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The Devil’s Toboggan - Printable Version

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The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 07-29-2015

[font=times new roman" size="3]The Devil’s Toboggan is a bar.

It could be described as speakeasy-esque being that one would certainly walk past it on the street without prior knowledge. However, thanks to the advent of Google maps and Yelp, The Devil’s Toboggan wasn’t unknown, it was merely nondescript. Nestled in the more recently gentrified historic and entertainment district of New Haven, the exterior was windowless and that of faded bricks. The principal feature was an ornamental double door, in fashionably distressed white paint, with half windows. The name—The Devils Toboggan—was printed in black text across the windows with a skull and cross bones beneath.

The unremarkable exterior and name hearkened to the Prohibition era. The name specifically satirized a famous anti-alcohol Prohibition propaganda poster.The particular patronage of the establishment also echoed the integration, the mingling of all types, recognized as a characteristic of the speakeasy. All (with a valid ID and legal tender) were welcomed and served at The Devil’s Toboggan—humans, vampires, werewolves, demons, and other supernatural creatures, maybe even merpeople if it were underwater. Surely a melting pot must brew conflict. Indeed, many an intellectual battle or romantic strife was raged there. But, never a physical fight. Some said that the owner’s wife’s sister’s cousin knew some mystical lady who cast a spell about the place that prevented violence in exchange for a lifetime of free alcohol. Such rumors were common. And the rumors were fueled by the sensation that one got upon entering that it was somehow already and always impossible to engage in a physical altercation in the establishment.

Upon entering, dead ahead, was the bar. Like the center of the universe, the bar seemed to have its own gravitational pull. Perhaps it was the alcohol. It was a simple long, shinning dark wood rectangle bar with a glowing red light beneath. The bar stools were matching wood with red leather seats and backs. Directly across from the bar on the far wall was a stage used for karaoke, open mic nights and small (sometimes unfortunate) local musical acts, and a modest dance floor. Small round tables surrounded by three or four chairs peppered the space between the bar and the dance floor. Along the walls were lengthy, black leather sectionals. If one were to walk past the bar a second room opened behind revealing billiards tables, darts, one random arcade game of Tetris, the bathrooms, and a perpetually locked door that led to the space above the bar which was used for both storage, office purposes, and a studio apartment.

The apartment above the bar belonged to one of the bar tenders, Anton Keller, who it was rumored also ran the bar for a curiously absent owner. Anton’s apartment could be described as a laughable hodgepodge of mismatched cheap furniture best suited to a transient college student, although he had long since passed that age. The room was organized loosely in sections. A nearly unmentionable kitchen blended into a living space with an uncomfortable futon facing a small flat screen TV mounted on the wall with wires tentacle-ing down to a gaming console (which was the sole purpose of the TV). The living quarters blended into his sleeping space marked by a (never not) rumpled queen size bed (which also faced the TV) and an armoire likely from Ikea. Indeed, nearing his 30s, Anton still owned a hand-me-down uncomfortable futon which was typically littered with his dirty laundry. The one redeeming feature of the apartment was a small balcony overlooking the backside of the building which was just an empty lot. But Anton had a couple of comfortable Adirondacks with black cushions out there and he had strung a length of globe lights.

Anton worked most nights at the bar. A fairly lanky and tall fellow, Anton these days, sported a fashionable shaved-sides haircut with a dashing just slightly left-leaning faux-hawk. His hair was naturally brunette. He frequently, though not always, wore thick, black plastic rimmed glasses over his near golden brown eyes. Being only slightly far-sighted he only really needed the glasses for reading, although he wore them more often due the pile of compliments he got for them. He could be described as handsome with a square-shaped face thanks to a defined brow line and jaw graced by dark stubble.

A closet hopeless romantic, Anton secretly spent his free time writing tender, passionate, loving emails on his phone that he exchanged with a variety of online female companions. Attracting women in real life wasn't exactly a problem for him. Keeping them was the problem. Anton had a propensity for cheap hook-ups with perhaps slightly mentally unstable women with whom he admittedly had no interest in pursuing farther. Who's to say why Anton was so lonely. Perhaps it derived from being raised by a single mother who wept openly over bottles of wine as she watched Eat, Pray, Love or similar rom coms or read sappy romance novels on her oh-so lonely Friday nights. Or maybe it was the hole left from the royal dumping he got from his high school sweet heart upon his flunking out of medical school.

Speaking of medical school, Anton flunked after three semesters paid for by money borrowed from a dubious financial institution. Yes, Anton was horribly in debt. Aside from romantic longing, clawing his way out of crushing debt was the second thing that motivated Anton. Some claim he sells secrets about his patrons. The right amount of cash, could say, buy information about where a certain vampire spends his vulnerable days, for example. These are rumors which Anton vehemently denies. But then again the so-called anti-violence spell certainly protects him from any consequences that may arise from such practices while on the premises, that is...[/font]

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 07-29-2015

"You're not here," an indignant voice said into her ear. Isabella rolled her eyes as she exchanged the phone between her hands. "I know I am not there," she cooed in return, as if she actually had any concern for the recipient's feelings. Golden eyes glanced out of window of the cab, watching street signs pass as they trudged along to her destination. The continued complaints of her call went mostly ignored. The unpleasant whining of a companion she was close growing tired of. Which was easy to do when she had so many to choose from.

She hung up as the taxi came to a stop, no longer interested in trying to mend a fragile ego as she looked upon her destination. The Devil's Toboggan. As nondescript as she'd heard from eavesdropping on some of the clerks in her office. She had been unwilling to join them for the outing they were planning for that weekend. Both because she was their boss, and because she did not like them.

Besides, administrating a hospital did not give her time off for weekends, but it did allow her the occasional weekday. She pushed a handful of bills into the driver's outstretched hand, mumbling a thanks as she took hold of her belongings and stepped out of the vehicle. Black platform heels were noisy as she crossed the sidewalk, pulled open the door and disappeared into the building.

Isabella didn't bother to scan the room. There was only a casual gathering of other patrons. Which didn't surprise her, given the night of the week. She set her sights on the bar, and within moments, she was perched upon one of the red leather stools. She shrugged out of her coat, and let it fall over the back of the chair. White and black wool, in a houndstooth pattern that matched the black pencil skirt and white blouse that she also wore.

"Amaretto sour," she requested, not looking up from where she was fingering through her wallet to find her ID. She doubted she would have to do little else to catch the bartender's attention, given the sad state of occupancy. She slid the driver's license across the bar where it could be picked up. "Also, can I smoke in here?"

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 07-29-2015

Anton was graciously accepting a tip from a post-menopausal woman who was clearly buzzed and making the slide into intoxication. She pushed a whole five dollar bill over the bar in a manner one would assume was suggestive given her lascivious grin and the way she leaned into the bar. Anton grinned crookedly, giving the woman an acquiescent nod, and a quick word of thanks. 

His charming asymmetric grin remained on his face as he observed the newest patron approaching the bar. The crisp corporate attire adorning the woman starkly contrasted with his own. Anton wore a blue, white, and grey plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and tight black jeans. Aside from his black rimmed glasses, the only accessory he wore, if that, was a white towel was hanging from his left back pocket. He sauntered over to stand in front of her as she settled into her seat. Since she ordered without prompting, Anton picked up her ID and examined it with a show of care. He was really just admiring the photograph and admittedly trying to memorize her street address. He glanced from her picture to her face, "Right away, Isabella." His favorite trick with attractive female patrons was to pick up their name from an ID or credit card and use it casually. It couldn't hurt.

As Anton turned away to prepare the drink, a middle-aged balding man approached the bar. He had been tracking Isabella with his eyes and decided to chance it with her. The gentleman came right up into Isabella's space, slipping his arm around the back of her chair, he leaned his hip against the bar and slurred, "Whaddya drinkin' sweet heart?" Once close one would notice the man was sweating profusely through his wrinkled too-many-times washed faded green polo which was tucked into ill fitting pleated khaki pants. He even dared to move his hand to her back running his hand from the back of her right shoulder to the left. He may have also leaned in to smell her hair, but he could have also just been breathing abnormally close to her. Anton had just grabbed the shaker when he heard the man. He glanced over his shoulder deciding to observe the exchange for a minute, just for fun, before he went in for the heroic rescue.

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 07-29-2015

<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Isabella had turned her attention from her wallet to her phone, after shoving the designer clutch back into her purse. Her obvious disinterest was probably not the politest way to go about expecting service, but it was short lived by an attractively masculine voice using her name. Eyes flickered upwards from her screen to the face of the speaker, and she seemed to take pause. As if surprised to see that he was entirely worth looking at. She did nothing to hide the way her gaze traveled over him, before returning to his face. She accepted her ID back from him, dropping it back into her purse in case she needed it again. Her casual smirk matched his lopsided grin, and he turned away from her before she could think of anything clever to say in return.  </span>[/align]
<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]    She straightened her posture away from where she'd been leaning her elbows on the bar when the other male sidled up next to her. She stiffened, visibly, turning away from him slightly as her smirk quickly fell into a frown. "I don't see how that's any of your business," she returned, wrinkling her nose as his hand came in contact with her shoulder blades. Brows disappeared behind her bangs as she turned her face to look at him with obvious disdain. Her expression very clearly outlined that he was barking up the wrong tree, but he didn't seem to be taking the hint. She was very close to introducing her elbow to his abdomen, </span><span style="font-size:10pt;]because</span><span style="font-size:10pt;] her new hanger-on was cutting into the valuable time she was planning to spend watching the cute bartender make her drink.  </span>
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>When he very nearly pressed his face against her hair, she lifted a hand and splayed her fingers over his visage. She used the contact to very pointedly push him away from her. "I'm not interested," she said, voice lowering with an implied threat that may have been unnecessary. "Why don't you try at the other end of the bar?" She dropped her hand, a venomous smile spreading across glossy lips; she obviously expected him to take the advice.  </span>[/align]

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 07-30-2015

Anton turned back to making the drink. He smiled to himself while listening, fascinated, as the woman thwarted the man’s gross advances. He risked adding a dash of bourbon to the mixture. The bourbon would cut the usual sickly sweetness of the cocktail typically ordered by sorority girls with a low alcohol tolerance and give it a bite appropriate to Isabella’s impressive cut-the-bull-shit self-defense. Admittedly he had underestimated her at first. He assumed the corporate get-up and unceremonious drink order indicated another snob yuppie from uptown with a pretty face. He turned back towards the pair as he shook the mixture with crushed ice. Anton gazed unassumingly at the pair, watching Isabella push away the man. He first placed a crystal ash tray in front of her. A wordless indication that she indeed may smoke.

Anton placed a maroon napkin in front of Isabella, as he poured the cocktail with the other hand over fresh ice into an old fashioned glass. The glass was garnished with an orange slice and maraschino cherry with a long stem curving away from the rim. The finished cocktail was introduced to the maroon napkin. It may have been worth noting that the other patrons, the few that gathered around the bar, had black napkins in front of them. Although Anton was the only one working the bar that night, he still engaged in the little secret tradition among the bar tenders at The Devil’s Toboggan. All regular patrons of little interest received the standard black napkin. A bar tender may mark (i.e., claim, reserve, etc.) a patron or make their interest known to the other bar tenders by placing their own signature napkin in front of the individual of concern. Anton’s was maroon.

The man seemed unaffected by Isabella’s attempts to dispatch him. He laughed in a gurgling and pathetic sort of way, “Come on honey you don’t gotta be like that.”

Anton decided to intervene. He haughtily placed two shot glasses on the bar and sloppily poured two heavy shots of Jack Daniel’s. “You can buy me a drink, Hank.” He teased the man, obviously a regular, since Anton knew him by name. Hank’s attention was momentarily taken off Isabella. As he started to reach for his shot Anton pulled it away. “Nope!” He shook his index finger at the man and then slid the shot glass down the bar. It remarkably (perhaps the Devil’s work himself) skid about five bar stools down without spilling a drop. Hank eyed the other shot. Anton snatched it up and downed it without a grimace to speak of. He dropped the shot glass back onto the bar with a clink in front of him. Hank got the hint and slunk away to retrieve his shot like a scolded puppy.

“You don’t seem like a girl who needs rescuing. But since you’re a new comer here, I do have to protect your potential future business.” He pointedly used “girl” to juxtapose the notion that she was woman enough to not need rescuing. Anton liked to push people’s buttons, particularly the buttons of attractive women he was trying to impress. He was the type of man who engaged in the sort of flirting that involved witty bantering and mockery. Though a closet romantic, surreptitious glances and the like wasn’t really his thing.

Meanwhile, his phone was vibrating in his pocket.

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 07-30-2015

<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>She mouthed a silent thank you to the bartender, who's name she was going to have to get as the ashtray appeared. She reached past the patron, still trying very hard to get her attention, and into her purse to retrieve her cigarette case. A rose gold and filigreed thing that she had inherited from her father, along with the deplorable habit. She pulled one out and replaced the case, holding it between two fingers, but neglecting to light it.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Oh, I do need to be like this," she corrected, plucking her drink from its colorful napkin with her free hand, not yet noticing the distinction. His laughter made her cringe as she took a sip. She pulled back to look at the liquid, noticing the bartender's slight embellishment. She looked up from the cocktail, and to the bartender. That slow half-smile reappeared as she took another drink.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>She set the glass down, licking alcohol from her lips before settling the cigarette between them. "I'm not interested," she said, thin stick bobbing with her words. She turned at the waist to dig through her coat pockets for her lighter. "You're just wasting your time." </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Isabella watched with mild interest, lighting her cigarette as the cute bartender came to her rescue. Bonus points to him for showman ship. She tried and failed not to seem impressed as she watched the shot glass travel down the bar. She exhaled smoke in a sigh as he took his shot, and her companion trudged away.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>She arched a brow; they both new she was neither a girl nor a damsel. She inhaled deeply instead of answering immediately. "How fiscally responsible of you," she replied, ghostly wisps following her words. "And does my shining knight come with a name?" </span>[/align]

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 07-30-2015

Anton guardedly observed her tasting the drink. Needless to say he was tickled that she went back for a second sip and seemed to enjoy it enough to lick excess alcohol from her lips. He privately enjoyed the way the smoke emitted from her lips in delicate tendrils. He found himself watching her mouth the taste, the cigarette, lips curling, bending and curving in speech.

Anton glanced away and pulled the white towel from his pants pocket to wipe up the excess whiskey from the bar. He returned the towel to his back pocket and leaned his butt against the wall directly across from Isabella. The expanse of the bar and the floor leading to the back wall separated them. He folded his arms casually across his stomach, and extended his feet in front of them lazily crossing the left over the right. He was taking his time making himself comfortable. "The name's Anton. But I'm afraid I'm no knight. Knights are for rescuing little princesses from ogres like that." He gestured a thumb towards the rude patron who bothered her. "You had it right the first time, I'm no more than a miserly bar keep. And you're obviously no princess. See, no chaste sovereign-in-waiting would take a second sip of that without dignifying it with at least a little cringe." He indicated her drink emphasizing "that" with a gesticulation. It was also an invitation for her to compliment him on his concoction.

Nailed it, he thought to himself as he pulled his iPhone from his pocket to find an email from one Natalya awaiting him. He tapped the email opening it and scanning the words, trying to act disinterested was part of flirting. Besides she had pulled her phone out first, earlier.

He considered asking her some biographical questions, but decided against it, letting her stew on his commentary. He was playing a game to see how much she would prod back, how much she cared to find out about him, or how much she even cared to continue conversing with him before he volunteered any such interest. So far the expression of his interest (other than his rescue act which he had playfully excused), unbeknownst to her, was wrapped up in that one little maroon, and now water ringlet stained, napkin.

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 07-31-2015

<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Anton," she repeated, tipping ash into the crystal tray, as if she was testing the name on her tongue. She curved her lips around the vowels like she was trying to imagine would the name would sound like uttered in less public spaces. She looked down at the drink her fingers were still curled around as he pointed it out. A clipped chuckled sounded off in her throat, and she drew circles in the condensation with her thumb.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"I could still very well be a princess," she defended, playfully. Her bottom lip jutted forward in a pout, before it disappeared behind the glass as she took another sip. "Just not a very chaste one, I suppose. I wouldn't need to be saved from ogres, otherwise." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, though the gesture of innocence was not very convincing when paired with the smirk she couldn't quite get rid of.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"It's a very well-made drink," she offered, noticing the way he was fishing for compliments. Not that he needed to fish, he was undoubtedly showered in them on an hourly basis. "I appreciate your creative license," she continued. Sounding more like she was appraising a painting than flirting with a bartender.

<span>    </span>Isabella watched him toy with his phone for a few beats; smoking and not bothering to act as if she was doing otherwise. There was nothing on her own phone currently that would be more entertaining than this. As if to make a point, she picked up the sleek, black cell and tucked it back into her purse. "So," she began, rubbing the diminished cigarette out in the ashtray and leaning her elbows on top of her bar. "Is it fun? Saving ladies, I mean. I imagine you do a lot of it in here." </span>[/align]

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 07-31-2015

Anton would have missed the fleeting, playful pout if he hadn't been stealing quick glances over the glowing phone. The playful expression emanated sex appeal. A just as brief curl of his lip betrayed his satisfaction with the continuity of their flirting.

"I'm glad you like it." He replied to her compliment without bothering to hide that he felt flattered by her approval. Her easy confidence and (what seemed to him) evident sophistication meant her opinion carried weight. He was pleased that she stored her phone away so be choose to follow her lead. He locked the iPhone and stowed it back in his front pocket before uncrossing his legs and closing the distance between them.

He placed his hands on the bar splaying his fingers out and leaning into them heavily. The weight made the tendons and small bones of his hands protrude beneath the tanned and mildly weathered skin of his hands and exposed forearms. They were close enough that he could see the individual lashes that framed her golden eyes. "Truthfully, I'm rarely compelled to bother with acts of heroism."  There was a mischievous look in his eyes when he said, "Besides we don't get too many women like you here, especially not on week nights." He purposefully left it vague as to what type of woman he thought she was.

"That being said, aside from the expert mixology, why did you choose this place? You'd probably fit in with the scene more at the martini bar up the street." He purposefully leaned forward just a little more to eye what he could see of her sleek pencil skirt from behind the bar. He drew his gaze back up her torso (lingering on her breasts for no more than a heartbeat) to her face. He made a point of looking at her that way as if to critique her corporate getup. Although he rather liked the way the fabric of her skirt stretched across her thighs. He held her gaze silently for a moment, before breaking it to push his glasses up. "Not that I want you to leave of course." He added nonchalantly.

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 07-31-2015

<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>She couldn't help watching his hands as he spread them across the bar. She remained where she was, not wanting him to think she was intimidated by his good looks. Intimidated wouldn't have been the right word, anyway. Attracted, aroused, those would have been much better words. "I am extra flattered by your chivalry, then." Another smile, another drink, a brief consideration for lighting another cigarette. She decided against it, not wanting to push him away with offensive smoke.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>"Women like me?" she lilted, voice pitching higher as she fell susceptible to his bait. She cocked her head at him, and her brow furrowed above her nose. She wrinkled it again, the curl at the corner of her mouth, somehow implied suspicion. "What kind of woman do you think I am, exactly?" </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Isabella leaned back and shrugged, acting coy and making it seem like she wasn't going to answer him. She crossed one leg over the other, an impressive show in that tight skirt, perched on that small stool. "Martini bar?" She tried to sound offended; sat up straighter, as he looked her over. She followed his line of sight. "Okay, that's fair," she conceded, hands lifting to adjust the collar of her crisp blouse. "To be completely honest I overheard talk at work that there was a very, very cute bartender that worked here," she cast her eyes over his shoulder, turning her head to either side. She seemed to be looking for something. Isabella looked back to Anton, with a grin. "You don't happen to know who they were talking about do you?"</span>[/align]

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 08-01-2015

Anton remained in his posture, leaning into the bar and into her personal space as he watched her sip at the drink again. His eyes flicked to her legs crossing, he marveled that the fabric, tight as it was, was flexible enough to accommodate the movement. He wondered briefly, given her obviously careful grooming, whether she was the type of woman to match underwear and bra in color and texture. Black lace with black lace or red satin with red satin and so on. He almost laughed out loud imaging the color of her panties, as it seemed she certainly wasn't the type to be wearing coral cotton or something sweet and plain like that.

In response to  categorizing her as a woman, he lifted his right hand and ticked of his points starting with his thumb, "Leased luxury car type." Index was,  "The kind whose local Starbucks barista, dry cleaners, and bar tender knows her by name." He emphasized 'bar tender' with an arched eyebrow, noting that this point was irrefutable. His third point--the middle finger--went on for a while, "Could be a secretary but the cigarette case and coat suggests the extravagance of some sort of executive. At least a junior exec if not c-suite. Although you seem young for that, but I wouldn't put you past a little nepotism." He wasn't afraid of offending her. If she couldn't take rough rhetorical play, he would hate to see how she responded to having even her hair tousled, not that he could imagine her letting him do such things. "Let's see...habitat is definitely sterile, florescent lit, over air-conditioned office buildings." That was ring finger. He glanced at her left hand, out of ideas so he threw out for good measure noting the absence of any ring, "Secretly desperate to get married...or for a boyfriend," for the pinky finger. The boyfriend bit was a baited hook to see if she would comment on her availability, without him having to ask explicitly and expose his interest more than he already had. Part of the verbal banter was a emotional shield, Anton felt inferior, bottom-rung, second-string. Surely any interest she showed in him was mostly to satisfy her ego. She'd finish a drink or two and leave with the satisfaction that her sanitary corporate veneer hadn't robbed her of her allure. Anton would play but wouldn't get his hopes up beyond a generous tip.

Anton completely skirted around her question about cute bar tenders. He didn't even acknowledge the thinly veiled come-on. He simply spread his hands, palms up in front of him in an exaggerated shrug. The gesture exacerbated the already loose left sleeve which unrolled a bit and became asymmetrical to the other. "You'd have to come back when the full staff is here to see for yourself."

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 08-01-2015

<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Isabella kept her face passive. She sipped at her drink as he ticked points off of his fingers. He was closer on some points than others, and then there were times that he completely missed the mark. Appropriate responses were shown at certain keywords; secretary was one, nepotism was certainly another. Mostly vague expressions of mock offense. She couldn’t stifle a brief scoff of laughter at the thought of being secretly desperate for marriage. "Close. Very close," she shook her head, sounding impressed, and drained the remnants of her drink. Setting the empty glass back onto the napkin, she pushed it towards him with an index finger; suggestive of a refill.  </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>She cleared her throat, and pushed hair over her shoulder. Sitting up straighter, she shifted in her seat like someone who was preparing for an important presentation. "Okay," she lifted her own hand to mark points, just as he had. "It is a luxury car, but I own it. I don't go to Starbuck's, it doesn't seem worth it for black coffee and cream," she rolled her eyes upwards briefly in thought. "My dry cleaner does know my name, and my bartender cheated," she playfully narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm a hospital executive," she uncurled another finger, but didn't go into any detail. Wouldn't give him the pleasure of having correctly alluded to her interim CFO position or the fact that it was in her sort-of-father's hospital. She dropped her hands, in favor of leaning on the bar again, more fun that way, something intimate about leaning closer to converse with someone. "I live in a penthouse apartment down town, and it's a total mess." This was only partially true, it was in fact impeccable. Mostly because of the small amount of time she actually resided with in it. Between working and letting men from bars take her back to their own apartments, it was basically a giant storage unit for her possessions. "I'm not at all desperate to get married," she explained, laughing lightly at the idea. Marriage; how absurd. Her familial situation growing up had rid her of that fantasy at a very young age. "Boyfriend's aren't bad, though," she amended. For a little bit, she didn't say out loud. "You did well, I'm very impressed." </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span>    </span>Bella tsked, a soft noise of tongue against her teeth and for a minute she managed to look disappointed. She pushed a hand through her hair, upsetting her the straight-cut fringe of bangs above her brow, smiling all the while. "I guess I'll have to keep coming back until I find him."  </span>[/align]

The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 08-01-2015

Anton raised his eyebrows, clearly amused that he had drawn so much information out of her so effortlessly. His lips cracked into a boyish smirk, celebrating that he had been pretty close on most points. “A hospital exec? I knew it.” He jeered, “A luxury car and penthouse apartment bought and paid with blood money from the sick and suffering.” He laughed shamelessly at his own ridicule. The laugh was unreserved and his head tilted back slightly as the husky chortle reverberated deep in his chest. The words may have been interpreted as cruel, but he risked it, wanting to see how far he could push before she hit him back.

When his amusement with himself died down, he narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at her chest, “You, Isabella, for better or worse, whether you like it or not, fit in here with the rest my depraved clientele, way better than I estimated.” He said her name slow accenting the sound with a certain hiss to the ‘s’ endowing the pronunciation with a show of sensuousness.

As she pushed her glass away, he met the cup with the palm of his hand, slowly encircling the rim with his palm. She hadn’t quite taken her finger from the cup when he made the gesture and he purposefully let his finger brush her knuckle as they curled over the rim. He pulled the cup away from her eyeing her carefully.

“So I’ve heard you’re interested in ‘boyfriends.’ Looking for a ‘him’ then?” Anton tried not be presumptuous about anyone’s sexual preferences. But using her exact language, he intended to draw the conversation back to himself. To give her an opportunity to judge or ridicule him to even out the game a little. “I hate to break it to you, sweet heart, but you’re looking at the cutest, heterosexual bartender who works in this joint. And the weekend bar back, well, he’s a little on the pathetic side, so…”

His voice trailed off as he picked up the glass, “Another?” Without waiting for a response, he rid the empty cup and wetted napkin behind the bar. He placed a fresh napkin before her and turned his back to make the refill.

The Devil’s Toboggan - megs - 08-05-2015

<span>    </span>"No, no, no," she insisted, trying to defend herself. She tried to cut him off, but he wouldn't be deterred, and it was hard not to smile when he was doing so like that. Which made her seem somewhat villainous if his words were at all true. "It's not like that," she stated, but she didn't look like she was going to explain herself any further. She tried to put on a serious face, because he was laughing at her, but it was increasingly difficult in the face of his genuine amusement.

<span>    </span>"Just Bella is fine," she corrected, pulling her finger away after the brief contact, watching him as he watched her. "And I would hardly refer to myself as depraved." Not that the adjective would have been hardly inaccurate to anyone that really knew her.

<span>    </span>"I'm interested in a lot of things," she said. Contradicting herself as one would find she often ended up doing, unintentionally. "You said boyfriends. I said boyfriends. It's what you wanted to hear, right?" She grinned, reaching into her bag for that decorated cigarette case, once more. She lit another one with her equally decorated lighter. "I wouldn't say I'm looking. I am more of a whatever happens, happens sort of girl."

<span>    </span>She hid her smirk behind another drag of the cigarette, but her eyes remained on him. Not shy about the way she was obviously appraising him, again. "Well, you are very cute, so they weren't lying about that." She exhaled smoke with her sigh, and uncrossed her legs, only to cross them again in the opposite direction. "They didn't say anything for your personality however, so I guess I will have to figure that out for myself."

<span>    </span>"Yes, please," she chirped, despite the fact that he'd already turned away for her refill. She was more than happy to observe the way he moved while he did so.


The Devil’s Toboggan - saronym - 08-05-2015

Anton could not control his gaze in the moments she un-crossed and re-crossed her legs. He was bewitched watching her legs move in that like-a-second-skin-tight skirt. Once she was settled again, the spell released him and he was able to return her gaze. When she complimented his looks he merely gave her appreciative smile. "I think I'll wait to hear your judgment on my personality when your blood alcohol level is higher."

He let the conversation hang in a lull for a few moments. He observed her quietly to a sound track of the other patrons' voices and a Sublime song. Over the low din the lyrics could be made out: "But life is one big question when you're staring at the clock/ And the answer always waiting at the liquor store, 40 oz to Freedom/ So I'll take that walk." When she offered her nickname he didn't respond. He wondered whether it was a nickname she always used in favor of her legal name. Or whether it was reserved for special people.

He prepared the drink in silence, mentally noting how her flat, borderline rude, request for the first drink had transformed into a pleasant trill with a 'please' by the second. Anton couldn't say he was used to beautiful, executive women in tight skirts from downtown requesting his service with pleases, but he certainly liked it. He wondered what else he could get her to say 'please' for. Although truthfully, Anton was more likely of the two to say please. After garnishing the drink in the same manner as the first, he set it in front of Isabella.

Being in the service industry, Anton had trained himself to notice and preemptively respond to subtle indications of others' needs. Particularly on slow nights. On busy nights, his patrons were expected to advocate for their own needs. "It seems I've been giving you all of my attention, Bella," he said at last, testing the name. He liked it but preferred Isabella, somehow the full name felt more intimate. Without feeling he needed further explanation he turned from her to attend to a man with a near empty beer. He asked the man how he liked the beer and whether he would have the same or to try another. They brainstormed on the man's tastes and preferences, and a few samples later, Anton placed a glass brimming with a viscous dark beer like motor oil in front of him. He closed out another's tab. All of Anton's behavior with the clients could be described as genial, familiar, easy.

And then there was Hank, who ordered some sort of liquor to nurse. He was apologizing to Anton and blubbering about feeling emasculated after his wife left him. Although Anton's posture and nodding appeared empathetic, he was clearly bored and had heard the whole story before. He took the opportunity to reply to a couple emails from his extra-curricular female correspondences. When Hank was thoroughly comforted, Anton returned to Isabella. He was mumbling under his breath something like, 'I swear to fucking God that drunk fuck needs to get his shit together.'

He set his glowing iPhone down on the bar in front of her and leaned down on his forearms, closer to her face this time. "So basically, one drink deep and I already know your profession, your lifestyle, your romantic availability, and I've earned nickname privileges." He observed, "Tell me, what will drink number two bring me?"