let the chips fall where they may

they’ve gotten out a little later than the rest of their company, which means they didn’t make it out in time to grab anyone and force them to eat with him ——— currently, they’re failing at not looking pouty about it. they’d been too impatient to go home, just going to the nearest place to his rehearsal space and ordered. a good decision, yes, but he was still determined that he wasn’t going to eat alone. it’s with food in hand that he spots someone with an open seat and gives them a small wave coupled with a warm smile their way. “ can i sit with you? ” a lame joke came to mind and their fatigued mind didn’t think to filter it. “ i chew with my mouth closed, so it won’t be too horrible. ”

Dorian was tired - to say that it had been a long day would be an understatement. Deadlines stifled the creative mind, he always thought; unfortunately, his editor didn’t care to see things that way, of course. A little alone time was his only saving grace. Dorian was a bit of a social introvert; as sociable as he was, he required a certain set amount of time to himself per day to maintain his sanity. His newfound company seemed to have other ideas. He dropped his fork into his salad, looking up at the source of the voice. “Do I have a choice?” Despite his tone, he gestured to the seat across from him anyway. “Have at it, I guess. You get stood up or something?”

With a quick, jerking action, her head swiveled from left to right like she’s crossing the street. However, no clients seem to stop her from participating in conversation on the other side. All of her actions, even yawning, were sudden after a long day like today, but she does mull slowly over his words. She supposed she understood him enough; after all, was that not why she moved to St. Augustine however many years before? Cynthia, unfortunately, replied in nothing more than a curt nod - her quiet nature getting the best of her. And although her tongue didn’t speak, her eyes and movements do so without conscious effort; an acknowledgement and appreciation crossing eyes that had only just seemed vacant a few seconds before he had put out his smoke.  “ I like it, ” Cynthia retorted at first, her words careening downwards towards the creaky bar. She hadn’t meant to disappoint him. Most customers didn’t want to know about the boring life of a bartender; she had thought no different of him only moments before. To her, he appeared like any other one of the dozens of faces that popped in for a night or two; in need of a break from their daily life and an ear to listen. “ I work an odd job now and then. Part time uber-eats deliverer . . Do you do anything else than sit at bars and drink? ”

“Sounds fascinating, truly.” Dorian can’t decide if he’s being made fun of or not with the question that follows, but he isn’t particularly offended either way. “Of course,” he replies, his tone ultra-serious. “Sometimes I sit at home and drink.” He smiles in amusement at himself, pondering how he really could use more time sitting and drinking in his life in general as he pauses for a drink. That hadn’t been what she was asking, of course, because she had been kind enough to share her own dull work life with him. He supposes he should do the same. “I write. Books, ideally, but for the paper at the moment, unfortunately, because bills are a thing that exist. Otherwise, I might just be spending all my time sitting at bars and drinking, maybe scribbling an incoherent drunken idea or two on napkins at three in the morning that I’ll never follow up on.” It’s probably improper to go on about your failures to a stranger, but Dorian thinks his blasé attitude about the whole thing makes it okay. 

“You in school or anything like that? Or are you really okay with doing this shit forever?” He is fully aware that he is being invasive, but he finds people and their motives interesting, even the seemingly boring ones, and he finds that most people love talking about themselves when prompted. 

cc’s shrug is dismissive but the smug expression on his features tells a different story. he’s confident that he can redirect the intentions of others – after all, there’s got to be some reason why this stranger is even entertaining this conversation after their last had gone so questionably. clearly, some factor of attraction is at play and cc intends to fully explore it before the night’s through (among other things he’d like to explore). he doesn’t miss the micro-decision made in his favor and, as casually as can be, he leans in his barstool so that the center of his back brushes against the hand that has been distinctively placed there. he gives a low hum, tongue pressing to the inside corner of his lips as he tamps down a roguish smirk. annoying prick is among the nicer things he’s been called of late but he still focuses on the latter, eyes glittering impishly under the dim bar lights. “so y’think my accent’s cute, hm?” he trills, deliberately allowing the words to flow with more of his native dialect. reaching for his own drink, his gaze never once leaves the other’s visage. cc knows how to play this game and a new contender is always thrilling in it’s own right. he likes to see how much of a challenge he’s up against, though years of practice have never done him wrong. the charming, crooked smile remains splashed upon his lips and one of his own arms drapes over the back of the stool, fingertips finding skin before dancing up the other’s bicep with a practiced effortlessness. “oh, i’m not worried about what you’ll be moaning, believe me.” he says it with a tone that implies its inevitability. “anything will do.” and then as soon as he’d initiated, his hand isn’t touching the other, giving a flippant sort of shrug-like gesture before returning to curl around his glass. “you guess you can accommodate. try not to sound too excited there!” there’s half a chuckle before he’s downing another swig. even tequila tastes better when it’s free, evidently. “dorian,” he tries the other’s name on his tongue with a momentarily contemplative expression. he likes it. “how very oscar wilde of you. or rather, of your parents, i suppose.” it’s not very sexy to be discussing one’s home life so that topic doesn’t catch. “do you hit on annoying pricks at the bar often then, dorian? or am i just special?”

Of course that was the part of the sentence he had chosen to focus in on. Dorian rolls his eyes, the smallest huff of a laugh serving as the unfortunate indication that he had found it more amusing than irritating. “Selective listening, much?” He doubts this particular individual would be shocked at being called annoying, so he supposes it’s no surprise that he would gloss over that. Dorian refuses to fall into a trap of complimenting him further, so he leaves it at that. CC’s next words are an excellent reminder that he doesn’t need Dorian to fawn over him, anyway, and those particular words combined with the subtle, barely-there touch of his hand has him feeling a little edgy; his eyes never leave the other man as he lifts his glass to his lips, taking a long drink before all but slamming it back down on the counter. He’s very visibly fidgeting, fingers tapping restlessly on the bar, and he hates that he’s reacting exactly how he’s sure CC wants him to react. He can’t help it; he’s a weak, weak man. “You sound rather confident in your abilities. I hope it’s justified confidence. If I give you a shot, I don’t want to end up disappointed.” He watches his hand as it retreats back to his drink before his gaze flickers back to his face, perking up slightly at the literary reference. “I doubt that was the idea, but the queer writer in me appreciates the connection.”  He pauses for another drink; he’s eager to get himself a little tipsy at this point. “You know, I’d like to say you’re special, but now that I think about it, I might just have a tendency to gravitate towards more people on the more irritating side of things. But that’s fine; we don’t have to do much talking.”

“ I’m - I’m not - ” The woman choked on her words as guilt danced through her eyes. Never had Cynthia meant to come off so rude, but after a long night of work, she couldn’t really condemn her blunt retorts. Instead of ushering another word, she staggered towards a counter on the wall behind her and returned fairly quickly to slide the drink his way. Her fingernails thumped along the edge of the counter, breathing in a deep breath to only exhale it in a sigh; at the same time, she happened to be trying to avoid his trail of smoke. “ Sorry, uh . . Do you usually come here weekend nights? I just . . work weekdays mostly, so I’m usually pretty good at recognizing regulars and - yeah. ”

Poor girl. Dorian feels as though his personality might be a bit too abrasive for her, but he doesn’t feel bad enough about that to put any effort into acting differently. “You probably wouldn’t recognize me, no. Not that I usually come here on weekends, I just.. don’t usually come here,” he replies with a shrug. He notices that she seems slightly put off by his smoking, and he’s at least considerate enough to put it out. People are just too sensitive about secondhand smoke, nowadays, he thinks. “There’s no point in going to the same place night after night with the same people. Where’s the fun in that?” He pauses to take a long swig of his drink. “You do anything else? This seems like a shit job to have.” 

“why shouldn’t i? you’d rather that be your job?” cc quips easily, not finding any shame in his relentless staring at the other man’s lips. he’s basically asking to be ogled with how the tendrils of smoke thread and curl around his features. he rewards a smile with a smile, leaning back as though to make more room on his lap and feigning a frown when he wasn’t immediately joined on the (rather unstable already) barstool. “suit yourself – i’ll check back in in a drink or two, though. see if you’re feeling more keen.” he half shrugs, letting his gaze flutter to the bartender as he brought out their drinks. you could tell a lot about how a person hoped the night would end based upon the drink they bought you. cc could only hope that whatever the other had chosen wouldn’t disappoint. “didn’t know you were interested in a name, last we met,” cc responds wryly. he wanted hold out his hand for a mock-formal introduction but decided against it as it’d probably lure the other’s hand away from the back of his chair. he may not like intimacy, but he does like contact. “cc is what they call me. i’d tell you what that stands for, but neither of my given names sound particularly nice when they’re moaned so i’ll skip out on that experience if you don’t mind.” dark green eyes remain locked on the other man, sizing him up with far more interest than he’d displayed on their last encounter. blame it on the alcohol. “oh? would you like me to bite then… ?” there’s an implied pause for his conversational companion to provide his name. it’s only fair, right?

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Dorian deadpans, though tequila tends to fuck him up in all the worst (or best, depending on perspective) ways, and that is precisely what he had ordered for himself and his companion. He’s done stranger things than sitting on a person’s lap when thoroughly plastered. Shooting the bartender a quick polite smile, he realizes pretty quickly that he either has to give up his cigarette or his arm around the back of the other man’s chair if he wants to drink - he opts to snuff out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, resisting the urge to pout about it. “Wasn’t particularly interested in a name, no. Still not. Just thought I ought to have some way to refer to you. And a more concise contact name than ‘Annoying Prick With The Cute Accent’ for when I get your number later.” He takes a sip of his drink, sidling in just an inch closer. “Initials, though? How mysterious,” he comments in amusement, though he really doesn’t care whether he knows his full name or not. Something to call him is more than enough. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about me moaning anything for you, but sure.” And that much is true; he likes to make himself a challenge because he finds that makes people work harder in bed. “No, not particularly, but I guess I can accommodate if you’re into that sort of thing.” CC isn’t leaving anything to the imagination about his intentions, so why should Dorian? It’s rather refreshing, actually. “And you can call me Dorian, or whatever else you want, within reason.” 

It was difficult not to witness the exhaustion in the young woman’s face, shifting behind the busy counter to mix cocktails and pour beer. She hated working on the weekends - that meant more people and more people meant no time to catch her breath. However, she did make time to sigh and check the clock behind her every now and then. Aware of the conversation going on behind her, Cynthia turned back just to notice the exchange of the seat and to take the order in pushing a tall glass over the counter. She was trying not to cough as she took in the man in front of her. “ Is that a thing you do? I mean, basically buy your way into a seat. ” In the loud bar, her tender voice was almost swallowed up by the carrying voices. “ You could have just stood. ”

Dorian settles into the newly vacant seat, giving the displaced lady a thankful pat on the back before promptly turning away from her and giving his attention to the woman who is currently speaking to him from behind the bar. “Yeah. I could have,” he answers simply with a shrug of his shoulders, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “Was that a problem? She didn’t seem to mind too much.” He supposes she could have been assuming that it had been a somewhat less than clever attempt at flirting on his end before he had proceeded to ignore her, but oh, well. “I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks, if you aren’t too offended by my presence. Please and thank you.” 

crowded bars on friday nights were absolutely cc’s scene. actually, that isn’t exactly true. he tended to dislike most people so being around a mass of them wasn’t ever an appealing thought to him. however, when he was just on the right side of intoxicated, seedy bars liked this one tended to make for great stories the next morning and with all his years of existence under his belt, a man needed some entertainment every once in a while! he’s about to flag down the barkeep so that he could continue on his path towards tipsy when there’s someone pushing into his space with enough gumption to earn a second glance, at least. “oi, i remember you,” cc drawls, a cheshire cat’s grin spreading slowly, tauntingly, across his lips. the cigarette between the other’s lips does wonders for his appearance, hollowing out his cheeks and placing the emphasis on an enviable bone structure that cc had deliberately ignored during their first encounter. “you know, we have to stop meeting like this. using a lack of proper seating just to talk to me is getting a bit transparent, don’t you think?” cc turns one way and then the other, half expecting to see open barstools. of course, he spots nothing, which he shrugs off indifferently. “a better plan – you still buy me a drink and instead of giving up my seat, you can take a spot right here on my lap. promise i don’t bite.” cc’s tone is almost so exaggeratedly flirtatious that it borders on mocking (which is probably how he flirts with just about everyone, now that he thinks about it).

she laughs at bit at him taking his time, at this point she expected nothing less from him.“not really,” she replied. cracking horrible jokes was just kind of her thing, they were never funny and were never really directed at a person intentionally. she wasn’t astute enough for that. “just curious where the hell the little dude’s shoes went and how you survived the 90′s without a flying fuck as to what they were.” she moved closer to him and sat beside him on the bench. “oh, and why i just walked up on you camping in the middle of the park.” she shrugged, “s’none of my business, just nosy i guess. wanted to see if you were drunk or something,” 

“Dunno. Guess I wasn’t cool enough.” It’s meant as a joke, but it’s more than likely true, in all honesty. Dorian watches her as she sits beside him before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, releasing a deep sigh. “I’m definitely not drunk, don’t worry. If I ever descend to the level of passing out drunk in a public park in the early evening, please put me out of my misery. Falling asleep sober in a public park is bad enough.” Even worse, maybe, depending on how one looks at it. “Suppose I can’t blame you being nosy, but I don’t have much in the way of an excuse. Just haven’t been getting enough sleep, I guess.”

a cigarette’s hanging loosely from his lips as apollo walks through one of st augustine’s local parks. it’s a rare sight to find him here. he doesn’t hate nature, but he’s allergic to most of it and has no memories of a single good summer that didn’t involve a stuffed nose and puffed eyes or having to take medication. his younger sister however loves nature and when she invited him to spend time with her family, he knew it’d include taking a stroll through a park.

what he didn’t know is that he would have to go back, because his nephew managed to lose his favourite stuffed animal. apollo sighs, rubbing his eyes as the darkness makes it all the more difficult to find the plushy. he’s a little surprised as a voice breaks the silence of his frantic search, his eyes finding the male for a moment before he reaches for his ever present phone. “ ‘bout nine twenty, “ he answers, “ and you wouldn’t happen to have seen an axolotl? “

Dorian’s own strange behavior is overshadowed, if only momentarily, by the awfully unusual question from the other man. “An axo -- No, no I haven’t.” He scratches his head, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. There’s still a thick fog of sleepiness over him, and it certainly isn’t helping his logical thinking skills. He can’t think of any possible alternative explanation for this particularly bizarre scenario. “I believe that is something I would remember. Though, it does beg the question, why are you looking for an endangered Mexican salamander in a Florida park?”

No, and no. I can barely take care of myself. I would never subject an animal to the bumbling chaos that is my everyday routine. 

The messages app gets a lot of my love. I try to keep a light conversation going with all of my... contacts most of the time. It’s hard work. I would be lost without the notes app, too. I’ll save whatever little ideas come to mind throughout the day in there. I’ve got the beginnings of at least three separate novels going in there. 

Knocking someone up. Like, genuinely. I’ve had anxiety dreams about it. I’m also not particularly fond of spiders.

Not... particularly. I mean, there’s obviously a soulmate for everyone out there, but that’s a phenomenon I don’t think has anything to do with love of any kind. There are some terrible fucking people in the world, and I find it hard to believe anyone would willingly love them if they weren’t their soulmate. Soulmates aside, feelings are fickle things. They change, they fade. The concept of true love relies on the idea that something like that can last forever, which is bullshit.

Are you kidding? How am I supposed to answer this? Have you met him? The most positive emotion I can imagine him extracting out of anyone is like... mild annoyance. And I feel like that would take a hell of a lot of tolerance. He has potentially the most grating personality I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It’s a good thing for him that he’s not nearly as terrible to look at.