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Ryn Andros I 25 I bartender at El Corazon When she shall die, Take her and cut her out in little stars, And she will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

[dariowilks-blog]

DATE: april 17th LOCATION: outside of el corazón STATUS: open

Dario loved the social atmosphere of his job, but everything got tiring after so long. Too many twelve hour days had left him exhausted, if not a bit lackluster–not that he’d allow anyone to notice. He’d still smile just as bright, distract people with compliments, and hope they didn’t realize his charm was slipping. It was rare, really, that he felt this way. Usually, charisma came effortlessly–but now he just wanted to sleep.

With an hour left to work–he got off at four in the morning–Dario found an escape. The place was settling down quite a bit, and only a few people sat at the bar. He took the rare lull as an opportunity for some air. It wasn’t that anyone would mind if he took a break, really; people had been telling him he needed to take some time off. It was his own fault that he was overworked and so incredibly drained. Sometimes Dario didn’t understand the meaning of too much. Sometimes he didn’t know that it was okay not to please everyone at once.

Dario settled just outside the door of the bar–just in case anyone were to need him. He had a glass of water in hand instead of alcohol and leaned against a wall to give his legs a short break. The stars were still magnificent at this time of night, which was reassuring to Dario. They shined every night for many hours, too, and they still looked just as beautiful. What a world he lived in, where the sky could look be so stunning all the time. 

“What a view, huh?” Dario said to someone hovering nearby. He’d forgotten that he was supposed to be giving himself a break from socializing. He smiled at the person next to him, just as grateful to be looking at them as he was to be looking at the stars. “If we watch closely enough, maybe we’ll see a shooting star.”

[praetextum-blog]

She’d noticed, of course she had, when he slipped away. Her haw’s eyes always had him in sight, out of the corner of her eye. Dario felt---she wasn’t sure how to explain why she cared about him so much, what made her feel protective over him and not others. Perhaps it was because he was a genuinely kind soul, a soft boy with a soft heart she felt the need to protect. Or maybe it was because she saw through his charm, sometimes, and knew he was not always this perfect angel child that was so loved by all.

Thath e hadn’t come to her for the water perturbed her, she’d have made sure it was ice cold. The bar was emptying, two patrons on approved stools half asleep in their mostly drained drinks. She decided she could afford a break too, her aching feet grateful for the decision. Right outside the door he stood, still thinking of others when he needed to think of himself. She propped herself against the wall beside him without a word, leaning back and enjoying the cool breeze and fresh air, the silence most of all.

Dario was such a pure soul and she both admired and envied it, feared for it as she had once been the same. She felt a kinship she tried not to show, making her presence nonchalant instead of completely purposeful. when he spoke of the stars it broke her heart, she had once gazed at them like Gods in the sky and they’d fallen from the heavens at her sinful feet.

“If you like that sort of thing.” She replied, refusing to bring her eyes skyward. The stars twinkled innocently but Gods, did they burn. His smile was radiant but a tad weary and she brought the water higher into his view to encourage him to drink more. “Proper hydration is important.” She kept her voice monotone. “Yeah, and what would you wish for?”

[praetextum-blog]

atticus-valdez:

Every word out of her mouth acted like fuel to the fire that was Atticus’s anger. He knew, at least a part of him anyways, that it was genuinely unfounded but that didn’t stop it from growing. After all, all he’d done was sit in an empty bar stool and order a drink. Pretty normal bar activity if you asked him. But clearly being belligerent wasn’t getting him anywhere. Sucking in a deep breath Atticus forced himself to box away his anger, just a little anyways. “I’m sorry.” God, that burned as he said it. “I was an asshole about the bar stool, okay?” He adjusted himself to keep her face in his field of vision as she moved to clean the counter top, unwilling to lose the train of conversation. “For what it’s worth,” Which was probably very little, but he was at least trying. “I didn’t think you were a bitch until after you refused to serve me after I’d stood up.” He thought about complementing her but held it back. She probably wouldn’t do well with that.

“But seriously. Its been a long evening and I just wanted a stiff drink before I made the trek home.” It wasn’t that long of a journey but after a night spent surrounded by Silvers Atticus felt he’d need at least that much to get his tired self home. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets as he spoke, hoping that she’d eat her own pride for a minute. Doubtful. For Dario’s place of work he sure worked with the wrong sort of people. It was mildly baffling to him. He watched her, waiting for the reply he knew he probably wasn’t going to get. But hey, at least he’d tried.

Her anger and frustration finally bubbled over, she was done with this discussion turned argument and she’d made it pretty damn clear. His half assed apology made him even more pathetic and gross in her eyes and he couldn’t even admit to what he’d really done wrong. 

“It isn’t about a stool, are you for real?” She was baffled beyond belief, stopped her task and glared at him as hard as she could, feeling her ability course through her violently she couldn’t reign it in and for once she didn’t even want to try. “You want to leave.” She said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact. Perhaps his inability to hear might render her useless but she’d never pushed this hard before, energy sapping from her bones. 

[gildcdglory]

DATE: April 19th

LOCATION: Isla’s shop 

STATUS: Open

The days after the ball seemed to blur together. There was so much stuff that happened at the ball that it made Diem overwhelmed to think about it all. Rosa was back in her life. Azariah was back in town. So many other revelations came to life that caused Diem to stick to her shop for a day or two in order to get her thoughts together. Working in the shop for so long. Diem got used to a routine that was getting more and more interrupted the longer she went without Isla to keep her focused on tasks. 

The shop didn’t even feel like it was the same shop. Yes, it still looked the same and cared for the same customers, but there was something missing. Isla’s presence gave the shop a little something extra that was no longer there. She gave it a vibe. People walked into her shop and knew they would be well taken care of. Now, it just lacked that sureness in the air that kept Diem at bay and confident in her designs.

Diem was reorganizing some of the fabrics she had stocked when she heard the bell ring up front that let her know someone entered the shop. Sighing a bit, Diem peeked her head out of the door frame to look at whoever wandered in. “Sorry, shops not open yet.” 

[praetextum-blog]

The streets were empty still, too early for most though for Ryn it was late. They had torn a jacket, one of the few they had that actually kept them warm and needed it patched. Of course, they could sew a bit themselves but not as well as Isla could. Ryn of course knew what had happened to Isla, they had mourned privately and figured the assistant was just as skilled or they wouldn’t be the assistant. Ryn hadn’t much experience with the girl but they wanted the jacket fixed and hoped they could drop it off before trudging to bed.

The bell chimed and it felt so familiar, they almost called out for Isla but gulped back the name. The voice of the girl came floating to their ears and they stepped forward, jacket in hand. “I know, I’m sorry but I have to head home to my sister and I just need this patched.”

It wasn’t quite pleading, unless pleading sounded both apologetic and perturbed. “Could you just take a look?” They offered the garment to the girl with a hopeful and yet somehow also defeated look, Ryn could pull off both at once it seemed.

[praetextum-blog]

decadentlonging:

Could they be sure Azariah wouldn’t show up unannounced, again, and throw their life completely off kilter with little more than a few words? “No,” they said truthfully, looking the bartender in the eye, “but I am not one to air my dirty laundry or to cause a scene. If my trouble follows me, I will leave.” It was the most reassuring they could be to the stranger. They perfectly understood not wanting to be caught up in someone else’s tumultuous life, after all; they simply didn’t have the kind of luck that prevented it.

Watching her examine them like the curiosity, the potential threat, they supposed they were to her and her establishment, they wondered what it would take to earn her trust.  They understood her impulse to keep them at arm’s length, to watch them like a string being pulled taught, with all the potential to snap without warning, but all they wanted was some respite from the world outside–they had no intention, as always, of becoming a problem for anyone, Red or Silver or anything in between.

So, they simply nodded in response to their inquiry,. “Another, yes, thank you.” How many drinks would that bring the night’s total to? They had lost count, but the rest had been weak, at least. “I suppose I cannot be counted among them,” they mused aloud. “I desire peace and beauty, and little else. The latter is much easier to come across, apparently.” In the person across the counter, they saw both–a quiet, firm voice, their focused, almost challenging eyes, the casual grace they carried themself with. Whoever they were, they gave Rahul the distinct impression that anything could be said within El Corazon, so long as they did not have to deal with the consequences of it. “I rarely mind a conversation with a decent partner, though.”

Honesty was appreciated, in the very least, but she took a deep breath that was more like a huff in preparation for a possible altercation. Though they didn’t strike her as the quarreling type, she didn’t know them at all.  An eyebrow rose on her behalf “That is---courteous. But if you needed aid--” She couldn’t offer herself but the bodyguards might be enough. Still, they were a Silver and they had an ability, she was almost positive they would be able to handle themself alone. 

The bottle waited between them on the bar top, she didn’t think they’d take it without permission, they seemed above that sort of thing. Ryn had gotten quite adept at picking out types in a crowd, to spot trouble and the opposite of it. She relaxed from her own tension, she didn’t want to make them a threat unnecessrily with her own body language, though she couldn’t make herself appear friendly. she at least didn’t need to seem so hostile. 

She smiled though hers were more like a grimace and raised the bottle to the glass. “You have an iron stomach, this stuff puts Red man on the ground after two.” She was amused, wondering what two would do to a Silver.”Beauty? You are surrounded by such each day, and you crave what exactly outside of it?” She was being rude, nosy but when had she stopped to care? “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” She tried, she didn’t really want to chase them away. She paused, had they complimented her? She had long ago tuned out the compliments of patrons, none but one’s words had ever mattered to her heart and they were long gone. She chose to ignore it, just in case she was wrong and a hint of ego had sneaked through her defenses.  “Are you saying I’m a decent conversationalist? I’ve had some practice.” She smiled, almost genuinely.

[praetextum-blog]

theosgreco:

Theo always felt like the odd one out when he was dragged into bars either by Kass and Octavian or someone else that thought he needed to go to the alcoholic establishment. He just preferred non-alcoholic drinks to alcoholic ones. The alcohol often gave him a numbness that may be pleasurable to some people, but to him it just reminded him of the numbness he forced himself to have on the battle field. After so many battles filled with shaking fists and tear stained uniforms, he developed a killing calm to where he just shut down during the fight. He glanced up at the bartender as she spoke again. “What do you have?” He asked. They had food at the event, but he was a man of great appetite which his size and strength. “It’s all just exhausting. Burdens, the lifestyle, everything builds up. Besides, there’s not exactly a lot of places to sit down at. Standing for hours at a time is a pain to anyone.”

He simply nodded at her statement. He didn’t bother asking how she knew that. Once upon a time he could be seen as a carefree young boy, but now it was evident that he came from the war zone. He glanced over at the guards who dragged him out to the bar before nodding yet again. “I’m letting them have a few rounds of shots before I switch it out for water. I don’t think you need a bunch of drunk palace guards causing mayhem in your bar.” He let a small smile appear on his face when she commented on his dancing skills. “Yes, it does. Suppose I don’t hide that very well.”

She shrugged at the question “I’ll just get you a menu.” she dipped behind the counter and pulled a sheet of parchment for him to peruse. “I like the lamb stew personally, it’s heavy but filling.” She didn’t have the money for it usually but the cook had become a friend and often slipped her food after hours, unused supplies. A soldier might not make much but a Silver guard she was sure was able to afford whatever they pleased. The complaints he made rolled off her back like drops of water, how could he complain when he wanted for nothing, while she had once nearly starved, when everyone around her had to work so hard to stay alive, to avoid conscription, to eat.  “Forgive me for having trouble with that.” there was an edge to her voice she tried to keep out but she didn’t try that hard. “I stand most of the hours of the day.” She replied simply, less curt than her last words. 

She had been right, he was a soldier and not just a palace guard, like his friends. He seemed sweet, sincere but they were worlds apart and she couldn’t find it within her to sympathize with or for him. Still, she worked to get back to being neutral and polite. “Like a babysitter.” She almost laughed, she did find it rather funny that a bulky guy like him would be reduced to such a thing. “But thanks for the thought, however we do have our own security.” And other ways of keeping patrons in line. But on such a busy night she supposed she wouldn’t begrudge him the help. “Did you decide what to eat?”

[praetextum-blog]

decadentlonging:

They almost laughed at her apparent concern–start slow, love, as if Silvers were not the worst offenders when it came to abusing any and everything that came into their hands–but they decided to (mostly) comply because, well, what was the point of arguing it? In a more comfortable place they could have lifted the little glass to their lips with nothing but their mind; here they picked it up, ring-laden fingers gentle around the small circumference, and tossed it back all at once.

The burn that chased it down their throat was exactly what they had needed to ground them all night long.

The bartender’s question reached them as they set it down and they met their gaze, looking for suspicion in their eyes. What a question. “Not in the moment,” they said, deciding the words were truthful enough. They might be anticipating many more fights in the future, especially with their balancing opposite gone, but they could at least have hope there would be no dramatic scene in this most inappropriate of places. “I have had my fill of it tonight.” They were quiet for a moment before amending: “For forever, in truth. Yet, somehow I doubt I will have the good fortune to be left alone for the rest of my life.” They grimaced, fingers reaching across the bar to toy with the empty glass.

They seemed to weigh their response, that or they simply hated conversation and she felt a little perturbed. If they didn’t want to socialize or be bothered they’d come to the wrong place. El Corazon was not the spot for loners or those desperate for solitude. Their rings glittered in the muted light and she wondered, not for the first time, how long she could feed herself with just one. How wasteful, how ornamental the Silvers were. Did they not consider these things? Of course they didn’t, if she ever got a windfall she wouldn’t be found giving it away to those without, not really. 

She watched them down the drink and was slightly impressed by their ability to keep it all down, for now.

Their eyes were as dark as her own and she found herself incredibly interested in their response. With a sigh however she stood, taking her elbows off the bar. “I don’t want any trouble tonight, can you be sure that fight didn’t follow you here?” Ryn was not in the mood to compel a fight to stop, she loathed her gift but she loathed violence more. Finally however they began to spill more than one sentence replies. “There are very few who truly desire no more than peace.” She eyed the glass he fondled “Another?”

[claryfairhild]

“She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine.”

[batstobed-blog]

send me  🍸 for a moodboard of our muses send me  🍷 for an aesthetic of our muses send me  🍹 for a short fanfic/headcanon of our muses send me  ☕️ for a mini playlist of our muses

[praetextum-blog]

decadentlonging:

Looks like you need one. Understatement of the century. Rahul had the uncanny feeling a hard, uncompromising drink was the only thing that could get them through the next day. After spitting so much venom at Azariah (much-deserved, of course) and spending the rest of the night caught up in their own little world of escalating psychological crises? “Something strong, thank you.”

Distracted as they had been by their desire to leave the chaos of the ball behind, now that they were settled in a bar frequented by Red and Silvers alike they were beginning to realize the danger of their current seat. Anyone could show up, anyone at all–they had been unlucky all night that way. Best not to dwell on it. Sure, a Silver they couldn’t stand might make an appearance, or maybe Azariah himself would drop in and start another uselessly circular argument, but damn it, they wanted that drink. Just the one, and then they’d be off into the night, silent as ever. The bartender, whom they were eyeing with mild interest as they strolled their domain behind the counter, likely wouldn’t remember them at all in a few hours’ time. They would remember her–she had eyes that cut deep, deeper than most they’d ever seen. “I do need one,” they muttered, deciding they deserved something more than just a demand (not that they would, or even could, make conversation easy).

They seemed unsettled, a familiar look in her bar. “Coming right up.” she left them to fret while she grabbed a bottle of what she had discovered to be unflinchingly strong, one she never dared to drink herself. With the bottle in hand she returned and poured a shot “Start slow with this one, love.” She warned, handing it over and watching with interest, maybe a silver had a stronger stomach.

Their unease began to have her own eyes roaming, were they avoiding someone or waiting for another? What would happen if that person arrived? She wasn’t fond of fights in her bar, rare as they were. Somehow they didn’t strike her as the fighting type, not physically anyway, their finery would get damaged after all. She began to wonder what their ability might be, but she’d never given much thought to the Silvers, beyond a deep and ignored bitterness she harbored in her stomach. 

“Are you anticipating a confrontation?” she finally asked, the bar top too clean to feign wiping it down anymore than she already had.

[praetextum-blog]

luckyenigma:

Quick and practiced hands caught the rebel glass, liquid spilling onto the cuffs of his shirt unapologetically.  He sighed, casting a look at his oldest friend and tutting, setting to pulling off the plush, violet blazer and tossing it behind the bar for her to catch and stow for him.  He’d planned to camp for the rest of the night— there was little else that could sooth a broken soul like a night a place like this and someone like Ryn.  He rolled up the wet cuffs; out of sight, out of mind.

“A jerk, yes, perhaps.  But you love me so really– who’s the faulted one here?”  He laughed warmly and took a lengthy swig from his glass, nearly draining the thing in one swift gulp.  He wiggled it at her, a silent question for more.  “And I never whine.”  He accused, pointing with his free hand.

“I blocked that part out, I think.  Who wouldn’t want to go to a party like that?  Free booze, that you don’t have to serve, even, fancy dresses, wild hair, quirky masks.  You could have been my date. I certainly need one.  It’s been ages.”

She accepted the look, the tut a bit less, she found the act and sound annoying at best. At worst she wanted to grab his tongue and make him stop. She felt badly for getting it on his jacket, it looked soft, luxurious, something she could never afford or wear well. She caught it with ease and indulged in the texture for a moment before stowing it in the cabinet where she kept her bag. With the action she knew they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon but felt comfort in the thought. 

“You put too many words in my mouth.” They retorted, though the corner of their lips pulled up. She let herself fall into his laugh, in the familiarity of it all. She brought up the bottle again for a refill. “Oh, no, never.”

“Obviously.” It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I wouldn’t, and you know that.” She hated when he did this, made her sound like someone she wasn’t, or pushed too hard to have her agree with him. “I am not a fan of any of those things, not even the free booze. Imagine me in some poofy dress Az, it would be laughable. And I would never be your date, I don’t do dates. I am not here to be your entertainment either, i’m your friend not your toy.” She rarely got serious with him and wanted to shake off the tone.

[praetextum-blog]

rosafowler:

Indulgences within Rosa’s life were few and far between, savored for their rarity. Each one was plucked apart delicately and devoured with care, taking the time to relish each and every second, not knowing when the next would come again. Even as an adult, even with the freedom that came from being a part of the liberation movement, old habits continued to die hard. And for Rosa, even a drink held the novelty of being a treat. So, with a chipped mask in one hand and a dress hitched up in another, they ducked into the local bar on everyone’s lips, intent on rewarding themselves.

And after the night they had endured, they felt deserving, as if they were owed. 

Perhaps the bitter taste of whiskey would do its job and erase Diem’s face from their mind. Somehow, they felt doubtful. Eyes searching the crowd for familiar faces - and finding none - Rosa slipped up on a free bar stool, the only one, she might have added, lips parted as they prepared to ask for the strongest drink on the menu. Only, they never got the chance. Confronted with the prickly thorns of the bartender, with steeled determination in their eyes that felt familiar, as they saw the same reflected in their eyes, Rosa pondered for a moment, figuring it made sense to point out the obvious. Her petals weren’t as delicate as they appeared. “But there’s no one here.”

Ryn nodded, they felt the desire to be more polite but often lost that particular battle. With dark eyes raised to the person before them they tried to smile “I understand it appears that way, but the occupant will be returning shortly. However, I can serve you now and we can agree you will have to find another seat when they return.” It wasn’t a question, nothing ever was with Ryn, not anymore. With a raised brow they were poised for a response, either in ascension or argument. 

[driverwhore]

Never let this cruel world steal your spark.

[praetextum-blog]

decadentlonging:

Driven to desperation by the loss of their sister–for it was the most wrenching loss they had ever felt, like Sof had taken with her not just their heart, but their whole chest–and incensed by their unforeseen encounter with the most unseemly of bachelors, Rahul needed to get away from the ball as fast as possible. They also need a drink, something harder than the palace would offer, and they were woefully out of the absinthe typically tucked against their chest. El Corazon it was.

They took the seat without much thought, but the bartender’s sharp eyes on them had them looking up, looking right at them–hardly seeing them, at least for a moment. It still felt as if they were floating, detached, from their body. Looking around, they saw no other place to sit and be left alone, so they turned fully back to her, eyebrows arching. “I do not intend to linger, but if its occupant returns, I will move. Deal?” If she insisted they leave, they supposed they probably would–they had no interest in yet another poorly-handled interaction to add to the night’s roster.

She wanted to bristle but their tone was soft and their words were logical, she couldn’t argue with either and she relented, for once. The person before her was clearly a silver, they were just slightly lighter in coloring than most, duskier, shinier. It was a polished look that Reds couldn’t possibly achieve and they were dressed in finery that could feed her and Mona for a year or more. But she held no ill will toward them, she felt that to be a waste of time and energy both. In the end she had no interest in a revolution or the doings of the Silvers and their king. She worked her job, she took care of her sister and she tried not to drown in her own regret. That was enough. 

“Deal. Can I get you a drink? Looks like you need one.” She was good at reading people but better with certain types of people. Something about this one was familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it yet. Through conversation she was sure she could figure it out. 

[praetextum-blog]

atticus-valdez:

And Atticus had thought this damnable conversation would be over and he could have his fucking drink. Apparently he’d been wrong. He’d missed whatever she’d said to him before she told him to get out, but he doubted him knowing it would have made any difference. He couldn’t hold back the scowl he shot in her direction, anger pouring out of him in waves. It didn’t help he was already a little bit under the influence either. He balled a hand into a fist under the bar, digging his nails into the fleshy bits of his palms. He was not going to let this woman get to him any more than she already had. For a split second he felt an urge to do as she said, to leave and go elsewhere, but he didn’t. He was too invested in his anger here.

“All I did was sit in the god-damned stool and ask for a drink.” Maybe I was a little bit of an asshole, but my god woman it would have never happened if you’d just served me the damn drink in the first place.” Okay. He’d been more than a little bit of an asshole but it never would have happened if she hand’t been catty with him. Atticus struggled with trying to keep his voice at a normal volume. He always got loud when he got angry and unable to hear himself made keeping things normal was difficult. “What is your problem? I did what you wanted and now all I want is a damn drink.”

He didn’t leave, likely his pride had him rooted there to continue arguing, futilely believing he still had a chance to get what he wanted. She was half amused but her annoyance bubbled just below the surface as she actually paid attention to his continued wannabe alpha male rant. It was clear to her now he’d already had a few and she certainly wasn’t going to supply his whiskey rage fire with more fuel. 

“Look, in your mind you were straightforward and I’m just a bitch. But in reality? You’re an entitled asshole and you think you can treat me however the hell you please because i’m not some tough guy that could take you down for your crude words. I don’t put up with that shit treatment from anyone, especially men like you. So please understand you aren’t going to be served by me now or ever and save your energy for someone who cares about you being so butthurt.” 

she moved to clean the bar top where he put his hands, his money, his misogyny and knew she was done with the whole thing but had the feeling he wasn’t satisfied still and would continue to bother her.

[praetextum-blog]

theosgreco:

Theo just didn’t want to be a bother. If he was taking someone’s seat, then he would move. He was fine with moving, but it would’ve been better if there was any open seat available. He listened as the bartender said he could sit until the owner came along. He nodded to her words before sliding back into the seat.” Thank you.” he said, glancing down at the drink menu as she talked. “I’ll just take a water. I’m just exhausted from the ball.” He said casually, even though there were many things that made him worn out. He glanced over at the guards near the back before returning his eyes to her. “I am. Another reason to be exhausted from the ball. I’m out of practice.”

 Though he hardly ever drank, Theo admired the way bartenders could get just about anyone to talk to them. He could never be that social-able to complete strangers. Maybe in his youth he found it easy to converse with the other silvers and their families, but after being sent off to war Theo became more introverted than not. He much preferred writing things down in his journal than saying them out loud.

Careful eyes watched him move and she quite liked it in the end, the curls framing his face and even the weary way he held himself, the tired sound of his voice. She poured a tall glass of water, ice included and slid it over to him. “We serve food as well, if you need a bite. On the house.” She offered, figuring she might be scolded but knowing it was so busy no one would miss a few coins for a dinner. “Is dancing, eating fine food, sipping champagne --- so exhausting? Or is there something else wearing you out?” She moved closer to the counter, leaning slightly towards him, using her old tricks to get him to talk. It wasn’t difficult though and she needn’t do much to keep this going.

“You’re a soldier.” it was not phrased as a question, she could tell, especially based on his buddies, the ones he kept glancing at. “Need help keeping an eye on them?” she gestured with her chin to the men and hoped they wouldn’t become a problem.  “Does out of practice mean you don’t dance much? I’d never have guessed.” She half teased, pouring a drink for another patron she was fond of before returning her full attention to him. 

[praetextum-blog]

luckyenigma:

“Is i’?”  He still bore his mask from the party– it made it easier to traverse the crowded streets, and in itself was a symbol of import since it meant he was lucky enough to be invited to the ball in the first place.  The voice he picked to speak with to toy with his oldest friend was a high-pitched one with clipped syllables and missing consonants.  He’d picked it up somewhere near the war-front years ago– though the person he’d borrowed it from had long since been forgotten.  “Seems lik-a shite move ta block a couppla seats, crowded nigh’ as is.”

He laughed at her predictably annoyed expression, pulling off the ornate jester’s mask and setting it on the bar, donning her with a wink and clearing his throat to leave the stranger’s voice as quickly as he’d picked it up.  “It’s sweet for you to hold my seat even when you don’t know I’m in town.”  He held out a hand expectantly for his token drink.  After the sobering meeting with Rahul he needed a proper distraction– and Ryn always knew the best way to garner his attentions enough to think about anything but them.  “You could have come, you know.  Don’t tell me you had to work— that’s a puny excuse and I know when you’re lying.”

The voice was masked but still just barely recognizable but they felt his playful aura and wanted to engulf themself in it after a busy and stressful night behind the bar. They decided to play along and pretend they didn’t recognize their oldest friend. “Too bad, pal, seats taken, move along.” She struggled to be as rude to him as she would to a stranger, the ruse was going to give her away quickly. and her brows furrowed in annoyance at her inability to lie to him well.

“You’re a jerk, Az.” She shoved his favorite drink toward him, sloshing it a bit as payback. “Are you calling me sweet?” she lifted a brow as she wiped the mess she’d made. “I hold it because you practically live here and I’d rather deal with the annoyance of others than listen to you whine about your stool.” 

The suggestion of her attending that ball made her skin crawl for more than one reason. “I never lied, I told you I didn’t want to go, not that I couldn’t.”

[praetextum-blog]

atticus-valdez:

Part of this woman reminded him of Ana. Her spitfire at least, was a very familiar sort of reminder. And childishly Atticus considered not getting up from the stool. There had been no one in it when he’d come in and not a damn soul had come up and tapped him on the shoulder saying he was in the way. Or maybe there was and Atticus couldn’t hear him. But just the way the woman across the bar was talking to him let him know he was in the clear there. Biting back a growl Atticus stood up with an angry grunt and shifted to the left. Miffed that he’d let this woman get to him enough to get him out of the damn seat.

“You owe me a whiskey.” His voice felt rough, probably from having to hold back a growl. He couldn’t be entirely sure how it sounded to her however. He grabbed his money and put his sole attention on counting out the exact amount it would cost him for the drink. No tip for this woman. She was just damn lucky he was still here and not half way out the door. “This should cover it.” Shoving it over to her he looked up, focusing on her lips again for her reply.

There was little victory in his rise from Az’s stool, his anger would likely have frightened her deeply when she was young, before her---before she had come to love and understand herself. It was incredibly clear to her that if she were a man he would not have challenged her so fully, even now his expression clearly showed vitriol he wished to express, violence he held in. She took a step back from the bar and his next words made her skin crawl with an anger hot as an exploding star. 

“Owe you?” If only he hadn’t gone and put his stupid foot in his ugly mouth, but he did, oh he did. She watched him count each coin and laughed bitterly, as if she could be persuaded by his anger, his money or his clear choice of not tipping her. None of it would work. She realized however that he was concentrating on her mouth, that he had been the entire time. She understood why in an instant but it didn’t give him the right to be toxic to her. “Take your money elsewhere, I don’t owe you shit.” she felt a slight push in her words and calmed herself, slightly averting her eyes to make sure she didn’t accidentally influence him with her emotions.