Jan 18 01:05:11 106 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Mon Jan 18 01:05:11 106 PA.
You enter the smoke filled tavern called Moe's. Music blares from an ancient looking CD Jukebox. Inside is a collection of residents of Dregtown in varying states of intoxication. Juicers, Borgs, City Rats all sitting and drinking side by sde. Of course a few skulls roll from time to time but the Large bouncer standing by the door is over 7 feet tall and looks as if he means business. The places has a musty, old smell and the decor is dingy and yellowed with time. The red carpet on the floors is well worn and the paint is peeling off the walls. Still this don't keep the locals away as Moe's is a favorite.
The long bar, booths against the wall oppostite the bar, and the tables all seem very used, yet are strong...made of some reinforced material that's sturdy enough for the angriest juicer. A vid-screen behind the bar shows the JuicerBall game and the bar is packed with patrons clamoring for a drink...ya see there ain't no waitresses at Moes.
There is a smaller room to the back with a pool table. Not many people use the pool table on the count of the group of men, a few of whick are juicers, who usually play cards in the back room. Finally of interest in the bar is the video poker machines Moe' placed for your convienance. Winnings may be redeamed at the bar. There is also a bathroom door, a back door past the pool table and stairs going up and down behind the bar.
The wee hours of the morning approach, and even the most stalwart of regulars at Moe's have been ousted from their seats. The blizzard outside kept out most of the clientele to begin with, as most couldn't find their way through the foggy white murk outside sober, much less tipsy and looking for more. Snow crews plowed the streets clear fifteen minutes ago, handily burying the door to Moe's. It flat refuses to open. With morning approaching, it's up to the staff to let the last patrons know their predicament, who were at a table in the back finishing 'one last hand' of poker.
Sebastien sits at that table, with a dusty cowboy and wiry-looking green-skinned alien. He seems to be losing, as he often does, but flicks chips in anyway knowing that one day, luck will run his way.
End of the shift, and Aimee's desire to speak to patrons of Moe's is limited, and certainly when it comes to that particular patron... however, she has to let them know and so she makes her way back to the table. Once again, she is wearing her usual work outfit of a short skirt, with heels and her Moe's t-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. "Gentlemen." She greets, her best professional smile on her lips, one eyebrow arching slightly. "Unfortunately, it seems until someone unblocks our door, you are trapped here with the rest of us. The snow has buried it." She glances at the table, using this moment to gather the glasses, wiping the spills with a quick hand. "I'll let you know when it's sorted." During this little speech, her eyes become as arctic as the weather outside when they briefly touch upon Sebastien, however much charm she might have for the others.
Sebastien glances up from his 'last game' and tsks at the players dealing another hand. "Surely, I have lost enough money for tonight, non?" he asks, and leas back in his chair. The young man's clad in a dark green flannel button-down tucked into black slacks, with his white overcoat hanging over the back of a nearby chair. "So how long is it that we must wait before the staff condones our descent to cannibalism?" Sebastien asks Aimee, sweetly.
Aimee returns the sweetness tenfold with her smile and her tone as she replies, "When we can start with you, monsieur, I will hand out the steak knives." She gathers the empty glasses onto her tray, resting it lightly on a hip as she moves back to the bar, to unload it, her back to the small group. The turn gives a flick to her skirt, an angry movement, before she returns with three more drinks, swiftly opening them and placing them in front of the men. "On the house." She gives the others a charming smile and a wink.
Ah, the skirt. The short skirt. The one thing Sebastien shouldn't be looking at. Maybe she catches him, maybe no. He wouldn't be the only one looking, but he is the most despised. "Ma grizzlie," Sebastien tries, running his finger along the top of the soft drink provided him, "you seem tense. I was kidding. He should be fine. This sort of thing," he glances at the pile of snow on the windows and shrugs, grinning, "It happens in winter. It is not like this supernatural fog. We should be dug out in no time."
She narrows her eyes at Sebastien, giving him a warning look as her gaze catches that look. "Me, I am not worried about being snowed in, oui, this happens. Normally, though, mon imbecile, the company, it is better." She smiles sweetly, the barb clearly sent. "If you gentlemen need anything, I'll be at the bar." The offer if clearly aimed at the others, with the sweetest of smiles, before she turns on her heel, a flick of that skirt and a toss of her head indicating her intent to leave.
"It is true," Sebastien notes, still apparently oblivious as he swings his legs out from beneath the table to lean in close to Aimee, speaking in a quiet voice, "My dude friend does reek of horse, ut I find it more ... refreshing than not, non"?" Sebastien smiles up apologetically and offers, "Play me. To help pass the time?" The young knight covers a broad yawn against the night's seeping darkness, blinking up at Aimee with a childlike innocence that's either uncommon or complete bullshit.
Aimee's expression suggests the latter is believed and she rolls her eyes at him with a shake of her head. "Your dude friend will win more money, you are terrible at cards." She retorts over her shoulder as she slides onto a bar stool, "And even his horse smell, it is like perfume compared to the bullshit from you." She takes the beer her workmate offers, crossing her legs with a whisper of silk against silk, and lights up a cigarette, blowing the cloud of smoke above her head.
"I think," Sebastien replies conspiratorially, leaning to the left so that their bodies just touch on adjacent stools, "that you cannot run anywhere. That you are trapped, and secretly, somewhere deep inside, perhaps even a bit grateful." He offers a sidelong look, grinning. "Men are easy, I think. But only in relation to women. Place two men together and one has an enigma for any not possessing the proper equipment."
She lifts an eyebrow, arching it questioningly. "Moi? Trapped? Non, I am never trapped anywhere I wish not to be." She stubs out the cigarette, her eyes not leaving him. "It perhaps depends on the men. I know some, that if you leave together, they find things to do." Her eyes are dancing, amusement in her green eyes. "I am surprised, me, that you never heard of such a thing."
"I am a master of maniquette," Sebastien proclaims, mashing together 'man' and 'etiquette' and missing the point entirely. "But I am in possession of the requisite equipment. Things happen between men that you would never understand." He grins then, tongue touching his lips as he expects a rebuke. "But to mix a man and a woman, things become so much easier to grasp. And at the same time, so much harder."
She laughs, shaking her head, "You think? Mon hero, I have two lovers..." She shrugs, sliding from the stool, the movement doing nothing for the short skirt. "Things can be very hard, mon hero." She gives him an amused look over her shoulder as she walks away, to check the snow situation. "We are free, mon ami, so perhaps I can close my bar now..." A slip, a possessiveness over the bar.
Her amused over-the-shoulder look catches Sebastien's blue eyes cast down, a little wide as they follow the playful hem of her deliciously short skirt. Biting his lower lip as he tears his eyes up to catch her comment, he at least has the decency to glance aside and offer an embarrassed smile, a touch of heat at his cheeks. Sliding halfway from his stool, Sebastien toes the ground and climbs back up, gathering his drink to sip at it a moment. Perhaps not safe to get up just yet. "Some brave fool incroyable has come and freed us, then?" he asks, sipping his drink and raising his glass in toast to the last few patrons as they begin to shuffle out, largely carrying Sebastien's money!
Aimee's look of amusement deepens and perhaps the sway of her hips is a little more exaggerated. "Some true hero, oui." She replies to the spoken comment, her voice teasing with a slight mocking edge. She moves to the table where his friends has sat, reaching for the empty bottles and glasses, wiping the table down with a smooch practiced movement, her skirt brushing the stocking tops as she reaches. She turns, moving back to the bar to put the empties there, giving him a laughing look. "So..." She observes softly, lifting an eyebrow.
Right. Sebastien's knuckles are white on that glass in his hand, and it may not be for the cold of the drink inside. Glass? It's probably not even his drink inside! Sebastien throws it back and nearly chokes a moment as those stocking tops slip free, feet hitting the ground with a thump. Carefully setting aside the glass, Sebastien slowly rises to his feet and laces fingers behind his head, choosing to ignore that he's exposing his 'little' problem. His eyes cast to the door a long moment, biting his lower lip again as he folds thick arms across his chest, flexing a touch, and eyes Aimee's mocking look. His head tilts a moment, eyes narrowed, lips pursed as he watches her from his closed-off posture, and reaches for her face. Cupping it in either palm as he leans in to give her an entirely uncomplicated kiss. The kind where he tries to crawl down her throat and play with her tonsils.
Aimee's eyes are laughing at him, green dancing with amusement at his reaction. Her gaze flickers downwards as he rises from the stool and one eyebrow arches upwards, her mouth curving. Before she gets out whatever witty comment has sprung up in her mind, he leans in to kiss her. For a moment, it looks as if she will let him, her head tilted back slightly, her lips parting a tiny amount. Hell, her tongue even flickers over her lower lip, then she steps back, to the side slightly, an adapt move to avoid the kiss. "Mon hero, do you want another beer? Or perhaps a shot?" Her voice is husky, softly teasing as she moves to go around the bar to finish cleaning up.
Sebastien hangs a moment, hands closing as his lips part into a little smile, and he closes his mouth with a soft chuckle. His tongue touches his lips, and he falls back onto the nearby stool with a small thud. Leaning back against the bar, he places an elbow to either side and turns his fuzzy head, one eye peeking out over a cotton-wrapped shoulder. "I think, mademoiselle, whiskey is in order." He lets out a slow breath, grinning and laughing. Probably at himself.
She walks around the end of the bar, deliberately swaying her hips as she moves, giving him another over the shoulder look, full of amusement. Her green eyes are dancing as she reaches up to empty an optic into the glass in her hand. She turns and pushes it over the bar to him, the spin lifting the skirt in precisely the manner it is designed to do, a flash of lace stocking top hinted at. "It is on me, honey." Her voice is low, soft and husky, her eyes creasing slightly at the corner before she turns to pour her own.
Sebastien reaches to stop the slide of the glass, quirking an eyebrow at the phrasing. "Honey is sticky," he comments over the shot, raising it to his lips. Sebastien's eyes start at he crest of her head, down her delicate mouth, cute little chin, and lower until her stockings lip into her shoes. And then work their way back up again, more slowly, before he consummates the thought by tossing back his whiskey. "And chocolat is more tasty."
Aimee tilts her head slightly as she pours her own drink, leaning her hip against the bar as she takes a sip. She puts the glass down to tap a cigarette out of her packet, lighting up easily, much practice in this. She lets him take his inventory, lifting an eyebrow slightly as he finishes his whiskey so quickly. "Both taste good, I think, me. Just perhaps for the right mood." She leans against the bar, inhaling the smoke lazily, blowing it in a blue cloud above her head. "Perhaps icecream." She suggests softly, lowering her lashes to peek through them at him.
Sebastien blinks hard, eyes opening wide just a moment as he feels the drink hitting home, and his nostrils flare once as he takes that one burning breath with just a small cough. He's been in this bar too long. The mention of ice cream catches Sebastien's attention, and he peers aside at Aimee in profile, giving her his perfect left cheek. "Ice cream on a woman is all fun, je crois," he mentions equally softly. "But it is something that would be, ah, difficult to share."
Aimee dips her finger into her drink, lazily sucking the whiskey from it, her eyes watching him with amusement in their depths. Then she tilts her head back, tossing back the drink as if it were water. She reaches over, taking his glass and putting both into the machine, leaving the bar cleaned and ready to close. "It depends, perhaps." She murmurs thoughtfully, moving to the front of the bar, towards the door. She stands for a moment, her hand on the door handle, "Perhaps if you were sharing the woman." She offers a sweet, teasing smile, lifting an eyebrow as she opens the door, giving him a look.
Sebastien's eyes narrow, watching Aimee drift away with a faint detachment, and he lazily closes his eyes a long moment. When they open it's more purposeful, his eyes less glassy. More focused. Three steps across the bar to gather his jacket, and Sebastien whips it over his shoulders as he approaches the frigid pre-dawn. "And that, ma grizzlie, deserves an explanation," he chides as he forms rank behind her, and turns to lean back against the door nd pin it closed. He towers over the small 'tender, lithe form making an impassable barrier.
Aimee tilts her head back, giving him a considering look, eyebrows lifted. "It was too complex for you, perhaps? Unless you have never considered having three people in bed..." Her voice is low, laughter dancing in her eyes, the creases at the corners of them deepening. "You see, you both cover the woman in icecream, and perhaps one starts at the top, and the other at the toes, and perhaps..." She lowers her voice to a husky, teasing whisper, "Perhaps you meet in the middle." She lifts a hand, pushing at his chest with one finger, lifting an eyebrow. "And this bar, it is closed now. Go home."
Sebastien bends at the waist, leaning over that arm to peer into Aimee's eyes, so close their noses threaten to touch. "Not so complex, non," Sebastien murmurs, "but worth the price of admission to hear you describe." He flashes her a quick grin, and snatches at her wrist against his chest. The calloused hand cinches tight, perhaps just a little too much so, as he carefully lifts that wrist towards his lips to give the soft underside a little peck, almost chaste, before stepping aside and slipping out the door behind. Tags: aimee, sebastien
