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

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

In this environment, without any tense preamble or the momentum of mission prep, without the weight of his own authority, Arthur looks as out of place as he ever does. He is dressed to blend in, mind you, and smartly dressed at that, with years of practice under his belt at flattering the angles of his frame without drawing attention to its overall narrowness. Slacks, button-down and tie, rolled-up sleeves, a fantastic pair of shoes—and no waistcoat, somewhat spitefully, because he does not in fact look twelve without one, Eames.

On that note, it occurs to Arthur that if anyone from back home could see him walking into the Apache like this, they'd make a huge fuss about it, rib him for actually showing up somewhere fun, and soforth. It's not that he's bad at socializing, he just... well. Whatever. Time to wait his turn at the bar.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

No, he's definitely bad at socializing. It's the only reason why Cindy sidles up next to him at the bar, drink already in hand, tipping the glass towards him with a mischievous smile. "Oh. You've arrived, so I guess the party's already done."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Arthur turns toward Cindy once he's paid for his order, which seems to be designed specifically to attract further ridicule, as it's a half-pint of the lightest beer on tap. (He's taking it easy, okay.) Being determined not to get bristly over nothing this evening, though, he indulges the immediate teasing.

"Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about that." I am become Killjoy, destroyer of fun, etc.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

Cindy waves off his apology and signals the bartender for another vodka refill. Throwing that one back is easy and so is taking notice of Arthur's choice in booze.

"You might as well ask for some Juicy Juice."

Hey. He brings it on himself.

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

He does not. You people are just jerks. Jerks, all of you.

"Maybe I will," he counters, with a mild note of so there. "The night is young." On that note, time for a sip. ...A large sip. He likes this beer, okay, it's organic.

[gotbottle]

There's a small blur of motion down at the far end of the bar, a hand waving in that energetic way people have of doing that when they're trying to get someone's attention. Usually good manners would have Rachel get up and go to someone she wanted to see, but she's not only got a prime people-watching spot, but there's a vacant seat beside her.

Hello, Arthur. Want to come over? That's what the wave and accompanying smile are asking, anyway.

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

What a silly question, of course he does. Look at her, she's as cute as a button, all excited to see him like that—he can't help smiling on his way over.

"Hey. Called dibs on the prime real estate, I see."

Arthur is a black belt in Eyes Up Here, Rachel, so worry not for thy cleavage.

[gotbottle]

She is, of course, delighted by this development.

"I did. Even made sure there was room for company," she says, patting the vacant stool beside her. "It's good to see you. I trust no misbehaving chairs gave you any trouble on your way over?"

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

"Not so far, but I haven't been here that long." As he says this, he too touches the stool, giving it a little wiggle as though to check its balance. He then holds it steady and gives its leg a tap with the insole of one foot—surely this will provoke its wrath! ...Nothing? Nothing. Right, then, he can sit.
(Anyone who says he has no sense of humour can eat it, basically.)

"So, you're looking well."

[rhinemaid]

While Ilde has a fondness for waistcoats - and wearing them over bras like that is in fact sufficient clothing, arguably not the case - she went without as well this evening. What she did not go without: a certain pair of heels, which are at this very moment coming towards Arthur, on the feet of the fairy in question.

"You look too serious," she informs him, which is rich coming from the queen of not having expressions. "Dance with me." That will loosen you up, Arthur!

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Arthur's Very Serious expression transitions from mild surprise and recognition to...about to say something, and then to further surprise, and finally to a sort of apologetic amusement. That's a lot of faces to make in such a short time, yes, but this sort of thing happens when you're caught off guard. (Again.)

"Iii'm not much of a dancer..."

Hi.

[rhinemaid]

She flutters her hands at him, just about laughing- the bruises are improving, that's something, she sounds a little less like she swallowed rapids. (Just visualize that for a second. Do it.)

"I won't make you." This time. "...hello," she adds, eventually, like it just occurred to her some people like greetings.

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

You're killing him, Ilde. (Although that's probably the way you like it. :I)

"Hello. And that's very gracious of you, thank you." Now that he's no longer in mortal danger of making a fool of himself, Arthur is allowed to relax, and to look friendlier... and to notice her feet, apparently, which he does with a certain tilt of his head. "You came fully armed, I see."

[cailisairgid]

Just before him in the queue for the bartender: one Solomon Koenig, ordering a gin and tonic, a pint, and a bourbon. They're not all for him, but you win a prize if you can guess what's for who! (No, you don't.)

Jostling behind him would've pushed him into the other man if he weren't...himself, and the fact he fails to collide with anyone or even come off balance speaks to a certain level of physical awareness, reorienting almost before he needs to, smooth as you like. Catching Arthur's eye, he grins, deprecating and engaging, "I feel like some of these people owe me dinner."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, really. Or at least a drink first." How convenient that they're in a bar. Arthur doesn't seem to mind the crowd, himself—he's been taking his shoulders and elbows in stride, much the same as he takes this conversational interlude: as nothing personal.

[cailisairgid]

On another night, Sol would probably be less conscientious; that he stays that way is a function of staying half-ready for Sebastian's sake, watchful beneath his easy veneer. It doesn't detract from his good mood, at least.

"Clever how that works out," he agrees, amiably, either way. He's trying to place Arthur's voice - he's sure he's heard it before, but he's not as sure precisely where or why.

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Arthur would be chuffed to know he's being thought of as mysterious at this time, even if only vaguely and incidentally. He likes being cool, okay.

"Is it always this busy in here?" Smalltalk, yay. Really, though, he's asking for future reference—if he can look forward to being stepped on whenever he comes back here, he may not.

[alan_shore]

"Arthur, my goodness," Alan says in tones of cheery surprise. He moves a little stiffly and with more obvious calculation than usual, keen to avoid adding any more bruises to his collection.

"Here I was worried nothing short of divine intervention could bring us together again. May I buy you a drink?"

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Oh good, it's one of his favourite people. ...All right, that's unfair; Arthur doesn't know Alan well enough to dislike him. But he has a feeling this is one of those yet situations, however pessimistically. He also has a feeling he may need another drink to make it through this conversation, so...

"Alan. How could I refuse?"

[alan_shore]

"Oh, with consummate grace, I'm sure," Alan says airily. Watch out, Arthur, he's in a charitable mood.

"Let's see, I'm in need of another scotch, and as for you..." He treats Arthur to a speculative look that lingers just a touch longer than absolutely necessary, then gives a little nod--the satisfied nod of someone admiring their own handiwork.

The partygoers are running the bartender ragged, but Alan does eventually succeed in catching his attention, at which point he orders a scotch for himself and a sidecar for his friend. (For the record, and despite appearances, that's not a title he bestows lightly.)

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Hey, Arthur is secure enough in his apparent love affair with alcohol to drink from a cocktail glass, especially now that he's already had a few. The staring's a little weird, but he assumes it was just for effect. So far, to him it seems like everything this guy does is designed specifically to make people wonder (and/or want to punch him in the face a little, depending).

Still, he does look at Alan without actually moving his head. It's a fantastic side-eye moment that everyone else should be sad to have missed.

"Somehow I didn't expect to see you here."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Figuring he should make the most of his search for decent CiD reception, Arthur exits the Apache with his lighter in his hand, a cigarette hanging ready from his lips. There's no one around who'd tell him they thought he'd quit smoking—not that he'd offer any explanation beyond yeah, well, but still, it's annoying—and besides, he does what he wants. It's a stress habit. Being abducted by twelve divine aliens or whatever is stressful. So he is going to smoke.

Aimless defiance aside, the fact that it's been a number of hours and a greater number of drinks since his arrival may be a contributing factor to the way he just sort of...wanders away from the bar on a less than direct course, mostly watching his phone as he lights up. (The same folks who might have asked him about his 'stress habit' would likely agree that Arthur does not wander much of anywhere, and when he does it's probably time to hail a cab.)

Two signal bars: close enough. He'll try reverse dialing that mystery number now.

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Well bless the stones and praise the heavens. Glory be to those who choose the redial, lest those who call believe them lost to the eye of reception. Or you know, harder to find. It is a sizeable city, after all.

Someone who might be a woman answers at the third ring, we can't appear too eager; "Yes, hello."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Screw pleasantries, apparently: "I believe you called me a minute ago?" Whoever you are. The question of her identity should be implied, but if not he is prepared to accommodate.

The cigarette hangs from his mouth again, momentarily, as he slips the lighter away.

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

"I did?" The voice sounds confused, possibly concerned. There is some rustling on the line. Maybe moving about jogs this woman's memory, maybe it's a stalling tactic. (Spoiler: it's the latter.) Tiny things have to happen. Triangulation, verifications. Those kind of things.

"Oh. Oh right. Yes, of course I did." Voice has found some confidence, and voice intends to use it. "Where have you been, Arthur?"