joel derby || nye masquerade.
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@joelderby
joel derby || nye masquerade.
time: 20:50 location: starlight tavern status: closed for @marissa-reyes
For Joel, each day melded into one with equal colour. The tavern housed surplus bodies of which sought to welcome in the weekend with a stiff drink, yet such a celebration surely went amiss for the man in question. His Saturday was no different than a common Tuesday; a consequential habit formed from both unemployment and addiction. He’d suppose the latter was what truly morphed them into one. Even still, patterns could often be broken. A sentiment now alive at the foot of his new company - replacing the monotonous rhythm of fleeting friendships with inebriated strangers. “Just to clarify,” his hand encircles a half-empty tumbler as he speaks, a languid gaze alternating between the bartender and the brunette. “You’re off the clock ‘ere, right? Not gonna tell me I should stick to water like my own mother?”
CALLOWAY.
LOCATION: Anywhere tbh STATUS: Open to all
Why she couldn’t just give up on work she had no idea, she had no ability to create a work / life balance that meant she had time to actually let loose. She was constantly putting out fires, and this latest one was surrounding a record deal that was close to falling through, “Ok.. okay… I’m done…I’m over this… I –” she slammed her phone into her bag, “Uhm, I need a drink. What’s good, I genuinely would just grab boxed wine through a funnel to my mouth at this point but let’s pretend that I have class. What’s good?”
“Wait,” he feigned confusion, though his attention remained fixed on the array of liquor bottles behind the bar, rough palms patting at his limbs as if in search for a misplaced item. “Shit, you had me thinking I either had a new job or I was slowly morphing into a fuckin’ menu.” His line of sight eventually lifted, turning to observe his new company. “Anything’s good ‘ere if you like it, Sweetheart. Tip for next time: try asking the people who work here.”
BAILEY.
Her immediate reaction was to purse her lips. She’d had to meet up with strangers no matter what it was she doing personal or business, but what really grinded Hope’s gears? Pet names. Especially sweetheart. She’d done well with having a heart made of stone after all these years and if there was anything that she aiding when it came the rumors about her? She thrived in knowing she was anything but sweet. “I don’t like holding secrets with people I barely know, seems off-kilter.” She replied flatly, moving away from the display to offer the man the space to peek through where he needed to so long as he wasn’t imagining what she assumed he would be based on his state. X-Ray vision? She’d been around plenty of colleagues who’d made that same joke but for radiology terms, which was why she couldn’t help offering a saccharine smile as she said, “Is it handy enough to tell you how many bones I have in my body?”
“Y’mean you’d rather trust the people you tell your secrets to? That’s fuckin’ ground-breaking.” Joel’s mouth fell partially agape - the words teetering on the edge of his tongue. Look closely and you’d be certain to see the uncomfortable throb of a vein in his neck. Filters were not commonplace for a man who often spoke before thinking. He felt all too self-aware of the fact in this current timeline. "I am kindly begging you to change the topic immediately.”
BAILEY.
location: Children’s Toy Shop with: @kingsheadstarters
It was rare for her mind to go completely blank, and Hope thrived on having answers and alternatives if the first conclusion was a no-go, but figuring out what to get two just over the toddler aged children was confounding at best. Perusing the aisles filled with stuffed animals, toy trucks, dress-up costumes, and even lego sets, her heart wasn’t sure what to grab that would carry the burden of just how sorry she was to have missed out on five years worth of birthdays, holidays that ranged from Easter, to Fourth of July, Thanksgivings, and even the most important one to some coming up: Christmas. Looking at the latest display for a new spiderman collection, Hope couldn’t help but wonder, would this be information she could handle learning as time went by? What would Sawyer like and Sage absolutely hate? Did they both have the same interests? Or maybe they were different in some ways. She hadn’t realized her hand was on the glass when someone had tapped her on the shoulder. “Oh!” She exclaimed, “Sorry, was I in your way?”
The temporary loss of his license existed as an unwelcome turning point; a fracture right through the middle, unable to be resolved by one act alone. As if the sequence had been manipulated by time-lapse, he can recall the moment second by second. The smell of new leather, his reflection in a polished oak table, a cluster of framed images all possessing mother and child. He had remembered them and stored them somewhere at the forefront of his skull, ensured they would be tied up with an apology directed towards the very man who seized his livelihood. Whilst some would furrow their brows at the thought, they were equally unaware of how close temporary could soon morph to a permanent reality. Thus, spewing distorted truths, hiding the liquor just out of sight and sending frequent Christmas gifts to the family were all part and parcel with begging for forgiveness. Though, as he searched for a present for the child, his view had grown distorted behind a brunette - his eyes surveying her momentarily before he opted to make his presence known. “Not at all, Sweetheart.” He shook his head in response, the thin lines of his forehead creasing. “Y’see, secret between you and me: I was born with x-ray vision. Comes in handy in moments just like this.”
JAEGER.
Maeve’s eyes narrowed when he spoke back, a small smile tugging at one of the corners of her lips. This was what she had worked for. Even if it would sound terrible to anyone overhearing them. It ignited something inside of her. She was always burning, a fire inside few could put out. Joel was like gasoline when he wasn’t water but for him to be the latter she had to let him. She believed he’d lost that privilige, even though he already knew her colors, all her sides. That was it, wasn’t it? He knew too much, so he got the worst and they bounced off each other’s flames, tossing it back and forth which only made it burn brighter. It was a game and Maeve enjoyed it even when it hurt. ❛ Joel. I don’t have daddy issues, but my daddy has wife issues, ❜ she stated as if it was actually amusing. It was annoying. Maeve had liked not even a handful of the women his dad had brought into his, formerly their, home. However, he did divorce the worst one when Maeve had told him what she did. He loved his daughter and she loved the way he showed it, usually in a materialistic and spoiling way. Joel just didn’t get it. Of course, a father’s love wasn’t like someone else’s, was it? But Maeve stood by that she was good on her own, that she has such high standards that no one could meet them. Joel didn’t. Yet she’d still loved him. A word she’d only said to him once when it was too late. ❛ Oh honey, I’m the last person in this town who should be called bland, ❜ she scoffed, eyes locked with his, refusing to acknowledge how her heart skipped a beat. She knew they weren’t true. He’s wrong. Again. ❛ You need to come up with insults I can actually believe. ❜ Her teeth slowly bit down on her lower lip, head tilting to the side slightly. ❛ And if I’m not shit to you then… maybe don’t strike up a conversation every time we’re in close proximity to each other. ❜ Her words were quippy but dipped with venom, one of truth laced with something that’d draw him in because whether she liked it or not, his attention was as addictive as the stick between his lips. ❛ Pathetic. ❜ Yet, Maeve knew she did the same thing sometimes. Just for the inferno.
“I could tell you your fuckin’ eyes are brown and you’d call me a liar.” She’d mock him for it too. Stick the point of her heels between the pebbles of his spine and ask him to stand. “Now, that’s funny,” he shoves the bud of his cigarette against a crack in the wall, his hands retreating into his pockets for warmth. Too uncertain if the harsh bite was a gift from the season or his current company. “Conversations work both ways, Princess. You could tell me to fuck off, walk the fuck away or not even acknowledge me. I might be many things but I’m not out ‘ere demanding your time. You give that to me willingly.” Joel could not deny the moments in which he thought of her; how his mind would stir, contorting itself to deny the hours they had shared. How they appeared and disappeared just as quickly as he had imagined them. Always arriving wrapped with a bow of both doubt and disbelief. They were different in all the ways fire and ice existed at each side of a spectrum. Too far apart to collide as they had. How absurd to believe she had once been the very source of his heartbeat. Now he could barely feel the decaying organ within him. ”Poisonous,” he matches her tone verbatim. He’d spit it out if it vexed her further. “You’re poison.” She’s as pale as marrow under this light and he has thought long and hard on this sequence. Each rendition different than the next. He’d suppose reality was further removed. She’s as pale as marrow and he’s thought twice now whether to leave before the annoyance turns into ash - before he seeks someone else out that could make him feel half as human as she once had.
ZARRIN.
There it was. Each word that fell from his mouth, strewn with the accent of his mother tongue, one that Cataleya had to keep herself at bay at, mainly because she was a sucker for accents. His, though strong, was still discernable, or maybe he was just speaking eloquently enough for her to follow. “Which one kills you faster?” She found herself asking, before she picked her pen up once more. “Trick question, Joel, you don’t have to answer that.” She laughed softly then, as her eyes drew back to view him. She listened as he explained that he’d been crashing on this friends couch for years, that he had gigs that he attended to that let him stay in partnership with his vice which was clearly alcohol. This meeting was court-mandated and yet he still had the urgency to seek out said vice and take her along with him. Ethics be damned, she had half the mind to agree, but with a saccharine smile, she politely said, “Then what would I do if something happened if I said yes?” She let the question sit in the air between them for a couple of moments. “Besides, I’m equipped to deal with the droning, in fact, I’m more than interested to hear your side of it. And if we were to meet outside of here, well, you’d stand the shot of losing out on one on one time with me like this.”
He goes to answer; his mouth agape as he contorts it into a grin. Lips stretching outwards as if attached by marionette strings. Joel would suppose both would do the best job. It would be over quickly. Even still, the response dissipates across his tongue, palms raising submissively in response. Silence felt easier - water over smooth rock. His humour was dark and twisted in the way that vines take root and grow overtime. It was born from a learned experience. If you wouldn’t laugh, you’d surely cry. It was an element that devised opinion; where one could love it, another could just as surely hate. Concern etching itself into the furrowed brows of those who knew him deeply. “Then you’d think back fondly,” he muses, a hint of teeth peeking out between his lips. Her words held enough weight to him that he pondered each one individually. Something existed within him that lit up like a warning. But Joel never was one to heed them. Instead, he distorts his proposition, opts to allow her to consider another angle. The one that reared its head in the moments he truly believed his old life was barely out of reach. “You’re right. There’s also the fact that losing my therapist means I might also lose out on getting my job back. Doesn’t really look too good on record.” His rough hands clasp together; his fingers toying with a plain ring he’d had since his father. “Answer me this, Doc. Honestly. No bullshit. Let’s say you’re in a position where you could be facing serious jail time. I’m talking upwards fifteen years. You need a lawyer. Would you bet your future on the drunk?” He knew his past would haunt him. It was much less a scratch and more of a scar. “I know what I’d answer. And, if your answer’s also a no, then we might as well just crack the bottle open right ‘ere.”
LI.
~
Chloe knew competition well. It was part of her personality at this point, going toe to toe whenever given the opportunity. She had intended to turn this outing into a competition, but when challenged, she was not one to back down. “I’ll pay your tab for the night.” Those were high stakes when it came to Joel, but she was willing to try. “What do I get when I win,” She countered, smirk ever present on her face.
“Speaking my language, Croft.” He raises his cue as he speaks, lips exposing a Cheshire-cat grin. It’s mischievous - too applicable to his very nature. However, when she speaks further, his beam extends into laughter; born somewhere deep within. “That’s cute,” hilarity continues. Presuming her words were not likened to a serious matter.
HAMILTON.
LOCATION: coffee shop STATUS: open { @kingsheadstarters }
“Oh no, I only ordered one–” Olivia had tried to protest, but she failed, and the waitress waved off the woman’s attempt to return the spare peppermint mocha that she had in her hand, merely stating that it would waste if she returned it and to enjoy the free drink. But, too much coffee would send her skyrocketing into chaos with too much caffeine and sugar. She sighed, and glanced around before smiling at a person near her hopefully, “Peppermint Mocha? I was given a free one but drinking two isn’t a good idea.” she smiled softly, “Not poisoned, I swear.”
In Joel’s poor attempt to eradicate himself of his current vice, he itched for a replacement. He had never been much of a coffee drinker, filling his glass with bourbon as opposed to caffeine, but the latter hadn’t dismantled his career; a harsh shove down a slippery slope. “Shit, if that’s a bad idea, then what the fuck would you call my average Saturday night?” He retorts, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. He’d been caught between an apology text. A half-hearted ‘sorry’ for burning his bridges with another. “Drink ‘em both. Promise I won’t tell another soul.” A pause filtered through, his eyes narrowing to determine the scribbled text on the cup. “Offal- Who the shittin’ hell names their kid after decomposing flesh?”
JAEGER.
Scepticism quickly fell over her face when he spoke of his job. Was he in denial? She was just about to tell him; he’d lost it. Then he seemed to realize it himself and it pushed a scoff past her lips. Jack had sunk like a rock. Rose lived, and this particular rose was still thriving, moved on like her man had drowned at sea. ❛ Good to hear you’re acknowleding your failures, ❜ she quipped as if she was congratulating him. Maeve knew the story, she wasn’t dumb. Joel was good at his job and she knew it. The fact that he’d lost it the way he did was a true shame and she did feel sorry for him. However, there was nothing she could do about him falling to the bottom of the barrel. Well escept for his music - it wasn’t terrible but it didn’t provide stability. The man didn’t even have a place of his own. She wanted to ask when he’d get his lisence back but the words weren’t leaving her lips, probably ever. It would open up a door that made it sound like she cared and that wasn’t happening. Not between the two of them. That door was closed and locked. ❛ You’d like that wouldn’t you? ❜ she said without even looking at him, looking up at the dark sky filled with tiny little sparkles of light, twinkling as if they were dancing to the beat inside the Octavium. ❛ Ah yes, you do like to beg sometimes, ❜ she pretended to pretend to reminisce before she stepped closer, trying not to breathe in the smoke billowing past his lips. ❛ But here’s the thing, darling; they do. I am someone. In Cali. In Cape town. Even in little King’s Head Harbor. ❜
His failures - the sentiment arrived with a sting, surfacing somewhere between his third and fourth rib. It twisted, prodded, poked between the bones, reminding him of her insistence to wield the blade. He felt the dryness of his throat, the uncomfortable crook to his spine, the flaring of his nostrils. He felt a great deal more hollow than he once had - though hollow space allows much more room for flame - and it was without a doubt because of the factuality of her chosen words. Carefully selected as if to keel him over. As if with each inhale the sharpness would refuse to dull. Joel’s fingers twitched further - oh, how he demanded a drop of liquor - but he stuffed his free hand into his pocket and allowed it to tremble there. His insistence to offer a response to her query dissipating as she encroached further, his remaining hand clutching the cigarette between his lips; an inhale hissing between the shake of his head. He hoped the taste of ash on his tongue would kill the desire to bite at the line she had thrown. Though he was not a man to act so hesitantly. “That’s cute,” it’s mocking, flagrant condescension. “I’m guessing you chant that in the mirror each night in hopes it makes Daddy still love you.” Even a woman such as her would yearn to be loved. He knew that more than he had once liked. His eyes observe her beneath this blanket of night; brow arching, gaze attempting to disclose an open nerve. “I couldn’t give a shit if you’re fuckin’ Tutankhamun, Sticks. You ain’t shit to me. Bland and broken - just like the rest of these folk.”
ZARRIN.
“Joel,” She repeats without missing a beat, writing down his preference for the next session, if there is a next time. Cataleya then went down the lines of the paperwork seeing something underlined that said this was court-ordered, things were always messy when it came to legality, but Joel was a hard book to judge as of now. Usually she could get a decent first impression, but from how he was now, she deduced there was a brashness to him, his accent held a background that she felt delighted to go into whenever he was ready, but his eyes that drifted to the neutral wall tones behind her, it was heavy. “Two bottles deep, that’s your poison then?” She replied without missing yet another beat. It’s a simple question and one that does not warrant judgement.
She offered him a giggle as her eyes raise up slightly. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I come from a long line of women who have luscious hair, my youth I’ll cling onto for as long as I can.” And that was enough about her. Attention turned back to what Joel was willing to share at first, starting his day on his friend’s couch it seemed. “How long have you been boarding with him? Is this a temporary situation?” She asked as she placed her pen down to give Joel her full attention. “Do you drink while you’re there?”
“It’s no cyanide,” he responds. The corner of his lips ascending momentarily. Amusement dispersing almost as quickly as it arrives. He observes her as she speaks, dissects the angles of her face, the plumpness of her lips. What a cruel fate to be subjected to. Joel wonders if irony would not be too hard to find. “A little while. I guess a few years would make it permanent. Don’t really have plans on changing that either. Well, unless he kills me in my sleep. There’s always the chance.” One would suppose his closest friends had considered it at least once. He knew strangers had on more than one occasion. His ability to find himself amongst an irate rabble was almost impressive. “Occasionally. I’m not some moron though. He thinks I don’t notice those pathetic observations. Means I just keep most of my drinking in bars. The more gigs I do, the more giving they are with the liquor. Keeps the both of us happy.” His feet descend towards the floorboard as he leans inwards, elbows supported across his thighs. “Listen, Sweet, no one wants to sit here and hear me drone on about how my mother never loved me or how I’ll likely never make it to my forties. So, how about we just skip this part? There’s a bar down the street and I like to think I’m not completely shit company.”
LI.
status: closed ( @joelderby ) location: starlight tavern
A satisfying clack of the cue ball against the freshly racked bililard balls left Chloe with a satisfied smirk. She wasn’t great at pool by any means, but she enjoyed the game all the same. Glancing up at Joel, she nodded towards the table for him to take his turn. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” Befriending Joel had felt a bit like being a younger version of herself. He reminded her a lot of her time with the bikers, and it was a sense of familiarity that she had missed.
He’s perusing the table as she speaks, the hum of chatter and a nearby jukebox in the background. Joel was not a man who lost easily; he’d talk himself out of a situation before it ever amounted as such. Though he’d suppose sinking the claws of his competitive nature into this friendly game would be an overstep. “Slow your roll,” he raises a submissive hand, an impromptu pause before he strikes. “I don’t do shit without a prize. What do I win when I take this baby home?”
DINATALE.
VARGAS.
❛ Then maybe stop saying dumb shit, ❜ Max mused, firing shots back at Joel the best he could but in all honesty, they knew they couldn’t beat his insults. They were always more well thought out, as if he’d written them all down on paper beforehand and read it out loud and not straight from his mind. Half-choking on his whiskey when Aless uttered a few italian words, Max shook his head as he cleared his throat. ❛ Mmh, no, that was for me, ❜ he said, pointing a finger at Joel without looking at him. To be fair, Max and Aless did tend to swap to their parent languages around the brit just to mess with him so of course he assumed that was the case now too. ❛ Cállate y solo cocina la pasta, papi chulo. ❜ Max tried to make his words sound as serious as possible but he figured there was a chance Joel might have at least caught on a little what he was saying so he let a wry smirk tug at the right coener of his lips. ❛ So how’s the music going, Jo? ❜
@alessxdinatale
To an unassuming passerby it could have been assumed that the men were bickering at each other, but this was simply just another normal evening for the trio. Aless did eye Joel as he seemed to want to choose vodka, of which he out of satisfaction swiped the bottle away from the man before he could take a swig. “Sorry JoJo, need it for the recipe.” He said, laughing as he stepped away from the musician who was sure to throw at least a shove in the man’s direction. Ears perked up at Max calling him the endearing nickname and he couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh. “God when was the last time you’ve called me that? And grow a beak, Joel. That owl smashes knee caps for every lesson that isn’t learned.” He warned jokingly. With that, Aless began getting to work on making spicy rigatoni, just a spicier take on an alla vodka but it suited the mood for the evening. He had just salted the water when he called out to Joel, “Nearly scared her to death man, just call me next time.” At least for the sake of not having to bail either his girlfriend or one of his closest friends out of jail. Then he listened in, curious to know how Joel’s gigs were going as well.
@joelderby
- Just call me next time. “I’m practically part of the furniture. If she’s not used to me by now then maybe she should be the one calling you. I swear,” he directs his attention towards Max, the lines of his forehead creasing. “If you ever end up finding the woman of your dreams, make sure she knows I’m glued to that fuckin’ sofa. Or, better yet, avoid them altogether. I’m already sick of seeing our Italian Stallion’s puppy eyes.” Joel supported his weight against the nearest wall as he spoke, arms crossed, observing the concoction Aless created. He didn’t address the liquor further - the air already hanging with a weight Joel knew he created. His focus shifting only when the question befell from his housemate’s lips. Thankful for the familiar language. “It’s going,” he responds, shoulders shrugging languidly. “Don’t think I’ll be the next Rory Gallagher by next week.” Music was a passion, an occupation he enjoyed, but it wasn’t an aspect of his life he clung to. The life of a lawyer was better suited - or once was.
JAEGER.
Despite always saying rock wasn’t her sound she was still at the Octavium tonight but there was no doubt Fleetwood Mac had a different sound than what the local so-called-rock-band played. That was entirely different, too loud and completely unnecessary. This was soft rock with a beat she could get on, a sort of vintage band that felt like a party and a warm hug at the same time. Additionally, her friends were there, talking and dancing away with drinks in their hands. It all put a smile to Maeve’s face. A geniuine one, with laughter filling her lungs. Feeling sweat drip down her cleavage she let herself take that much needed break from the loud noise and drunk people rubbing their bodies against hers like she was the home of a genie already before 10pm. Finishing her second cocktail of the night Maeve fetched her jacket quickly and stepped outside. A small cloud of smoke left her mouth as she exhaled, smirking softly at her friend who stepped away towards the man she’d brought as a date. The expression easily fell off her features when she heard a far too familiar voice, hazel hues taking him in after she had turned her head. Maeve gave him a moment of silence, one of her brows raising slightly. For a moment she felt as if her tongue had been tied into a knot but when she opened her mouth words flowed easily, like a stream in the spring after a whole winter of being held captive by the ice. ❛ Then you’re wrong, as usual, ❜ she said flatly, pushing a red lock of hair behind her shoulder. ❛ Put that out, it smells disgusting, ❜ she scoffs, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the smell of cigarettes accompanied with his voice somehow felt like home.
As usual. A laugh filtered between his exhale as she spoke, contorting his features. He’d suppose she grew comfortable with begrudging him. It felt all too natural to do so. Joel wasn’t a particularly likeable man - he was crass, said the wrong thing. Too confident for a man of his stature. Yet, he revelled in it, welcomed both her bite and bark. He’d prod the points in which incited it most. As if loathing him was the most passionate emotion he could make her feel. “Sweetheart, if I was wrong that often I’d be pretty shit at my job.” He held the cigarette between his teeth momentarily. Recognised the importance of past tense in regards to his profession. It wasn’t so much a would be but a would have. His downfall from grace would continue to haunt him. “Would’ve been. Reckon that ship sailed and sunk like the fuckin’ Titanic.” Her demand prompted his head to tilt. Astonishment angling the scruff corners of his jawbone. “Make me, Red.” The retort arrives with a scoff, a languid inhale and exhale following suit. He’d smoke the whole pack if it taunted her most. “There’s only one place I take orders and it isn’t stood in the middle of the fuckin’ street. No one’s bowing down to you here, your Highness.”
Jack O'Connell for The Guardian
ZARRIN.
where: Her Office with: @joelderby
“Mr. Derby, is it?” Cataleya said freely as the man entered her office. “Take a seat anywhere, or stand if you’d like, whatever you feel comfortable with. His intake form had bit a little out of sorts, a bunch of scribbles or illegible words that she couldn’t quite make out, but mostly everyone who made it through the threshold of her door had a story to tell and she was sure that this man would get to it when he felt ready to. She took a steady breath in and exhaled out calmly as she pressed the top of her pen to her bottom lip. “I was only able to make out that this is a first time thing for you, so I’ll start off by saying that this is a major step, not an easy one in the least.” She looked over at him once more, eyes locked onto his own. “You don’t have to start from the beginning, you can even just start with your day, any grievances as of late?”
The room is textbook - exactly as he’d imagined it. He’d suppose creativity wasn’t commonplace within a world such as this. Brimming with neutral tones, nothing too easily thrown for the more animated clients. Her greeting lures his attentions away from four corners, the softness to her features prompting him to exhale. An exasperated sigh. “Call me Joel. Derby sounds too professional for my liking, sweet.” His response doesn’t miss a beat, as if he’s recited that same statement countlessly over the years. Her words are warm - adds purpose to her profession - though he opts for the former; perching comfortably on a small couch, his feet supported on the coffee table between them. “Trust me, Doc, this wasn’t my choice. If this was my choice, I’d be two bottles deep.” Joel wonders if alcoholism exists within his file in bold - or if it’s an aspect she’ll uncover soon enough. “I’m also positive this might be some sort of sick joke. When I was told I had to talk to someone, I expected a balding man in his fifties.” The encouragement was unnecessary. He grows curious to know how often she’d mimicked those same words. He wonders about the complexities of her clients. “Start with my day...” there’s a swelling pause, a moment to ponder. Joel isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve; he holds it far too tightly, constricting it like a serpent’s tail. “I start each day on my mate’s fuckin’ couch. That’s pretty shit.”
time: 19:50 location: starlight tavern status: closed for @bashlandry
“Man, you look like shit.” Though face-value would depict it as an insult, Joel spoke with little intention - it was a greeting, an ebb of concern flowing freely throughout his declaration. He’d suppose leaving it as just that would be suffice. There were no requirements to pry further; he’d suppose the man was a mirror image of sorts. Where he too looked particularly dishevelled - rough around the edges - they knew it evolved from a similar space. Their lives cast out to sea, heads barely above the current. A single hand raises upwards, gesturing towards the bartender who mopped at spilled liquor with a damp cloth. Their attention lifting upwards in response. Joel spoke to most as if he had known them for seasons - yet it was often unclear whether his relationship with bartenders stemmed from one evening or ample. His liver would be the only one to know such a truth. “Ey, barkeep, we’ll take two whiskeys. If he doesn’t feel more human after that, at least I’ll think he’s prettier.” He’s hunched over on a barstool as he speaks, elbows resting comfortably atop the wooden table. It’s aged with the hint of a well-loved bar. Blue eyes survey the liquor bottles before him, his fingers twitching, before retreating to his friend. A quick glance over before he continues. “How many hours a night d’you sleep?”