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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Ruby is lightly buzzed, but not really inebriated, when she makes her way over to Asbjørn, beaming. She waves, first, though.

"Hey, you!" There's enough space at the bar, due to his wonderful bear vibe, that she can sneak in next to him. "This place is insane. We picked a good day to get kidnapped."

He thought he saw the flash of red hair on the dance floor, but this place is ridiculously busy after all.

"Hey," he says, beaming back. "Tell me about it. I'm actually beginning to like this city in spite of myself."

"I think so, too. I mean...I'm certain this isn't all there is to it, but why not enjoy ourselves?" She knows there's a catch--there always is, after all, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't get acquainted with this place. Its bars included.

She leans her elbows on the bar top, smiling.

"Also, you need to dance with me. If you don't I'll have to accost some stranger and they won't be able to handle me at all and they'll probably fall over."

"Definitely." In regards to both enjoyment and catches.

He smiles at her request. There are about two mouthfuls of beer left in his glass at this point, which he gulps down, before swivelling around on his stool to face the crowd and stretching his arm out for her to lead him over. "You say that with faith that I can handle you."

Lead him she does, with a little dramatic flourish once they reach their destination. (It's not even that she's buzzed, she just gets like this.)

"Well, here's hoping--or maybe I'll go easy on you."

Ruby is as enthusiastic as ever re: dancing, and once again, internally glad she's got those flat boots on. She can manage pretty well in heels, but this makes it easier. She's big on spinning, and occasionally (remorselessly!) smacks strange dancers in the shoulders with her long hair until they learn to give her a wider berth.

Asbjørn is a reasonably good dancer despite most of his usual club days being spent moshing, and he moves easily to the rhythm. He may even take Ruby's hand a few times if she lets him, twirling her around, smiling.

In his mind he holds images of the Northern Lights, streaming across the sky.

Ruby is decidedly for being twirled--she laughs, pleased. It's been a while since she's danced this way; since Orion, she supposes, and she'd rather not think of her series of extraordinary lies in England.

"I don't even know what kind of music this is," she says (voice a little raised and leaning forward a bit to say as much), "I think that's kind of the best part."

Baedal has its own industry and completely alien cultures from which to draw--and Ruby can appreciate the novelty of listening to music she'd never hear anywhere else.

He nods -part in agreement, part in time with the music. "Imagine the live gigs."

Despite the obvious tastes someone might guess from his fashion choices, he liked a strange mix of everything, and wasn't the type to loudly decry one genre of music over another. Even catchy pop-songs have a purpose.

"Right?"

Ruby doesn't quite stumble, but she does nearly collide with a stranger--and thus twirls hastily back over to Asbjørn, laughing a little. "I'm turning into a weapon of dance destruction over here."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Come over this way, hurricane girl," he says, extending both hands for hers, gently pulling her a little closer as he steps back, in order to make a bit more room. Being him has its advantages.

Ruby sidles closer, grinning up at him. The person she nearly crashed into just shakes their head and keeps moving--it's a hazard of being out here on the dance floor, especially in such a crowded bar.

"See," Ruby says, tone observational, "everyone respects your dance space; you should to teach me how to do that. Or can it be taught?"

(She's guessing it's because they can feel the strong presence that accompanies what he is, but it's still funny to compare to other people out here.)

"I can't give away all my secrets," he says, which is only lightly trolling. He raises his arm to twirl her once more. And when she's facing him again, "But it comes easier to me than it does to others. Unintentional mostly. When I'm angry..."

He lets that trail off. Brute force is not something he ever shows off, or enacts needlessly, but occasionally it serves a purpose. "I wouldn't like you to see that."

She studies his expression, her own a little--just briefly--quieted by what he's saying. "I don't think I'd like to, either, because hey, if it pisses you off, it's probably really annoying, right?"

He gives her the impression of being laid back, so she assumes somebody has to really be working for it to set him off.

"But I'm tougher than I look. For the record!" And it's back to lightness. Also, shimmying, because the beat to this song just picked up. Ruby is getting a touch tired out, but she wants to finish just one more song.

"I believe it," he says, also back to levity. Mostly because he imagines you have to be, regardless of the world, when you're a little bit different from everyone else.

Asbjørn's own feet are starting to get a little tired, nipping in places thanks to new boots (god why are Doc Martin's so evil to break in). "I'm going to need another drink soon."

"Definitely. What are you drinking, hard liquor or beer?"

She assumes wine is not on the list just because this is not really a 'wine' kind of establishment. She's not even sure there's so much as a bottle on the premises. When the song comes to a conclusion, she tugs Asbjørn's hand to pull him playfully back to the bar with her, pretending like she's really dragging him.

"I'll have another beer. And if that's an offer to buy, I'm getting the next round." You are his best Baedel frand of the day, Ruby, it's the least he can do.

"It's my duty as an older, wiser Baedal resident to buy drinks for the innocent newbies," she says, straight-faced, as though she did not arrive mere hours before he did. At the bar, she subtly uses one of her gifts to make herself more noticeable to the bartender--not in the vaguely sexual way she's capable of and demonstrated back in England, but simply drawing him in.

Two beers, bottled, coming right up.

"Speaking of talents," he says, looking impressed. He's not exactly an expert on magic (his paternal Aunt is the hedge-witch of the family, and he was always easily distracted) but he knows it when he sees it. Grabbing people's attention like that seems a lot better than being in a permanent state of ready-to-make-someone-shit-themselves, but then we always think on what we don't have.

Ruby looks a little abashed--she wasn't sure if he'd notice--and shrugs one shoulder with a small smile. "They come in handy sometimes. This is probably a pretty petty usage, but hey; it got us our drinks."

Which are clearly the important thing here. It's hot enough with all the bodies packed into the bar in the late-summer heat that before she ever bothers to take a drink, she lightly presses the cold, condensation-soaked bottle of beer to her neck and collarbone. It helps a bit.

He gently and friendly-like bumps her shoulder with his, a mild look on his face. She doesn't have to explain herself to him.

And speaking of drinks, he takes a long one himself, before spying a bucket of ice behind the bar. He leans forward and with preternatural quickness -or natural, depending on your perspective- snatches up a handful of pieces before plopping them on the bar. One cube gets palmed and pressed to the back of his neck. "My kingdom for a god damned iceberg right now."

"Oh, it must be worse for you, you're not even used to this." She watches with a sympathetic little almost-laugh, shaking her head. "They should really hook us up with a pool or something out here, but I think the bar's too on the dive side for that."

"Sort of. We get quite warm summers, even in the North of Norway. But I really prefer cold and ice. It's an instinctual thing." He puts his bottle down and moves the cube down to his wrists. "Ice means hunting in the Arctic. Whales and seals, a time of plenty. As the weather starts to get colder, I'm going to feel an urge to start eating more. Lots of fat and protein to turn into muscle. A need to become the strongest."

He gives a little chuck of laughter. "It must sound strange. I do have to temper what feels natural with human reason, sometimes."

"It doesn't sound too strange to me," she says, "it's different to what I experience, obviously, but...it's normal for who you are. Plus, needing to become as strong as possible makes a lot of sense for every species; it just manifests in its own fashion."

She pauses, and inquires, with mild curiosity: "What do whales taste like?"

Look, she had to ask.

"Oh, that's a hard one to answer. The fresh stuff tastes like really good steak, but there's something to it. A little chewy, but soft. It sometimes tastes slightly fishy but the fresher it is, the better. If there's a market here that sells it then I'll cook some up and let you try -if you're open it." He's all too aware not everyone is into eating the cute and cuddly creatures of the sea.

"I'll try just about anything at least once, so I'm in." Ruby is a diehard animal lover, the type who's always bringing in birds and the like with broken wings, and at home she's also into fair living for animals raised for consumption, but she's not a vegetarian and probably never will be. She gets that nature is red in tooth and claw, and that as part of it, so is she.

Plus she really is curious. She takes a drink from her beer before speaking again.

"I think they have almost everything in the market here, going by what people say."

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

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