Cranes and Gin [Tom]

[alistar jake barnes]

It had been a sunny day that had become quite a stormy night. So stormy that, on occasion, the lights inside of the bar would flicker for a moment, threatening to go out, before coming back on in full blaze. This happened a few times an hour and although a nervous chatter would ripple through the bargoers, Alistar remained in silence as he was, in fact, alone. Brilliant flashes of light poured in from the windows from lightening and rain exploded against the glass, drowning out the music and talk until all he could hear was the consistent torrent of rain. Glancing out the window, the young man couldn’t see even a few inches out the window—it was like a metal sheet. The rain pounded on the roof like a sledgehammer: uneven, violent, and ear-splitting.

What had started out as one drink had quickly turned in to four and five as Alistar, who walked the short distance to the bar earlier that afternoon, when the skies were clear, was suddenly trapped in the establishment for fear of having to walk home in the raging tempest that was outside. As a young male, he, a few times a month, enjoyed an after work drink and today had been no exception. Now, staring past the bar and at the window on the opposing side, he was beginning to realize just how much impact the gin was putting on him. The room had a sort of foggy haze and he knew it wasn’t from the storm. Blinking slowly and liking away a small drop of gin from the corner of his lip, the dark-haired gentleman sat back in his bar stool and folded on jean-clad leg over the other. Being drunk was a state that was unfamiliar to Alistar and he couldn’t say exactly if he liked it or not. Of course, not talking to anyone made Alistar look exceptionally less drunk than he actually was and he was thankful that he wasn’t obligated to talk to anyone, for he was pretty sure that if he had to open his mouth, all of his drunken words would come spilling out.

Still, waiting for the storm to pass in a pub left very few options but to continue to drink and that was exactly what the off-duty officer was going to do. Although he had decided that if the storm didn’t begin to slow in the next hour or so, he’d call a cab home, but it was nigh ten o’clock and he decided, on the realization that he had a day off the next day, to chill out and lighten up a little. For some reason, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was just the alcohol, but the atmosphere felt really relaxed, as if it was just urging him, daring him to have another drink. Alistar didn’t call himself a spiritualist, but he did believe he could “feel” the atmosphere—feel its moods, auras, all the mystical stuff that no one ever seemed to understand.

Ordering another drink, which could have been either his fifth of sixth of the evening, he couldn’t quite recall, Alistar threw himself back over the seat and yawned, resting the glass of gin and tonic, with a twist, against his knee cap. The more he sat around, the more ancy he began to get and, returning to the upright sitting position, Alistar put his glass down and produce several pieces of folded, crumpled, perfectly square paper in a variety of colours. He had never tried origami intoxicated before and now seemed like the perfect time to try. Curling his tongue about his upper lip, he now leaned over the bar, creasing and folding the already crumpled paper. He produced one origami crane, a bit more askew than it normally would have been had he been folding it well sober, and placed it along the rim of his glass before taking another sheet and beginning to fold some more.

At this time, he had gotten a few strange glances for his sudden breakout of origami. This next figure was turning out to be much larger and more complicated than the crane had been and, upon completion of the white-flowered red papered origami, it was clear that Alistar had created a paper martini glass. Oddly enough, the martini glass had been the first thing Alistar had ever learned how to make in origami after having to make four-hundred of them a few years ago as party decorations for his good friend’s wedding. Since that day, he had been taken with the art of origami. Pouring some of his gin beverage in to the origami masterpiece, Alistar giggled a little under his breath and took a sip. The polyethylene-lined paper made it so the paper didn’t grow soggy with the water, and now slightly-drunk Alistar was enjoying his gin out of a homemade origami martini glass and he couldn’t have cared less about some of the passing glances he was receiving. Probably because he was drunk.

[thomas peter fitzgerald]

Blue to green to brown to grey to gold to black: the colours all swirled, intermixing in an array of blurred, earthy tones. Rain drops plinked and clicked onto a paved road to form small puddles as they too, blurred and fell in sheets all over the island and beyond, stretching afar into the ocean waves. Thousands of clangs and dings, each like its own ringing bell, rang onto the pavement all chiming at once in a cacophony of nature; some clung to the bare, brown branches of the leafless trees, and hung down, dripping slowly into the mist while others adhered themselves to nothing and by chance settled into puddles on the hard, cold ground. The dissonance was deafening to anyone who paid it enough attention.

The air on this particular eve too was icy cold and spine chilling; the vast black sky above was so dark that the few continuously changing storm clouds stood out as if neon in contrast. The only other colours visible through the mist were the varying shades of outlined buildings and a few silhouettes scuttling about to reach their destination. A light, chilling, slightly stale wind swirled past the scene blowing a young man’s brunette fringe all about his face. His breath came out in short, frozen puffs creating a fog similar to that which swirled out of chimneys.

It was a particularly stormy evening, much as any other on Orange Island but with a more ominous air, as Tom found himself approaching Lucky’s Bar. He was soaked and frozen to the bone, which was unusual for a typical despite stormy July evening, as he finally entered the bar-- the closest place of refuge on his way home. Why Tom had figured walking anywhere in the tempest was ever a good idea, he could no longer recall. Perhaps the allure of a quiet stroll in the rain had been his initial idea and, preoccupied, he’d failed to notice that it was no simple rain that had been falling. Now though, whatever the failed reasoning, he was stuck in Lucky’s and probably better off calling a cab at this point. With a quick glance, Tom checked his watch. It was almost ten thirty, meaning he had about an hour, maybe hour and a half, before he had to force himself back to the school to pick up a few more papers and finish grading the quizzes he’d given a few days ago. This bar, with it’s close proximity to the school, was the ideal location for a break-- a much needed one at that-- though it had not been his initial destination. Considering the weather though, Tom could safely say he was done. There was no way he was returning to the school from here. All he wanted to do now was go home, curl up with Loki and get a bit of a head start on grading papers.

The past week had been nearly hellish for the professor and swamped as he was with the working of his own homework and teaching a summer course, Thomas had barely paused a single moment to take time for himself. He’d finally decided that today he would though, if only briefly and by force of the rain, reward himself for such dedication and allow himself a single drink before calling a cab and trekking home. After that he could settle back in and pull out triumphantly resilient the rest of the week. Or… the rest of a few days before the weekend.

As he made up his mind, Thomas looked around at the none-too-crowded bar and scanned for any familiar faces. He vaguely recognized a few students but apart from those, he saw nobody in particular that seemed inviting. It was no matter though, seeing as he almost preferred it this way because he wouldn’t need to socialize, and with a quiet smile he made his way towards the counter. Taking a seat beside someone who seemed extremely pleased to be occupying himself with what looked like… origami, Thomas smiled as the bartender uttered something about taking his order in a moment and he set his mind to studying the furnishings of the bar until their return. Finally, after a good moment or two, Tom’s curiosity seemed to get the better of him and he turned to the origami artist at last. “Um, excuse me,” he began quietly. “But… what are you doing?” What are those for, rather he meant to ask but figuring it was rude to be so nosy, he simply settled for the common inquiry.

[alistar jake barnes]

Alistar was prone to jumping. You’d think after police academy and time on the force that he’d get used to things popping up at him. It wasn’t so. No, Alistar was a jumpy person, whether it be horror movies, his cat Cheese leaping from the fridge on to the counter, or general strangers talking to him over his shoulder, Alistar was bound to a life of jumping. The sound of a voice interrupting his thought was enough to cause him to nearly pop out of his seat and, had his origami glass been any more full he might have spilled a whole lot of gin over himself—which would have been a terrible waste of gin. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that the young brunette hadn’t even notice the stranger sit down, let alone start talking to him and he stared as Thomas with a sort of wide-eyed, holy-fuck sort of look on his face until he managed to compose his nerves a bit by clearing his throat and taking a long, comforting draw of gin.

Alistar laughed a little, a more stifled, nervous laugh as if trying to brush off his brash reaction, trying to act and appear less drunk than he really was and this was particularly difficult seeing as he was, by this time in the night, quite drunk. Now the last thing he needed was someone to be asking what he was doing because, in all honesty, even he didn’t know and trying to explain it would be something like trying to teach French to a dog. Setting his origami glass down and having given himself ample time to calm his racing heartbeat, Alistar gave a quaint nice little nod of his head to acknowledge the other’s arrival. ”I- well,” he stammered, demanding for his brain to quickly try and organize the dismal, inebriated thoughts that wasn’t surmounting to any sort of success.

”As you can see I am very clearly, uhm,” he was anxiously fiddling with the paper stem of his martini glass, ”I am folding origami,” finally able to arrange the words without too much slur, much to his own amazement. ”It was a rough day at the office and I needed a drink and some origami yoga time,” Of course, it hadn’t been a particularly bad day at the office—just a lot of strolling around the beach and paperwork. Of course, he wasn’t going to try and explain to this random person at the bar that he had woken up that morning and immediately began to worry. Nothing in particular had gone wrong, he just had the sneeking suspicion that forces were aligning quietly and that today there was going to be trouble. And everyone knew that the best cure for creeping suspicions that the stars and universe were aligning against you was to drink, in excesses, a quality gin. Alistar laughed nervously, realizing just how awkward he sounded and was probably acting too and had he been a little less drunk, he probably would have been quite embarrassed, but the delusions of alcohol were a delightful thing.

Glancing back to the window, he realized now that he couldn’t make a quick escape out the door, seeing as their was a small monsoon happening outside and he still had a half full glass of gin. Giving a smile, he turned his nose back to his glass and avoided eyecontact for a while, pouring more gin from the glass in to his origami figure. Well, he had already made a goose of himself, so, why bother to stop now? He figured. Plus, he really enjoyed drinking out of an origami martini glass—it had this sort of magical feel to it. There was a certain level of pride he had for using something he made especially when most of the origami figures he made for other people were thrown away (he was suspecting Teddy, his police partner, as a ruthless origami thrower awayer). Nevertheless, he tapped his finger lightly on the bright yellow crane he had made, making it bob its head a little.

”I’m Alistar, by the way,” he finally said after a few minutes of not saying anything, glancing back to Tom. Somewhere inside he felt bad for just sort of ignoring the stranger who sat down next to him and his overly-friendly nature forced him to introduce himself. Normally, he would have been thrilled at the prospect of meeting someone knew, but he was very stealthily trying to hide his drunkenness. He kept trying to remind himself to not say anything stupid, “I like to fold origami,” Well, So much for not trying to say anything stupid.

[thomas peter fitzgerald]

Tom eyed the strange individual before him as he ended on the bizarre note of I like to fold origami. If he hadn’t been so perplexed and possibly worried about the sanity of the poor bloke, he might have actually laughed. Tom liked origami, although he’d never really given the art of folding it much thought before. Once as a boy he’s taken a class after school in which they tried to fold little boats and things but since then, the practice of it seemed a dim memory. There did seem to be something a little bit off about this man with the origami talents though, something almost worrying, and as Thomas noted the gin and martini foldings before him-- he took note that it might be intoxication. Oh, great. He did not know how to deal with this type of situation gracefully.

If there was any one thing Tom was good at, it was being graceful. If there was any one thing he was bad at, it was interacting with new people, especially attractive ones. Not that this man was a-attractive-- but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t e-either-- but overall! Generally!, Tom was bad at dealing with people like… this! He fretted mentally and finally resisted the urge to flinch as his mind ‘kaput-ed’ briefly. In the time that took, the other kept talking.

So his name was Alistar, that was nice. Tom nodded in acceptance of this and gave a gracious smile in return, oddly rendered mute and unable to offer the “nice to meet you, my name is Tom,” he suddenly so desperately wanted to utter. It was odd this sensation of being silenced by his own body-- it was unlike anything he’d experienced in… in awhile! The last time he could remember ever being at such a loss was in high school when he’d accidentally bumped into the new girl, who one might say was … well perfect. She was everything anyone ever hoped to be: pretty, with her reddish blonde hair and simply stunning baby blue eyes; intelligent, with her aptitude for chemistry and biochem; cultured, knowing four languages and being from a foreign country herself-- this girl was everything, and on top of all that sweet to a T where she seemed like an angel having fallen from the sky. Celestine, was her name-- and it wasn’t since that particular afternoon where Tom still remembered accidentally knocking everything out of her hands, that he could otherwise ever recall being at such a loss. His mouth was open, that much Tom knew, but he also knew he wasn’t saying anything and so when the bartender returned to take his order, he whipped around quickly, with a frown.

“Yes, um, can I have a gin and tonic, please?” he muttered, almost irritably towards the poor bartender. Oy, this was going to be a long evening.