|| Closed RP ||
@justiciaesciego
The first thing Klavier had noticed when he had tumbled off the stage, sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead and mouth still stuck in that usual cocky grin of his, was not the small crowd of people who were there for the opening night of a new bar, nor the bright lights, nor the dance floor - it was the bar; or rather, who was stood at the bar.
He couldn’t have been much younger then he was, he mused to himself, but the two of them could not have been more opposite. Klavier was leather, piercings and vodka, and the stranger, (who he had yet to learn the name of), could not have been less like that.
{He looks like he’s going to shatter that glass if he grips it any tighter}
But he was still attractive, in a way Klavier could not quite define, and hell, that made him like him all the more for it. And why not? He was still tingling with adrenaline, the buzz of the crowd and the lingering taste of a shot in his mouth drove him to walk over, with all the confidence in the world, and talk.
“Do you have any idea how attractive you are?” He smirked at that, accent thick and practically dripping in arrogance - he knew what he wanted, and he was determined to get it.
The music was too loud.
The music was always too loud. Didn’t people go to bars to, you know -- eat bad food, drink bad beer, and talk? Not to have their eardrums blown out by an obnoxiously loud rock band. Then again -- Clay had picked the place, and this was his kind of music. Apollo should have expected as much.
( But what Apollo really hadn’t expected was for Clay to get caught up in a conversation with someone else. Not that Apollo could blame him -- Clay always got a little excitable when SPACE came up in conversation, whether it was with Apollo or... someone else. )
Hand tight around his glass, Apollo sipped at his water. He stood, leaned against the bar, dressed in his usual jeans ( worn ; they were several years old ) and a loose t-shirt with his college’s name written across the front. The live music had stopped, replaced with the sound of pre-recorded music blasting through the speakers.
It was loud enough -- and the bar crowded enough -- that, at first, Apollo hadn’t realized that the heavily accented speaker had addressed him ( the closeness of the speaker being what tipped Apollo off, after a short pause ). When Apollo did, however, he frowned and answered, “No.”
Pulling slightly away from the bar, Apollo turned to face the new voice, one hand resting over his drink -- the other holding his conspicuous white cane.
Well?
