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

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

"Dressed like you just came from church? Fuck no. In fact..."

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.

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

What the—

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. ...

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

He needs a lot more work than Cindy can give him in this bar. In fact, he should really stop by the shoe store where she works. She can do better with real materials on her hands.

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?"

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Well, now he does look kind of twelve with his hair all over the place, thanks Cindy. There's a reason he keeps it slicked back—which he shall now attempt to do again, casually, with one hand. Alas, he doesn't secrete product from his palms and so the damage has been done. It'll never be quite the same again.

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."

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

That gets a Look. A very serious and deathly look.

"Only if you really hate having arms."

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

"See," he says, pointing at her around his glass, "that would be why I only said it instead of doing it." Whatever 'it' may or may not be.

Jesus, look at his face. What is happening—oh, okay, he's just grinning.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, well, tell the idea of saying it or even thinking it to fuck off." Nobody touches Cindy unless they want to die, want her to die, or they've having sex. None of these options are happening right now in this bar with Arthur so it will never happen.

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?"

[fixedroll.livejournal.com]

Don't worry, the alien expression is always brief-lived; soon nary a dimple shall remain.

"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.

[fuckyouboots.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, nothing my ass," Cindy mutters as she turns back to her drink. He didn't win this one, not by a long shot. The points still rack up in her favor and don't forget, he's leaving without his tie and his clothes still messed up.

She is always the winner.