Kratzer blinked and gave Wilson an accusing look. "There was good mushic and now it'sh jusht noiiiseee," he protested.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Wilson smiled, waving at him with a dismissive gesture as she slid another glass of vodquila over to him. "Shh, just this one, then I'll pull up something more your taste."
He blinked, took it, and then stared at it for a moment before downing it in one, prolonged swig.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Damascus meant to reply to James, he really did, but then the first drop buildup came. His eyes slowly widened and he felt his heart beat sluggishly faster as the shh-shh and plinks of the music seemed to be leading up to something. The drop came, and he felt his stomach flip in reaction. Or maybe it was all of the alcohol he'd had and lack of food.
"W- what ish dis majehc?" His wide eyes turned to James. "I felt tha' in mah belleh!"
He absently clutched a hand to his stomach for emphasis, and continued listening intently, his head bobbing growing increasingly faster.
Schadel blinked. "I know it does-" she started to say, but fell silent when she saw that the man - Boris Dietrich - had turned his attentions to her assistant instead. Face turning a bright shade of red when she realized that yet another person had misjudged her age. She wasn't some kid who had tried sneaking into a bar; she was a grim reaper who had been around for more than a century. She had had her fair share of drinks before.
As of if to prove this point to the man who wasn't even looking at her even more, she promptly downed the entire glass and got herself another. Take that, random stranger in the bar.
Edward, meanwhile, was sober enough to be at least a little concerned about how drunk the newcomer was and his offers for companionship. Boris Dietrich. He had never heard of him before, and had no idea why someone would suddenly be drawn to him. He would have guessed the uniform would have made people go in the opposite direction - after all, why would any normal person be wearing something like this?
"I-I don't need any help or advice," he said. Even as he spoke, another fresh batch of tears stubbornly rolled down his cheeks. He really hated how they loved to defy his points.
The poor youth, he was clearly trying to hold himself back, as though perhaps, he was the sort of fellow who'd been taught that men had to be paragons of stoicism. The poor boy. I had to set this aright.
"It'sh, ish fine. There'sh no need to be ashamed. Something, something about thish night, it hash wrought tearsh from the shtrongesht of men. It came upon my friend overrr, over therre, it came over me, even the singing fellow overr, over there. Where would I have been without my, my friend, and he, without me? Where would we be, indeed? Men like ush, we need to, we need to shtick together."
That had to be the most maudlin, sentimental inanity to ever come out of my mouth, but I meant it, very passionately, if not coherently.
Last edited by SirenCymbaline on Sun Sep 16, 2018 7:27 am, edited 3 times in total.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
James wasn't sure if Damascus was alright. Genuinely - he was pretty sure something was wrong. Was it just all of the drinking? Was this what some drunk people were like? He couldn't remember.
"'S nOT mAGIC," he said, much louder than he'd intended as he tried to speak over the music, but ended up overcompensating. "It's NOt. It's..." there was a bass drop. He felt it too. "It's just... loud noishe. Like. Like a big... lion roar."
"I think that 'something' is probably just the alcohol," Edward replied, chugging the rest of his drink before getting his hands on another. "And I really don't need your help-"
His eyes stung with more tears, this time from how sudden the jolt of the memory that followed the drink was. This one actually held some sort of value; it was from when he first joined Schadel's group. She had a couple of alcoholic drinks in her fridge, even though she wasn't much of a drinker, and had popped open one for him to celebrate him joining the group. (Claire had also managed to get her hands on a thing of beer, while Liz, hilariously enough, was the one drinking the chocolate milk intended for Claire.)
As if the memory had called her over, Schadel suddenly popped up beside him with a full glass in one hand and another, less full glass in the other. She placed the drinks down on the table and finally sat down in one of the seats beside him.
Damascus attempted to focus on James, succeeding in missing his point entirely.
"Lionsh? I luhve lionsh! Thy'ree realleh fun tah do." He grinned broadly. Noticing how dry his mouth was, he hunted around for a glass. Oh- he had forgotten. He wasn't going to drink any more alchohol.
"Eschuse me?" He called loudly to the bartender, "d- do ya haff aneh... juish?"
I looked over to the young woman, again. Had she spoken with a German accent earlier?
"Ah, it looks like you've got it under, under control. Sorry about the, the... about the meddling." I said to her, in our native tongue, retroactively wincing at how bad I sounded.
"Most of all, I'm sorry for this terrible, terrible accent. I've been screwing about in London for... for the longest time."
Last edited by SirenCymbaline on Sun Sep 16, 2018 11:22 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
Wilson looked over at Damascus with raised brows, and then let out a snort of a laugh. "Juice? Haha! How about I just get you some water, mate. You've got to stay hydrated, and apple juice isn't gonna do much for ya," she laughed, pouring him a glass of water and bringing it over to him. She also happened to pour one for James, and not-so-subtly set it in front of him as well.
"You're all probably gonna have to pee really bad in like, thirty minutes or an hour I think. So uh," she pointed at the bathroom signs in the corner of the bar. "Restrooms are over there."
With that, Wilson gave them a friendly smile before turning back to go behind the bar. This time, she started playing some calm jazz. Spoiler
Then she grabbed a mic (where it came from, she couldn't tell you) and cleared her throat into it before speaking. Her voice wasn't alarmingly loud by any means but was certainly enough to catch the attention of all of the drunken folks in the bar.
"OOoOooOOKAy fellow patrons. How about a nice good game of truth or dare? Something to keep your minds sharp and you... all over here under my supervision! Everybody gather around our good friend Boris, and we'll start. The rules are simple! You take turns going around the circle and you get a choice: truth, or dare? You are given the choice between answering a question truthfully, or performing a "dare. Both of which are asked and set by the other players. You have to perform the dare you're given, or answer the question you're asked in whole truth. Quitting the game to avoid a dare or question is not allowed, and you can't switch your question for a dare or vice versa either. Everybody understand?"
Perhaps, if he had been sober, he would've made the smart decision and not joined. Unfortunately, his judgement was severely impacted by the large amounts of alcohol he'd been ingesting so instead of questioning it he just raised his glass and yelled a very slurred "JA!"
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"Oh- thank yehu." Damascus nodded and quickly drowned his glass of water. Then he listened as Wilson proposed the... game. He was pretty sure it was a game.
"Tha' shounds shuhmwut danjeris. But, yeh, I'll play." He called loudly before woozily standing. With blurry concentration, he grabbed his stool and carried it over next to Boris, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet.
Schadel and Edward exchanged looks, the former casting a brief glance in Boris' direction - she wished the bartender hadn't cut off their attempted conversation. "Let's talk later," she said to him in German (gaining a confused look from Edward, who only understood the swears of the language because of her affinity for using them) before turning back to her best friend.
"It couldn't hurt, right?" she said.
He nodded, taking another gulp of his drink. "We'lllll play," he informed the bartender, drawing out the "l". Something told Schadel that it was going to be a very, very long night.
James finished his drink quickly before getting up. He wasn't entirely sure what he was signing up for, but somehow he found himself following Damascus anyways. Wilson watched as they all started to line up nicely along the bar with a giddy smile.
