+ freddie dawson.
where: st. peter’s, 8 pm. to: open @redridgestart
mopey faces aren’t unusual in this corner of the earth. either you walk in here for a drink before getting your ass kicked at rogue’s, or you’re coming for a place where all your sorrows, your failures and faults will fit just right in with the chipped paneling on the walls, the stains on the floor and the ever present smell of ancient booze seeping beneath the floorboards. somehow, she likes it — feels right at home among broken things, be them humans or the cracking shards of glass beneath the counter. she waltzes from one corner of the counter to the other with ease, and she is grateful for the grind of every day: it keeps the thoughts at bay, as if evil had no reason to crawl through the door of st. peter’s — shit’s been rotten for far too long already, in here.
she, however, still feels a certain responsibility for everyone’s sorrow. it weighs over her; as if any disruption of an otherwise precarious, but trustworthy balance, automatically became a direct consequence of her presence when it happened around her. egomaniacal, perhaps: she still felt it was her duty to correct its existence. so, hands dutifully polishing a load of spoons before setting them back in the drawer, fred’s eyebrows quirk in inquisitive interest. “long day?”, the hint of a smirk pulling the corner of her lips upwards. “i’m not gonna have to start crackin’ jokes like some tv bartender, am i ?”
—
stefan was by no means a stranger to the catastrophes and misfortunes that existed on this mortal plane — of the unspoken atrocities that countless human beings endured on a daily basis. his soul was far from being unblemished ; tainted and tarnished beyond repair — a constant stain prevailing even after every good deed done. admittedly, at this stage in his life, those good deeds were few and far between. still, from a young age, his shoulders were slumped from attempting to hold the weight of the earth upon them. even now, though his frame is broader and stronger — capable of shouldering a heavier load than that of a mere child — a hidden element of stefan continued to grapple with flushing the demons from his mind. though, he intended to continue giving it a damn good try, regardless of his continual failure to eradicate the ghosts that haunted the darkest crevices of his mind.
he'd been haunched over the bar, nursing a bottle of beer that was now beyond the chilled stage ; droplets of condensation streaking the green glass and dampening his calloused fingertips. it didn't take a rocket scientist to decipher his pensive demeanour. the gloomy, melancholic nature practically radiating off of him now. it was the sudden feminine voice that plucked the male from his never-ending train of thoughts ; inky eyes lifting to settle upon the bartender's countenance. “ you could say that, ” stefan responded, a subdued yet dejected chuckle parting his lips. truthfully, it was more like a long life but that was an entirely different story altogether. her following inquiry earned a more genuine chuckle of amusement from him, his grip on the bottle enabling him to toy with the slope of its green neck. “ not unless you want to, ” he quipped, a dark eyebrow arching toward her. “ i wasn't about to request any but consider me intrigued. so be my guest — hit me with your best tv bartender line. i’m all ears. ”
