(Untitled)

[thanoodles]

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[demonfull]

[it's late, very late, but not quite kicking-out time at the bars. Parzi (with Monroe mentally in tow) moves easily amidst the throngs of drunk, high twenty-somethings in one of the busier districts of the city - they blend in, the demon in its latest body. Parzi can feel the deliciously warm weight of Monroe's presence in a comfortable, hazy slumber in the back of their mind. It's a cosy fit, the two of them in the same little shell.]

[They're in a good mood. There are bright creatures - drunk and delightful and noisy in their happiness - all around them, all with expanses of smooth flesh and gaudy colours. It's a sensory overload and Parzi can't help but grin with Monroe's mouth as he snakes through the crowds that have spilled on to the streets and the pair of them make a lazy bee-line towards the nearest bar]

[inthecorners]

[ This one is neither drunk nor high, but he is certainly very bored. The night has brought him absolutely no interesting individuals, no strong, prominent souls to draw away his attention. Daft, youthful humans losing braincells with every tablet, every puff, every shot they down, he couldn't care less about them. Lurking at the bar, he stares disdainfully at the crowds around him, his glass raised and poised at his lips.

The man that enters the bar is familiar, in a way. Amraerya watches him, eyebrows slightly raised; he recognises that soul more than the face (a somewhat healthier face than he remembers), to a certain extent, except last time, it was in pieces. He makes no move. He just wants to observe, for the moment. ]

[demonfull]

[Parzi slips through the clusters with his eyes fixed on his destination - the little stretch of empty bar beside Amraerya. He doesn't want a drink, he just wants to observe and look good whilst doing it... but as he slides casually towards the bar he feels a presence that makes him subtly check his step. There's someone, some thing, that was just as alien and unique as he was. He can feel it, a disquiet note of discord amidst the youthful harmony of the busy bar. He lifts his chin to quickly gage the states of the souls around him - and then he notices Amraerya.]

[Not that he makes it obvious that he's noticed Amraerya. He can tell the man hasn't got a human soul but fuck if he knows what he actually is. Still, he continues to wear that sickeningly confident smirk and he flashes the devil a quick, nonchalant grin full of gleaming white teeth as he steps up to the bar]

Hey.

[inthecorners]

[ Amraerya takes a sip of his drink as the man offers him a greeting. This can't be the same, pathetic little creature he met before, so willing to be used, abused and left. This is a confident - disgustingly so - man, one who doesn't look like he's been dragged through a hedge, beaten to within an inch of his sorry life and then left in a puddle for several days. How peculiar. ]

Hello.

[ Hm he's being Mr. Stoney Face tonight. He isn't sure about you, strange familiar man with a strange, familiar soul. ]

[notthemodel]

[ Alright, so maybe Naomi wasn't exactly of age in most bars these days but she's been in the game long enough to figure out the rules. She slips the bartender enough to push the doubt out of his mind and gives him a mint smile (slightly strained but all the more pressing when the drink finally hits her hand) and turns to find refuge in a less noisy place

[shadingtogray]

[ Amanda never spent much time in the bars in Caprica City, with the exception of the one time she went to Dive with Clarice. It was too easy for her to be recognized. Here, she doesn't have to worry about that. She's not Dr. Amanda Graystone, wife of Dr. Daniel Graystone, former successful plastic surgeon and mother to a potential terrorist. She's just a woman in a bar, drowning her tension and her anxiety in a glass

[prescientific]

( Bonnie isn't sure how long she's been here. Maybe hours or minutes, or maybe days. Time blurs together into a big old mess, sometimes, a haze that's broken up with headaches and sharp images painted across her line of sight. She's easy to miss, small and thin, long sleeves of a worn out sweater balled around her fists.

She's been watching this lady for a little while. She's different from most people Bonnie talks to - from most people that talk to her, too. Even if it's warm, she has a scarf wrapped around her neck, in contrast to a light little summer skirt, and her skin is too pale.

Absently, she starts to wander over. No real purpose to it, but she finds herself next to the lady and quietly looking at her as she chews away her nails. ) You're seemin' kinda tense.

[shadingtogray]

[ooc; lmao and I just realized Zooey Deschanel bears a passing resemblance to the actress who plays Amanda's daughter... and coincidental name similarity. :')]

[ Amanda is both lost in her thoughts and starting to be a little drunk by now, and so she doesn't notice Bonnie coming up next to her until she speaks. She blinks over at her, a little startled. Young, maybe a little less than twenty years younger than she is, brunette, big blue eyes, small and fragile. If her features were a little less defined she would look almost exactly like Zoe; as it is, the resemblance is close enough to make Amanda's breath catch a little.

And the alcohol makes her slower to react, leaving her staring for a few moments before she finally manages to control herself. Amanda swallows, pushing her hair back from her face one-handed, the other still holding onto her glass like it'd disappear if she let it go. She manages a tiny grin, a half-intoxicated attempt at good humor. ]Think there'd be a lot of people like that in a bar. People come here for that

[prescientific]

( ooc; lmfao dhkjs that's beautiful )

( Head tilting a little bit as Amanda replies, she takes her time to think over that reply. Partly it's because her head feels all full up with cotton, a dull ache starting to thud through, so that one very pale hand snakes into her pocket. One of many pockets, rather, part of her battered old jacket that used to be dark green, once upon a time, but was now a dull grey. She's slowly fiddling, fingers playing with the white cap on an orange bottle to silently ease out a couple of pills and keep them at her fingertips. Not taking them, not yet - not in front of this new unknown, but in contact so she can swallow them any time.

Finally, she nods. Bonnie speaks slowly; force of habit, plus that Southern drawl of hers working into every part of her, like she lives in the rhythm set by the way her words fall. ) Sure. Some've them might be hopin' to do other things, though.

( She slips onto the stool next to Amanda, keeping her gaze on the bar. Eye contact is difficult, challenging, and she's been