multiversallogs | Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

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Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

Who: Apollo and YOU, please

What: Having a drink

Where: One of the taverns by the inn

When: Sukkardi (Saturday)evening

Notes: Multiple threads okay!

Warnings:Tipsy Apollo?

Apollo was not unfamiliar with battle. He'd watched dozens of them. Hundreds of them, maybe. He knew how war worked, understood that people were drawn to bloodshed, believed that world peace would never be achieved. Still, it had never mattered before.

He had never been in the middle of it before.

The whole event had left a bad taste in his mouth, which was why he found himself knocking back drinks. More than ever, he was eager to get back home, to be able to distance himself from all the unpleasantry again. "Another," he called out, pushing his empty glass back. Half distracted by a woman down at the other end of the bar with dark eyes and a large chest. Eyeing him less than discretely and he felt nothing. A sigh of disgust. What was wrong with him?

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Sebastian has been cooped up in Hellsing's guild hall for nearly the entirety of the week and while he was able to function well and do all the work that needed doing, he relishes the ability to take Velcro and just go have a seat in some random tavern. After answering a few questions about his dog (yes, well-behaved, yes, necessary) and placing his order for a snack and whatever was good and non-alcoholic, he takes a seat near the end of the bar to wait.

Eddie is not so much interested in hanging out in any bars as he is knowing which ones are where, and what sorts of people can be found there. It's a preliminary and pretty trivial sort of exploration, but necessary, and hey, if there's people around having fun, or at least trying to relax after the past week's insanity, it's not going to be boring.

He approaches the bar slowly, chatting with a few people as he makes his way across the room. Finally, he sits down, all smiles.

Jones was still trying to get a sense of the lay of the land around Baedal, after getting settled in the inn. For one thing, she still hadn't found a coffee shop. Was this one--no, another tavern. Dammit.

Then again, she could also do with a drink drink after a day like this. She elbowed her way through the crowd and took a seat at the bar a couple seats down from a tall blond man who was, apparently, attempting to drink his way through the establishment's stock.

She waved the bartender over. "Sidecar, please," she said.

Apollo propped his chin in his palm, examining the man through slightly narrowed eyes.

He remembered this guy. He was the one who had taken offense to Apollo's comments at the sort-of-temple.

"If you're not going to drink, why bother coming?" he asked.

Apollo slammed his palm against the bar top.

"Hello" he announced, suddenly feeling quite cheerful as the man sat down nearby.

"There was a bug," he said by way of explaining his slamming his hand on the counter. There hadn't been a bug. Sometimes it just felt good to hit something.

Maybe he should have gotten more involved in that battle after all.

Apollo turned to examine the woman as she sat down. Propped his chin against his knuckles and casually swept his gaze over her.

She would do as well as any.

"Do you find me handsome?" he asked. To the bartender, he said "The drink's on me," and turned back to the woman.

"Don't let that influence your answer, of course."

Jones blinked. "Um," she said. "I--what."

She really wished the knowledge supernal also clued you in to how to deal with this sort of thing. Apparently today was just really trying to top itself.

Belatedly, Jones realized she was staring at the stranger with the look of a deer finding itself in a rifle's sights. Pull yourself together, Jones. Calm down. Don't panic. Just say what's on your mind and not keep staring at him like an idiot--

"Um, I guessmaybeI'dsaythatbutI'mjustgoingtomentionupfrontthatyou'rereallynotmytype--"

Oh, good job, Jonesy. Real smooth, there.

Sometimes, Cassandra just knew things. At first, when she was younger, she would often blame it on the prophecy curse. Gradually, over time, however, she had learned otherwise. Prophecies were all well and good, but she could glean just as much knowledge from observation. That was a side effect of the prophecy, or rather, a side effect of what the prophecy had done to her, socially speaking. She was very good at being on the outside and looking in. And somehow, that instinct kicked in as she was walking past the tavern, on her way back to the inn.

She was tired and dirty and sick to death of all of the creeping, crawling things that had been visiting the city, but nevertheless, she stepped inside of the tavern. The smell of alcohol was overbearing. It reminded her of the symposiums her father would sometimes hold. But rather than fling the dregs of their drinks into a cup, the drunken men seemed more preoccupied with a well-endowed woman sitting at the bar.

Cassandra sighed, ready to leave, but as she was turning, she spotted Apollo out of the corner of her eye. For a moment, she seriously considered cracking him over the head with her bow. Don't tell anyone, he said. Well, that had gone well. And of course, where had he been while all the rest of them were fighting for their lives? She suspected he had been here, eying the busty woman. Her blood began to boil.

"I think I am too," he went on, apparently blindly oblivious to her discomfort. He looked back ahead at the bar, furrowing his brow.

"Used to be damn near irresistible. When did all this business of taking-or-leaving-Apollo happen? Used to be feared, you know." He ran his fingers through his hair, making a face.

"I hate this place."

Apollo saw Cassandra soon enough. Goodness, she was pretty when she was angry. Her cheeks got flushed and her eyes sparkled and she stuck her breasts out.

"Cassandra!" he called out, raising his glass in cheerful greeting before he had time to ask himself why it was that she was angry.

Uh oh.

Jones isn't really sure how fear and irresistibility have any bearing on each other, but she's prepared to take it as the ramblings of a drunkard. Sounds like he's drowning some sorrows. Love troubles, maybe.

It's a good thing she's terrible at love-related advice; otherwise she'd feel compelled to give some. Generally hers comes out as, "It could be worse." Complete with illustrated examples of exactly how it could be worse.

Instead, she'll just sit and sip her free drink. Awkwardly.

Although--she is a little curious as to what sort of people would be hanging out at a bar in this city full of all kinds of unusual sorts. She re-opens her eyes with the Supernal Vision, just to see, and--

--nearly falls off her chair backward, from the sudden brightness of the gold of her neighbor's aura.

Sebastian cocks his head and blinks a few times -- it is a tavern and not a bar, so why not choose this place over any other to get a light meal?

"It seemed as good a place. Why, is there something about it I don't know?"

She turned to look at him, those sparkling, angry eyes of hers nearly on fire. A part of her wished she had Cris' talent for lighting fires out of nothing. She would have laid that pair of trousers to waste and laughed while doing it. Perhaps the drink too. It seemed quite clear that he had had one too many.

"Drowning your sorrows?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "I imagine you have ample reasons to be sorry."

She took a coin out of her pocket, tossing it between her hands. "Please, have a drink on me."

The Huntress was sorry to see the endless battle end -- and that was just the problem. Anna had given her other self free reign during the invasion, and now, recalling the bloodshed and the destruction, just thinking of her behavior, of the way she had laughed, made her stomach twist with something like nausea. It had to be in her head, she knew -- she was beyond such silly mortal matters as feeling sick to her stomach. Nevertheless, it had been far harder to reclaim herself, to reclaim Anna, than she wanted to admit.

And for now, a bar full of drunk men looked like nothing more than blessed familiarity. If she were lucky, perhaps she would even manage a drink -- after all, she had less blood than she would like, now that she'd used it to heal.

She sat down at the bar and did her best to look open to flirtation.

"Lots," Apollo answered, tipping his drink at the man and taking another sip of his own.

He ran his fingers through his hair, smiling a half-distracted smile. He'd dealt with the type before. "Don't remember me, do you?"

He side glanced at the woman, arching an eyebrow.

She wasn't reading him, was she? He hated that.

"Something troubling you?"

He caught the coin and grinned, immediately pleased with himself. This many drinks and he still had the reflexes of a cat.

"No sorrows," he responded, patting the seat beside him. "Drinking a toast to this great city is all. Care to join me?"

Apollo, as it turned out, considered himself to be somewhat of an expert when it came to women's openings.

"Another survivor," he said, lifting up his glass to her in a salute. "Lucky thing, too. It would be a shame if those legs were destroyed."

Sebastian shrugs in acceptance. He'd been wondering if there was something specific to this tavern that made it inappropriate for general people watching, but Apollo's answer is reasonable.

"I do, yes, but we didn't really get much of a chance to talk," he says pleasantly while wondering if this man thinks that because he's got a service dog he's developmentally challenged. Realizing that's an uncharitable assumption, Sebastian decides to just smile and reintroduce himself, "Sebastian LeMat. Formerly of Britain."

"Nothing!" she said, hastily. "Nothing at all." Well, he certainly wasn't a Sleeper. Although she wasn't sure if anyone in this city would qualify one, given the kind of things that happened here.

Well, in the interest of redirecting the topic of discussion--"Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

Cassandra took out a second coin, lobbing it none-too-gently at Apollo's head. "Please," she said tightly, "have mine for me." Her hands, she realized, were shaking. She had balled them up into fists and they were sending shivers all the way up through her elbows. Crossly, she put them behind her back.

"And have you been here the whole time?" she asked. There was little more than a sliver of doubt in her mind. She had not seen Apollo on the battlefield, nor, for that matter, since he told her to keep quiet about what she had seen.

As to why she was so angry...it was an interesting question. She wasn't surprised. Just angry.

Huh. Less snippy than he'd been expecting, given their last encounter. Still, he'd take it.

"Apollo," he responded, holding out his hand in what he'd learned to be the usual custom around here. "Formerly of Mount Olympus."

"I didn't," he responded, and he was pretty sure that was the case, anyway. He didn't remember saying it, and he liked to see what people's reactions were. Some gaped, some looked skeptical, some looked oblivious. Mostly, he preferred the last awestruck ones.

"Apollo, though. And what didn't you say your name is?"

He flashed his most charming of smiles.

Sebastian isn't upset with Apollo or Cassandra; rather, he didn't think it wise to associate with people insulting the gods in their own temple. It's taken years and a lot of grief, but he's learned a measure of caution.

"Pleasure," he replies, accepting the handshake and hoping that Apollo isn't put off by the scarring and missing fingers. His knowledge of Greek mythology and proper Ancient Hellenic custom is pretty weak, but he knows enough that good manners are always welcome.

"Oh, that's why you're so mad?" he asked, rubbing the spot on his head where the coin had hit.

Slowly, one hand up in self defense, he reached down, picking up a bow and arrow that were leaning beside the counter next to him. "I got here about an hour ago," he explained, holding up the bow and arrow for her observation. "Set up station on a balcony."

Close enough to help. Far away not to get hurt.

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Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

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