Flicker [5/?]
anonymous
March 10 2010, 05:54:20 UTC
I just got home from my softball game :< it was cold. *is again screwing homework/sleep*
--
The bartender gave Alfred a weird look when given no order and shrugged and tended to other customers.
When he noticed that the man two seats over was the same man who had jerked him off the previous night, he just froze and stared. He really had no reason to be acting that dramatic, but nonetheless was wondering who was it with is back to Alfred (and why was he wearing a scarf in this hot building?) was Arthur being so flirtatious with?
He noticed Arthur's outfit again; a shiny black tank with some rather tight jeans. Then it clicked in his head: Arthur was working.
He spun around and walked hurriedly back to the couch with his coworkers. He felt like an idiot. Arthur was more than likely with a customer, hoping to make some money. Though he barely knew Arthur it was difficult to remember what he worked as. He had made that much of an impact on Alfred.
So he tried to ignore them, but Gilbert and Antonio were preoccupied and Francis was long-gone with whoever he had picked up this night.
Not that he wasn't attracting any attention. Many women were making themselves comfortable next to him. So he put on his people face again and smiled and talked to them, trying his hardest not to look toward the bar.
After nearly an hour and a half of pretending to care what the drunk women were saying as they caressed his arms and legs, he gave in to temptation and glanced around. Arthur and his "friend" were gone. This did not please him.
He didn't really want any alcohol and preceded to talk to the bartender instead. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know who that big guy with the scarf was, would you?" he asked.
"Oh, that was Ivan. He's a little weird. Only ever orders vodka," the other replied.
"Oh," Alfred said. "Is he...is he a nice guy though?"
The bartender scratched his head. "Eh, he's apparently bipolar, he's had to be escorted out of here for becoming violent a few times, but anytime I've talked to him he's been the complete opposite."
"Oh. Um. Okay, thanks," Alfred said, not really sure what to make of that. He checked his watch. It was past midnight, and he'd rather be back at his apartment than being so awkward in the club.
He still couldn't help but look up and down the sidewalks. "Obsessing over a prostitute," he laughed to himself."
Someone was sitting on the ground outside his door. It was Arthur. He ran the last few steps there.
--
The bartender gave Alfred a weird look when given no order and shrugged and tended to other customers.
When he noticed that the man two seats over was the same man who had jerked him off the previous night, he just froze and stared. He really had no reason to be acting that dramatic, but nonetheless was wondering who was it with is back to Alfred (and why was he wearing a scarf in this hot building?) was Arthur being so flirtatious with?
He noticed Arthur's outfit again; a shiny black tank with some rather tight jeans. Then it clicked in his head: Arthur was working.
He spun around and walked hurriedly back to the couch with his coworkers. He felt like an idiot. Arthur was more than likely with a customer, hoping to make some money. Though he barely knew Arthur it was difficult to remember what he worked as. He had made that much of an impact on Alfred.
So he tried to ignore them, but Gilbert and Antonio were preoccupied and Francis was long-gone with whoever he had picked up this night.
Not that he wasn't attracting any attention. Many women were making themselves comfortable next to him. So he put on his people face again and smiled and talked to them, trying his hardest not to look toward the bar.
After nearly an hour and a half of pretending to care what the drunk women were saying as they caressed his arms and legs, he gave in to temptation and glanced around. Arthur and his "friend" were gone. This did not please him.
He didn't really want any alcohol and preceded to talk to the bartender instead. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know who that big guy with the scarf was, would you?" he asked.
"Oh, that was Ivan. He's a little weird. Only ever orders vodka," the other replied.
"Oh," Alfred said. "Is he...is he a nice guy though?"
The bartender scratched his head. "Eh, he's apparently bipolar, he's had to be escorted out of here for becoming violent a few times, but anytime I've talked to him he's been the complete opposite."
"Oh. Um. Okay, thanks," Alfred said, not really sure what to make of that. He checked his watch. It was past midnight, and he'd rather be back at his apartment than being so awkward in the club.
He still couldn't help but look up and down the sidewalks. "Obsessing over a prostitute," he laughed to himself."
Someone was sitting on the ground outside his door. It was Arthur. He ran the last few steps there.
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