((OOC: Another party thread. You know how it goes. And if you don't... ask! ^^ Happy Riftversary! Even if it's two hours until... it's over. :/ I'm sorry I'm slow
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Sark has to wonder what the point of going out in public even is anymore, considering the last few times he's been accosted by Cy, a vampire, and Cy in that order. Chicago pretty much doesn't want to let him be, but as he is also the sort of person who tends to get twitchy if he's cooped up for too long somewhere without a project, he's here, partly out of interest in the shift in the political landscape, and partly because cheap drinks are something that he can get behind considering how lacking in funds he is... even if the wine selection's a little lacking and he's not much for mixed drinks anyway (although he will give the Alimony he's been sipping on for awhile its due
( ... )
Well, if it isn't the kid that looks like Adam. Arlin hasn't actually seen Sark since everyone in the Organization started talking about him (or, rather, since the key players started whispering amongst themselves), so it's a bit weird to see someone that looks like they could be a younger version of his boss sitting at the bar.
After a moment of watching the boy out of the corner of his eye (and who's he calling boy, him who looks to be eighteen himself?), he manages to catch Sark's eye and nod a greeting. "For someone who looks as though he'd rather not be bothered, you've certainly chosen the wrong bar for that," he says idly, as though he hasn't just done the exact same thing. Hey, he has a reason to be here, unlike this 'Sark' fellow.
Sark considers him for a moment- he's keeping his distance, which is a plus. He's paying attention, which is a point off, because he's not particularly doing anything worthy of note, but maybe he just has one of those faces. All in all, there's not enough to either diminish nor raise his credibility as a threat.
Young face, clearly pays attention to his surroundings and company, stoic... Sark doesn't trust easily, but this one gets points in his favor just for have a similar air to him that he has.
"On the contrary, crowded bars are preferable if one doesn't wish to be bothered, provided you can stomach the crowds. The more people there are, the more isolated you are." His expression doesn't shift and his tone is flat. He doesn't like crowds, but he understands the benefit of them. Training doesn't go away just because you're not using it and, for that, he's grateful.
Arlin makes one of those noises that could be a scoff or could be a laugh; a sharp, mirthless exhalation of breath. Smart kid, this one. He tips his head slightly, acknowledging Sark's point. "I was referring more to this specific bar, given the advertisements; crowds are all very well and good to blend into, but this particular crowd doesn't seem like the best for being inconspicuous." He's referring to the wanderers -- hey, he knows Sark is, but he'll let Sark think he's assuming -- as well as the nonhuman natives of this universe.
"Though I'd have to say that if one truly didn't want to be bothered, there are much more secluded places than Chicago to hang out in, but most don't get a choice." There may be an ever-so-slight hint of bitterness at the end of that sentence. Maybe. Arlin totally wants to be here, really.
Sark shrugs and gestures a bit with his glass. "I heard it was a very nice bar." That's apparently all the answer that statement is going to get and it's, more or less, true.
And that last comment earns a scoff and a bit of a bitterness from Sark, as well. What he wouldn't give to be anywhere but here right now. Were it not for April and a few other specific individuals he's taken a liking to and the fact that he has no funds nor means to make a life for himself anywhere, he'd be out of here if he could.
"Spoken like someone who has had enough of this city. I can't say I don't agree."
"Oh, it is," Arlin agrees, looking around. The O's sponsored parties here, even. Not that he went to any of them but one, and that was on business rather than pleasure, but hey.
And that affords Sark a small quirk of the lips before Arlin downs the rest of his White Russian and nods at the bartender for another. "Indeed. I've had more than my share of Rifts and explosions and all the other ridiculous bullshit that goes on in this city." He pauses for a moment, pretending that vehemence didn't just happen, while his empty is glass is replaced with a full one.
"But then, I'm sure a number of us would leave, were we able." It's unclear who, exactly, he means by 'us'.
The only 'us' Sark particularly knows (or even really cares about) are the wanderers and given his words, it's probably a correct assumption. Well, small world, but, then again, there do seem to be a disproportionate number of wanderers in the city right now.
"I'm a bit of a risk-taker, myself, but I believe this city has gone far past what I deem as acceptable in that regard." It went past acceptable a very long time ago when his risk-taking kept putting him in situations that didn't work out for the best. He'd grimace right now if he didn't think it would reveal too much, so he just settles for finishing off his Alimony and snapping his fingers at a waitress for another. He's keeping track of how much he drinks, because there is probably nothing he wants less than to be drunk in public right now.
"Were we able," Sark repeats, studying the bottom of his empty glass. "I suppose there's not much chance of that, is there?"
"That seems to describe a good portion of the city, from what I've seen," Arlin replies. "Though I'd suppose the city does force one to become a bit of a risk-taker, even if one wasn't beforehand." Before falling through a Rift, before coming to the city, before living in it became a health hazard.
Arlin studies the mirror at the back of the bar, sizing up the crowd behind him. One of his operatives is milling about; good, he can relax his watch on the entire place ever so slightly -- even though he really did come in here to just drink, he can't quite shut his working self off, so close to the parade and the O's big guy. "I'd think that would depend on how invested one was in the place. Forged papers are easy enough to come by, and if you're not settled in, it's easier to leave." He quirks his lips into a wry expression, implying that he's 'settled in' without saying exactly how.
Sark scoffs and leans back in his chair a bit, waiting for his drink. "It does appear that way. Chicago certainly turns leaving your home into an extreme sport. I think I preferred the odds back when I made the choice to take risks as opposed to when that choice was made for me by the unpredictability of this city
( ... )
"Or when staying in your home became one," Arlin responds, a little more genuine amusement behind his smirksmile now. He doesn't take his eyes off the mirror -- he knew from the first glance that it was pretty obvious what he was doing, but it was better than physically turning and scanning the crowd; anyone could have had their eye caught by something in that mirror, anyway.
"Pointless, perhaps," he says, "though merely knowing someone can do just the same amount as ambition." He glances at Sark out of the corners of his eyes -- it's nothing suspicious, it's just how he looks at people, though it's not like Sark knows that. "Sounds as if you have enough of at least one."
Sark makes a soft 'hmm' noise that gives no real indication to the thoughts in his head. He remembers what it was like under Calisto- he remembers fearing for his life every time he stepped back into that warehouse. He's fairly certain he couldn't go back to that warehouse even now without getting a sick feeling of dread in his stomach.
"Ambition I have in spades." Sark returns that look, which does strike him as a bit suspicious, with one of his own, mimicking it exactly almost. "That, however, is not enough to get me anywhere." Age is a big factor- ambitious kids without someone to vouch for them tend to come off as cocksure. "Perhaps I've just become resigned to this fate."
Almost lies. He's not resigned to anything- merely waiting for an opportune moment to prove himself.
Arlin smirks at the imitation of his look, though it's hard to tell whether it's an amused smirk or not. It is, but facial expressions can only betray so much, especially on Arlin, anyway. "Just have to know where to push it," he replies, shrugging, giving nothing away other than maybe that he got what he wanted out of it, nothing more.
He swirls his drink around a bit, taking another sip of it. "That is, if you don't mind my saying, not a particularly pleasant place to be, resignation."
Easier said than done, honestly. Life would be so much easier if he hadn't destroyed any 'in' he might have had with organizations on the right side of the tracks. Not that he has any clue who the organization that keeps stalking him represents, but the vibes he's gotten off the people who keep speaking to him don't suggest anything good. Normally, he wouldn't care, but normally he doesn't have as many compunctions.
Life was better when he wasn't in the middle of difficult road to eventual redemption.
He chuckles just a bit, staring at his own drink. "Not particularly, no, but, for all intents and purposes, it's a place I'm used to being in."
He resigned himself to a hell of a lot long before now, after all.
Arlin almost laughs at that, he does, which means he gives Sark a wry smile that's more smile than smirk. And then raises his own drink in agreement. "Spoken like a true Wanderer -- pardon my assumption," he says, then takes a good, large swig of his drink. It's not really a gulp, but it's more than a usual sip someone might take of their alcohol, anyway.
Not that he's resigned to his fate, by any means. He's just gotten good at convincing himself that he's okay with what the Rift did to him because he's okay with his job. Never mind that one is not like the other.
Sark responds in kind with his drink. "In this case it's a correct assumption." He tilts it back and drinks a little bit more quickly than he probably should have, because being a wanderer is something that is worth drinking to and not in the good way.
"So I'm to assume that you're also one of the lucky many," Sark responds, after a long pause to shake off the effects of the alcohol. His tone is sarcastic, because luck is not the word he'd use for it.
Arlin takes another drink when Sark does, because yes, that is a proper thing to drink to, dammit, and he came here to do just that. Though he's not particularly planning on getting drunk, and it takes a good deal more than two White Russians to do so, but it's the feeling behind the actions that counts in this case.
He does chuckle slightly at Sark's tone, because oh does he agree with that. "Lucky, indeed. Though I've been here awhile." A pause, in which he shifts his drink around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "One becomes...acclimated, at least." The tone of his voice suggests he's not terribly happy with this.
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After a moment of watching the boy out of the corner of his eye (and who's he calling boy, him who looks to be eighteen himself?), he manages to catch Sark's eye and nod a greeting. "For someone who looks as though he'd rather not be bothered, you've certainly chosen the wrong bar for that," he says idly, as though he hasn't just done the exact same thing. Hey, he has a reason to be here, unlike this 'Sark' fellow.
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Young face, clearly pays attention to his surroundings and company, stoic... Sark doesn't trust easily, but this one gets points in his favor just for have a similar air to him that he has.
"On the contrary, crowded bars are preferable if one doesn't wish to be bothered, provided you can stomach the crowds. The more people there are, the more isolated you are." His expression doesn't shift and his tone is flat. He doesn't like crowds, but he understands the benefit of them. Training doesn't go away just because you're not using it and, for that, he's grateful.
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"Though I'd have to say that if one truly didn't want to be bothered, there are much more secluded places than Chicago to hang out in, but most don't get a choice." There may be an ever-so-slight hint of bitterness at the end of that sentence. Maybe. Arlin totally wants to be here, really.
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And that last comment earns a scoff and a bit of a bitterness from Sark, as well. What he wouldn't give to be anywhere but here right now. Were it not for April and a few other specific individuals he's taken a liking to and the fact that he has no funds nor means to make a life for himself anywhere, he'd be out of here if he could.
"Spoken like someone who has had enough of this city. I can't say I don't agree."
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And that affords Sark a small quirk of the lips before Arlin downs the rest of his White Russian and nods at the bartender for another. "Indeed. I've had more than my share of Rifts and explosions and all the other ridiculous bullshit that goes on in this city." He pauses for a moment, pretending that vehemence didn't just happen, while his empty is glass is replaced with a full one.
"But then, I'm sure a number of us would leave, were we able." It's unclear who, exactly, he means by 'us'.
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"I'm a bit of a risk-taker, myself, but I believe this city has gone far past what I deem as acceptable in that regard." It went past acceptable a very long time ago when his risk-taking kept putting him in situations that didn't work out for the best. He'd grimace right now if he didn't think it would reveal too much, so he just settles for finishing off his Alimony and snapping his fingers at a waitress for another. He's keeping track of how much he drinks, because there is probably nothing he wants less than to be drunk in public right now.
"Were we able," Sark repeats, studying the bottom of his empty glass. "I suppose there's not much chance of that, is there?"
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Arlin studies the mirror at the back of the bar, sizing up the crowd behind him. One of his operatives is milling about; good, he can relax his watch on the entire place ever so slightly -- even though he really did come in here to just drink, he can't quite shut his working self off, so close to the parade and the O's big guy. "I'd think that would depend on how invested one was in the place. Forged papers are easy enough to come by, and if you're not settled in, it's easier to leave." He quirks his lips into a wry expression, implying that he's 'settled in' without saying exactly how.
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"Pointless, perhaps," he says, "though merely knowing someone can do just the same amount as ambition." He glances at Sark out of the corners of his eyes -- it's nothing suspicious, it's just how he looks at people, though it's not like Sark knows that. "Sounds as if you have enough of at least one."
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"Ambition I have in spades." Sark returns that look, which does strike him as a bit suspicious, with one of his own, mimicking it exactly almost. "That, however, is not enough to get me anywhere." Age is a big factor- ambitious kids without someone to vouch for them tend to come off as cocksure. "Perhaps I've just become resigned to this fate."
Almost lies. He's not resigned to anything- merely waiting for an opportune moment to prove himself.
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He swirls his drink around a bit, taking another sip of it. "That is, if you don't mind my saying, not a particularly pleasant place to be, resignation."
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Life was better when he wasn't in the middle of difficult road to eventual redemption.
He chuckles just a bit, staring at his own drink. "Not particularly, no, but, for all intents and purposes, it's a place I'm used to being in."
He resigned himself to a hell of a lot long before now, after all.
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Not that he's resigned to his fate, by any means. He's just gotten good at convincing himself that he's okay with what the Rift did to him because he's okay with his job. Never mind that one is not like the other.
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"So I'm to assume that you're also one of the lucky many," Sark responds, after a long pause to shake off the effects of the alcohol. His tone is sarcastic, because luck is not the word he'd use for it.
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He does chuckle slightly at Sark's tone, because oh does he agree with that. "Lucky, indeed. Though I've been here awhile." A pause, in which he shifts his drink around, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "One becomes...acclimated, at least." The tone of his voice suggests he's not terribly happy with this.
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