well fed devils

Or, perhaps, she will catch one staring at her. She'd notice her earlier, if only because she seemed to be doing the same thing as her. Alone, watching. Audra smiles on instinct, a tight-lipped thing. Nods at the woman, who seems far more like the type to belong her than herself, with the plum-coloured blazer she'd been wearing for work today. Not the type to start conversation, really, but the overall wash of sound has started to echo in her ears, and she needs something - someone - to focus on. Making her way over to stand closer to her, she murmurs her drink order to the bartender and smiles once again at the woman. This time, slightly more real. "People watching too?"

a smile curls on his lips and his hand wraps around hers lightly, pressing feather-light kisses on her fingertips, in the palm of her hand, as he laughs a little at yet another assumption she makes. “I mean…you are not that far off…” he shrugs a little as he responds in a matter of fact tone, squeezing her hand in his. well, even if he wasn’t, at least in the beginning, quite liked by the staff and other students, if they were to be honest. “sixteen was around the time I decided to be somewhat…decent…” or rather take advantage of the tools handed to him instead of letting them go to waste out of pure spite; not that he didn’t clean up his act purely to just use the family’s old money and connections, though. “old money, mind you,” he points out in a playful manner. “and yeah, that’d be correct. but only after game season,” he laughs, “though..hmm, perhaps team captain Caddel wouldn’t have noticed you in the bleachers.” he laughs again whilst attempting to appear serious and failing, pinches her cheek lightly.

She’s surprised herself playing the same game a few times, now. Glancing at strangers in strange, dark places, wondering what tragedy they’ve gone through, what keeps them up at night; what digs and gnaws its teeth and claws in them like some strarved animal, scratching to get out. It’s not a sad thought, though, not really; most of the time, it’s just a game to keep herself from sinking into the darkness of her own secrets, the things that claw at her, won’t let her sleep. A pastime, if you will. Some people look at what others wear, what they eat, what they do; how expensive their clothes are, wonder where they’ve gotten them, always judging, always feeling above all others. Yen looks at people’s eyes and wonders what have made them dark and deep with misery.

This night, too, sat amidst strangers, here, in some dark bar in downtown New York, the game is proving to be rather entertaining (a deeply longed for distraction). Pubs like this, where the smoke is so thick you can drink it, crawl with tragedies. Soon enough, she realizes she’s been staring — with a cough, she violently pries her eyes (one blue, one green flecked with blue) off the stranger and reaches for her cigarettes. Her mouth is stained red, cherries and rouge lipstick. Her dark curls cascade down her back, long and dappled in the red neon lights that spill off the sign hung above the bar. She is toying with her glass, and even though it’s hot where she’s sitting at the bar, she still hasn’t taken her leather jacket off.

—

Bars had always been therapeutic to him, and not in the way you’d imagine. The drink is there in his hand, and it will be tasted without limits or guilt; yet the appeal comes not by way of intoxication, but the social setting which allows Rahi to exist in a way that he enjoys. 

The shifting lights, the music, god company and good chatter. 

And yes, the attention, too. Once he notices it from the woman next to him, Rahi can only laugh — “...What?”

Then, “You were staring. It’s fine.” Shrug. “I mean, at least own up to it.” 

“Yeah, well...” Yen rolls a shoulder with a flourish of indifference, a languid, slow smile flitting over deep red lips as she rations her gaze towards him, then back to her drink. “Guilty. I've been known to stare.” she begins to elaborate vaguely at first, eyes ahead of her while she mindlessly swirls the bourbon in her glass. The bar is thick with smoke and the sweet-sour stench of honey whiskey; there's a red neon light hanging above their heads and even though it's dark where they are sitting, it's spilling over them like a river of blood, cold and piercing, something sharp; like a knife, she thinks; like a fist; she is dappled in it, dark, long curls and leather jacket saturated in flaming scarlet streaks of light as she shifts in her seat.

ooh quirky ...

an involuntary staring competition, pip glues his eyes on the other, determined not to lose. there's something unsettling about her, slightly creepy, like she could wild out with her joints and glue the back of her head to her back whilst yodelling. he kind of digs it.

she looks away and he takes that as a win. triumphant, he leans over on his arms, waving the smoke away.

“Am I?” Yen wonders detachedly over the rim of her glass of bourbon prior to taking a small sip, mouth slick and red with lipstick, dark, thick lashes heavy from all her drinking as she spares him another long look, says, “No. I have never once in my life voluntarily had anything to do with basketball.” she laughs a little coldly, voice sounding... dream-like, almost; like part of her is somewhere very far away and distant where no one can touch it; like she is almost, not here; cold; aloof... bored.

She is distant and distracted at work, or when she is with him, half far away and always strung through with piercing, haunting tension that leaves her thrumming like a flood that swells and sweeps in a fury over everything in its way.

Location: Evening At Hole in the Wall Bar In SoHo Status: Open

She's getting older. It's all over but the crying.

The venue's nice but it's not exactly her vibe, Tanya long ago aged out of that crowd and the second the music became too new for her to recognize as anything she'd ever give the grace of being called as such she knew her minutes were numbered. That said, it was a night without homework, so to speak, and she was damned if she was about to go sit alone at home this early on a weekend night - that would be admitting defeat.

And so, she begrudgingly stepped out to light up a cigarette, pining for the days when you could enjoy one in air conditioning, but. well, sometimes life wasn't fair.

Yen looks like a renaissance painting bought to life as she silently stands outside the bar, leaning against the wall, knocking back a whiskey. She’s got this long dark curly black hair all the way down to her back and limpid bright eyes (one green, one blue) that droop and she is wearing all black and this slash of velvet red lipstick on, eyes fierce; there’s a half-empty glass of some strong, sweet bourbon in one hand ( the rim has her lipstick stain on it so now she's absently worried that her mouth is looking patchy). She is holding a slightly smoking cigarette in the other, but not taking it in, bright, sharp gaze flitting from the crowd spilling up the stairs and into the bar, to someone... familiar stood somewhere near her.

Her gaze - sharp and cold with fury and contempt - completely zeroed in on him, like a hawk, watching its prey, and she blindly reached for her phone, hoping to somehow be able to call for back up while distracting him with idle conversation, indulging his questions, every last muscle in her body tensing as she prepared to fight back in case he attacked her; she laughed softly at the question that followed, voice saturated with something very akin to amusement, and she could not help but take a step closer, her general demeanor completely void of anything but sharp-eyed focus on him and him alone; this time, she thought furiously, fiercely; this time she could not let him slip right out of her grasp.

“seems like you already know how I’ve been, Mathias… don’t you?” she offered simply, “I don’t think you’ve missed me all that much. I feel like you might just know how I’ve been better than I do… I’ve gotten your little letters… your gifts… Very thoughtful of you.” she trailed off, voice somber and neutral, not betraying any of her real emotions.

-

Mathias found joy in how closely Yaena was watching him. He wondered how she would react if he moved his hand just a little too quickly. Would she jump? Would she try to stop him? He had managed to create such a hostility within her in such a short amount of time. “I’m just a little curious about you, Yaena. You seem so interesting. You only have yourself to blame though. You shouldn’t have been so fascinating that night we met. I still have the scar to show for it too”. He pulled down the collar of his shirt to show the newest scar on his shoulder. The skin was still raised and pink, over time it would fade like the rest of them.