The One Night Stand || Open - Printable Version
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The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 02-19-2015
<img style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" style="avatar" src="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png]The word ‘limbo’ brought an old feeling to mind; it was one she lived with every day in some respect, even if she didn’t think about it often. Some of her kind enjoyed what they were; many of them did, in her simple opinion. She didn’t begrudge them; didn’t judge. To each his own, right? But normal had long been a noun not designated to her. Normal, depending on who you were, and weren’t, meant fitting in and following the cultural now. And Trinity, if anything, lacked the ability to follow what was normal for her kind or for the world of man—one foot in the grave withstanding.
Suffice it to say, ‘limbo’ rang resoundingly.
His description of the location—boonie—made her smile just so over her drink, holding it to her lips a moment as she considered. “Someone to talk to?” She asked of him ‘finding someone'. He liked to talk, but it was obvious that it needed to be on his terms—or so it seemed. Perhaps not the topic; though she didn’t know him well enough to know that for sure. If his appearance bothered her she didn’t show it; in truth, it didn’t. While Trinity looked like an expensive version of the Old West with her pants and duster made of suit material, shined boots to match, and a flat brimmed hat made of fine leather, she was accustomed to people who were anything but what they appeared to be. You had to be in her line of work—the middle path between hell and money.
She took a sip off her glass finally and then set it down while partially leaning over it. Another drag off her smoke, another exhale, before she just rolled it between her fingers idly. “I know the type… They ask you to meet them here?” He looked like he fit in, but Trinity didn’t assume any farther than the average Joe could shoot. “The type that makes me wait wouldn’t step one foot in here unless their life depended on it, or their existence…” Another swallow before she nearly drained the glass. One finger tapped it as she made eye contact with the bar tender.
At his comment about ‘new age-y shit’ she almost laughed, but then he reminded her in some part of someone she knew. “Some people are,” she agreed. “Some people just seem lost to the masses, when really they're just figuring it out—whatever it is.
“Sometimes half the reason anyone’s lost is to find out where they need to be.” She shrugged as the woman finally filled her glass again. “Then again, some of us need that cycle—that limbo. It’s a way of teaching us, eventually, to quit being fuckin’ insane.”
The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 02-23-2015
<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/jpZEwz2.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Korbin ended up shrugging his massive shoulders. Whether either was right or wrong, he figured it had more to do with individual experiences. Most of his involved those truly lost, and the things they would do to be put on a new path. Desperation paid better than any employer ever could. "Insane ain' so bad if you're not looking to make friends." A squared hand rummaged through his pocket for a moment before pulling out a bag of Bugler, which a pinch of tobacco was taken from. it was accompanied soon after by paper, which he rolled into a cigarette of the course of their conversation. His comment came at completion, when the cigarette was dangling from between his lips like a limp dick, waiting to be sparked. "They got a lot riding on this meeting, one way or another, so I figure they'll find the balls to come. They're late, but sometimes it takes a while to muster the courage."
Yellow orbs settled on the woman while he sucked idly at his makeshift smoke, drawing breath through the tobacco sheath while giving the object a smoldering sort of life of it's own. Before long it was lit, and the grey miasma spread like a wave of mentholated perfume. "I ain' really lookin' to make friendly with them. They just got debts to pay, and I'mma collect on them. Everyone has debts, everyone has to pay - but ya never know who'll try and flake out. Fuck if I think they will. Obviously thought them smarter than that or I wouldn' have come... Interest is a bitch." Pulling away his cigarette to lip his lips, fingers flicked ash wherever it happened to fly, barely acknowledging the act.
"They should know better. It's like they don't teach economics to these assholes anymore."
The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 02-24-2015
[/img]"http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png" style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;]Trinity nodded at the girl once she’d refilled her glass. Her bare hand grasped it gently, forearm on the bar; the other lifted, elbow resting, as she brought the cigarette back to lips and inhaled while he spoke. “True enough,” she agreed with an exhale, not bothering to argue. “I guess I was just pointing out that, by definition, insanity tends to involve repeatin’ the same stupid action hoping something better will come of it than the last time.” At this she lifted her glass, choosing to nurse it.
As he went on talking Trinity listened; she tapped ash off her smoke, rolling the tip of it once in the dented ashtray out of habit more than anything else—rubbing the excess ash off until just the burning nub remained. This all before she took another hit, another sip off of her drink.
It didn’t go beyond her notice that he lit his without the aid of a match or a lighter, but then, she’d seen a lot stranger. At best, she took note of it and moved on with the conversation. “Sounds stressful. But then, what the fuck do I know? Half the time I feel like an underpaid and overworked babysitter; the other half of it…” she shrugged this time, took a hit, and then put it out, “…like the only thing standing between getting shit done and squabbling suits who think they’re better just because they’ve got more dead presidents in their wallets than Carter had liver pills.”
The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 03-24-2015
<img style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/jpZEwz2.png]The Abaasy brayed his laughter, following up the sound with a loud suck of his front incissors. "What, you got a degree to be kickin' 'round yer definitions with?" A heavy grinding of the bar stool indicated his actions as his body searched to face hers, open in slumped posture with cigarette still waved absently at one side; his drink order remained unfettered where his elbow met the counter. "I like to think it's all a bunch of crock. The sort, ya know, that ends up working someone past their expiration date." His features, in all their rough decadence, seemed softer than one would expect to see on such an imposing figure. "Philosophy isn't my strong point. Ain't got time to mull over it, and sure as shit don't got time ta be thinking on the hows and whys of asshole behavior." Korbin ended up chuckling at the topic, where it led to in his mind, and just how it had come to surface in their conversation. Any other evening and he wouldn't have given his company a second glance, but being blown off left a pocket of time he needed filling, and the bar was otherwise slim pickings.
Well, unless he suddenly found himself taking a liking to the ghostly female serving drinks. Cold day in hell that'd be.
"But yer taking time to wander these parts. Not to bring up yer fancy digs again, but you don't look the type to slum dive." Drawing a long inhale from his cigarette, the smoke trailed in a messy billow from the slash hole his lips formed while he pursued pseudo-investigating the woman. "Were you lookin' to meet with someone, or are you just gettin' a feel for the locals? Valesport isn't exactly the tourist hot spot, but fuck if I can say I've been disappointed with the service." One wouldn't describe Korbin as eloquent, but he was by no means a recluse; perfectly content with making idle chatter when it was available. "At least yer not spooked by the neighborhood. Not so much this side, but closer to the docks, hear it's a rough place. I ain't looking to get jumped by the gangs there so I haven' seen any shit personally."
The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 03-25-2015
[/img]"http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" style="avatar]Most of her kind would probably take the rough and vocal assumption to heart; they might even take it to insult. Trin was too old to do anything more than echo his laughter in kind; the sound was softer, more muted, but there all the same with a grin to follow after. Fangs flashed; perhaps they even reflected off the dim lighting, but it wouldn’t have been her intention to give herself away. And she wasn’t thinking about that danger, the possibility that he could be a hunter. It didn’t cross her mind. But, perhaps some park of her subconscious still carried the folly of her youth—the high of sparking that danger. “Never went to school,” she admitted as she met his gaze with a lazy smile now.
His open observation had her smirking as she took a long drag from her cigarette and exhaled out her nose. “No insult taken,” she said of his seconded mentioning of her clothes. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time someone compared her attire with her surroundings.
Still, she took in a deep breath and sighed. “You learn after a while that all places are the same. High up, down low, there’s no difference but the shine in a man’s boots and sparkle in a woman’s ear.
“But, I’ve been forced into some vacation time. And, as it stands, the company down low is easier sit side by side with. No great pretenders.” Another smirk as she turned in her stool to face him. “The horseshit’s easier to figure out, if nothing else.” She took a swallow off her drink; ice clicked in the glass.
“And, to be honest, I’ve been in worse dive—areas like your docks. Usually cleanin’ up some asshole’s mess. Usually one of my asshole’s messes.”
The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 03-27-2015
<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/jpZEwz2.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Korbin didn't beat around the bush. If there was a bush to work with, he was prepared with his trusty hedge clippers and a desire to get shit done. Sometimes people were all about that. A sort of eagerness rarely associated with his sort of ruffians, Korbin created a mold for smoldering miscreant and beckoned forth all those willing to run through his games. Devils everywhere yearned for a nearness to his persona, seeking satisfaction in what promises lie behind a very discreet smile. "No one needs that bullshit anyway. Fuck, school is a breeding ground for morons." Smoke leaked like the steam from a fresh brewed cup of joe. "All ya gotta know is who the right people are, and what you need to say to get them buttered up." Slyly, his free hand slipped from where it rested towards her knee, settling on the joint with a gentle squeeze. "Don't fret the small stuff."
Anyone else would have taken back their invasive grip, but Korbin didn't see a reason to. She seemed interested, intriguing in her own right, and that turned him on. Blood boiled beneath leather collar, paired with a small irritation he couldn't write off regarding his previous appointment. If they weren't going to show, there wasn't any reason he shouldn't be able to wind down - and hell, the name of this place? The story practically wrote itself. "but it ain't about the dive, is it? It's about the people you meet in the dive. Tell me, babe, you got a name? I ain't all that interested in a life story - I'll be upfront - but I'd like a name at the very least."
Korbin snubbed out his cigarette with a small sigh, his cards all showing so his intentions were clear. Last thing he needed was another bitter woman spouting accusations about him misleading them. Of all the things Korbin could be accused of being, misleading wasn't one he agreed with. "My name's Korbin. No need for a last name, right? Ain't a very interesting one anyway Some people got stories tied into theirs, like how their family got the name and all that shit. I ain't one of those people. I ain't trying to make an impression. 'Least not like that."
The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 03-28-2015
<img style="avatar" src="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;]Was she chain smoking? It wouldn’t the first time; not like it mattered really. At one point in her life she’d probably smoked to take the edge off he frayed and disembodied nerves; much the same when for the alcohol use. Actually, of the two, the latter had been binged on more times than she could recall. There were nights she drank too much just to sleep; though, it wasn’t often enough to warrant a problem anymore.
When he spoke and his hand slid over her knee, warmth rubbing over soft suit material, she stilled. The glass in her hand, poised before her lips, halted. Images slipped along her subconscious, some that were painful and others that were not; it was a half broken epiphany that gave her no indication of a natural reaction.
She remember the past, the time after; when being mute was no longer an issue and she’d risen through the ranks with the same ease that fingers slid over the cocking mechanism on a pistol. Some thought to rattle her, to bait her; the Underworld was a little more than cutthroat. Those that knew her before imaged it would be easily to manipulate the silent marksman who didn’t make a sound when she walked. They also hadn’t planned on shuffling away with a few broken fingers for their ill-suited foresight, and probably not on an arm or two that needed slammed back into socket.
One or two fucking instances like that had paved the way for people to take her seriously—to make a wide path in her wake. As time progressed, and as money ran out, it became more obvious that while their boss was an asshole when it counted, she was also easy to talk to. Just, you know, don’t fuck her shit and keep your darker intentions to the red light district. Vampire or not, she was perhaps a little human for her own good.
Always had been.
But Trin wasn’t back home just then; she wasn’t in a place where everyone knew her on sight—where everyone knew her name. The man beside her had no idea how easy it would be for her grab hold of his wrist, twist his body, and slam the side of his face into the bar while shoving one of her Peacemaker .45s into the base of his skull to the point of breaking bone and tissue.
He was just another body in a bar easing out of a monotonous day—just the same as she. And their was power in not being known; in not being evaluated on sight because of your reputation.
And so, she kept her crimsoned gaze on him even as he looked away from her. She didn’t do any of the things her mind imagined her doing. Instead, she entertained the thought of going against that natural reaction.
How long had it been? She and Amon were always back and forth, half in the sheets and out. And, for his part, the man deserved a medal. He tried to win that part of her that she refused to be let won. It would be easy to stop, but, it would be harder to let go just because part of her wanted to him to keep trying…. Maybe.
“Trinity,” she finally replied, the moment of silence too long not to notice. “Trin,” she amended, not thinking she needed to clarify that it was a shortened nickname. “Don’t have a last name.” She finally took a sip and looked away. The cigarette I her hand had long overburned and she put it out entirely. “Sioux’s weren’t passing out last names when I was kid, just ones that told something about who you were.” She set down her drink and pushed a few errant strands aside. “But, telling people to call me Silent Walker sounds too much like the fuckin’ start of a bad movie.” At this she chuckled.
The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 04-21-2015
<img style="avatar" src="http://i.imgur.com/jpZEwz2.png" style="max-width:25%;float:right;margin:0 0 18px 18px;]Korbin grumbled something of a laugh, squared shoulders hunching a bit with the motion. "Trin ain' a bad name, though ye better be careful with who ya let know the Silent Walker part." The hand running rough digits along her thigh seemed to cease suddenly and pull back so the Abaasy could hoist himself to his feet. He definitely looked like a box, all brawny and wide, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant to look upon. Besides the grungy appearance, Korbin was relatively attractive-- so long as one was able to overlook scars and body hair. Realistically, he was undoubtedly male, and that masculinity was so potent to his person, it seemed to leak from his pores. A thumb was cocked towards the stairwell feeding into the upper level of the bar, yellow orbs bouncing up and down her figure wildly.
"So, what say ye come with me then, Trin, and we'll bang out our problems?" The demon made a beckoning gesture towards the Albino serving them to imply he had another order to make. "Bottle of bourbon, Ghosty. If ye hustle, I might even invite ye up with us." A wink was shot towards Errol, and for what it was worth, she only cringed slightly before scooting around to fill the demand. "Ah, whatever. Fuckin' think yer better than me." Korbin flipped her the bird to her back before returning to face Trinity with a savage grin. "Ever done a fire an' ice before? Get me some ice and I'll show ya a few tricks.." His demeanor was increasingly more crude with each syllable shared, but as his company continued to stick around, he saw no reason to ease away from being himself.
Demons were not always suave and well dressed; sometimes they came in the form of burly men with mouths like sailors and sexual appetites like cavemen.
Errol returned with the bottle, a top shelf brand of bourbon most wouldn't try their luck attempting to pronounce. Korbin yanked a few loose bills from the pocket of his jeans and slid them towards the pale woman, remarking, "I didn' mean ye could actually come. I ain't one to play ping pong if I can help it." Wrapping thick fingers around the neck of the bourbon, it was presented towards Trinity like he had caught a trophy fish. "Eh, this work? It'll limber ye up, I reckon."
The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 06-11-2015
<img style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" src="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png]She wasn’t quite sure what he meant about the Sioux name, but let the matter drop with nothing more than a smile as he stood. In part, Trin felt sorry for the ghost of a bartender. She seemed inclined to not work here at all, too soft and withdrawn. And yet, here she was, standing entirely apart of the atmosphere. If Trin felt she was truly being bullied by Korbin she might have said something; however, she knew men like him well enough to know that it wasn’t his intention to do more than get a small reaction out of her. It was either that, or his very nature. If he knew better he would, perhaps, never quite be inclined to ‘clean it up’. It was funny, in its own way, but Trin preferred her friends that way—her ‘coworkers’. At the very least, she always knew where she stood.
When he spoke to her in offering she finished her drink and thought the matter over. She knew what she would be getting into. Just one night of letting herself go the same way she did in Amon’s arms. She’d slip into that space, the one where her mind become void of worry and burden. But, the difference with Korbin was that she wouldn’t find a package on her doorstep laden with silk and sealed with packing tape. At least, she hoped not.
Still, somehow it was always the same. She didn’t quite understand how Amon had broken beyond those defenses, pushed hard enough and soft enough to slip between her vulnerabilities, few as there were.
With a sigh, she placed her empty glass back on the bar. “Your way with words is entertaining,” she told him, smiling lightly. Rusty red orbs met his gaze. “But, I’ll have to refuse. Still, if you want to go on drinkin’, keepin’ me company ‘til your contact shows up..?” she smirked. “We could exchange a few stories?”
It wasn’t often Trin changed her mind. She didn’t think she would. But, at the very least, she’d share her time with a stranger.
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - Blade - 01-18-2016
[Trinity has left this thread]
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 08-11-2016
[Insert time skip to the next night]
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 08-11-2016
Errol hadn't slept well, but she chalked it up to an overindulgence in caffeine and a fanfic about some of her favorite marvel characters. Nothing productive ever happened while browsing the internet, but it kept her entertained painlessly enough outside her overly complicated cameo as the bartender of the One Night Stand. She wasn't surprised to wander in around supper time, and find the place empty, so she ate her take-out in relative silence before scooting around with a broom and dust pan to tidy the tavern up. Nestled behind the ancient walls of the establishment, Errol couldn't make out much of the city sounds, though it was probably for the best, as the ONS wasn't known to share the location of anything worth while. This side of Valesport was little more than a shanty town for bohemians and hobos; though similar attire made the two groups awkwardly interchangeable. She spent more time texting than she did sweeping, but when the deed was done, Errol perched atop one of the ratty bar stools behind the counter and rummaged through her bag for her tablet. Netflix and chill certainly had more appeal to it when it wasn't binge watching Seinfeld for the third time, but Errol worked best in her comfort zone, and that zone happened to include George Costanza. Everyone had their idols, didn't they?
The only interesting thing to occur was a strange number trying to reach the pale woman, though it ended up going straight to voicemail, as Errol had no patience for phone calls and less courage when it came to unlisted numbers. Vampires, Shifters, Demons - whatever. She could handle all sorts of paranormal bullshit and never break a sweat. Answering a number she didn't recognize? Hell no. Not now, not when hell froze over. Never. They could fuck off for all she cared, just so long as they perceived her lack of an answer as an answer unto itself. A general 'I know you're not important, so I won't bother acknowledging you' sort of dodge. Kind of how she was dodging the real world by running this old booze shack, though the One Night Stand had the decency to be spacious, meaning she could hide away behind rune inscribed doors without thinking twice about who might barge in.
Voicemail was acting up because the message the caller left was nothing but static, but again, Errol didn't care much to investigate further. After all, George was having shrinkage issues and that took precedence over what was most likely a wrong number.
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - Kat - 09-21-2016
BRRZZZT.Plum locks scattered across the pillow, unruly from hours of tossing and turning. Taiga hadn't slept well, likely due to how sleep still felt so unnatural to the Fae. As if she were wearing a second set of skin, the synthetic sensation akin to static coursing through her limbs. She had stayed awake for hours attempting it, but by the time her efforts were rewarded, it was evening. The alarm went off again, this time, the sound replied to with an indignant slap from the woman and a series of slurred complaints barely unrecognizable as English. Perhaps they weren't.
The lack of warmth from the other side of the bed caused sore lids to blink open in an attempt to register the information. Was it really that late? Taiga contemplated if Aisling was supposed to be working or if this was a night off, and she was just running errands while she was able to. It wasn't like Taiga meant to come across like a lost puppy looking for a home, but every so often, she panicked about Aisling's outings to a degree most adults didn't find to be appropriate. Clingy was the word that had been used. Taiga was clingy.
Music from the far side of the apartment popped on in time with Taiga's eventual exit from the sheets, her bare figure padding towards the bathroom to evaluate the state of her hair. She deemed it manageable and decided to forgo showering in favor of tying it up in a loose ponytail. She didn't usually wear it as long as it was currently, but Aisling had mentioned enjoying the length, and Taiga couldn't bring herself to return to her half-shave. Styles changed, after all. Long hair was back in, and as far as that went, the Fae was comfortable following trends when they suited her needs.
Returning to the bedroom, Taiga threw on a pair of jeans and t-shirt, socks found in a knotted bundled beneath the corner of the mattress. Grabbing her phone, she checked for text messages from Aisling, and then from Nic, though neither had sent any. Instead, she had a party invite that she kept looking over out of habit and a message from Errol that read 'Lol k'. Taiga texted her back to ask about the fortuneteller, but Errol didn't reply after ten minutes, so the Fae figured swinging by the bar was her best chance at getting answers.
She locked up and left, boots slapping against the hardwood of the stairs on the way down. Her bike was in its usual state of disregarded beauty, the paint job a crass shade of purple that Taiga found endearing despite herself. Taking a seat, the kickstand was adjusted while the keys were put into the ignition, followed shortly by skilled hands wrapped loosely around the handles. Her nostrils flared briefly while debating her odds with the One Night Stand, but realistically, she figured it was her best bet. Aisling worked where work was good, and the ONS had a habit of providing readily available patrons in need of palm and tarot readings.
Taiga wished her job was that easy.
By the time she was in downtown Valesport, traffic had picked up with the commuter rush, forcing Taiga to cut sharp corners and maneuver through the semi-stationary sea of work worn citizens. Hardly a night went by that the city wasn't congested, but the Fae was getting better at keeping her head straight. Minor mishaps didn't send her into a fit, and her tantrums were few and far between so long as there wasn't genuine concern backing her stance. Ever since her fight with Zeno, the woman had been trying to swallow that immense ego of hers so not to come off like the world was her enemy.
It was a work in progress.
Cruising down the back alley between the bar and the laundromat next door, Taiga dropped a foot down to slow her pace and forced a stop at the side door. Kicking out the kickstand and pocketing her keys once more, she left her motorcycle as it was, having no doubt that whoever might mess around with her vehicle was in for a surprise. Aisling might have been her most precious possession, at the top of the list, but her bike came second.
Wrenching open the door, Taiga shuffled inside with a small snort, hands busying themselves fixing her hair from a disheveled tangle due to the ride over. Rounding the isle in the middle of the kitchen, the Fae circled the room until she spilled out into the bar room with a grunt of disapproval. "Everyone's out tonight."
"I mean, yeah. People are trying to get home." Errol managed a meager wave while still focused on her show. "Not everyone can just, I dunno, fly around or teleport, or whatever it is you guys do."
"I don't fly." Taiga corrected with a quirk of her brow. "I dealt with traffic like anyone else, which was fucking thick tonight." She ran her palm over her mouth before peering around the otherwise empty barroom. "You see Aisling yet?"
"Nah, not yet. It's been dead." Errol finally looked up, though not at where Taiga lingered in the wings of her vision. "Soon though, right? I don't remember her schedule."
Not wanting to admit she didn't remember her significant other's schedule either, Taiga clicked her tongue. "I guess I'll just wait it out." Clunking to the bar stools, the Fae perched in her seat, tattooed knuckles knocking along the wood of the counter top. "You got a smoke then?"
"Uh," Errol blinked a few times, paler if that was possible. "I don't smoke."
"Since when?"
"Uh... Ever?"
With a sigh, Taiga moved back to her feet and headed to the vending machine, a string of words indescribably foreign trickling from her lips. Finally, she commented loudly, "I don't have any fucking quarters!" Tapped on the display glass of the vending machine, Taiga stared closely at her desired selection, a twinge of impatience starting to form in the middle of her stomach.
"Use two dollars then." Patient, Errol watched from behind the bar, her head tilting to one side as if she couldn't fathom the issues the other woman was having. "It'll give you change back. Just use two bucks."
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - saronym - 09-22-2016
Owen had given Sairus the slip. Grinning to himself Owen imagined the annoyed look on the lynx’s face when he realized that Owen had left the hotel to do who knows what while Sai napped. He’d use the map software on his phone to locate the One Night Stand and memorized the directions. Sai would also be annoyed to find out that unless he took a cab he’d be stranded at the hotel. Because Owen had taken the Corvette too. The small car was easy to maneuver through the traffic and Owen enjoyed the task it busied his nervous mind with something he was good at visualizing objects in space and maneuvering them. He parallel parked on a side street and loaded the parking meter. He walked the rest of the way, hands in the pockets of his olive green bomber jacket over a plain grey t-shirt. The jacket announced himself by the old title embroidered on a patch on the left breast: Lieutenant General Owen Renly Hart. There were colorful patch embellishments down the left shoulder: The Covenant seal, the Special Reconnaissance Corps’ seal, and the seal of Central Command. Several more patches were on the right shoulder signifying decorations of a military career over.
Owen stalled outside the One Night Stand, hand in pocket, jingling the left over quarters from the meter. He’d only come to scope out the place. To question the bar keep, assess the clientele, maybe order a drink. He wouldn’t be long. He probably wouldn’t see her. It would be fine.
With a resigned sigh he pushed open the door, his heart was beating fast. It wasn’t like he expected to see her there. He’d come early. He glanced around, the bar was essentially empty. Save for the woman with some overwhelming color of hair fumbling loudly with a vending machine.
“Here, sweetheart.” Owen pulled the quarters out of his pocket and funneled them one by one into the slot until it registered the amount the machine required. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He said as the last quarter fell through. “Now tell me, what all does it take to get your hair that particular shade?” His eyebrow arched playfully as grey eyes swept over her pony tail.
RE: The One Night Stand || Open - megs - 09-22-2016
Aisling had been having weird dreams. Normally, Aisling and weird dreams were the standard. But these new dreams were extra weird. She kept seeing a man she didn't recognize. He was lost. Or he had lost something, she couldn't tell. He kept calling out for someone, a name that she couldn't remember when she woke up. Which was always suddenly; sweating and with a pain in her chest that she had never felt before. Tonight had been no different. Same man, same pain that made it difficult to breathe. How did he manage? Who could live with such heartbreaking pain? Pushing sweat-drenched locks away from her forehead, she inhaled deep and waited for the feeling to subside.
She felt bad leaving Taiga alone in bed in the early evening. Especially since the Fae only forced herself into sleep to match Aisling's schedule. She slipped into jeans, and the first shirt she could find in the half-light of the setting sun. Grabbing a pair of sandals, she finger combed red hair, and didn't slip noisy bracelets over her wrists until she was out the door.
The oracle couldn't shake the feeling of loss that she was experiencing thanks to the new man in her dreams. It was obvious the goddess was trying to tell her something, but she didn't know what. Her visions were riddles left for her to decipher, and she usually didn't until it was almost too late.
For once, she would like a clear and concise message from her otherworldly host.
She bought a tea from a coffee shop, which she ordinarily would not have done, but she was in a hurry. Errands to run, and then she still had to get to the bar for her shift. She needed incense and a new quartz crystal to replace the one that had cracked in a very intense reading. She needed herbs for making sachets. Aisling wasn't entirely sure when all her chores had piled up.
It must had been when Taiga had come home. Aisling tended to forget her other duties when her girlfriend came back from a long stint away.
Eventually she made it to the bar, pushing open the door and crossing the threshold. A dusky breeze followed her, bringing the scent of mint and rosemary with it. Switching her bag to the other shoulder, she dropped her tea on a nearby empty table, scanning the room all the while. She wasn't surprised to see Taiga. The fae must have come looking for her and this was the logical first choice to finding the oracle. The surprising part was the man talking her up by the vending machine. Aisling bristled, a possessive feeling bubbling up in her.
"Hey, babe," Aisling said, as she crossed the room and approached the duo. All but settling her small frame between the two of them. It was not so much a greeting as it was an affirmation that the taller woman was taken. "Is this man bothering you?" she asked, brow furrowing as she titled her chin to narrow her eyes up at Owen.