Will you accept your fate or will you fight against the system?
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Posted: Feb 9 2018, 07:21 PM
Oh god Nyles didn't want to think about how much money she'd pumped into her latest idea. The medium-sized ship, electronics, permits, decor. The Silver had spent more than what she had originally planned, telling herself 'no, I don't NEED this, I only WANT it so I shouldn't buy it' ... then buying it anyway. What if it was a flop? What if no one liked the idea of a ship being converted into a bar, flying around to set locations on timed intervals with changing a theme?
...HAH. Who the hell was she kidding, who wouldn't love it when booze came to them? Getting wasted a block from your house was a lot more convenient than getting wasted on the other side of town.
The theme for the night was geometry. With the press of a button, plain white walls soon began to fill with random shapes that pulsed different colors and changed sizes randomly. Light fixtures were masked to have a honey-comb pattern, the bar front made up of triangles that were smaller at the top and grew larger toward the bottom. Drinks would be served in a variety of shapes... the idea was clear. She could thank holograms (and a large chunk of change) for the programmable interior, hence the name of the bar: MORPH. Changed locations, changed appearance.
Since it was her 'child' and the first time the bar would be out and about, she'd be running the show for the night. Making drinks, taking orders, with the help of another bartender in case things got busier than she thought. The plan was to learn what people liked about it, what they didn't like, see how profits went. Plus it was her toy god damn it.
The ship had landed and with the help of Browns everything was set up. Nyles herself was wearing a sleeveless black dress, silver heels, and small silver triangle earrings. Her hair was let loose in wavy blonde locks instead of tied up in a ponytail as she usually had it. Three, two, one. The Silver drummed her fingers drummed on the bar as the ramp at the back of the plane began to lower itself down, officially opening her very first bar. Well, here we go.
Posted: Feb 11 2018, 12:44 PM
You ever get the impression you’ve just walked into somewhere you shouldn’t?
Well, suffice it to say, Rawson was suddenly feeling very well acquainted with that sensation.
As it was, Nyles’ first customer was quite possibly not what she was expecting. In stark contrast with the classy,, modern chique of the bar she’d so painstakingly created, the man who walked in looked more suited to a back-alley mugging in a darkly lit alley in Lower Novas.
The man was huge. Easily a foot taller than her when she wasn't wearing heels, leaving little doubt as to his position on the spectrum. Heavy black boots, dark jeans, and the black hoodie which he’d thrown up over his head didn’t do much to help first impressions. The stranger’s hands were buried deep into his pockets, and from what could be seen from the four or five steps that he took into the bar, he was sporting what was obviously a slight limp.
He seemed to realise his mistake too. The obsidian pulled up quickly, dark eyes narrowing as he quickly took in his surroundings — everything from the brightly decorated bar to the geometric seating.
From the glimpse of Spenders Court behind him, it was starting to rain. His hoodie, too, was covered in droplets of water that rolled off his shoulders as he took off his hood in an effort to be polite. His nose had the flattened look of having been broken in the past; face and head flecked with a number of cuts in varying stages of healing, and a dark shadow above one cheekbone hinted at the remnants of what had recently been a very nasty black eye.
He seemed to hesitate for a second. Behind him, a roll of thunder echoed threateningly, followed by a dog’s anxious whine.
It was Nyles he decided to direct his query to. She had that general look of 'In Charge', and his eyes narrowed questioningly in her direction.
“Allow dogs?” he asked, his voice sounding almost hoarse as he threw her an askance look.
Posted: Feb 11 2018, 06:34 PM
Well, fuck. There was her first customer, and dressed all up in black with his hood up he seemed more ready to grab the register and run than to actually sit down. Nyles was hoping for a at least a small group of men and women but with the sudden boom of thunder that rattled the glass bottles behind her there’d be no such love. Beggars can’t be choosers she supposed.
Based his size, clothes, and the second he dropped his hoodie, he practically had Obsidian written across his face. In fact it was a pretty famous face he was keeping hidden away, and she recognized it in an instant. Rawson Lynch. Isn’t that just something? Nyles wasn’t a fan of gladiator fights: they were distasteful in her opinion and lead to wastes of life. Unfortunately bars she mingled at always insisted on showing the fights so there was no escaping them. Rawson happened to be the current prized possession of the ring.
The limp, the scars; he probably looked like patchwork beneath his clothing. He’d been quite the looker before the bitterness of a life as an Obsidian wiped any chance of a smile off his face. Poor bastard has seen better days.
The look on her face wasn’t one of discomfort or fear: rather it screamed ‘fuck with my stuff and I’ll fuck with you’. Nyles was probably as threatening as a chihuahua. Speaking of dogs… ”Allow dogs?” She blinked and took a moment to process his words, the whining of a dog making her lean forward over the bar to look at the ramp. “So long as he doesn’t try to eat anything in here, including my cat, then you can bring him in.”
Honey-colored eyes scraped over her bar in search of said cat as she brought out a fish-bowl glass. Meant to make a large cocktail for a group, but it was soon filled with ice and water. Her heels clicked softly as she walked around the bar and set the bowl down on the floor.
Just as she stood up she heard a guttural meow. A chunky grey cat landed with a thud as he jumped off of one of the chairs in the corner. “Fish. Come here.” Nyles cooed, snapping her fingers to get the cat’s attention. Most would think that Golds and Silvers only had the prettiest of pets. Not Nyles. Fish had big buggy blue eyes, a chewed up ear, and a crooked tail. He’d strut around like he was the big fish in the pond, giving a motorboat purr as he was heaved off the ground with a grunt from his owner.
“So long as your dog doesn’t start a problem, there won’t be one. Fish is too lazy to start shit.” Nyles plopped the cat onto the counter, watching as he immediately rolled onto his belly and wriggled around. “Agreed?” Back around the counter she went and out came a glass with an ice sphere and a bottle of whiskey. “Water for the dog, and what about you. Seem like a whiskey kind of guy.” Probably not much of a talker but she’d try.
Posted: Feb 13 2018, 02:20 AM
She was being kind. Kinder than Rawson expected. To be honest, he’d been so prepared for her to refuse, that he almost didn’t seem to know what to do with himself now that she'd accepted.
He offered her a hesitant nod, and turned his head, pursing his lips. The earsplitting whistle cut through the bar like a knife, followed by a frantic click of claws as a black dog shot across the floor, nearly skidding through the corner, and finishing up squarely between Rawson’s legs.
“Hey!” he protested. “Easy.”
The dog only whined in response, looking up plaintively from between Rawson's boots. He was black, evidently some sort of shepherd by the looks of him. His ears were pinned back, eyes wide in something approaching terror, and when another peal of thunder echoed overhead, the dog nearly jumped.
“He, uhh…” Rawson looked down, seemingly at a loss over what to do about the dog cowering between his legs. Relenting, he bent over slightly, using one large hand to scratch the top of the animal’s head to try and give it some reassurance. “He don’t like storms.”
His hands were bent and twisted, stories told in the split knuckles and crushed joints. But it seemed to work, and the dog whined, turning his head to try and lick the ends of his fingers.
He was grateful, if truth be told. Most venues would have simply kicked him straight out, let alone agreed to accept the dog. Especially not, well…
Frankly? Women who looked like that.
The obsidian was watching her now, as she filled up the bowl, with a look that was caught halfway between curiosity and suspicion. As though he wasn’t quite sure what what to actually make of her. He couldn’t have told you what the bowl was for either at first, until she put it down on the floor.
Perhaps the world was still full of surprises after all.
The look didn’t shift until she came back with the whiskey. For a moment, it looked as though he was trying to suppress a laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted wryly, glancing off to one side before turning back to give her a shrewd look. “Y’ got that righ’.” That obvious, huh?
It was acceptance, he guessed. As much of a ‘I’m giving you a right to be here’ as he was going to get.
Approaching the bar was a slightly more awkward endeavour than it should have been, given the limp, and the fact the dog wanted to remain exactly between his feet the entire time. It was only when they got close that the dog even noticed the cat, and his ears pricked forward, making a noise in his throat that sounded like low growl.
Rawson was quick to put a stop to that. “Hey!” he barked, glaring down, a growl of his own rumbling up through his chest like a snarl. “Nuff’a that.”
The dog licked his chops, but fell silent.
Rawson didn’t sit, despite the fact it clearly would have been easier on him. He rested a hand on the bartop instead, a twisted middle finger — clearly broken at least once — tapping silently on the surface like a nervous tic. He shifted his weight off his injured leg, and, tentatively, extended his other hand towards the rather scruffy looking cat in an attempt to say hello. You could tell a lot about people in the details. That cat had a few stories of his own.
“I think it’s just a scud,” Rawson muttered quietly, though it was hard to tell which one of them he was trying to reassure. ‘Scud’ was a Lower Novas slang for the industrial-driven storms that swept into areas without warning, but disappeared quickly, usually within a few minutes of starting. “Rain stops, we’ll be outta yer hair.”
He wasn’t looking at her. As though looking at the cat was somehow easier.
“... Thank you, Ma’am.”
There was a noise beyond them towards the gangplank. Another two customers, pulling off wet coats. Rawson felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, but didn't look around.
Posted: Feb 13 2018, 05:25 AM
There was an awkward tension in the air as both parties didn’t seem to know what to do next. God it made her feel bad to see a lower class look genuinely mind-fucked when a higher color was being nice. His whistle had caused her to cringe a bit, a quiet but agitated hiss escaping and for Fish’s rumbling purr to pause.
In came the man’s dog: what she had expected to be honest. A pretty big one, probably a German Shepherd by the looks of it, and just as black as the man’s clothing. The one difference between the two seemed to be the levels of bravery: clearly the Obsidian wasn’t as startled by storms as his companion. “I can tell. For such a big thing you aren’t a toughie, aren’t you?” There was a touch of affection in Nyles’ voice, the same coo that she’d called to Fish with, now being passed onto the dog.
Nyles did her best to make it seem as though her focus was on the dog’s head, not the Obsidian’s hands that just so happened to be there. Fucking hell. A papercut makes me whine like a child. Clearly he’d been through things she couldn’t even imagine.
There was a soft crackle of ice as the whiskey ran over the frozen ball. Looked like Rawson was relaxing a little bit. Obsidians had a certain stigma constantly clinging to their shoulders, so it didn’t surprise her that he’d be on edge. The whiskey summoned him forward toward the bar counter. Again, the Silver did her best not to focus on the man’s injuries. Hands. Legs. Face. Is there a place this guy’s untouched? Another pang of discomfort. Silvers and Golds were the source of his and the other Gladiator’s misery. After all, despair was something the upper classes tended not to feel: it was something they marveled at, with a morbid curiosity.
Speaking of curiosity it looked as though the two animals had finally caught sight of one another. Fish raised his head, his eyes bugging out about ten times more. That usually happened before a nuclear meltdown: buggy eyes, fluffed up tail. Just as Nyles was about to speak Rawson’s voice crackled like the thunder outside, causing the Silver to jolt a bit in surprise. Fish seemed to deflate a bit too, flattening down as much as his pudgy belly let him. “That’s one way to get them to listen.” She gave a half-laugh, mostly at herself for being so easily startled. Fish wasn’t one to pass up attention, the rumbling purr beginning again which helped soothe the blonde.
“You can leave when you want. Doesn’t have to be when the rain ends.” She said with a soft hum. No need for him to feel unwanted: now she felt like a bit of a bitch for having let appearances judge before personalities. “I don’t give a damn when people leave, so long as they aren’t assholes. So far you’re not being an asshole.” Nyles’ hand went to rub Fish along the base of his tail, looking from cat, to dog, to Obsidian. There was a stark difference between the two’s hands: hers were small and smooth, while his were large and mottled.
Nyles had never broken a bone but she didn’t want to think about what it felt like, not after seeing Rawson’s fingers.
“You can thank me by not calling me ma’am; you can call me Nyles. The cat is named Fish. If you need something for your dog, tell me.” Her attention turned to the two that had just entered, sliding the glass of whiskey over to the Obsidian as she did. “So, don’t worry about it. Also, I don’t charge people to sit down.” She’d call him by his name, but no doubt that would make him uncomfortable. For now she’d play it off as if she had no idea that he was a big scale Gladiator; not until he introduced himself and gave his name willingly.
Nyles tapped her hand against the bar top hoping he’d sit down. With that limp he was no doubt uncomfortable when standing. Looking to the newcomers she’d nod her head to a coat rack in the corner. “You can hang your coats there to dry.” Judging by the look on Rawson’s face he wasn’t too thrilled to have company. The bottle of whiskey was being rolled between her hands, waiting for the two newcomers to make themselves at home and prepared to pour another round for Rawson if asked.
Posted: Feb 16 2018, 03:46 AM
Her response to his thanks earned her a lopsided smile. A silver who wanted him to address them by their first name? That was new. Perhaps he'd made a few unfounded assumptions of his own.
Definitely more plated than pure, this one.
That wasn’t an insult, either.
She was blunt. He liked that.
“A’right then. Nyles,” he agreed, rolling the name slightly, as though checking to see how it felt on his tongue.
The cat should have been the first clue. Much like Rawson himself, the cat looked as though it had been shoved into a meat-grinder at least once in his life. He had the distinct look of an ex-stray, and Rawson was legitimately surprised when the cat agreed to tentatively sniff his fingers.
He realised his mistake quickly enough. “Yeah. Smells like dog, don’t it?” he muttered quietly, before ineffectually attempting to wipe his hand on his jeans and giving the cat a squick scratch near the base of its mauled-up tail.
“I’d take you up on that, only, ah...” Rawson picked up the whiskey glass and give a quick look down to where the dog was sitting between his boots, now leaning against the inside of Rawson’s good leg as though his life depended on it. “Looks like he likes it down there, y'know?”
Not that the dog was making it easy. At the next roll of thunder, the accursed mongrel gave another whine and began to push against the inside of Rawson’s leg extra hard, making the job of standing twice as complicated as it needed to be, given he could only put weight on one leg.
Son of a—
He was resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, instead keeping a wary ear behind him. The first lot of official customers were looking for seats, and by the sounds of it, more were on the way. With any luck, he hoped most would just assume he was part of the bar’s security and not give him a second thought.
Rawson — evidently — wasn’t one for savouring his whiskey either. He took a sniff first. Just barely enough to try and ascertain just how much advantage she was taking of him via the size of the hole this was about to burn into his pocket, before helping himself to a sizeable mouthful.
“Tell me Nyles. You always go ‘round adoptin’ strays?” He’d been looking at the cat, but there’d been something wry in his tone that was matched in his expression when he glanced back towards her, indicating Fish probably wasn’t the only thing he was referring to.
Posted: Feb 16 2018, 09:14 PM
The Obsidian actually smiled. That felt like it was an achievement. What many of the high colors didn’t know (or wouldn’t acknowledge) was the humanity of the people they oh so loved to throw together into pits to fight to the death.
Fish gave a rumbling purr when the scratches came pouring in from both parties. While Rawson busied himself with her cat Nyles stepped aside to serve the two customers that had just sat down at the other side of the bar. A few looks were being given to Rawson but so far the two hadn’t said a word. One of the pair kept looking back every few moments before receiving an elbow from his pal to stop. Don’t cause a problem or I’ll make it a real problem. That was what Nyles wanted to say but she’d bite her tongue.
With the next boom of thunder Nyles heard Dog’s nails scrabble across the wood slightly, no doubt wanting to get as close to Rawson as physically possible. With a click of her tongue she’d walk back around the bar again, stopping a few seats from Rawson before crouching down the best she could in her dress and heels. “You trying to take your dad out?” That was what she always referred to owners as: parents of pets. Fish was her ‘fur baby’ after all. Nyles held a hand out wondering if Dog would even consider removing himself from between Rawson’s legs. “I don’t have anything I think that’d help him chill out. The best I could do is get a blanket to throw over him but that might piss him off.”
Nyles looked back as another group of customers came in: three more. Not a bad roll so far. If more came in she’d have to call for her Brown, who was ‘working’ (probably napping) in the backroom. The three settled at the bar as well: which could be problematic, as Rawson now had people sitting on both sides of him, albeit with a few seats between them.
Speaking of Rawson, his question made her raise a brow, looking up to make eye contact with him before giving a smile herself. “You could say I prefer strays. They have the best stories after all. Not all cut from the same fabric, or high and mighty, like others are.” That was true though: all Coppers, Silvers, and Golds ever wanted to talk about was money or parties. It got boring. She’d deliver another look to Fish, who was currently trying to push Rawson’s glass out of his way his paw so he could lay down directly in front of the Obsidian.
Posted: Yesterday at 11:56 am
Rawson adjusted his position when Nyles crossed to his side of the bar. It was easier to lean his hip against the side of the bar to support his weight off his bad leg rather than use his arm. At least it left both hands free, and he busied himself with knocking back the last of the whiskey as he watched her walk around.
There was a second of confusion when Nyles crouched down in front of him, but it quickly passed.
She was an animal person. You didn’t need a PHD in human behaviour to tell you that. On cue, the dog’s tail began a slow happy thump against the side of the bar. The animal pushed his nose towards her with a whine, eyes still wide; clearly torn between wanting to stay between the ‘safety’ of Rawson’s legs in case of thunder and saying hello.
Dog logic. Attempt both.
“You could say I prefer strays,” Nyles replied, looking up at him with a smile. “They have the best stories after all.”
An unexpected reply, but one that had its own sort of poetry.
“Yeah,” Rawson agreed, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he considered her answer. “I guess they do, huh?”
He was giving her a shrewd look now, watching as her almost as though he was having some sort of realisation. He nearly looked as though he was about to say something, before he shut his mouth and looked away, plainly having thought better of it.
Fish, luckily, came to the rescue. He could feel the whiskey glass attempting to move under its own power, which gave him a convenient excuse to look at the cat instead of back at the blonde.
“I ain’t even thought of a blanket,” Rawson added with a frown, almost to himself, resting an elbow on the bar to make it easier to scratch the cat behind the ear.
… imposing far too much already. Even if he got the impression the generosity was more for the dog’s sake than his, he knew enough of Silvers to know little favours usually came with a price-tag.
“Look, y’ ain’t gotta...”
He cut himself off again, took a breath, and ran a crooked hand across his scalp.
“Y’ done enough, a’right?” he finished gently, with a glance in her direction.