afterward rattling his namesake about in the glass. "Real tragedy, that.
"But yes, if a pawn shop's got the money and space to spare, it can buy bigger ticket items. With rent as cheap as it is here, I'd be hard pressed to avoid bigger risks. So, if your uncle's gas guzzler is at least believably legal and I could make a few pennies off it, then yes, you could toss it at me for some cash." He finished with a pleasant, if shark-like, smile.
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Posted: Thu Jun 21, 2018 3:13 pm
"Aw, RIP, dude," Brendan commiserated, drinking the dregs dry. "But what can I say? She's mine." Simple as that.
He considered another drink, hemmed and hawed, and went with another rum and coke. Daredevil that he was, he wasn't keen on getting more than buzzed at best before driving.
"I almost wanna take your offer. Dude didn't treat my bike right while I was out," Brendan groused. "But nah, all I really got's, like, some old Pokemon cards or something. No offense or anything, but you don't look like a pawn shop owner." He kept the words light.
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Posted: Sat Jun 23, 2018 3:14 pm
Ice laughed; he couldn't argue with Brendan's assessment. "You're right, I look more like I work in a porn shop. Been thinking about getting into that business, rather. I hear there's a niche market for amputees." He tried to smile.
"I'll prove it to you, though." With a quick pause, he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of leather pants. On the table it was splayed, a bifold cleverly packed with his license, a couple credit cards, and insurance cards further back. In the cash pocket, behind some twenties, sat a pair of business cards. He pulled one of the die-cast, modernized designs and slid it across the table under his index finger. "Though I suppose that doesn't really prove much of anything.
"But… If you find you're two years out of a job, I could always use a little help. Been looking to replace one of my cashiers. And independent contractors willing to transport things for me are always a welcome addition.
"Or you could just call me for a good time." He spared a wink before rapping his knuckles against the bar.
Once again, the surly bartender returned and simply leaned an elbow against the counter. Ice's pantomime for the cheque well understood, he ambled away for another moment. Back returned with a printed receipt, a Bic pen, and a customer copy nestled haphazardly beneath it.
Ice signed off with one of the twenties lying atop the mess. He spoke while his attention remained fixed on the total. "Unless, of course, you'd like to accompany me on a little adventure tonight. I'm sure a lot's changed in two years and you're quite eager to see those changes. Could be fun," he finished singsong-style. With the drinks now paid for, Ice attacked and drained the rest of his whiskey.medigel he's terrible don't do it brendan
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Posted: Mon Jun 25, 2018 1:40 am
He didn’t know why he was surprised the business card for a pawn shop looked so sleek, of all things. After all, it was manned by a one armed man that Brendan was sure know more than he let on, who was young, handsome, and clearly been through some sort of s**t. It was exactly the sort of image no-one should expect, no rusted nostalgia or a man past his prime or medieval bartering. Sense might have told him it was best to keep the night quiet, let himself recover more before going headfirst into something new—but then, if he had any sense in the first place, he wouldn’t have been driving a motorcycle without a helmet. Again.
Simply put, he was curious. And that was as good a reason as any to pursue, even before Ice dangled the offer himself.
Smiling to himself, Brendan finished his drink and pocketed the business card. “I’m game,” he said, adding a few crumpled bills to the counter as a tip. “Question is: who’s driving?”
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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2018 1:02 pm
"You're driving, my good friend." Ice smiled an easy smile. "Unless, of course, you want to try for another coma." He wasn't terribly confident he'd be getting road head out of this one, and that didn't quite weight the odds in his favor. Any rides given could wait for sobriety to strike.
Ice sidled out of his barstool, leather dragging fondly on leather, and straightened for present company. He could get used to a view from back there — Brendan certainly looked fit for two years of coma patient. Must've had a couple months to bulk back up and remember how to eat, walk, and talk again. Unless, of course, it was some kind of magical coma. Perhaps those existed, like the type that happened when one's starseed left one's body.
Not that Ice cared to remember that again.
"So since your bike got wrecked, show me what you rode in on." He glanced to his friendly neighborhood redhead (realizing, for a moment, that this is the second one of recent memory whom he tried to bed), to the door, then back to his friend. He was certain they'd get quite acquainted.
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