multiversallogs | It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife

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It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

Who: EVERYONE
What: Réjean has decided that more people ought to celebrate and help raise a bit of dosh for one of his favourite bars. See: flyer.
Where: The Apache.
When: Misdi night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Warnings: Discussion of Pickman's manky feet.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Tonight, the bar is packed with people from all across the city, different cantons and cohorts, all out to celebrate surviving the fungal plague. Patrons are encouraged to buy tickets for a door prize with the proceeds going to repair the damage tunnelling ants made to the cellar.

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Aimery strongly considered staying in his Inn room and locking himself away for a week to freak out like last time, but the familiar call of alcohol was a strong one, especially when his thoughts were so cloudy and his spirits low. It pained him that he could remember agreeing not to drink alone, but couldn't clearly recall who he promised it to or why it was so important to keep that promise.

No matter, he could drown his worries and distract himself, two wonderful benefits of alcohol that he definitely remembered, without breaking it. He wasn't early nor was he late, and he spent a little of his gifted money on tickets for the door prizes. In a room packed with people, it was easy to get it back by ghosting his hand through a rich-looking drunk's wallet as he passed. Then he made his way to the bar and, in his new, well-accented Modern English, ordered himself a bottle of beer (nothing with ice, lesson learned).

He figured he would have one or two drinks, perhaps loosen his tie and his cuffs a bit, maybe unbutton his jacket, and let the rest of the crowd provide rowdy background noise for his initial not-moping.

"I like your tie."

The voice came from his left, from a redhead with a polite smile brightened by the fact that she had a couple of drinks in her already. And who believed that dudes who made an effort to look good should be rewarded with honest compliments.

"No one's sitting there," she added, gesturing at the stool between them, "if you're looking for a spot."

It took him a second to realize that she was talking to him. He lowered his beer from his lips at the same time his brows went up, then smiled appreciatively and gave a nod of thanks. It was a nice tie.

He hesitated a moment before taking the offered seat, mostly because he was pleasantly surprised at the friendly gesture. Adjusting his tie proudly -and a little smugly- he said, "Thank you, it's one of my favorites," then let go of it and offered his hand for a shake, "I'm Aimery."

"I can see why. It's very flattering."

She set down her glass and took his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Aimery. I'm Rachel." She made a mental note, cataloging the name and face--she was sure she hadn't seen him before. She was still trying to meet as much of their cohort as she could.

"So, are you here celebrating anything in particular, or, just, like, joining in the general 'thank God we're alive' thing?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Rachel," he smiled back, turning on the stool so he could face her a little easier, and settled his bottle on the table. Then, with a shrug, he answered, "And I suppose I am celebrating surviving my first day after being kidnapped against my will and deposited in yet another bizarre magical city."

Edited 2011-08-10 07:35 (UTC)

"You just got here?" She frowns, expression full of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I mean, not that there's ever, like, any good time to arrive here but showing up with all this crap going on just isn't fair to you."

She raises her glass in salute. "Here's to your first day, then. Did you get settled in at the inn all right and everything?"

"I did indeed," he answered to both questions, lifting his bottle in return-toast, before taking a quick sip. The sympathy was appreciated, especially from a stranger; it was very different from Bete Noire, where one was more likely to be harassed than smiled at.

"But I think it better that I arrived when I did rather than a few days sooner, given what I've heard about recent infestations of giant ants, exploding fungus, and violent swarms of crows."

"Oh, my god, yes," she replies, shaking her head. "That was a mess. All of it. I want to hope that this last thing, with the ants and the fungus and all that, is the last of it, but something tells me this place is full of dubious excitement and we should be ready for more crap like this."

She sips from her drink and then she shakes her head slightly--no point being totally discouraging with someone so new to the city. "Anyway. Did you get settled in at the inn all right? Got a room and your allowance and so forth?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I did," assured Aimery, suddenly feeling very much like his mother was checking up on him, though Rachel was far too young and crass to truly remind him of his mother. That was a good thing, he suspected. "I've a nice little room overlooking the courtyard. How long have you been in the city, if I might ask?"

Long enough to feel that ants wouldn't be the last 'of it', but that she implied she'd been around without craziness gave him some little smidgen of hope.

"Oh, that sounds totally nice. I had a room over the street, alas."

She sips from her drink, thinking a moment--has she really been here so long that she has to think how long it's been? "Three months? Maybe a little bit more. It seems like longer, sometimes. And it also still feels like it just happened."

Rachel shrugs. She's more settled in by the day, even as she works on not giving up hope of a way out. "It wasn't so bad at first. Weird, and it took some getting used to, but things were pretty quiet. Then one round of monsters and disasters, then this latest one. I'd like to think this is the end of it, but who really knows?"

Jack has already had one or two by the time he wanders by, but then, even when out of practice his liver is impressive. He has whiskey number three in hand and is headed for a table across the room when he sees Aimery, walks another step, stops, and turns.

"Mr. le Gode?" He's not exactly the never-forget-a-face type, but having only ever had one proper employer in his life (and one fantastic argument with one), he remembers this face.

"Yes?" he asked, turning about mid-step and mid-tie-loosening. By then not only had said tie been loosened enough that it was just about ready to fall off his neck, but he'd also been 'into his cups' for a while. Aimery gave him a very thorough, appraising look over, as much because he was relaxed enough to appraise as to try to figure out where he knew him from. Alas, his memory failed him, though he was certain they'd met before, and not just because he'd called his name. "I know I know you, but I musn't know you well, else you'd know to call me Aimery."

"More that you didn't like me very well, I think." Which, considering the once-over, may no longer be the case. He looks at little amused at that. Aimery wasn't his favorite person either the last time they spoke, but he wasn't worst (he can't even remember what they argued about, exactly), and Jack likes to save his grudge-holding for the more deserving.

"Jack Benjamin," offering a hand. "We met in Bete Noire – I worked at the Hostel? I hope I'm not that forgettable." He gives a faux-wounded look.

Aimery's eyebrows went up, his expression turning a little more openly dubious yet amused, at the notion that he hadn't liked Jack. It was even harder to believe when he said he'd worked for him; he had a fleeting recollection of someone he cared for suggesting that he stop... fraternizing... with employees, no matter how comely and polite. But if that was Jack's assessment of it, it must've been mostly true given that Aimery didn't remember him beyond his face.

"Apologies, Jack, I don't remember," he took the offered hand for a firm shake, "though if it helps I hardly remember anyone from Bete Noire and now think it's a terrible shame if we didn't get along." There was that 'don't fraternize with employees' thought again. He cleared his throat and aimed for friendly, catching up conversation instead. "You can clearly remember the city though?"

"I can." He gives a curious look, surprised that Aimery can't. The other man certainly had more time in Bete Noire, more things to remember. That makes him wonder after a supernatural cause, but then, he's not really in the mood to wonder too hard. "It's been a year for me, give or take, but I remember it."

He considers filling Aimery in on the details he does recall – Aimery had said the wrong thing, Jack had been entirely unforgiving, they'd otherwise kept their distance, but after a year's time (and this much alcohol) it doesn't seem worthwhile. Instead, "Oh well. I like this one better." A smile, sly around the edges. "Did you just arrive?"

Jack got to remember everything, yet he couldn't even recall the names of close friends? Aimery's smile turned into a little bit of a pout at that, though it lessened when Jack said he liked 'this one' better- presumably their previous introduction hadn't been positive. What a pity.

"I did," he nodded with a touch of a smile, ready to make with the improved beginning, "Last night, in fact. Perhaps it's a little soon to be at a party but, I thought, why not? What have I to lose?" Because he basically had nothing left besides bitterness. Aimery lifted one hand and waved dismissively, then gestured vaguely towards Jack. "But you've been a year? All settled in, I assume?"

"That's the spirit." Jack is no stranger to bitterness, nor to the use of alcohol and the company of near-strangers to allay it.

To the question, he nods in a half-hearted attempt at modesty. "I was lucky enough to bring in a few things from home to get me started. These days I have a building over in West Gidd, and I'm looking at a few others." He shrugs, like Oh, property ownership, so blasé, and finishes off his whiskey. "You'll find your feet, I'm sure. Have you thought about what you want to do here?"

Aimery had no idea where West Gidd was, but going from the faux-humble way Jack said it —and that he mentioned the location at all— he could only assume it was somewhere prestigious. He wasn't jealous, but he could certainly relate to the struggle he must've gone through, even with 'a few things from home'.

"Glad to hear you've done well for yourself, climbing to the top in a new place can't have been easy," Aimery grinned, a subconscious attempt to remind Jack that he'd once done his own climbing from nothing, too. "And I've not given it much thought, though I've had a job offer already—at this very party, if you can believe it—and I have no intention of ever running a hostel again."

He's better off without the hostel anyway. Really.

Jack waves a hand, dismissive of his own accomplishments. It's something he's actually proud of, and for that reason he's reluctant to brag about it too much, lest his ego take a blow. He appreciates the parallel with Aimery's own experience, however, and the lack of remorse over the hostel surprises him.

"No? Not for you anymore, hm." He doesn't believe that for a second, but he remembers what being snatched up from Bete Noire was like, being suddenly deprived of everything he'd accomplished, and he's kind enough not to linger on that subject. "What kind of job offer?"

"Butler and cook for a pair of bachelors," he said, smile and tone turning a bit self-deprecating, "Sounds like a step down, I know, but the duties are along the same lines and seeing after a pair of bachelors should be far more manageable than a hundred of them."

Not that his hostel had reached max capacity what with the upper floors just finishing, but there had been times when he had fifty guests under his roof, and he'd had to learn all their names and make sure they were taken care of. It was a big bundle of work. Aimery shrugged as if he didn't care, then waved loosely towards the bar, "I was off to get another drink, let me get you something?"

Then he spotted the glass in Jack's hand. Oh. Aimery corrected himself, "Let me get you another something?"

"It's a good start, to be sure." A pair of bachelors raises certain suspicions in his mind as to whether they're bachelors at all, but only because he's been drinking and the idea tickles him a bit. (Little does he know, he's acquainted with this particular pair.)

To the drink offer, he side-eyes the other man just briefly. He knows they don't give new arrivals enough money to be buying everyone's drinks, sir.

"Well–" he holds up one finger as if to say One moment, lifts his glass, and downs the not insubstantial remainder of his whiskey in one perhaps disturbingly unflinching swallow. "There, fixed." A smile, catty. "How about a beer, for a chaser." That won't be too hard on Aimery's pocketbook, at least.

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goodeintentions - 2011-08-29 06:27 (UTC) - Expand

She recognizes his face from the video feed, and smiles instinctively: Anna likes to feel cultured, that vague feeling that despite all the time that had been lost since her too-short span of a pampered childhood, she might still be one of them -- the better people.

And Aimery le Gode had that culture -- of that much she was certain.

There is a carefully constructed sway in her hips as she approaches, setting the beaded hemline of her olive green cocktail dress swirling.

"Mr. Aimery. Given the short span of time since we last spoke, I suppose I can't blame you for not visiting." There is a glass of red wine in her hand, but the rim is still clear and untouched-looking.

Aimery recognized her quickly as well, and grinned for just about the same reason. She was a lady, one who seem to like the trappings of manners and chivalry, and frankly she just reminded him very much of home. Luckily he's still mostly sober enough to have non-sarcastic manners.

"Miss Anna," Aimery said as he slid off his barstool, giving a polite, respectful bow of his head and shoulders, "You are even more lovely in person." He gestured at the seat next to him, offering it to her- that's why he got up, because you stand when inviting a lady to sit with you. "And yes, please do forgive me for not coming by immediately. I decided to spend the day in my room, settling in."

Read: moping.

Flattery will, of course, get you everywhere.
Anna is perfectly conscious of the pleasant little bow shape her mouth forms when it curves at the edges into a second, satisfied smile.

She accepts the proffered seat without hesitation: of course that is how a gentleman ought to behave like that around her, and Aimery le Gode is certainly exactly that. The only disappointment is that there are so few like him in Baedal.

"You apologize so nicely; how could I do anything but accept?" A pause, and she looks at him with careful curiosity: she had spent her first several days in the city being utterly miserable. "And...Baedal does require rather a lot of...settling, doesn't it."

As Anna took the offered stool, Aimery sat back down on his, half-turned so that he could face her and speak more easily, with one elbow resting on the bar.

"That it does, though the first time I was whisked away to a city like this, I spent a good week hiding in my room and refusing to exit. Thought I'd wake up back at home at any moment." There was amusement in his voice, a small smile on his lips, and he was most definitely being self-deprecating. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I see you already have one. You must let me get your next one, though."

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