Marseillaise

[epsilonlessthan]

Who: The Professor and The Devil (Mihailo and Ion)
When: March 17th, St. Patrick's day
Where: The pubs and streets of Paris Liberty
What: Here, the fortunate ones through money, or influence, or luck, might obtain alcohol and scurry to pubs and from pubs to more pubs. But the others wait in sobriety...and wait...and wait...and wait.
Rating: __me. ___me

Comments

[amar_dulce_vin]

The only response to such a well-meaning demand was a baleful look and the revealing of two damning black X marks on the backs of his hands. It had seemed to slip Mihailo's mind (unsurprising; most things tended to) that it was generally looked down upon for teenagers to be allowed to partake of alcohol in public.

Read as: Illegal.

He'd had no real desire to accompany his professor on a preemptive celebration (AKA bar-crawl) of spring break, perfect score on his math final or not. He glared down at the pint held under his nose with a malignant sort of longing--but the Look the bartender was shooting his way could not be ignored. Ion muttered darkly under his breath and shoved the drink back at the Serbian.

"It only seems like it because you haven't been working at all." he said, voice nearly lost in the roar of drunken revelry.

[epsilonlessthan]

The beer was yet another victim to a seemingly endless gullet.

And though Mihailo displayed a brief acknowledgement of empathy toward Ion's plight, he consumed the entire glass in a pair of impressive(ly disturbing) gulps cheered on by the assortment of drunkards around them.

Clearly, a bastard as well as an addict

[amar_dulce_vin]

"You look less like a citizen of the world than a citizen of the gutter," Ion retorted peevishly, shoving his branded hands deep within his pockets to hide the shame of it

[epsilonlessthan]

"Ah, what is that idiom? You must hit the bottom of rocks before you get better? The grass is always greener? Let the stormy clouds chase
everyone from the...no, no, those are lyrics."

What bloomed within the mist that night, which struck the fear of Man and his vices into Ion (if only briefly), was no creature of nightmares but rather, an expression befitting of such terrors.

And, to follow after, a sing-song continuation of a train of thought he was still predictably unable to follow that would forever haunt the darker recesses of his mind.

"Come on with the rain, I've a smile on my face; I walk down the lane with a ha~ppy refrain-"

A puddle of still water from prior showers was broken under the man's inelegant tapping heels, a dampening spray of cold to Ion's formerly dry trousers which naturally did not deter the Professor from swinging around the first street light he latched onto.

"Just singin', Sollomoviciii- Singin' in the raaaain~"