(Untitled)

[winewomenand]

Robin Goodfellow sat on a stool at the bar in the Catscratch, though not particularly well. He would have been weaving on the small seat if it weren't for the fact that his head was morosely pillowed on the bar-top over his folded arms. His green eyes were dull stones, brown curls damp and plastered to his grimly pale forehead on a face in need of

Comments

[just_hormones]

"Ugh, tell me about it," Aphrodite said, plopping herself into the stool to the guy's left with an annoyed and pouty air. He'd just said something in Greek, but she was too busy lamenting her own problems to actually listen to what he said. "This whole place is so totally bogus."

She gave a pretty flourish with one hand, which normally would have resulted in her popping out in a shower of gold sparkles. "See? Nothing. Not even a spark. It sucks being a mortal."

[winewomenand]

"It is to weep." Robin raised his near-empty tumbler in the air in the woman's general direction, tipping it so that the dregs of whisky ran down the length of his arm. He didn't seem to notice. "One begins to wonder how there can be individuals who have spent years here without losing their will to live."

He sniffed and blinked, watching her hand move; a little too quick for his aching head. "I like the way you smell," he said, words soft at the edges. " ... who are you again?"

[just_hormones]

Aphrodite cringes at that, and gives her head a little shake as though she's smelled something particularly heinous. "Ew, don't even say that," she says. "I don't want to think about having to be in this dump that long."

She softens a little at his compliment, a pretty smile curling her lips even though she can tell this guy is three sheets to the wind. "A goddess has to maintain her image, even if she is stuck as a mortal," she replies. "I'm Aphrodite."

[winewomenand]

"I don't enjoy it here," Robin muttered, heaving a sigh before waving a hand broadly through the air. "I don't want to think about it, either. I want to be back home where I belong, wandering Zeus' infinite domain. Hence the drinking."

Turning his head, he allowed himself a moment to admire the way the woman looked when she smiled. Until, of course, she stated her name. And honestly, he had no reason to doubt her.

"Aphrodite. You're shitting me."

[scoobys_heart]

Monday was the night for male dancers at the Catscratch. Unfortunately there were a lot less male dancers then there used to be so Xander tried to make up for it by working the crowd a little before hand, something he would have been way to nervous to do a year ago. It was amazing what stripping had done for his confidence even if it still failed him at times.

He still had time before he had to go one and his attention was attracted by the sound of the glasses ringing out. Most of the patrons had been greeted with a smile but this guy looked awful. Xander moved to take the stool next to him. "Hey man, you alright?"

[winewomenand]

In so far as Robin had a type, the creature plunking itself down beside him wasn't it. However, even fewer than Robin's types were his un-types. Any port in a storm, and it was always storming in Goodfellow Time. Or had been, at least, until a few months ago at home. He blinked slowly. Was he one of the strippers?

"Hello," he warbled, gearing up for a pick-up-line. But then the other man started talking and Robin's nose wrinkled nearly immediately. It had been better before the talking.

"Of course I am not all right. How am I expected to live like this? Quick, fetch me a silk scarf and some personal lubricant. I want to go out in style."

[scoobys_heart]

Good thing Xander wasn't really here to do anything but talk. Stripping was the only thing he did here, except watch the door occasionally when Helen needed him too. That was about all he was up for.

Xander winced slightly at the man's tone. "New here huh?" Probably hadn't been human before, they always took it the hardest. "I'm really not sure how your going to go out with that stuff, but really, this place isn't so bad once you get used to it? Not bad enough to off yourself anyway..." Yeah, that was lame. "And I realize that hearing that isn't going to help. Though I don't think getting drunk is either." He added, nodding at the bar.

[winewomenand]

"It is simple, Sherlock Homo." Dropping his emptied glass, one of Goodfellow's hands went to his waist to make a pumping motion. The other went to his neck, holding up an invisible noose. "Get the picture?"

The corner of his lips twitched. "And getting drunk always helps. I would rather suffer a hangover than sobriety, under the circumstances."

[heartless_sob]

Castiel had only come looking for Dean. He was in his trenchcoat, waiting at the bar, but even the booming music couldn't mask the stranger's self-indulgent speech. Humans sometimes became ridiculous while drinking alcohol.

"We all were," he said, likely sounded as moody as he felt. He barely spared the man a glance.

[winewomenand]

"All were." Robin stated each word individually, ponderously, but without any immediate comprehension. "All were - all were what?"

Leaning over closer to the man, his nostrils flared and he took a good, long sniff of him. Then he took him in with his eyes in earnest.

"You look like one of my employees," Robin declared. "From home. They are absolutely crap liars despite my weeks of selfless coaching. I'll bet you're an absolutely crap liar, too."

[heartless_sob]

"We all were somebody before we came here," Castiel clarified. Technically, they still were. Some of them were just...different. Less. That was what it felt like sometimes.

"I can assure you I never would have been an employee of yours," he said. He was a little grateful Dean hadn't shown yet. He would have backed the man up about Castiel's lying abilities (or lack thereof).

[winewomenand]

"Something," Robin corrected blearily. "Something. I wasn't a 'body,' technically speaking." Drunk or otherwise, he still managed to be contrary for the sake of contrariness.

He gave his head a dull shake, limp curls sliding down into his eyes. "Now I'm a body. A useless, pathetic, mere body with lines at the corners of my mouth." He gestured to said lines with both index fingers.

Filthy wrinkles.

[drama_maureen]

"Didn't we all."

Maureen had been on stage earlier, dancing to "Fever" as performed by Ella Fitzgerald, which to be honest was a great deal classier than her usual eighties new wave fare, but she'd found some red, red lipstick, and paired with an all-black ensemble she'd been feeling kind of sultry.

She'd gone to the bar afterward and grabbed a drink and then made her way back to the audience, where she'd sat down next to the unfamiliar man lamenting about how he used to be something.

"I've never seen anyone look so depressed watching me take off my clothes," she added. To be fair, she still wasn't wearing a lot. She had a purple silk robe (she'd stolen it from Prior) thrown on (and still open) over top of black lace bra and panties, and a black garter. She wasn't wearing shoes, though; she'd throw on some sneakers before walking home.

[winewomenand]

The red lipstick kept Robin's attention, like a hummingbird to a red flower; a promise of fertility. His eyes, however, utterly lacked their usual pointed heatedness - they didn't even manage to stray to her legs, although they did dip down to follow the valley of her breasts once or twice as he stared.

"I apologize," he muttered in earnestness. "Normally I would have had you imagining with one stray glance from the stage all of the things I could do to you with just my tongue."

He raked a hand through his damp hair. It didn't do much.

[drama_maureen]

"Oh, I see." Maureen's eyes flicked down to that very tongue, then back to his eyes. "I guess I'm missing out, then. Tell me, is there anything I can do to cheer you up? I'm off the clock, but it might be worth a lapdance to see that frown turned upside down."

[winewomenand]

"I could try anyway. So that you don't feel cheated." He gave a small smile, half-hearted. "Why don't you slip out of that cute lingerie and onto my cock?" Wait, wait. That wasn't right at all. "Ah. Never mind."

He shrugged.

"This is a disaster. A travesty. An incomprehensible burlesque. How can I possibly show my magnificent head in public if I am to be ruined this way? No. I should leave now and drown my sorrows in blessed privacy."

Robin stood, wobbling gracelessly. He sat back down.

"Or not."

[wormholed]

John half turned towards the guy. Now Greek, the microbes nestled at the base of his brain could translate, but stone drunk? Not so much.

"Was that something sober?" he asked, grinning as he tossed down some from his own glass.

[winewomenand]

Robin himself also turned toward the voice by his shoulder, eyebrows quickly drawing up his sweaty brow. He swallowed, rubbing the butt of his palm against his hot eyelids, before trying what he'd said again, in much clearer Greek.

"I said, whatever foul, putrid little dung-beetle has brought me here should suffer an eternity lost on the Styx and have all his toe-nails fall out one by one, the wretched, misbegotten offspring of a Macedonian she-goat."

[wormholed]

"Huh," John grunted, rolling the words around in his head as one might a mouthful of wine, but the effect was an illusion. Sprawled over the chair in his leather, John was all cowboy, and, perhaps more tragically, a Miller Man.

From the stool on Robin's other side, Scorpius' ugly brow began to tighten.

Befriending those more intelligent than you will ensure your continued survival, John Crichton, but this one will do you more harm than good.

John waved the stodgy bastard off, scooting his chair closer to the stranger's. "Why Macedonian?" he asked. It seemed a salient point. "They creepier than normal goats?"

[winewomenand]

Robin heaved a loud, equine snort, before leaning over to examine John's wardrobe - his pants in particular. He managed an explanation with eyes still lazily glued to the other man's form.

"You couldn't even buy a good slave from Macedonia, let alone livestock. Don't they print history books where you hail from?"