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Post by Karma Mercy Delacour on Apr 15, 2013 22:59:24 GMT -5
Tobacco smoke curled around the air, choking the oxygen with tar and carcinogens. Karma watched as it danced wistfully until it disappeared, as though the battle between the smoke and the air was over. Though, who was the victor? In their shared transparency, she couldn't see who triumphed over the space, the air or the smoke. Inhaling deeply from her lit cigarette, Karma found herself lost in her thoughts.
She was leaning against the outside wall of the bar where she worked. It was currently her break and it was already half over. Absolutely no part of her wished to go back in through the heavy door to her right. She could hear the cacophony of house music, woo girls, and beer being served. She wanted to vomit, but focused on the smoke swirling in her lungs instead. She wanted to place a needle to her skin and inject wonderful heroin into her veins but she knew she shouldn't. She was recovering. She didn't need to relapse, not again.
Her blue eyes wandered out into the dark blanket that was the night sky. It was littered with an array of twinkling stars that most people saw as white. Anyone that gave a damn would notice they were red, and blue, and every color in between. She let a smile slip across her face, her free hand exploring the empty back pocket of her jean shorts and she brought her cigarette back up to her painted lips, tonight, they were black. As she inhaled, she took notice of the visible constellations. She began to count them, one, two, three. The higher she counted, the fewer minutes she had to escape the madness within the bar.
She both hated and loved this job. It allowed her to busy herself during all hours of the night when before, in France, she would have been higher than the moon with Katelyn. For this, both she and her friends were grateful. Karma had a restless soul, she was constantly needing to do something. This is part of the reason she could always be seen with a cigarette. It gave her hands and her mouth something to do. It also gave her a reason to walk outside for double the amount of time as the rest of the staff. However, on the other hand, she was well aware that half of the patrons were excusing themselves into the bathroom to partake in her own past sins. She watched them, every night, come in calm and slightly excited and watched them transform to restless beings, capable of doing anything. It was a wonderfully awful conundrum.
Karma sighed, finally exhaling a large puff of smoke. She watched it disappear into the stars above her. She looked at the cancer stick, now burnt down to the roach. The edges of the paper still burned bright with orange embers as she flicked it to the ground, stomping it out completely with her heel. She adjusted her white apron and smoothed her auburn hair as she took a deep breath, placing a fake smile on her pleasant face to last her the rest of the work night. Drunkards didn't particularly enjoy sad faces. This she knew, because she was one.
Finally, she placed her cigarettes and lighter into the middle of her bra and her right hand on the handle bar of the back door. Breathing deeply once more, she walked back in. She received cheers as she walked back in, assuming her position behind the bar. She smiled at the regulars and flirted with her blue eyes at the unfamilars. She had learned that a simple flirtatious glance could get a man to spend much more money than he had allotted, which often meant many, many tips for her. Lord knew she needed the money.
For the moment, no one was sitting at the bar and for this, she was thankful. She couldn't abandon her feigned smile, but she could loosen it. Drunkards couldn't see her face clearly when they were far away.
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Post by Cole Valentine on Apr 16, 2013 20:34:15 GMT -5
one day there will be a pretty picture here
"speech"
thoughts
actions
There was a slight chill to the air that surrounded the divine's wings as he flew, for no real reason, through the night air. Each flap was a nearly lazy motion made out of pure necessity, for without it he would plummet to the ground into a fate that was not desired. But what could be desired by one who had all the time in the world to live? Not much, if that question was directed to steel grey eyes that held just a touch of blue. It was almost like a child had painted in blue and rinsed the paint brush just enough so that the slightest hint of blue was seen through grey doors of sight.
His shirt was the same grey as his eyes, only without the blue, and it hung in loose folds on his torso. In contrast to the dull color of his eyes and shirt, Cole's wings were the embodiment of fire. For the most part, they were entirely red, aside from the tips of the outer edge feathers, which were yellow. In the dim light of night, his wings were more like dying embers than a raging forest fire, for the light of the stars and moon just barely brought out the orange shimmer of his instruments of flight.
It wasn't too long before Cole's nightly exploration switched its way of travel from air to land. For the most part, he let himself glide silently down with a simple half flap to keep himself balanced. His feet touched down lightly in his worn, grey tennis shoes that were once white. The wind, which had been resisting his decent towards land, seemed to want nothing more to do with him and let his clothes be caught in the pull of gravity.
It was then that a sound caught his attention. Slowly, Cole turned his head in the direction of the sound, only to see a door which was probably tightly shut. Or maybe it wasn't, who was he to know? But a door did not strike his curiosity, and so he began to walk. It wasn't until he'd reached the front of the building that he stopped again. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to observe the drunken masses... And with that, he walked inside.
It seemed like, surprisingly to him, the people were not at the bar. He had thought that was the point of the place, but decidedly he was mistaken somehow. Still, the best place to observe why he was wrong was perhaps to walk over to the bar and see why no one was there for himself. Leisurely Cole made his way, deliberate step by deliberate step, over to the area of interest, the folds of his slightly baggy, black pants rustling slightly. Upon arrival, he sat at the bar and surveyed his surroundings. After finding nothing to explain the situation, he leaned against the bar, slouching slightly, and waited for something to make sense.
this contains 492 words and is tagged for Karma. Hope it's okay ^^
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Post by Karma Mercy Delacour on Apr 16, 2013 22:15:22 GMT -5
Her thoughts consumed her while the band played across the bar. Their music wafted through the air and into her ears, though she didn't hear a single note. She was too focused on what music notes actually looked like. She couldn't help but wonder if they looked like they did on paper, or if it was something much more graceful. Perhaps, the appearance of the note depended on how it was played, on the instrument, or even on the individual person playing it. This would make sense, considering everyone interpreted what they heard differently. Then was it fair to assume that the true appearance of music rested upon the artist? That his or her mood, their overall personality and choice in instrument had the final say in the shape the notes, the song took once it entered the atmosphere? Then, she had to also wonder, was not the listener also responsible for the shape it took? Since, as her thoughts aforementioned, each person interpreted what they heard differently. Therefore, it could be said that the look, the true look of a music note was a joint effort, a beautiful unity found somewhere in the middle of listener and artist.
All of these things ran through Karma's mind as she tapped absent-mindedly on the bar. Most of the current patrons were at tables with pitchers of beer or huddled around the make-shift stage in the bar. It wasn't until something moved in her peripheral vision that her thoughts were shattered, images of music notes danced into the past as the fact that she was working set back into her mind, forcing her thoughts to scatter quickly.
Karma smoothed her hair back, a nervous tick of hers, as she walked over to where she saw a man was sitting. She was surprised she had not seen him walking in. She normally saw everything in this bar. She knew who went home with who, who felt ashamed that they were here past two in the morning every night, and who was cheating on their spouses. Karma was simply the eyes and ears of the place. It was clear that she spent far too much time within the walls of the cursed bar. However, having a job meant having money, which was something she and her sisters very desperately needed.
Without making eye contact with the stranger, she stood in front of him at the bar. She grabbed her beer opener off the hook where it hung and threw it in her back pocket. More often than not, men requested beer. She would not be caught without her opener if he did. "What can I get for you, honey?" It was funny, the way she spoke now that she lived here. Back in France, she never said honey. In fact, she never used pet names except when she was at work. Men, especially drunken men, usually enjoyed being called honey, babe, darlin' and the like. Why? She had no idea, but as was everything else she did at work, it was a trick she had learned to earn more tips.
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Post by Cole Valentine on Apr 18, 2013 23:11:17 GMT -5
It wasn't that he was surprised that the girl behind the counter spoke to him. No, he may not have frequented bars, but he knew the basics of what went on inside them. So he wasn't surprised, it was just he hadn't thought about that being a possibility. He was caught up, stoically, in absorbing the sites and the sounds of the place. Looking around, he knew why he didn't come here. He just didn't fit in here. The lighting was fine, but the music wasn't quite his style, nor was the strong scent of alcohol an aroma he cherished. But this was a bar, after all. It was to be expected.
Since the girl behind the counter hadn't exactly been on his mind, it took him all of a minute to turn and look at her. She was a pretty girl. He could easily see her in much more well behaved surroundings, but it was not his call to make. [red]"Perhaps water? I'm here... more as an observer."[/red] The words were spoken slowly, calmly. His voice had an obvious hollow tone to it, like an emotionless ghost from beyond the grave.
A slow, controlled glance was given to the people of the bar. [red]"You see... I don't wish to partake in loosing my senses."[/red] And that was all there was to say on the matter, was it not? Surely it was, and if it wasn't then the girl could ask what she deemed necessary to ask. But honestly, what did alcohol have to give to anyone? A hangover. Impaired vision. A speech impediment. Liver problems. Bad breath. Nights better to not remember. Nights that couldn't be remembered anyway. Regrets...
As far as Cole was concerned, the list of negative effects of drinking went on longer than a divine wanted to take out of his immortal life to look over. He was much more interested in observing the drunken mortals that were sitting in booths or tables. Some were loud, actually many were. Just another side effect of alcohol it seemed, but he was curious as to how many of the loud bar attendees were just naturally loud. Did their drinks give them the trait, or just enhance it? Did they know they were loud? Was it something that only certain drinks caused? Or perhaps it was caused by a specific amount of alcohol. Cole wasn't sure.
The only thing he was sure about was that there sure were a lot of questions to ask in this observation.
OOCNotes: Sorry it's not pretty. I promise to fix it when I'm not so sleepy... |
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