- ̗̀ something in your heart, but you won't talk about it

lancenewcastle:

lancenewcastle:

Since her time spent alone in the Adirondacks Claire had avoided interactions with strangers with a fierce zeal— if had gotten to the point that even passing strangers on the street forced her to avert her eyes and tamp down whatever urges she had to socialize, to greet, to live. It took a Herculean effort on her part to leave the hotel on any given night, and with restless energy sparking through her fingertips and a pressure clinging tightly to the space between her ribs, she’d made the short journey to Witch’s Brew for a drink. Sleep had come in fits the last few nights, and Claire was eager for something to exhaust her; whether it ended up being alcohol or sex, she wasn’t fussed, she simply wanted to fall into bed so tired her mind would hardly be able to function, let alone urge along her nightmares. She nursed a gin and tonic for the better part of fifteen minutes before she caught sight of a lone person at the other end of the bar and downed what remained, licking her lips briefly as she approached. “I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you a drink?” She quirked an eyebrow, an easy, flirtatious smirk curling at her mouth. “Or steal you away, whichever you’d prefer.”

Lance knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but the knowledge that his envelope’s arrival was a mere few days away only worsened his tendency to seek comfort in things like these. Marriage was a responsibility, responsibility was forced upon him all his life. Marriage, in particular, he had no experience with; he grew up a victim of the tired trope of wealthy son to dysfunctional parents whose inability to teach him the ways of happy marriage led to his own resistance against settling down. He’d had wonderful romances that he ended up walking away from; he didn’t like thinking now about how he was going to (possibly) wed someone he didn’t even know or love. When he turned to see the attractive woman who approached him, he couldn’t help indulging in the easiness; this was so pleasantly unlike the weight of marriage. “I wouldn’t mind either, or both,” he replied, returning her easy smirk. “But I hope you know that doesn’t mean I’ll play by all your rules. Second one depends on how open you are to seeing my way as well.”

Lance could have easily lifted the bookshelf without using a spell, but his knee-jerk response was an overt display of magic. He’d heard the other man’s complaint, and so decided to joke after the near-accident, “Hey, dude. A simple ‘Do you happen to be a witch as well?’ would have sufficed. No need to try to drop a shelf on me.” He queried, “So what’s your predicament? How can I help?”

Cedric was having a not so great few weeks.  He was hiding himself in his room, not wanting to catch anymore weird people.  He finally decided to get some fresh air and new scenery so he went down to the bar.  When someone sat next to him, Cedric turned his head but was quickly defeated once he saw who it was.  “Look Lance I’m not in the mood, so if you are here to make fun of me just fuck off alright?  We can all pretend that you successfully hurt my feelings and we can just skip over it, yes?”

The other male had caught Lance off-guard before he could open his mouth. He actually wasn’t going to say anything insulting — nothing harshly so, at least, for anyone could tell that and when Cedric was especially down in the dumps. “Are you implying,” he countered, although with a conscious effort towards gentleness, “that I don’t actually successfully hurt your feelings?” With a light shake of his head, he said, “No, if I’m being serious. I’m not here to make fun of you.” It was sincere, but he didn’t plan to be Cedric’s counselor either. Not that he knew how. “I’m here for a drink. Do you trust me to buy you one?” That was the best way of cheering up the other that he was aware of. “I know you’re ‘wise’, but you don’t know the contemporary drinks the way I do.”

Sitting in the Witch’s Brew in a relatively dark corner, Lilith sipped her whiskey as she glanced around at the patrons of the bar, wondering just how many of them found themselves in the same predicament as her. Well, what better way to find out than to ask? At the worst, she’d get turned down. At best, she might make a new friend. Ordering a second glass of whiskey, the petite brunette made her way over to another lone individual, holding out the second glass as an offering. “If you don’t like whiskey, I can get you something different, but I thought maybe you could use some company?”

"I don't need company," he responded. It could be deduced from his pleasant tone of voice that he wasn't intending to be rude. The statement came across as matter-of-fact beneath the mellifluence of his voice, even. "If you'd like some company, there's no shame in just saying so." His candor was, quite obviously, at least in some part due to drunkenness: "Your vodka fucking sucks!" Lance shouted at the bartender. He calmed himself down before turning to the petite brunette. "Sorry about that," he said, his manner of speech becoming amiable again. "I should buy you the whiskey to make up for it. But their vodka tastes like crap today."

Viktor had finally decided on getting a job and settled on teaching at a University.  He had the knowledge for it at the very least, and was currently sitting in a cafe grading some papers.  It was a good way to spend the afternoon, and he found himself in a rather good mood until a passerby knocked into his table and his coffee ended up spilled all over his laptop.  Swearing in Russian, the vampire quickly moved to lift the laptop and get the liquid off, before looking for paper towels.  “Damn it…”  Looking at the other person, he paused. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” Lance answered, quite taken aback by the question. If he had caused liquid to spill on something important around his family (and he never was so careless until he came to New Orleans), it was his instinct to expect censure. Might even be a slap or a punch if he committed bigger-scale errors or such — he’s a man, a strong young man, anyway; it should be “nothing” for him. “Is your laptop okay?” He tried not to seem as surprised by the other male’s kindness as he was, although he felt it was only appropriate to show concern. “Sorry I wasn’t looking. I can pay for any damages.”

Simone hated this, the whole being forced to be married thing was not what she considered a good thing at all. She’d been married before and it hadn’t ended too well so Simone was the last person thinking about jumping for joy over it. She looked up when she felt someone staring at her, eyes narrowing in annoyance, “Can I help you?”

Lance hadn't even realized he was staring; his gaze was the classic drunken unfocused one. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said after a few seconds. "I didn't — this alcohol is a lot stronger than I expected." Day-drinking wasn't an admirable habit, but he could at least usually retain some degree of lucidity and eloquence when he resorted to it. "But, honestly, you seem like you need some." He gestured to his liquor bottle. "Bad day? Are you a vampire? Do you get drunk?"