Even though it’s dark, Sebastian can tell this place is probably one of the more colorful towns he’ll end up visiting on his trips. He’s seen plenty, even in the short amount of time he’s been heading out into the world to… who knows? Experience life? Have a quarter-life crisis?
Maybe both. The place is colorful, alright? That’s all.
And Sebastian is tired. There’s a certain thrill to riding his bike late at night, but once you get tired, you should get off as soon as possible, unless you want to fall right over on the bridge you’re crossing, or whatever. Sebastian, however thrill-seeking, doesn’t want to end up doing something stupid like that. If he’s going to endanger himself on his bike, it’ll be because he’s actively doing something reckless, not putting himself through sleep deprivation.
However sleep-deprived, he’s not quick to find himself somewhere to sleep. No, his mind works too fast for that, especially after riding through the night. He’s not even sure what time it is, just that it’s dark and he’s alright with entering the first place he sees.
Right. Food. Food? No, he’ll order something to drink. He settles himself up on a stool (because tables are just rude to the poor people who have to wait them at this time of night) and rests his arms on the bar. “Is it possible I could get somethin’ like a Shirley Temple?”
Every place has some sort of version of that, right? He doesn’t feel like anything… heavy, tonight.
Another one. Hell if he knew why strangers came and went as they pleased. Where did this one come from? The city? He counted folks that weren’t from these parts like he counted sheep. And boy, were the nights sleepless. He knew people recommended a story before bedtime, but it was the talkative, storytelling types that were often in over their heads. Chase took a quick gander at the guy, sizing him up in one glance before flicking his gaze off someplace else. Well, at least he didn’t look too troublesome.
... ... ... Didn’t look like a virgin bargoer either. What the hell? He figured the mop bangs and dark circled mess called for something a little less... err... Animal crackers. In his soup. Chase gave the guy an acknowledging nod for good measure, opening his mouth just to shut it. Well he guessed the dark circles weren’t the only things loopty-looping.
“...Sure. Virgin. On the rocks, right?” Really tried to make that sound a little less judgmental. Truly. How does one do that with a dead, fish-eyed look on his face? “Did you want some--”
Monkeys and rabbits-- “-- thing else with that?”
Damn. He knew intrusive thoughts were a thing but it was the first time the Goddess forsakened him in the form of a bad 1930s jingle. All these weird pauses probably had the guy on the other end of the counter rolling. Just don’t make eye contact. Grenadine. Check. Ice. Check. Ginger ale... out since the last Shirley Temple. Which was a while back. Righhhhht. He popped open a new bottle, gleaming in a sleek green shell of glass.
The bottle cap popped off like a dream. And rolled off like a nightmare. He could have sworn he saw it going in slow motion, like a terrible movie flick, clicking to a stop near the guy’s arm. Yeaaah.... just like a movie.
“...Now restored in full color.” He muttered sarcastically, to himself. To himself. (Probably.)
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