Absinthe
Art Nouveau decor throughout the main lounge pays homage to an era when architecture and interior design were the perfect marriage of form, function and art. The walls are purples and pinks that blend into more subtle hues with the constant green lighting. Small tables with four tall chairs can be found scattered about the room. Large purple couches can be found nestled between the table sets, and in front of a smaller stage used for poetry readings.
The bar itself is long, taking up the entirety of a wall. Tall chairs are scattered on the patron side, and behind the bar is a beautiful greenish glow. The glow comes from the shelving where the majority of the alcohol is stored. The nearby glass racks reflect the glow splendidly as well.
As usual, the atmosphere in Absinthe is highly cool, but relatively quiet, especially when compared with one of the cheaper bars around town. There are quite a few groups around tables, but Steve himself is sitting at the bar, a dark-colored drink in front of him that can't be absinthe. He seems to be alone, perhaps listening to the conversations around him. There's a cane standing up next to the stool he's sitting on.
Connor enters into the bar sometime after sundown. He's not a suspicious looking chap and the usual pallor of vampires isn't found in him. No, for all intents and purposes, he's quite human. When he reaches the bar, he looks at the various offerings behind it and eventually sits down. After catching the bartender's attention, he orders a vodka on the rocks. With a swizzle stick. Connor eyes the cane and the man sitting beside him before broodingly returning his attention to a bottle of rum on a shelf behind the bar.
Steve glances over to one side as he hears someone approach, noting Connor's general appearance without any particular judgment in his expression. When Connor requests a swizzle stick, however, Steve quirks a brow. "Doesn't sound like there'll be a lot in that drink to swizzle," Steve comments, though he faces straight forward, looking at the booze on the shelf.
"You know how some people do bonsai tree-trimming?" Connor asks Steve. "I do drink swizzling. It relaxes me." Connor glances over toward the man once more before reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt. "Is that your cane, or did someone leave it behind?" Strangely enough, the guy seems to be genuinely interested in the welfare of this errant(?) cane. Connor eyes it before the bartender delivers his drink, which the young man pays for unceremoniously. The pink swizzle stick that Connor has been treated to is given the quietest of laughs. Of course it would be pink.
Steve turns to look at Connor when he gets a reply that's not particularly hostile. He smiles. "So it's like bonsai for drunks, huh? That's pretty useful info." He glances at the cane. "Nope, it's mine. How come, you want one like it? I can tell you the hospital I got it at or whatever…"
"I'm not…" Connor trails off there. The man thinks he's a drunk and not a vampire; why not run with it? Connor nods his head and smiles then, shrugging his shoulders. "No, that's fine. People just tend to leave things behind sometimes… I have always had a thing for canes though. But not pimp canes. You're not a pimp, are you?" Connor asks half-jokingly before he eyes Steve a little more carefully, his swizzle stick suddenly moving a lot more frantically.
"No, I'm not a pimp, I'm a cripple," Steve answers smoothly, still smiling. He pauses for a long drink, then looks back to Connor. "Although I guess technically you could be both. But /I'm/ not. If you've got a thing for canes, though, you should get one, I guess."
Connor laughs very quietly and gives a broad shrug of his shoulders. "Yes, I'm sure that there are crippled pimps. What exactly is wrong with you, if you don't mind me asking? You look fine to me." Connor drags the stick out of his drink and lifts it to his lips, barely taking a few drops off the tip to taste it. He puts the stick back down in the glass before shaking his head. "A cane, me? No, I think I'm geeky enough. No offense. But I just can't imagine how carrying one would help my case any."
Steve shrugs. "Do you really think it would hurt you, by that logic?" He jiggles the top of his cane with the palm of one hand. "I don't know," he says, "I just busted up my leg in an accident, it's not like I'm deformed or whatever."
"Then you're hardly a cripple. Besides…" Connor says, glancing at his wristwatch. "I already work at a steady desk job. Which I'm late for. …Do you think if I take the cane, the boss will buy that I got hurt?" Connor asks rhetorically before he waves at Steve and stands from his seat, leaving behind the full vodka. "Nice talking to you, stranger. See you on the flipside."
"Well, I think— Oh, okay," Steve says, lifting his eyebrows in surprise as Connor gets to his feet again. "I don't know what you meant by that steady job part, but see you around or whatever…" He seems a little baffled by the conversation.
