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Post by Josiah Remington Clarke on Mar 26, 2013 15:49:18 GMT -5
Josiah took a moment to look around the bar. It was his, all of it, and while that might bring on a feeling of absolute terror in others, for him it was one of the better feelings in the world, knowing that he had successfully gotten himself somewhere in the world, somewhere other than the red naked hills of the town he’d grown up and that he had done something with his life other than give it to the company underground. He was free from all of that and, in the end, was what mattered. He smiled and wiped down the bar one more time, getting a few of the more stubborn rings from where people had spilled sweet, sugary concoctions off. There was a lull in the people present. Unlike the clubs, he had his doors open early in the day for the stragglers and the wanderers who needed to day drink something away. This was a bar, after all, and some of those opened earlier in the day than his.
He tossed the cloth into the bucket and went about getting a drink for one of the regulars, an older man who tended to come right around this time every day, paid in cash, and had a couple beers before disappearing back into the streets. He never said a word, but that was acceptable. Josiah wasn’t about to push someone uninterested in talking. He had enough of being the bartender people talked to while drunker. What was it that someone had told him? Drinking was cheaper than therapy and the other person was more attractive. Which, at least in this bar, was probably true. Not that he chose bartenders based solely on their looks, but like attractive waiters and waitresses, attractive bartenders just got more in tip and that was better for them. He hated getting yelled at by angry waitstaff that they weren’t getting paid. It was, in the end, quite the business to be in.
This had been the way of his life for a long time. There had been that brief moment where he had been a music teacher, but that hadn’t gone as well as hoped. He’d rather deal with drunks and angry wannabe musicians than stuck with a bunch of spoiled teenagers who’d never done a day’s work in their lives. Maybe he was just biased, or jealous, or something along those lines, but that was the way that he saw the world and it was quite unlike to change now after he’d been stuck with it for so. Besides, the people he waited on here actually had some experience in life, unlike the spoiled little twits with superiority complexes that came from being born vampires. Sometimes, he’d wanted to take them by the shoulders and shake and let them know that being born a vamp made them no better than anyone else, that there were plenty of vamps who were born that way working their fingers to the bone to make it in the world. All the damn romance they saw, it really wasn’t there in some cases.
He wandered back to the kitchen window, ordering a basket of fries for himself. Crimson or not, they were still tasty. As he lazed about, he dimly heard the bell at the from tinkle, which meant someone had come in. Likely as not, it was one of the regulars and wouldn’t begrudge him a minute or two more as the cooks yanked his fries out of the hot oil that they were cooking in. There they were, heaven in a basket. He grinned as they were put in front of him. These were going to be damn tasty.
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notes: yipee! the banjo man is released!
words: 641
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Post by Isadora Mariah Diardo on Mar 27, 2013 18:57:36 GMT -5
Sometimes Isadora wondered what the hell she was even doing. Most of her irritation towards others was spawned from the fact that she couldn't touch them without being assaulted with visions of the past, ones that were either strongly negative, or entirely consumed with passion. Either way she didn't win and the stress of making sure that no one touched her, or vice versa, was getting to her. Especially since she'd taken that job in Indulgence. It wasn't the long hours on her feet, the surge of crowds, the drunk patrons that demanded more alcohol that upset her. It was the fact that she was slipping up more and more lately. It was like the universe wanted her to suffer and laugh at her expense. She was growing tired of it, growing weary with the constant influx of past visions that showed her things she didn't want to see.
Like the fact that the woman four doors down from her was being beaten by her boyfriend, or that there had been a brutal murder in the park some fifty years ago that was still haunting the entire area with negative energy. She'd seen it three times before she decided to skip out on that spot all together. The actual act itself wasn't bothersome to Isadora, but the toll it took on her when she fell into the trance caused her severe headaches. The last one had given her a nosebleed. Which wasn't helping with the whole staying in control and not going crazy on the first human, or vampire, she came across. Control was a delicate issue for her, control kept her the way she was, pleasant and polite. When her control slipped through her fingers, well it wasn't very well something that she appreciated.
Isadora liked to believe that she was something she was not, a nice person, one who cared enough about other people to be perceived as kind. However, that wasn't quite the truth. She wasn't looking to delve into the truth today, in fact she'd heard of a bar in town and she was eager to get a couple drinks. She didn't have to work tonight and she had, somehow, cleared her schedule at the stable. She'd fired a stable hand a few days ago, found another one, and gotten the next two weeks schedule done. And now she was free to do what she wanted and she wanted a drink. And she was going in the middle of the day for a reason. Less people frequenting the place when the sun was still high in the sky and work was to be done. Which meant that Isadora had that much less a chance to accidentally expose her affinity to others.
The bar, Blasting Cap, was not very active as she expected it to be and she easily strode in, inhaling the scent of greasy food and alcohol. Those who knew Isadora (though many didn't) wouldn't consider her as the type to frequent bars at all really. She'd grown up with a rich family and even though she'd worked for most everything she got and even now worked at a night club, bars weren't exactly her scene. Not uppity exactly, but she had some sort of standards and usually bars fell below those standards. Today? She didn't give a fuck. Maybe it was the true her trying to claw it's way out, the her that didn't care for anything or anyone and did what SHE wanted, regardless of where or who was there. She tried not to think of that little bitch. However, while she expected what she dubbed 'her other half' to rear her ugly head, she hadn't expected to recognize the man standing behind the counter, eyeing a fresh batch of fries.
Josiah Clarke. Someone she had known a long time ago. Before she'd gone down in that airplane crash, clutching the woman's hand next to her, shifting through past visions to watch the other woman playing with a young son. A son she'd never see again. Isadora immediately blinked away that memory. Dying had been shit. Best not to think about it. An eyebrow rose as she sauntered up to the counter, easing herself onto a bar stool. "Don't tell me those fries are more important than an old friend" She teased lightly, though the simple fact was, she was both relieved and very very happy in seeing Josiah again. Mostly because whenever she slapped a hand to his face (which she was prone to do) she couldn't see anything. No visions. Hadn't been able to ever. And it was glorious. Just plain glorious. Tag: Josiah Words: 773 Notes: here you go! |
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Post by Josiah Remington Clarke on Apr 1, 2013 23:33:05 GMT -5
Fries. Crunchy, crispy bits of potato goodness waiting to be drenched in ketchup and mustard and shoveled away. Yes, that was what his life was coming to at the moment: cleaning bars, eating fries, and every so often assaulting the ears of the innocent with the twang of his banjo. Not that he considered any of that a bad thing, but he had been told on more than one occasion that it was a weapon of mass annoyance, the kind of thing that drove people mad. Normally, that just made him play louder and grin. There were more than enough people who like the banjo that he didn’t worry about offending those who did not. He wasn’t afraid of them ruining his reputation. In fact, he felt that people whining about how he didn’t stop playing the banjo was a good thing for his business, all and all. What good would he owner of a musical bar be if he didn’t stick by his musical guns? Absolutely none, that’s what.
There was a brief moment where he thought there might just be words and no pain this time. But as he rubbed his face where she’d slapped him, he realized that there was no chance of that, It wasn’t as hard as a few times in the past, but it still stung, probably left a mark on him too. She probably did it for that very reason, small terror that she was. “Well, it depends on the friend, I suppose,” he said, setting down the fries before grabbing her in a bear hug, “not all of them slap me as a form of greeting, this is much more civilized.” This was the one thing that he got that no one else did, hugs. Well, probably slapped too given that Izzy wasn’t much one for the touchy-feely. He wouldn’t be either, if he was stuck with being able to see anything and everything about a person’s life through a single touch. Thankfully, he was immune to those things, retroactively cancelling out things like that in other people. Most of the time, he loved it. He especially loved watching the faces of those whose affinities held persuasion in them. Oh, it was the eyes, the eyes had it. That look of sheer terror as they realized that it didn’t work on him. It was a little bit fantastic.
He released her, taking a look around the bar. No staring, good, although there were patrons slipping out in paris, dandy for them, although a bit early for that. But none the matter, there were friends to be interrogated, school rules to be laughed at and broken (honestly, it had been hard not to befriend her back in the day, especially when she slapped him and asked why she couldn’t see anything, that one hurt), and fries to be consumed. Hell, he might even call it an early day, send the staff home... . No, no, no, it simply wouldn’t do, closing early on Valentines. The lonely hearts would be pouring in sometime later in the evening, looking for some quick solace to the sting of loneliness that came with Singles Awareness Day. Honestly, he’d never seen the point of anything other than that, the quick trip to the side or the quick run back to an apartment. It was all nice and neat and simple. On the plus side, being crimson made that all the easier.
He pushed her towards the bar, motioing that she should sit down as he, in a rather spastic way, ran back behind the bar. Seventy-six and still running around like a three year old, the fates had yet been kind and decided not to put a damper in his step with a child. “Tell me everything, starting with how you survived and why the hell you didn’t call me after. I was bouncing around Nashville back then, we could have had a hell of a time,” he said, trying to look stern as he poured himself a beer and grabbed his fries. It was one of the boons of owning the place, the only person that he hurt when he drank was himself. “Drink? Whatever you like, on the house.”
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notes: really? we decided that this spazz face gets to father a child >.> also, our poor poor crimsons >.>
words: 702
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Post by Isadora Mariah Diardo on Apr 2, 2013 23:52:16 GMT -5
She sighed in relief as no visions swept past her eyes, taking her into the past where she didn't particularly like to go. Her hand stung a bit, that was a rough one but in her excitement she hadn't quite checked her strength. Oh well, he was surely used to it, seeing as the first time she realized that her affinity didn't work on him she'd just about backhanded him across the face in her eagerness to prove that she really couldn't see anything. She grinned lightly, laughing softly as a faint hand print did indeed show upon his cheek. But he'd gotten used to it and that form of affection wasn't taken as a negative action anymore. Seeing as Isadora didn't give out any sort of physical affections to anyone he was going to simply have to deal with what he got, which happened to be a sharp smack to the face.
However, she wasn't opposed to the bear hug that he initiated between them, her arms wrapping around him, squeezing lightly. "Aww, when was I ever one for civilized acts?" She grinned as he pushed her towards the bar, shaking her head lightly as she took her sweet time walking over and sliding onto a stool. If you'd ask anyone else about Isadora Diardo, they'd tell you she was a polite, proper woman who liked things done the way she liked them done. Especially if you were asking around the stable. However, when it came to Josi and the sheer fact that he was a complete and utter relief for her, she let herself slip away from that proper bitch who liked things exactly how she wanted them. Most of the reason that she was an uptight bitch was the simple fact that she was so god damn weary about touching anything.
Perhaps it was Josi's luck, or perhaps lack-there-of, that caused him to cross paths with her and introduce her to a way to get out of her affinities annoying grasp. She couldn't help but laugh lightly as he ran about, his childish habits had always been something she teased him about, mostly because he acted like the child while she acted like the adult. She'd always questioned, teasingly, on who was the older one. When he ran around the way he did playing that banjo, oh how she detested and liked the damn thing at the same time, it wasn't hard to imagine him as a rather youthful guy. And then the inevitable question about her survival and then sudden lack of communication. Her lips pursed slightly as she leaned her forearms against the bar, her hands clasping together.
How did she survive? She had no clue, not one single inkling as to why she survived that plane crash. "Last thing I remember was ..." She shook her head slightly, sighing. "I was watching this woman play with her son, she was sitting in the seat next to me and I'd ended up grabbing onto her hand once we realized we were going down." To this day Isadora still could not figure out how she felt about that particular experience. To watch a mother play with her son, knowing that the mother would never see her son again. She wasn't sure what it was that stirred in her when she thought of it. "I woke up and there I was, fine and dandy. I guess it never occurred to me to get a hold of anyone" Isadora's first few weeks as a crimson was spent trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and trying to figure out how the hell she survived. By the time she remembered she had family, friends even, she'd all but decided to leave it all in the past.
He offered her a drink and she pondered it for a moment. She had come to the bar to drink and it had just gotten better with the realization that her old friend was here. "Ah, anything really" She smiled lightly at him, she figured whatever he gave her would be just fine. "So how did you end up here? And owning a bar too" She grinned at him then. "I would think you'd be out trying to spread the wonderful sound of the banjo to all those unfortunate people who haven't had the pleasure to hear it" Isadora didn't mind the banjo entirely. She just hated listening to it over and over again, consistently. She'd threatened to break the damn banjo over his head several times, though she never went through with it. Josi was a friend, she wouldn't be that much of a bitch to him. Besides, when it came to friends, she didn't have many of them. Hard to keep friends when you could see every single bad thing that they had ever done or had done to them.
She paused a moment, just to look at him, because she hadn't seen him in quite a long time. And she found that she had missed him, missed his stupid banjo, his teasing, and the fact that he didn't mind that she slapped him across the face every time they were together. She smiled a bit, relaxing against the bar, this was nice. She liked this. Maybe she should make a habit of coming into the bar. Tag: Josiah Words: 904 Notes: here you goooo << she got kinda weird and rambly on me |
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Post by Josiah Remington Clarke on May 21, 2013 20:48:51 GMT -5
“Never,” he said, laughing. Their introduction had been less than painless and there was nothing that could be done about that one. He’d been teaching at her school and one thing had led to another and they’d somehow ended up friends. There hadn’t really been anything other than that. He was the one person she could touch and not get some kind of annoying vision. Sure, she was attractive, but back then she’d been a student and off limits (not that he’d ever really been one for rules, but he valued his job) and after that brief foray into the world of the haves (rather than his kind, the have-nots), well, it had been hard to think of her as anything other than a friend and he was fairly sure that she liked it that way. Other than the occasional slap followed by a hug, that had been the extent of their relationship. It was good enough that way. Until the accident, she’d been a decently calm voice in his life as he ran from floozy to floozy to, well, that was the point of it, wasn’t it? Settling down had never been in his grand plan.
It was a realistic enough reaction. Hell, if he hadn’t had his parents there when he’d been turned, who knows what would have happened to the town. Instead, they’d held him down and fed him until he was able to regain his humanity, if that was what you could call it. In reality, caring was hard after the turn and he’d had a hard time adjusting to the new paradigm. “Yeah, the first few months really suck, don’t they?” he asked with a grin. Hell, he’d been a wild young buck with a stolen truck and a little too much bloodlust for his own damn good. Eventually, he got that figured out, however, and life turned semi-sensible again.
He shrugged as he poured a beer and slid it across the . How had he ended up there? There had been a lot of things that led to that eventual end. There were more than enough things that would drive him into doing exactly that. “Well, it was one war I couldn’t avoid and when everything was over,” he pushed a hand through his hair, remembering the moment everything ended, “well, it was easier to stay here than it was to go back to Nashville.” It hadn’t necessarily been an easy decision, but it had been the right one at the time. He wasn’t proud that he didn’t go back and try to bring back the city, but this had been easier by far. He had spent a long time there and there was enough to do here and enough to worry about here. It wasn’t easy being anti-Monarch anywhere, but the further you got from the seat, the more likely it was that they would think you were, well, not on the right side of things. The closer you were, the easier it was to keep up the charade of being a respectable citizen and a supporter of what he didn’t support. He just had to keep up the charade and nothing would go too wrong.
“Believe me, I try, but I am fairly sure that most of the world thinks it is an acquired taste,” he said. Yeah, the instrument was an integral part of his identity, had been since he was a kid. What he wouldn’t give for seeing the family again, but he was fairly sure that there was something to be said for the fact that he hadn’t seen them since he was turned crimson. Even his sister hadn’t responded to him when he tried to contact her. It was definitely the age-old prejudice against crimsons acting up, he was sure of it. They’d been happy enough when they were all azures, but there wasn’t much to be done about the fact that he wasn’t one of those anymore. They hadn’t felt safe with him around, he got that, he understood how important it was that their cover wasn’t blown, but there was something to be said for caring. What that was, well, he couldn’t put his finger on it precisely, but there was something to be said for it.
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notes: so, he's a spazz and, well, i haven't written in a while, so forgive me missing anything
words: 710
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