Impositions [drake]

[orion amadeus abdiel]

The fabric of the bar, infused with his own body heat, made a soft hissing noise as the young man reclined until he was draped over the seat. The clocks had just passed eleven o’clock that evening and the bar itself was placid. For the clientele who remained, their voices were muffled by the jazzy tunes coming over the speakers. To Orion, the only person sitting at the bar alone, the dingy, wee pub was a place of divine asylum. Although the bartenders occasionally gave him strange regards, they didn’t dare bother him. He was a paying patron after all, albeit a curious one who rarely spoke and never arrived with company. The young professor paid them, and all of the visitors for that matter, little mind. The dusty glass of wine suspended by his fingertips and lingering closely to the edge of his mouth was nearing its end and the professor was wondering whether he should or should not to bid for another. On one hand, it had been his first glass of the evening and the crimson merlot warmed deep within his stomach and was quite comforting. On the other hand, he had student essays from his Italian Literature class that he had not even bothered to handle once since they had been turned in over a week ago. The matter was that Orion was getting paid generously to do his job well, but over the past week he just couldn’t find the motivation. Just one more, he assured himself, and afterwards, he would retire to his flat and get some work done.

When the bartender glanced his direction, he kindly nodded his head and a replacement glass of merlot was brought promptly. Growing up poverty stricken, he enjoyed little pleasures like this much more than the average person. The smell of the wine or the way the last drop of a sip stuck to the plush curve of his bottom lip and he could coyly lick it away. The sooty room tingled at his every sense and his eyes closed, idly dressing the warm lip of the wineglass against his lip. His black leather shoe idly tapped against the side of the bar as he pacified. Slowly, he let his mind began to wonder in a foggy state and his face became as blank as one could without being deceased. Free time was an uncommon thing for Orion to own and it often left the young man unsure as to how exactly to enjoy the spell of freedom. Even now, while attempting to unwind, his mind was racing behind his eyelids. Even at Lucky’s Bar, were he spent many hours during a month, he had a hard time letting his valuable time go to such waste by just lounging around. He wasn’t as finicky as he was close-minded, but a sense of guilt crept over him. There was much to be done, essays to correct, exams to write, proctoral duties that he should be tending too.

Sitting there, though, it felt as though his body was simply refusing to move. Mentally, he was quite convinced of the work he had to do, but his body seemed uninterested in the effort. The dark-haired professor was unsure how to respond to such a rebellion and so he did the most obvious—he did nothing. He shifted again, setting the wine glass down on the bar and straightening out the crimson dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and stretched out his back with a small sigh. A black paneled, subtly patterned waistcoat was worn over the top, His black dress pants hugged his slender thighs from the way he was sitting, or draping, over the barstool. Orion himself was not educated in the art of fashion and he took great pride in knowing that he wore black extremely well—at very least, life was not mercilessly cruel to him. The young professor pushed some of his glossy brunette hair back, letting the straight ribbons fall back over his shoulders. In an unpremeditated moment of weakness earlier in the week, he had his barber cut his hair much shorter than he was used to and now he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It didn’t pull up as well and now clouded his face more than he liked than when it had been long. This is why Orion was not subject to spontaneity often. When presented with a new, unfamiliar thing and something that was tried and true, he’d almost always lean towards the tried and true. Why bother subjecting himself to something he may or may not like when he knew that he would enjoy the tried and true. And yet, there he was, being unrefined with his haircut and it was bothersome.

Sipping from his glass he glanced back to the clock, ah yes, eleven-thirty all ready and the wine had just begun.

[drake raphael elliot]

As a general rule, when Drake went to bars, he never went too late unless it was the weekend and he was being coerced. The responsibility bone in his body would have fractured and he would have hated himself for a good, long time for allowing something so ridiculous to happen. There were always special occasions and unique circumstances, however, and this was one of them. He had been at work since eight that morning, as usual, and had just gotten out at 10:30 because of some ridiculous case and paperwork that an intern had mucked up and Drake had to fix. He could have waited until tomorrow, probably, but he didn't want that sitting on his desk when he walked in bright and early. That would have been more than he could deal with.

This, however, also seemed to be more than he could deal with. Drake was naturally cranky and did not deal well with changes in his routine, so the fact that he was just leaving work at nearly 11 p.m. gave him a permanent scowl and a serious need for a beer. He didn't have any in his kitchen, but even if he had, he'd have gone to Lucky's anyway because they had Guinness on tap and today was a beer-on-tap kind of day. Since it was eleven, it was prime partying time for all of the college students, so he was glad to bypass the more popular college bars and come to Lucky's, which seemed to be only inhabited by the social rejects who still wanted to socialize with their peers or the occasional group of woo girls who wanted a more private drinking experience.

Being alone and polite, Drake did not go for a table. He considered it, because then he wouldn't have as much forced socialization from people like his drunk barmates or the bartender, but he couldn't justify it as much as he wanted to. So, resigning himself to at least a little bit of conversation, Drake weaved through the crowd to make his way over to the bar. He was still wearing his work suit--charcoal pants, a charcoal jacket, a white shirt, and a charcoal tie--and he was fully prepared to destroy anyone who scuffed his leather loafers, but he and his outfit made it to the bar still pristine. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking it out to its former fluffy state, and put his briefcase onto the stool next to the one he was eyeing.

It was then that he noticed a familiar face a little ways down the bar. Under normal circumstances, Drake might have pretended that he had never seen him and then left to find a bar with no familiar faces, but he didn't mind Orion so much because he didn't talk. People who talked were high on Drake's list of hated things, which was why he could only stomach so much time with his best friend before he had to go for a drink after work by himself. Since this was not Will nor someone he didn't like, Drake felt that he had to do the sociable thing and so he picked his briefcase up and slid down a few stools, until he was next to the English professor. He didn't sit down until he had moved the stool far enough away that it wasn't awkward and set his briefcase on the adjacent one.

"Evening," he said to Orion before turning to the bartender and ordering a Guinness. Were it a fancier occasion, he might have joined his companion in drinking wine, but he was in a crappy bar that had his favorite beer on tap and after a night of scouring papers for crazy people trying to embezzle money, he really needed something that always made him feel better.

[orion amadeus abdiel]

Orion drank most days of the week. He never drank in excess because, even though his moral compass didn’t quite point due north, he certainly couldn’t imperil all that he had at Orange Island. Life here was good—he had a job that he actually was somewhat partial to, a beguiling little apartment, and he had already established his reputation with the townsfolk. The concerns over his memory problems have also not faltered to be at the forefront of his mind and in his subconscious the thought that alcohol could be playing some role in these episodes of amnesia ambled occasionally. Although no one had ever inquired in to his behaviour, he couldn’t help but speculate how he personified during these episodes, as he had been calling them. Only last month was there a black hole in his memory for four days where he remembered not a single occurrence during that time. It was a constant worry not knowing when this amnesia would assail him again. Perhaps even this moment, right now, he wouldn’t be able to remember tomorrow morning. It was a perplexing thing, really, not being able to remember parts of your own life. It was truly an unnerving, harrowing feeling that sunk way down in to Orion’s core.

For this, and for other obvious reasons, he liked to keep to himself. Never would he dare to ever unloose this secret of his psychosis unto anyone until he was too far-gone to know any different. The thoughts that promenaded through his mind nearly brought a smug leer to the corner of his plush lips, from which still tasted sweetly of the wine. He could imagine it now. Not a single soul on campus would be surprised that the quiet English professor that unto students released pernicious amounts of schoolwork had gone non compos mentis as much as he beloved King Leer. Yes, quietly he would be hauled away to some madhouse where his bedlam, rouge self would never be heard of again. A sigh slithered from between his lips as he drew the wine glass to his lips and inhaled, but until that day, he would maintain his image of being only mildly unhinged and continue unto his days as he always had.

The young professor was so deeply involved with his own thoughts that he nigh heard the body take the seat next to him. It wasn’t until the familiar voice that his attention diverted from his own thoughts and back in to actuality. Unlike most people in this little wretched college town, the like-minded Drake was more than just mildly tolerable. He liked Drake more than he was willing to admit, and found the rather aloof forensic accountant to be the closest thing to a friend he had and he was nearly sincere in that. When spoken to, Orion neatly tilted his head.

“Not dead yet, I see,” he said before taking another sip of his wine.

[drake raphael elliot]

It was refreshing, for a change, not to be asked anything about himself. He didn't like the question "how are you" and he only asked it when he felt he had to because very few people actually cared about the answer. Orion, at least, seemed to be on the same page with Drake about how conversations should be run--with as little effort as possible. He chuckled appreciatively, but not more than a single-syllable chuckle, since that was really all anyone could ever get out of Drake.

"Glad to see you're the same," he said, tipping his drink toward him before taking a sip of it. He liked that, now that they'd gotten pleasantries out of the way, they didn't have to have a conversation unless they chose to. Sitting and drinking together was both polite and amiable and this was all Drake needed in a beer buddy [or wine buddy]. While they sat and didn't talk, Drake looked around at the people at the bar. He wasn't really interested in people watching, but when sitting at a bar virtually alone, there was very little to do.

He saw nothing of particular interest for a good minute or so--until he spotted a head of blonde hair. Recently, his sister had put his name and phone number up on a bulletin board at her school, a place where he was certain no one ever obtained information unless it was an inconvenience to someone else. It was most definitely an inconvenience to him because he hadn't wanted a date in the first place. Not only had he gotten an offer for one date, the same woman had been calling, emailing, and texting for the past week since the number had happened. She had even taken to standing around outside Drake's apartment and waiting for him to leave. He'd had to change his hours at work so that she would have to go to work before him.

It was true, he had been a little irrationally jumpy since the incident, but he was at least seventy-seven percent certain that this blonde was her and that they were in the same bar. She was sitting alone a few tables away and he could only see her profile, but she looked like a predator. He had only gotten a good look at her face once or twice because he kept a strict policy of not talking to stalkers, so he was sure this could be her.

He made a very manly noise that was somewhere between strangulation and a squeak and turned his head, raising his jacket a little to shield it. Then, breaking all of his rules of conversing, he tapped Orion on the shoulder twice with the tip of his index finger.

"Do you see. A blonde," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the bustle.

[orion amadeus abdiel]

Orion paid Drake no mind. He could feel the man’s presence nearby and that was more than enough company than one needed, especially when one was well on their way to imbibing themselves to a slight level of drunk. It wasn’t so much that the dark-haired professor minded company, per say, it was that aforementioned company’s pining for unceasing conversation that he minded. Perhaps that’s why Orion revered Drake in a way as close to friends as he could possibly muster; Drake said about as many words as Orion did—an average of about four an hour.

Contrary to belief, Orion wasn’t so quiet because he hated people. He didn’t hate people. They cut him off in traffic, they littered all over his yard, they had yappy dogs that pooped everywhere, and they were extremely hard to deal with, but he couldn’t just bring himself to hate them. Although there were definitely some he liked more than others, like Drake for instance, he could earnestly count all of the people he strongly disliked on one hand. He sipped his wine, enjoying the rich, almost musty taste of the red that was muddling his judgment so sweetly.

The rapid change in Drake’s demeanor made him glide his gaze over to his companion. The cool complexion showed no change in sentiment, but he watched him for some time, trying to figure out what the strange behaviour was all about. The way he concealed himself behind his coat was very atypical Drake, and he couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. Setting his wine down, he mused a little; although his face didn’t reflect the amusement, he felt entertained by his friend’s actions. Of course, Orion was ignorant to the fact that Drake was being stalked and had he known, he might have been a little more understanding to the matter.

When tapped, Orion flattered him with a half-smile. “A blonde?” he responded flatly, glancing up. His dark eyes wandered around the room, landing on the flaxen-haired lady that he could only assume that Drake was talking about, “Yes, I see her.” He hadn’t bothered to ask why he was acting this way or why he was so concerned about the blonde. For now, he was just going to play along with the little game. His rings tapped idly against the edge of the bar as he reached again for his wine, throwing himself back over the chair with such nonchalance.

“Do you want me to go ask her out for you?” he asked in a very serious tone, naturally, he was just baiting Drake along a little.