& — To claim that Orpheus was naive to the world would be to place innocence upon the stoop of his urgency (which is to say: perhaps, but what good does this implication provide itself if no one looks to see it?). He is currently holding down a part-time job at a local establishment, serving partially as a server and partially as a bartender (though the former is his preference; it is easier to place blame elsewhere in that aspect, as doubt creeps in like a steady wind too insistent to ignore); he is scheduled to work tonight, well into the late evening hours, but chance is a fickle thing. He knows this just as well as anyone, and who is he to deny the request of a woman who holds such honor, such untapped eloquence, such undeniable beauty? Perhaps this is where the descriptor “naive” should fall into play; perhaps, too, this is where the young boy should stop to reconsider. This girl, one he barely knows anything more than a name of, could pose a threat; she could be a poor girl with darker tendencies, with connections in the underworld (that which houses beauty, yes, but even in its neon glow, contains an infinite darkness paralleled only by that can be found in the hearts of soulless men). He should decline the sudden invitation, sure, but he has waited so long now to find a purpose in this life; trusting the gods will provide will only get you so far, as his mentor so oft reminds him. And so, he quickly goes to his manager at the small pub, insists that an engagement has come up — all too abrupt, yet all too urgent — and he has to leave, he has to abandon these earnings he works for so feverishly. Is it selfless? Perhaps, but he is all too aware, also, of this undeniable fact: he would do anything for this girl who, even before they met, he felt he has known all his life.
He arrives to the bar, stains on his jeans, denim jacket pulled tightly ‘round his shoulders; it is cold tonight — the winter seems unbearable, as if it came on too soon — but he will persevere, nonetheless. He scans the establishment, spotting those he assumes regulars, and those he assumes have begun to lean too strongly into a recurring habit; a shame, he thinks, though he has no room to object (for isn’t he, too, leaning on a habit? Music is a habit, just as revolution and love are habits; good, yes, but self-destructive, even despite themselves). He spots her nearly immediately, smiling timidly as he approaches her table in the corner. With a small wave, he greets her.
“Eurydice,” he says, the name falling from his tongue like a melody he’s always known. He slides into the seat her opposite, eyes gleaming in the dimly lit space; even in these mahogany auras that surround her, she is just as beautiful as when they first met (too, when she came to his cramped apartment, furnishings scarce but admiration plentiful). He smiles at her, nervous and awkward, as he continues. “Sorry if I’m late. I kind of, uhm…” pray tell, should he admit he has abandoned his pay for this girl he barely knows? Shall he profess dedication so early on; the words of his mentor echo in his mind (Orpheus, don’t come on too strong); he digresses. “…I got here as soon as I could.”
( * & . Upon seeing what she assumes to be Orpheus ( brown hair, blue eyes, and a red bandana wrapped around his neck ), she sits up a bit taller. He sticks out of the crowd with ease. Despite being close in age, it seems as though he hasn’t seen the way the world was, and how cruel it could be. Eurydice decides against being the bearer of bad news and opts for the smile to match his, a hand gesturing to the seat in front of her. The weather’s wicked out there, but it’s how it’s always been, no matter where she goes. At least, until someone comes along to bring the world back into tune. For now, though, she’s grateful that Orpheus showed up, even in the bitter cold. There’s the feeling of guilt in the back of her mind before it’s squared away at the sound of him calling her name. It’s strange, being cared for.
“Orpheus, ” Eurydice shoots the greeting right back, leaning forward in her seats. He apologizes, for what exactly.. she’s not sure. It’s kind of her fault for asking him to hang out so last minute. “Don’t worry about it.” The girl assures him, quick to add, “I haven’t been waiting long, anyways.” A moment passes and Eurydice finds herself hesitating on words. Fingers fidget on her nail polish once more, this time in her lap. “Thanks.. by the way. You didn’t have to come out tonight.” I just didn’t want to be alone, she wants to tell him, which is completely out of character. Opening up to anyone was difficult for her, let alone someone she’s only known for less than two weeks. He’s different, she tells herself. Whatever it may be that she can’t seem to put a finger on, Eurydice almost wants to fall back into it, like a soft place to land. “I just wanted to.. talk.” That’s an understatement.
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
2087
snowghoul
vaporwave
