Cowboy Night
WHO: Schuldig (colpevole) ; Axel (fireveins) ; those who show up (full list to come!)
WHAT: Cowboy Night!
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Friday night
WELCOME TO THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.
[ooc: Hey guys! This is an open thread, and the reason I'm putting it up now is so that everyone who wants to participate will have a chance to do so at their leisure, and work ( Read more... )
WHAT: Cowboy Night!
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Friday night
WELCOME TO THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.
[ooc: Hey guys! This is an open thread, and the reason I'm putting it up now is so that everyone who wants to participate will have a chance to do so at their leisure, and work ( Read more... )
Not that he wasn't glad to see Gojyo. Because of course he was glad to see Gojyo. This was fucking Cowboy Night, okay, and one of the main reasons there even was a cowboy night was because of Gojyo in the first place!
But then there was also some stuff that made this difficult.
Number one: he was hanging there with Badou and he was flirting.
Number two: that whole nurse thing.
Number three: that whole nurse thing.
Number four: the aftermath of that whole nurse thing.
Number five: that whole. fucking. nurse. thing.
And shit, did he really need to enumerate further? Because right now just thinking about it was making him uncomfortable, and for the first time in his life, Schuldig didn't know whether to lift one hand up and shout yeehaw or, whatever, maybe play it cool. He didn't play it cool with Gojyo. There were few people in his life he could be like that with, and what did it mean to fuck it all up? He was fucking it all up already just by doing nothing.
He busied himself with a couple of orders. The fuck was his problem? He was pissed off at himself. This wasn't what he did.
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Badou knew this routine, and he definitely didn't expect to be the center of Schuldig's attention after all. He didn't need to be the center of anyone's attention, really. Including his own. And he was totally content to be left to his own devices, comfortably quiet with his drink and his cig.
But he was still tuned in. And, shit, even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have been able to miss that sudden a shift in the energy. It was like the temperature had just dropped by about fifteen degrees, or someone had added a shot of lead into the damn air or something. Badou took a deep drag on his cigarette, his forearms resting on the bar, his expression neutral, but his eyes found the reflection glinting back from behind the bar and he watched Schuldig, scanning to find the source of his sudden discomfort.
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Which is why he decided against making a beeline for the bar, but rather moseying over by winding his way past three of his kids first - the real go-getters who already had guys attached to their hips - before finally reaching the bar.
He found an empty spot towards the far end of the counter, where there was only one other guy sitting - a redhead by chance - and leaned his right elbow on the counter, beckoning casually with the other hand.
"Excuse me, bartender... But I believe that I have a tab I need to clear up before I'm allowed to start a new one for the night? ♥"
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And he had people to perform for, after all.
If he was Schuldig the bartender and not Schuldig the...whatever, friend, then performing shouldn't be a problem. He slipped into the skin easy enough, and then he was pouring Gojyo a beer, slapping down a coaster and making sure there was just the right amount of head. That was an important detail and the sign of a true professional.
Schuldig and giving head: it was the name of his professional game, one way or another, and had been ever since he'd started working. Pretty funny.
"Yeah," he said, "well, fucking pay up, man, or it's gonna come out of my pocket." He even tapped his pocket, the back one with his cell sticking out of it, for effect. They'd both know what he was doing-Badou and Gojyo; it was always so easy to tell when Schuldig was putting on a show. But there were no other options right now.
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Regardless, he needed to make amends. So, mug in hand, he slid down the bar until he was sitting right in front of Schu, not caring about the other man nearby. He reached out a hand and leaned across the bar, catching Schu's chin and bringing him close for a kiss. It was just a peck on the lips, to gauge how Schu was feeling tonight. "That take care of it?" Then, he pressed their lips together again, this time the apology actually evident in the kiss as he tugged at Schu's lower lip.
Pulling back only a little to prop himself up on his elbows, Gojyo smirked happily and tossed enough coins on the table to pay for the beer and five more of them that night. "I brought the kids with me - all twelve of 'em - an' some'r already hookin' up, so you should have lotsa drink orders soon enough. ♥ How's that fer bringin' ya' business, sweetheart?"
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Maybe Schuldig was just a little stubborn. He was going to make money his way, damn it, even if it meant living in a shithole without any bedframes or whatever. Real fucking classy, but at least it was his, and wasn't as bad as some hostels he'd stayed in back in the day, either.
Anyway.
Schuldig kissed back.
It was kind of shy, actually, like kissing was something you did but not for these reasons; and it was kind of coquettish, only without the usual impulse. His cheeks were even hot, and the kiss wasn't quite brief enough, and Schuldig didn't know why. All the motions they were going through were right, but there was something behind them that made them a little extra, and Schuldig could blame it on external factors, nerves maybe, about the bar and the service tonight. Yeah. Sure.
"Hey, thanks," he said, quiet against Gojyo's mouth, and touched the back of his neck for a moment, just an affectionate gesture. Hey, all business was good, right? And where the hell would he be without that help, huh?
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That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the totally unshakable sense that there was something else, something besides business that was making Schuldig put on this much of a show. Because this wasn't simply what he always did: it was fucking amped up. High stakes. And not in a way that had to do with open bar tabs, either.
But whatever, Badou tried to tell himself firmly, his eyes flitting away from the reflection of the guy beside him as soon as he reached out to touch Schuldig's chin. It still wasn't his business, because it wasn't like he and Schuldig were….
…It wasn't like they were sixteen.
Only, shit, why was it that just when you wanted to avoid looking, there had to be goddamn reflections everywhere. Even the polished surface of the bar. And all the glass, the polished metal, and the bottles. And, shit, even if he couldn't actually see them kissing there was still the sound, the energy, the damn imagine of it in his mind. All of it echoing back, like maybe the fucking acoustics in here were just too damn good, because fuck if that wasn't suddenly the only sound in the room.
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For the most part, he just liked to keep his mouth shut. It was easier for people to forget about him that way, and the last thing Crawford wanted was to be memorable in a city like this one.
He'd arrived at the bar early, hoping to avoid a great many of the more drunken idiots by at least a couple of hours. He didn't even know why he went to this bar so often, save for the fact that it was down the street from his apartment, and it was convenient. Then again, he supposed that was a good enough reason to go anywhere. Location, location, location, after all.
Whatever.
He'd taken his usual place at the bar, nearabouts that redhead with the eyepatch who always seemed to be there at the same time he was. He was friends with the bartender, which meant that they had fairly regular service down at their end. Choosing such a place had made strategic sense to Crawford at first, and then he'd never quite managed to move anywhere else.
Normally it wasn't a problem. Normally he and One Eye managed to get along without getting along just fine, only now that bartender was making a scene…some kind of kissing thing, Crawford wasn't exactly paying attention, only his not-friend was toying with the rim of his glass like he was paying attention, and also trying desperately to pretend like he wasn't. He couldn't pick out why he cared, exactly, only he was already turning on the barstool. Opening his mouth to speak.
"Nice hat," he said, commenting on the leopard-print.
Well, damn. That was one way to start a conversation.
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Gojyo must have suddenly, subconsciously become aware of it, because he turned away for just a second or two, scanning the room again. "Not all that packed just yet..." He drank from the mug, making sure to get some of the head on his upper lip so he could lick it off. Just because he could. "You get t'dance fer a bit'r do I gotta wait 'til that last half hour?"
Because, other than bringing Schuldig business, as the other half of Gojyo's apology - for what, he still wasn't entirely sure - he'd planned on making himself available as a dance partner. Namely, one that, y'know, actually knew how to dance.
Because even a wall flower could dance if you pushed 'em hard enough, but that wasn't the same thing. Two people who knew how to dance - and knew how to dance with each other - that was when it got insane and fun and showcased both people's talents. Even if only one of them knew how to dance, then it didn't look hot at all; it looked like that other person was borrowing a partner, borrowing an extra body just for the sake of grinding against it.
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"Mama was a rodeo queen," he said, because it was too good, and then-
Oh man. Gojyo was asking him to dance.
Of course, it was rare when Schuldig got to dance. Rare and nice, not to mention, especially with someone he wasn't entertaining, some big patron he had to spoil rotten, some poor kid he was taking pity on. You know, real dancing, not any of that two-stepping bullshit, and not having to be the fucking leader, either. And before the night got too busy was his only chance, right? "Hell," he said, glancing back towards Axel at the other end of the bar. He could handle it while Schuldig had some fun, right? "I'll have to see what I can do about putting on one of our songs, huh?"
He tapped out the beat of the song playing right now on the counter top. Well, when Patsy was done with her power note. Which reminded him-
"Oh fuck," he said. He could kick himself right now, cowboy boots and all. "Shit. Gojyo. This is Badou." You know, speaking of Patsy. His boys, coming out to give him some support on Cowboy Night. And then, of course, the cocky American who tipped well the first time; and Schuldig, always the mercenary, unable to do anything but grin and eat it.
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Well, shit, he just hadn't been expecting that: hadn't been expecting the guy to talk to him (they never really talked, however often they both sat there with their drinks and Badou's ashtray full of cigarette butts) and, more to the point, hadn't been expecting that having someone talk to him right now would be exactly the distraction that he needed.
He turned his head slowly to look at the American and got the feeling that the timing of the compliment hadn't been an accident. Or maybe that was just what two people did when the guys next to them leaned across the bar to kiss: make small talk. "Heh," he said, pausing to take the cigarette from between his lips, "Thanks-" And really he'd been about to blame Schuldig for all the hat's hideous leopard-print glory, when the conversation to his left demanded his attention again.
Gojyo. Oh. Well, shit. Badou swiveled in his barstool, cigarette firmly between his lips again so he could take a good deep draw. Shit, he should have guessed that, right? Gojyo-Schuldig's friend. Or "friend…"
Badou was never actually too sure which, and it's not like it was the sort of thing he'd ever come right out and asked about.
But he was supposed to be happy to meet this guy. Right? Was that how this went? Shit, he felt like he needed a fucking script to read from, someone to tell him his lines. "Uh, hey," he managed, which was really about as articulate as he felt.
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Anyway, he got the feeling that if he'd wanted another drink at that precise moment he'd have been shit out of luck. The most interesting scene was unfolding next to him.
It was weird. He couldn't have explained why he cared, except that-well, he couldn't explain it. Best to leave it at that.
"Are we doing introductions now?" He interrupted, smoothly changing stools to sit in the unspoken "reserved" seat between Badou and himself. "I'd hate to miss out on the opportunity to make new…friends."
Crawford had a way of letting the proper words linger in the air for a moment, so that they didn't really sound like the proper words at all, but some kind of secret code that he was using.
What the fuck was he doing?
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"So then..." His eyes traveled over towards the dark-haired man. Not Italian; too much accent. Oh fuck, he knew that accent, come on, which one was it... Oh, of course, one of those Americans who could say the key phrases with a flourish and then trip up on conversational phrases. So, a little perturbed, Gojyo jerked his other thumb in the American's direction. "Either'a you know him?"
Come on, introductions were supposed to be done by a third party, someone had t' know 'im, otherwise he was just bein' rude. But then again, since when was that news in a bar fulla' foreigners?
[[OOC: Italia = Italy; Buona sera = Good evening]]
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There was something about Bradley Crawford-like how Schuldig couldn't read him at all, for example-that was unsettling. But he was kind of distracted right now.
Hadn't Gojyo and Badou met before? Of course they hadn't. If they had, Schuldig sure as hell would have been there. Maybe it was just assumptions: Schuldig had known them both for so long that they'd become integral parts of his life; he just figured everybody knew everybody else and that was that, like the cast of some overcomplicated sit-com that he was totally the star of, by the way. But of course that was dumb, and they didn't know each other, and now was so not the time-but it was the time he'd been given, apparently, and they'd all make do. Sure! They'd love each other, or something. They had a lot in common actually, and they were both fucking hilarious, and...
"So this is like the Brady Bunch," he said, voice dry. "Anyway, Gojyo, Badou, Mr. Brad Crawford. Welcome to the Warrior Princess. May I take your order?"
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But there was a moment-right about when Gojyo called him "the guy you came t' Italia with"-when his gaze flicked over to Schuldig, and this little scrap of doubt began to yammer and gnaw, because he didn't know what Gojyo knew about how Schuldig had come to Italy, didn't know what Schuldig would have told him, how he'd spun it. Didn't know whether he'd chosen to talk to Gojyo about all those things that he hadn't talked to Badou about in years, or well…ever.
Anyway, what was he supposed to say to that? 'Oh yeah, you're the guy in all those movies-you know, the ones that he and I don't talk about because what exactly are you supposed to say when you find out that someone who was your… someone like that wasn't actually dead but just exploring a new career in the porn industry?-"Oh, hey I really liked that shot of your ass"?'
But then-shit. Americans. Did someone breed those guys for timing, or what? Because there was the voice from his right, and he could feel the change in proximity, and Badou didn't actually have to figure out what to say, because Gojyo was already asking about his usually-silent drinking associate beside him.
Badou swiveled his head to look at Crawford-he had to lean back a little and look over his shoulder to manage it, because he was on the side of Badou's bad eye-and he quirked a little smile. He didn't know why the man had picked this moment to start talking, but he was really thankful that he had. No matter what the other two thought.
Bradley Crawford, eh? Well it looked like Mr. Crawford had managed to find the release valve that let the pressure out so Badou could breathe right again, could give a snort of laughter at Schuldig's Brady Bunch joke, roll his eyes, and say, "Go fucking dance or something, yeah?"-all of which he did. Probably, he thought, they could all use a little bit of breathing room for a moment anyway.
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"Nice to meet you all," he murmured, smiling at Badou before taking a long swallow of alcohol. Some small part of him-the shit-eating bastard part-was enjoying this quite a lot. Damn. Maybe he would have to get out of the house more often, if it was going to lead to this. So much better than prime time television.
He still didn’t know what he was doing, particularly, throwing himself into situations without calculable outcomes. Was it just the entertainment factor? Had he really gotten that bored in this city? Whatever. Crawford didn't like not having the answers to things, but he also wasn't one to question things endlessly either.
"So that hat," he said, returning to a familiar topic with a familiar face. "What'd you do, bring down a leopard in the Serengeti?"
Great. Apparently tonight he was making jokes. Hilarious, just fucking hilarious. Maybe all the Greatest Hits from the Wild West were making him punchy.
Yeah, that was it.
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