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multiversallogs2011-08-08 08:05 pm
bonhomme7h.livejournal.com) wrote in multiversallogs2011-08-08 08:05 pm
Entry tags:
- @ mog hill,
- @ mog hill: apache,
- anna demirovna,
- ava lockhart,
- charles xavier,
- hellboy,
- ilde decima,
- ivan,
- jack benjamin,
- james t. kirk,
- jones,
- npc,
- rachel conway,
- raylan givens,
- solomon koenig,
- sonja garin,
- { boromir,
- } adrian veidt,
- } aimery le gode,
- } alan shore,
- } arthur,
- } asbjørn strand,
- } brie cormac,
- } cindy,
- } edward nigma,
- } isobel saltzman,
- } jack harkness,
- } lex luthor,
- } mabel albans,
- } narcissa black,
- } njoki rainmaker,
- } pickman,
- } remy lebeau,
- } rochelle,
- } ruby van alst,
- } réjean sept-heure,
- } sebastian lemat,
- } toshiko sato,
- } wanda maximoff
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.
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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"You might as well ask for some Juicy Juice."
Hey. He brings it on himself.
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"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.
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"Young, but isn't it past your bedtime? What are you? Twelve?" Cindy laughs as leans her elbows on the bar. Organic? And he says he doesn't bring it on himself.
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Arthur sort of chuckles through his nose as he swallows, though he's not exactly feeling it. Not in a friendly way, anyway. See: "Wow. I know cougars like them young, but that's pushing it a little, isn't it?"
(He has never claimed to be nice.)
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"Well, maybe, regardless of that, you're really not my type. I like 'em with dropped balls." Cindy orders another drink, this one something light and fruity. She is just so polite and sweet to strangers. "Where's your British friend?"
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"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll be devastated to have missed this conversation." This isn't sarcasm, exactly, though it may sound like it. He's actually really glad Eames isn't here right now.
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"I mean, who else is going to make sure that tree trunk stays out of your ass?"
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"I'm not interested sexually, but what kind of person would I be if I didn't think about the children?" That's right, Arthur. Think about the children. Namely, yourself.
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Arthur turns now, bev in hand. He even holds it up for examination: a G+T, complete with lime. Does this meet your approval, majesty? Regardless of her verdict, it is going in his mouth presently.
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And in fact, she'll remain a dick as she decides to throw caution to the wind and pull out a cigarette, slipping it unlit between her painted red lips as she eyes Arthur's new glass. "Probably more tonic than gin. Wouldn't want you throwing up on your very first hard drink."
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He does watch the cigarette's progress, for the record, but declines to comment just now. If he had a problem with smoke, he wouldn't be in here. The air is kind of blue up there.
"Out of curiosity, are you ever not abrasive?"
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She nods and pulls out a silver lighter from her pocket, resting it on the bartop for the moment. It looks fancy, brand new too. Wonder who she stole it from. "But you always make it so easy to be. Your face just says 'Make fun of me for looking twelve and super serious'."
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"But I'm here, socializing, with a drink in my hand, in a distinctly non-professional context. Doesn't that count for something?" Arthur you are still wearing a tie and you just used the word context, no it doesn't.
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Cindy suddenly grabs at Arthur's tie, taking it upon herself to recreate What Not To Wear right here in this very bar, amongst the drunks and the smokers. The tie gets yanked off and tossed to the floor, his shirt gets unbuttoned at the neck. She steps back a bit to eye her handiwork before leaning back in to mess up Arthur's carefully coiffed hair.
"It's a start." The way she says that and the way she makes up her face says that Cindy is a princess, not a magician. There's only but so much she can do on her own.
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Arthur's half-ready to defend himself, or to restrain Cindy, or something, before he realises what she's doing. To him. And to his clothes. And his...head. Okay. He's doing pretty well so far by remaining still like this, by not immediately pushing his hair back into place, nor leaning to pick up his tie—although he did watch it go down, and was about to protest that before she reached for him again.
He stares at her for a beat, looking a mix of nonplussed and tolerant and vaguely entertained. Gin and tonic drips from his fingers where it splashed during the fussing. ...
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For now, this'll do. She turns back to the lighter and picks it up to spark her cigarette. "Drink your drink, kid. Didn't your mom tell you about wasting food?"
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He then does indeed revisit his drink, sort of side-eyeing Cindy whilst doing so, and after swallowing he announces, "I feel like I should retaliate somehow."
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"Only if you really hate having arms."
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Jesus, look at his face. What is happening—oh, okay, he's just grinning.
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That grin is slightly odd on his serious face. She watches him like one would watch a strange dog lumbering towards them. "What's so funny?"
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"Nothing," he says, in the way that clearly means you. And now that the tables are effectively turned, he sees this as an excellent time to break away... after an appropriate pause, of course, during which he just looks at Cindy, like he wants to remember this moment for some reason. It's brief, but pointed. And now it's over. "Well, I'm gonna go mingle. See you around."
In what is no doubt a shocking turn of events, it seems he intends to leave his tie there on the floor.
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She is always the winner.