[open]
Who: soldiersblade and You?
When: Toniiiight (May 1st)
Where: The Foxhole
Format: Will start with action, but join with whatever you'd like and I'll happily follow suit!
What: Des is finally checking out the town after showing up in the midst of Ogrepalooza. That's uh... it. IT'S A BAR. HE IS A BARTENDER. It was bound to happen.
Warnings: None? Language on his ( Read more... )
When: Toniiiight (May 1st)
Where: The Foxhole
Format: Will start with action, but join with whatever you'd like and I'll happily follow suit!
What: Des is finally checking out the town after showing up in the midst of Ogrepalooza. That's uh... it. IT'S A BAR. HE IS A BARTENDER. It was bound to happen.
Warnings: None? Language on his ( Read more... )
Comments 16
Like he was on a mission, but the data he was collecting was about everyone, and everything, and he had no specific target.
It hadn't taken long before he'd seen people coming in and out of this building and thought it would be a good place to act like a sponge and soak up as much knowledge as he could.
So he'd gone inside and waved off any offers for a drink until the annoyed waitress finally brought him a glass of water he steadily ignored. Altaïr was listening, that's all. He wasn't going to get poisoned again.
And when one was listening, it was kind of hard to ignore shouting.
He glanced up at Desmond, noticing immediately his striking resemblance to Ezio. In fact, Altaïr thought it was Ezio at first, but the unplaceable accent was missing, and ( ... )
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He sighs, unzipping his hoodie and shuffling out of it, leaving the thing to hang over the back of the bar stool. An eagle, etched intricately in gray, is splayed across the front of his shirt.
Pretty obvious sign there, 'ol buddy.
And yeah. He looks exactly, exactly like you.
Turning slowly, so slowly, he finds the man. Knows he's there.
How could he not?]
... hey. You. Altaïr.
[WASSA-MATTA YO-- no, no no no]
That is you, isn't it.
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And when he looks at him, the similarities in their appearance are suddenly much more apparent. And that is downright unsettling.
He takes a step further so he can talk while still keeping his voice down - a movement of habit, really, although the bar certainly is loud, no thanks to Desmond's neighbor at the bar.]
Who are you, that you know my name and wear my face?
[Pointing that out? Awkward. But not saying anything about it would be ignoring what was literally staring them both in the face.]
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[Looking the man up and down, he feels... oddly out of place, and not because he's actually within arm's reach of the guy who's taken over a fair portion of his life, but because he's seeing him without being him.
If that makes sense. Little does, as of late.]
We should go outside and talk or... or something. If you want. I know I wouldn't mind getting away from this guy. I think he's about four conspiracies away from makin' us both tinfoil top hats.
[Annnnd yeah, Altaïr probably won't get the joke, but whatever.]
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[dressed as though she doesn't belong in the city, either, a red-headed woman takes a seat next to him, her legs crossed. she taps the counter to get the bartender's attention, ordering desmond a gin and herself, a brandy.]
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[A glass is set down four inches from his nose, contents slopping over the rim with the nonchalant toss of a barely there bartender. He blinks, staring a moment before straightening up, offering his new company a rather... screwed up eyebrow.]
It... yeah... [a quick glance around. Who is this chick?] ... wait, did you... ?
[ALRIGHT WE CAN DO BETTER THAN THIS]
Thanks. [and a gesture toward the gin] I'm Desmond.
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Shirley.
[she only looks mildly annoyed that their drinks are set down so roughly. a good thing there napkins available. which she takes, wiping away the brandy on the counter. she doesn't want booze on her sleeves, ok. the napkin sits between their drinks when she finishes, if he wants to use it. shirley doesn't think so but why not.]
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[Good or not, he doesn't know, but switching on the Eagle Vision and doing a little snooping proves to be a more perplexing thing than he thought at first. The woman is a shifting, pale violet-- shades easing in and out between blue, red, white, gold, everything, and not lingering longer on one than the other.
Hm.]
So, uh... not to sound like a dick, but do you come here often? I'm not askin' as a pick-up-- I really do wanna know, cuz bars are sort of my thing back home, and I wanna find a good one to shake down for employment. [He laughs a little, corners of his lips curling subtly before taking a sip of his freebie.] M'not really sure what else I could do here... where to start...
[A pause.]
Did you find it weird to adjust?
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So yeah, 'sup, he's just going to sit down next to Desmond. Not shifty at all.]
That sounds like an awful deal.
[A few feet away, the bartender drops a tumbler of whiskey and swears quietly. A lady walking down the street outside rushes home a few hours earlier than she'd meant to and finds her husband with another woman.
Crowley smiles.]
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So, d'you wear your sunglasses at night, so you can [totally singing it now] so you caaaan, watch me weave ...
[and a laugh, waving a hand dismissively and turning back to face the bar, more concerned about that wasted whiskey than anything, now.]
Ah, fuck, I forget the rest.
[Seriously, who wears sunglasses at night, let alone in a bar? Dude should flip his collar and complete the look.]
So, what-- you got a better deal?
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I assure you, if I actually wanted to watch your story, I'd do it more inconspicuously.
[after gaining the attention of the bartender, he calls for a brandy.]
Maybe.
[there is probably something slightly disconcerting about his smile.]
It wouldn't be hard to find a better deal, anyway. Most people don't appreciate jumping into fires.
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