Solitario

Dec 11th, 2018 02:24 AM

Everything about this place was pretty. The trappings of the bar, the handsome bartender all in blacks, the gorgeous waitresses, the people going to and fro. Even the drinks, mixed to perfection with swirling colors. It was beautiful. It was the kind of trappings that the world wanted to see, servants going about. It was the kind of place people were meant to lose themselves in.

He knew a thing or two about servitude. It was what he had been made for, and the urge to pay close attention to the social faux pas around him, to lose himself in the minutae just for a moment so he could focus on anything but his memories...

"Bulleit, please. Rocks," he murmured to the bartender politely, absently, leaving another twenty on the bar. It was the third such drink he had ordered. The Wizened was tipsy. It wasn't good for him. He wasn't supposed to be drinking, not on the SSRIs, the doctor's psychotropic drugs that had dragged him away from the dark place he was going. But this was a particularly rough night. These nights came less often now, now that the meds had torn away a piece of his Clarity in exchange for the depression being numbed.

To a cunning Lost, he appeared to be a gentleman, with finely coiffed black hair and a fine black suit over a white shirt and a black tie. Beneath the Mask, he was thin, supernaturally so, and his skin was grey and smooth. The sort of man who just blended in, to look at him, his mein looked stark and sharp, the absence of a major effect of a Mantle a tell-tale sign to those who might be in the know of what Court he might belong to...

The drink hit the bar. The lips hit the rim. The bourbon hit the throat. So it would continue until he finally stumbled home.

**Freya** · Dec 11th, 2018 02:49 AM

This was the place.

Megan had told her to get out of the house again, apparently concerned that her house manager had been spending too much time on the books. Freya fought it, but only briefly. It had been a long week and in truth she could use a drink. Thus, Freya strode in the bar, traversing the floor to reach the bar, stealing a seat just a few down from the grieving man.

Freya was dressed in a green lace dress, coupling it with cream colored heeled sandals. The dress and shoes were relatively new, she had only had them for a short time, the leather jacket astride her shoulders was not, possessing notable patina from years of well-loved wear.

The Wizened would see what most did not. Deep brown feathers covered much of Freya's form and she regarded the world with round, amber avian eyes. More disturbing was her forearms and hands, dark and scaly like the foot of a corvid, and ending in black, wicked talons. Placing her jacket on the chair, Freya would seat herself. It was then that she noted the man's Mien in her periphery and, stunned by the appearance of a Lost whom she did not know, Mother Talons canted her head to regard him for a moment.

After a moment, she got the bartender's attention. Even in her Mien Freya had a certain beauty. It was easy to get noticed. She offered him a smile, as he slid over a drink menu. Traversing the wine section, Freya would select a regional Merlot, sliding the man her card and opening a tab.

The silence was palpable, but Freya maintained it until she got her wine.

"New to Sacramento?" she asked, regarding her glass for a long moment before taking a drink of the dark red nectar within as she awaited the man's reply.

Dec 11th, 2018 03:10 AM

Well. That wasn't something you saw every day at a place like this. So many Lost barely even had ID to get into a bar that wasn't controlled by some Changeling who had been out a while. A bird-woman, handsome and proud, with terrifying talons that he quickly confirmed with himself he did not want anything to do with. Yet, she greeted him, and a Chatelaine was always polite.

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, letting his somewhere-Southern accent long suppressed by years on the coast fly for a moment. "Thought I'd see some sights, have a date with a Bulleit here..."

Gallows humour. It was one of the few ways he expressed that deep truth about his worldview.

"I take it you're one of the friendly locals."

Part of him hoped she wasn't. His therapist probably would have had something to say about that.

"Maxwell J. Pierce, at your service."

**Freya** · Dec 11th, 2018 03:20 AM

Freya's feathered mane twitched with interest at the man's accent and polite demeanor.

She'd glance over to the man and offer a friendly smile, careful not to show too much of the fangs that rested where dull canines should.

An amused huff, "I know what you mean, rough weeks mean a date night with merlot myself," she offered.

"Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Sacramento, Mr. Pierce," she said politely, "And yes, I suppose you could say that I'm among the friendly locals."

She'd pause for a moment, letting the man acclimate to her company before continuing.

"What's brought to Sacramento, if you don't mind my asking?" Freya's expression was kind, but cautious. Not everyone liked small talk, but, seeing as the two didn't know each other, what other choice did they have?

Dec 11th, 2018 03:31 AM

Oh, good. They were talking about their depression drinking. It meant she probably wasn't here to murder him or drag him off by the hair to the Bon Vivant. Something, at least.

"That's mighty kind of you," he replied, putting back half his drink in a single swig with a quiet 'aaahhh' even as the questionable bourbon burned its way down to his gullet. A long moment of quiet followed as she asked her question.

"Call it a desire to find connection, or understanding, or peace. You see, my..."

The Chatelaine paused, shook his head, stared into his drink with a sad smile on his face.

"My late wife was from here. She always wanted me to see Sacramento. So, I figured..."

A thin hand came up, gently spinning in a circle, like 'all this' answered the rest of the question. And then he did what he always did. Caught himself opening up. And he slammed that hole in his compliance with the Icelaw shut, not bothering to think for even a moment that his adherence to his Court's doctrine might be unhealthy for his sanity even as it helped him maintain his Clarity.

"I figured I'd come to a bar and talk about it with the first friendly face I met. I swear. I'm charming when I'm not drinking. What about you? Why here?"

Deflection. It was the name of the game.

Dec 11th, 2018 11:05 AM

A gray-skinned gentleman, a human-bird hybrid and a man made of flowers walk into a bar...

But this was no joke. This was the actual reality of the night, here at one of the Sacramento evening entertainment venues. Abraham decided that walking in to the same locale where two other Lost mingled is not a coincidence - it was Fate, telling him something. As to what? Well, he will figure it out in time, certainly. For now, he simply made his way to the bartender, ordered sparkling water and toom a seat next to the pair of changelings.

"Mind if I join you, esteemed colleagues? Or would you rather stick to your present company?" The question was genuine. Abe was always up for a round or two, but what he'd never do was staying where he wasn't wanted. Their Desires Were Their Own, after all "Abraham Norton, at your service" He said more to the man than to the woman. The Flowering had a faint impression he was already introduced on another occasion...

**Freya** · Dec 11th, 2018 11:20 AM

A glint of sadness crossed the avian woman's features as he spoke of his late wife and errant thoughts turned to her own loss. Her son. The difference was he was still alive, but too much time had passed to make their relationship viable. The fetch had raised him well enough though, so Freya could not bring it on herself to seek vengeance.

"I understand," she offered, her voice low, signaling the man need not go in detail. They were still strangers and Freya had hardly spoke of what she had lost to the others since her arrival.

She offered Maxwell a sad smile and a knowing expression. He wanted to deflect. Perhaps for now he had to. Freya wasn't a therapist so she wasn't going to push her luck.

"Work, if I'm being honest," she offered, answering his inquiry, "I work as a house manager. The creators I work for wanted to move to California to be closer to others who they collaborate with often and gave me the option to tag along. I'm originally from Chicago, but, after my... extended vacation, there wasn't much for me there. I figured what the hell and packed my bags."

A pause followed as she drank more of her merlot.

"Luckily a friend of mine that ran in similar circles gave me the number of someone he felt could help me settle in here better," she continues, "What about you? Do you have any contacts, Mr. Pierce?"

Then came another. A Flowering by the looks of it, but oh so different from the darker look of the Dread Lord. She offered a smile.

"I'm perfectly happy to have another in our company, Mr. Norton," she said, holding out a hand, "Freya Bloom."

Realizing she had not offered Maxwell her name, she would glance to him and give a nod.

Dec 11th, 2018 05:01 PM

Work. That was a much nicer reason to be in a place than the ghosts of the dead. The very idea of that kind of normalcy was pleasant. "What house do you manage?" he asked idly, his finger ringing around the outside of the glass slowly, letting her talk about herself, getting to know the literal bird who had shown up, even for just a moment.

"Not the right ones. Not yet," he drawled. He knew people. He was connected. But he hadn't got his shit in place yet. "Save for management here for my, uh... interest group --"

Another arrived. He tensed a bit, flicking his eyes over the Flowering briefly.

"Why not?"

This dude was one dyejob from looking right like a flowery Thor. His hair. Magical. His hand came out politely - ever polite, when he could be, that was the Chatelaine's way, so sayeth the Keepers and some things just stuck. "Maxwell J. Pierce, sir. I wouldn't recommend missing out on the Forbidden Fruit martini. It's to die for."

Shitty bourbon, that was what you died from.

Dec 11th, 2018 06:46 PM

"I am no 'mister', and certainly no 'sir'" He said, his voice smooth and pleasant, after accepting the greetings of both Freya and Maxwell "Just a simple teller of stories who enjoys making sure the thorny places in the great countryside stay as safe as possible. Abraham or Abe is fine, that's what most people call me anyway"

Some water was drank. The glass was now half empty. But Abraham preferred to see it as half full.

"I will consider this Forbidden Fruit you speak of, Maxwell" He closed distance pretty fast, you have to give him that "But to me, nothing can match a good dark brew"

As much as he enjoyed spinning words into intricate patterns, the Flowering could also be very direct "So, what brings you two to this place tonight? A hard day? A hard week, perhaps?"

**Freya** · Dec 13th, 2018 08:16 PM

Another drink of merlot, the bird-woman's nigh unblinking avian eyes looking to her present company.

First there was Maxwell's question. Freya's vocation was not all together common, so she needed to take the time to describe it correctly, lest she confuse them as she had done with many in the years past.

"I manage a house of content creators and streamers," she said, "I manage their bills, help schedule appointments, ensure the house is in good order... that sort of thing. And grocery shopping. Lots of that."

Then to Abraham.

"Week's are always long," Freya said before thinking back to her brief feature on the group's house stream earlier in the week. A small smile danced across her lips. "But it was also a good one. I'm drinking to celebrate a little success just as much as I am to blow off steam. What about you, Abe?"