A toast, to friends [open]

[ivalice]

Don't cry when it's over, It's as if she had sunk out of reality and her clock no longer ticked, yet a bell kept on ringing in her brain, as if stock on the hour. Time was frozen and the shadow's wicked claws loomed breath taking, bare inches away, locked in her ephemeral vision as she sat besides the encroaching darkness at the farthest tables of the Pub. She had her lovely friends to thank for that. And suddenly, something smooth and sultry slithered up her skin, creeping up her spine. How she hated that sinking feeling, the chilly, serpentine touch that slid up to prick the hairs on the back of her neck and bang on her head as if it where hollow, despite how she's gotten used to it. Poppy had to shake her head numerous times just to keep herself snapped out of it and her martini, which along side her haunting 6th sense, they made a powerful, numbing combination. It was always like this in this city and she knew why and just what kind of beings gave her this constant 'feeling'. She had to figure out the reason eventually, since she's had it from way back in the days, when she was still a kid. Plus now she and the cunning beasts lived in the same forsaken city for gods sake, it was impossible to avoid their presence just to get herself a breather, and truth be told, if it wasn't for that tingly sensation that always came by when they walked near, she'd always be trying to kill to corner one of them and assault him/her with a barrage of questions that would probably be published into some new article in the next morning's paper.
So she kept herself at bay because she could sense them, otherwise, she'd probably be another of those happy-go-lucky ignorants who live in their own haven world where nothing seemed unreal. And here, of all places, the Pub, was where one could most often see their kind mingling about and hangin'.

But here came the million dollar question of the day. Why was Poppy there? And following next was Why did the woman have a half-empty martini clapped gently in her fingers, tilting the crystal glass as she watched the cheery inside float round and around the container, visibly bored. If you had further questions about the lonely looking woman dressed in the red top with the deep V neckline and gold chain straps and blue jeans, you should ask her lovely, meddlesome friends whom at the moment where hated by Poppy. As it seemed, a small party of her friends had made some reservations behind her back to steal some of her time and stab it good and dead. Yes, it was a waste to have accepted their invitation to the Pub, where she knew many of her paranormal fantasies frolicked drunk or in their own personal kind of stupor. They had been wanting to get her into blinds dates for some time, but Poppy kept insisting the very notion was absurd, silly, and only for desperate woman, in her opinion, but they simply loved to pry into her life like that and Poppy was at fault here too for letting them in so easily. Sigh... Why was she such a sucker for their puppy, pleading eyes and always told them her love life. But earlier, although their motives seemed very suspicious for inviting her here in the first place, Poppy had expected they would all come together, which was why she agreed for a change. "Idiot. Poppy you can be such an idiot sometimes. God, I piss myself off." She murmured under her angry breath as she took another big sip of her drink and then carefully pushed it away from her across the table. Its effects where already beginning to cloud her mind, and she wasn't exactly an expert drinker.

The reason why Poppy also sticked around had been to at least get to see whom the girls had paired her up with this time, but as it seems, it was a regular Mr. No Show. So in the end, she had to treat herself to her own little pleasure for the night, having nothing to do but go back to an apartment crowded with a few flown in cousins- Oh fuck!. There's going to be a murder at my house. Her cousins...Yet another reason why she should stay longer, or at least until it was late enough to find them sleeping when she arrived. They're going to kill her for not bringing them here. They've always wanted to come. Her fault there. She's always been telling them all kinds of stories about what happens around the city, although none of them are exactly fairy tales. It's beyond her why they wanted to come.

With this new reason to prolong her stay, Poppy suddenly got bored of hugging the dark corner and sulking about her friends. Ah to hell with it. She stood up abruptly, an unexpectedly wobble almost sending her crashing as the chair itself almost toppled over, and she took her martini and chugged down what was left, the liquid clogging up her throat for a second, but finally sailing down her mouth. A ample sigh roughly breathed itself through her redstained lips and then the tap tap tap of her short, stubby heels followed her strides to the bar. She laid her fist on the smooth, wooden counter, looked to her side, and then shouted out. "Give me whatever he's having!" She commanded as the male sitting to her side shot back a curious stare, which later turned into a chuckle as Poppy tried to pour down that drink as well, but it ended up backfiring and coughing itself out of her mouth as she struggled with the hard liquor. Even the bartender gave her a bewildered eye, but she quickly snapped both his and the man at her side's mouth shut as she snapped. "Don't say a word..." She hissed, a glare searing the man besides her as he shrugged and kept on smiling and went back to his own drink again.

Poppy wiped her mouth off the liquid, sighing once more, this time in a more hopeless manner, and decided to sip the drink again instead of swallowing it hole. It was still hard, but easier to tug down as it came in smaller portions. Suddenly, she lifted her cup, to no one in particular, and toasted on almost a whisper of a voice. "To friends." and took another gulp. Again, the guy tried stifling a chuckle, which Poppy ignored, which made him giggle more. Slowly, the ambient began to heat up and wilder music to pound her eardrums. All of it, the noise, the chanting people, the drunkards beginning to mess around, and the thoughts about getting home to finish that column for the next day, she shut them all out of her mind, just for that night. Please...

[feathers4]

Balam was the sort of person who could really appreciate a good rowdy nasty drink-sodden pub. Nevermind that he was thousands of years old, at some point he had regressed to having something approximating the thrill-seeking, indestructible, fast-paced outlook of a college sophomore. A frat-joining, beer-guzzling, tail-chasing, swaggering college sophomore. With just a tad more history under his belt and less of a propensity to be seen in the same place twice.

You couldn't tell it from his face, though. For one, Balam Xbalanque was of a strage sort of muddled ethnicity that was far too ambiguous to quite blend with your average football-throwing co-ed. Additionally, he looked easily 30 or so, and had never really been built for football. In basketball, though, he could've done well, with his long, gangly limbs that for all their awkward appearance moved with unspeakable grace. As if, perhaps, the man who owned them had been using them through time. Or was, perhaps, an animal. Or both. He at once owned unquestionably the stalking, fluid gait of the jungle cat and the jaunty opportunism of the jackal, and even the hooded watchfulness of the raven. After all, he was less of a man than most, and more a strange sort of beautiful chimaera. Balam was comfortable in his own skin, to be short, whichever skin that happened to be at the moment.

Right now, his skin was human, in a pub in the city that had become a Mecca for inhuman folk one way or another. He was sitting at the bar, enjoying a fantastic hamburger, one of those strangely delicious delicacies of the New World that the old man had been craving for some time now. It was had, of course, with a tall glass of whichever draft lager the pub had on tap at the time. The hamburger was, by the time a mildly intoxicated young woman stormed to the bar, missing a few bites and the beer a few hefty gulps. Subtly sharp teeth-- predatorial teeth-- munched on a nice crispy french fry as his chocolate-brown eyes watched the woman to his side. She had come between him and some man who'd been suckling a whiskey sour, a strong drink that she demanded for herself and then found hard to choke down.

The bartender and the patron were both chuckling, and Balam couldn't resist a bemused smirk. What have we here? The man in the frayed baseball cap-- sporting a strange laughing, top-hatted skull logo on the front-- lifted his beer glass slightly in her direction after her defeated little toast and in turn drank to the girl. "To perfect strangers," he replied with a tricky little grin, and proceeded to take another swig of his hoppy beverage, the lager running smooth down his throat...much smoother than what Poppy drank. He ignored his meal for a moment now, to survey the girl with the idle interest of someone like him-- that is, a complete stranger at a bar. "Rough day?" inquired the pirate, his tone casual, not pressing or insulting or anything of the sort. Balam was a remarkably friendly sort of person, if not a particularly loyal one.

[[ holy shit, can you tell how badly i'm craving a burger and fries right now? ]]

[ivalice]

Don't cry when it's over,The night stretched onward, stuffy, and too sluggish for her taste. And although the merry atmosphere began to swell up her mood, just a tad, Poppy detested how the surrounding perspiration greedily sucked up what remained of fresh air and rubbed her skin damp and sticky. Not to mention, her stupidly picked cocktail kept on plugging her throat. Obviously, she was not getting any better at drinking the sour alcohol, despite having reduced her earlier chugging into delicate sips, which where humiliating after the way she had demanded for one, but at least she could rebel a little in its lemon sweet compensation, if anything, while she hid her face from the guy whom had given her the idea in the midsts of her harebrained moment. Why couldn't he have been holding a simple beer? Plus, a low, echoing voice at the back of her head told her drinking around the after hours like this would only be her demise and later regret, but right now she could hardly hear the nagging guarding angel over the voices of the boisterous crowd, the lame techno song they just put up and everyone was ignoring, and her own tugging lethargy, although Poppy refrained from giving in to its to that.

Why was she putting up with this anyways? She should have faced the music and stepped unto her deathbed where her sardonic cousins waited with baked breath and bloody knives. They where that sort of irrational people, after all, but surely she could bluff and say she was at some boring...late night...business meeting? Poppy stifled a snort at the ridiculous excuse. They'd most likely assume she was getting it on with her boss if that where the case, although it would shut them up and save her from a second trip to the Pub, but her cousins where infamous for their 'dirty laundry' when it came to such scandals. The lie would not remain secret only until the moment she would walk back out her apartment door.

Just then, as she played with the different envisioned circumstances through which each and every one she was either degraded or condemned in some way, her eyes facing somberly at the smooth surface of the bar table, another male's voice broke through her self-pitying trance and drew the attention of her light brown eyes to his raised glass cup. "To perfect strangers," his masculine voice spoke, apparently returning her previous toast, which, now that she thought about it, must have made her look pathetic and the realization made her grimace for a breath's moment before she softly answered. "Yeah..." and gently lifted her cup in response, almost mirroring her earlier salute, so it was just as bummed out. This time though, Poppy choose not to savor the lingering, hard drink and placed its cup back on the worn, but smooth wood.

This time, that 'feeling' she was thinking about prior to bulldozing over to the bar? It was really trying to needle into her side deep. Butterflies paraded across her stomach. The hair-raising, chilling touch came back to slither up her spine.. Goose-bumps broke throughout her skin. How frustrating it was to know you where in the presence of the otherworldly, yet not know just who's presence was it that was driving your senses wild. The worst part was that she was surrounded by them in that particular Pub, although she was sure there where plenty of human characters too.

And then he just had to ask her about her day huh? Poppy couldn't hold back the sigh that replied to his question. It forced its way out almost like an instinctive response. Poppy brought her face up again to peer at the nameless stranger with aloof scrutiny, as if considering if he was worth wasting her breath on, but instead, Poppy caught her own breath as her eyes latched on to his simple, curious stare. As corny as it sounds, Poppy almost lost herself in the appeal of his enticing eyes as they became the sole focus of her attention for a brief moment before she tried to take all of him in one quick glance, which she noticed would not be enough to contemplate the complete image of this man, lanky, noticeably tall, even in a sitting position, and he possessed other distinctive features, but Poppy decided not to press on further to her inspection and looked back into her uninteresting liquor.

Well, she didn't like being bitchy to others because of her bad moods -when she was self-aware that is. The fellow seemed more friendly than the other to her side too. He could be worth talking to, not to mention he was more than ok to stare at. "It won't get any sweeter by talking about it." She suddenly snapped in an angry voice that surprised even herself. Shoot. She did it anyways. Why not bite him while she was at it? "Damn...sorry. It's just how it ended that's got me drinking...whatever this is. " Slightly lifting the cup, her eyes researched the liquid inside with an inquiring, arched brow before settling it back down.

Out of the blue, another idea popped up, allowing her to look into his eyes again as she asked."Uhm, hey...Are you by any chance a...Y'know, one of those...Oh never mind."

[/size] It was silly to be asking about mythics and supernatural beings right now, right? What if she ends up a dead body by the end of the night? Wait. Since when did she start caring of such consequences anyways? Her job included prying into potentially dangerous characters's lives as well. The drink was definitely getting to her. But Poppy couldn't think of any other way to pass the time except to keep pretending she can keep on drinking as she took yet another small gulp, finally finishing the cup's contents -or choking on it better said. "That was good." She rasped out between her coughs, caring less and less how she looked. [/blockquote]


[[Srry. Despite how long this looks, I totally did this post on dead muse xD I wouldn't be surprised if the paragraphs didn't make sense with each other.]]

[feathers4]

Oh dear! His little innocuous inquiry into the lady's day had ellicited a sigh, which was altogether not unexpected. The PYT (that's 'pretty young thing,' for the uninitiated) had obviously been having a shitty day, so that little sigh was expected. What Balam wasn't prepared for, however, was the ginger-headed lady's snappy response. His brows jumped up in surprise, and his head retracted from her slightly, pulling in closer to himself, his chin coming down over his throat. It was one of those defensive little moves ingrained in him thanks to his bestial nature-- instinctive response, and whatnot. He eyed her bemusedly, his head turning slightly to look at her mostly with his left eye, like a bird might. Of course, none of these little movements were terribly obvious or something any normal human wouldn't do. It was just more pronounced in him, the quick, calculating motions, the defensive postures...all masked by a charming smile.

But she quickly apologized for her flare of temper, to which he could do nothing but smile. "S'nothin, don't worry about it. We all have those days." Which was true, though Balam's day-to-day emotional fluctuations were minimal anymore. He was old as dirt, after all, what could possibly bother him anymore? But he hadn't completely forgotten being young, nor was he unaccustomed to how those who aged normally tended to act. There were days wherein every man's hand seemed to work against you and nothing you did worked out right, and it was frustrating. Balam didn't understand plenty of the world's subtleties, but he understood that. He followed her gaze to her cup and chuckled a little as she eyed it's contents warily. Yeah...he wasn't too sure he'd want to drink that sort of thing either. "At the risk of being 'that guy' at the bar, can I get you something else, maybe? A beer? Soda?" He cocked his head to one side again as he questioned her. Balam wasn't a rich man, but a beer wasn't going to put a huge hole in his pocket, either. Besides, it would give him insurance that the girl wouldn't just run off. He was in the mood for a nice chat just now, and despite himself he was slightly lacking in confidence when it came to women...what man in his right mind wouldn't be?

And then came another little surprise. He stared at her after her little question, but only for a moment...after which he let out a hearty laugh. "Yep, I'm 'one of those.' I don't eat people anymore, though, you're safe." Balam watched her for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to keep her guessing, do a bit of show-and-tell or just cut the theatrics and spill the beans. Remarkably, the gypsy went with the lattermost option. "I'm a...well, they're calling us shapeshifters now. You 'kin call me Balam, though." He shifted his weight back on his barstool some, to rest the side of his head against his palm, which was propped up by an elbow resting on the bartop. The shifter chuckled vaguely, watching for her reaction with a detached aloofness that was the mark of a man who'd been having conversations like this one for centuries.