Grisly Bar
Worn wooden floors stained with ages of spilled drinks (and worse), creak under the feet of patrons as they enter the dark, disordered room. Though dust has settled over a lot of the establishment, making it appear abandoned, the flow of customers would speak differently. Dirty glasses, some with sticky yellow patches in the bottom where beer or scotch has been allowed to dry, stand on one end of the bar. Several of the windows have been bricked up to prevent vandalism, but create a great fire-hazard. There is a tarnished mirror on the wall behind the bar with a chipped and fading Art Nouveau nymph painted across the bottom.
Clearly it's a succesful night at the Grisly Bar, since a fistfight hasn't broken out. Yet. That means everyone's having a relatively calm drink in his or her location of choice. When it comes to Steve, he's camped out at the bar, hunched forward over his Jack and Coke, a cane standing up beside his stool. Steve's dressed a little too nicely for the Grizz, but nobody seems to be giving him any trouble about it for the time being.
Bones saunters in like he owns the place, not directly seeking anybody's attention but getting a quick glance or two regardless. His keys jingle like cowboy spurs in an old western film, walking across the floor with heavy thumps to his biker boots. He scours the room quickly, and picks out a spot nearest to the most interesting looking conversation in the room. With a big grin, he flags down the bartender with an outstretched finger, the bartender seeming to recognize Bones and what he wants to drink right away. He hops right up on the barstool next to Steve, his back pressing against the bar and a big grin on his face. "So what's your story, blondie?".
"What's that, a biker pickup line?" Steve responds sarcastically, taking his sweet time in having a sip of his drink before he even looks at the guy. "What's anybody's story? Wah, wah, my life isn't going as awesome as I thought it would when I was fourteen."
Bones just grinned bigger. "Wow, if bitterness was a boxing match you'd be heavyweight champ huh? I mean when I headed over I could tell you were pretty practiced at your uhh…" He pauses to point at Steve's posture. "… expert drinking posture." Just as he finishes that sentence, the bartender brings over a big bottle of Tru Blood, which Bones quickly pops open and takes a swig of, continuing after his drink. "Name's Bones. And I aint interested in fuckin or feedin, just here for the conversation."
Steve looks at the Tru, then rolls his eyes. "You too, huh? Well, if you can make conversation, you're better than most of 'em," he determined. "So, what, you want my life story? How come? How about you start with an introduction, bud?"
Bones pauses again, but gives a shrug and a smile afterwords. "Alright, sure. Uhh, let's see. I said I was Bones, got that part covered. I'm a vampire, but I'm pretty sure you figured that shit out too." He picks up his bottle of Tru Blood and gives it a little shake for emphasis. "Was born and uhh.. made I guess is what you call it, in the Caribbean. Been a professional drifter ever since. See? Not much to tell."
"That's bullshit," Steve claims. "Nobody goes through all that shit with some short-ass 'oh, that's about it' story," he says. "Whatever. I'm Steve." Steve smells like he's been drinking a while. "I'm from here."
Bones grins again at the anger. "Well if you want more specific answers, y'gotta ask more specific questions. I ain't hidin my past, just usually seems like every other vamp I meet has got way more interestin stories to tell. They were… the court Jester in King Arthur's court or somethin ridiculous." He laughed at his own half-joke, and took another swig of his blood. "What brings you to the bar Steve? You seem all tore up over somethin. You and your ladyfriend part ways?"
Steve shrugs. "No, I don't have a girlfriend," he answers. "I'm not torn up, I'm just drinking. And the same goes for you, when it comes to question specificity."
Bones gave a quick nod. "Alright then, how about I start with the specifics eh? Then, if you give two shits, you can fire some back at me. Beats drinkin alone right?" He takes a swig of his blood and puts it back down before continuing. "Don't answer that, s'rhetorical question. So what do you do for your cash Steve? Got a job right now? You got one of them prettyboy faces. Maybe a model or somethin?"
Steve drains his drink and shakes his head. "No, I don't have a job," he answers. "But I'm sort of an actor." That much he seems willing to give up with out a fight, but he doesn't ask Bones any questions in return. Maybe he's self-centered. He orders another drink.
Bones cocks his head to the side for a few seconds, examining Steve's face. "Wow you're miserable huh? Oh! Wait, no I get it, you hate vampires right?" He chuckles and grabs his blood, taking a few long heavy swigs and setting the bottle down with a clunk as the glass hits the table. "I'm not gonna get a stick up my ass about it if that's your way a thinkin."
Steve reaches up to scratch his jaw, shrugging. "I don't hate vampires," he says. "They're fine with me, I guess, just some of 'em I know get on my nerves. But that's more a personal thing. I don't really give a shit if you drink blood, long as it isn't mine."
Bones laughs loud, seemingly at nothing. "I know EXACTLY what you mean about them gettin on your nerves! I aint met a vampire yet who didn't end up actin like a fuckin high school principal. High and mighty for no god damned reason, like just because you fuckin died you're so important." He checks his bottle of Tru Blood, finding a few drops left and quickly gulping them down. He didn't order another. "Then again, just lookin at you, seems like just about everybody gets on your nerves right? I mean who the fuck are we to come over here and interrupt your heavy drinkin for no goddamn reason, eh?" He grinned again.
Steve looks over at Bones, almost suspicious, since he happens to agree strongly with what Bones says. A grudging respect emerges in his expression. "No," he answers, again contradicting the vampire's guess. "I'm not some asshole, and I can drink and talk at the same time." A drink arrives and he downs some just to prove that point.
Bones keeps grinning. "Everbody's an asshole, Steve. We all just find differant ways of bein one." He looks at the bartender for a few seconds, and then quickly reaches down to tug his wallet out of a tight jean pocket. He checks to see how much cash he has, and gives a grunt before pulling out just enough cash to pay for the blood, unfolding the crumpled dirty bill and putting it up on the bar. "Man, I'd save so much money if I just fed off the hoof.." he grumbled without thinking.
"The hoof?" Steve echoes, his eyebrows lifting. "I don't follow vamp lingo, man, you have to break it down for me, there." He drinks a little more dark liquor down. "You mean you should've drunk from some person? Isn't that what fangbangers are for?"
"Huh?" He says as he looks up from the bill on the bar, and to Steve. "Oh, that was supposed to be inside my head. Uh, yeah, I think that's still the current thing. You feed off the hoof, means just straight up bitin somebody. And yeah, sure, some vamps get a kick out of havin a bunch of weird human pets follow em around, but to be honest? That shit creeps me the fuck out. Course, that might just be jealousy talkin. Havn't had any offers, hehe."
"Jealousy?" Steve asks. "I don't know. I mean, isn't that kind of like being jealous of a prostitute's John? Pretty sure that type can be had for the asking." He smiles. "You on your way out already? Man, you don't hang in there for a story, do you? Don't you know drunks like to take all night?"
"Oh I aint leavin, I'm just broke and payin for all my drinks right now." He grinned big again. "Why, you sayin you'd miss me? S'adorable! Hahaha!" Another sudden and unecessarily loud laugh. "Nah, just fuckin with you, I'll probably be here till dawn though. As fer yer question about fangbangers, yeah, if I really went lookin I could definitely find some chick who'd willin to give me a gulp or two. And I know, 'cause I've done it. But for me? S'kinda like… uhh, shit I need to think of a way a human could understand. I suck at this." He looks off to the side in thought for a few seconds. "Okay, s'kinda like how sometimes you treat yourself to a whole fuckin pint of ice cream I guess? It's a special treat, you don't do it every night."
"Oh," Steve says. "I thought you were gonna say it's like being a crocodile in a zoo, with a fish being jammed down your throat. But sure, whatever you say. I wouldn't know. It all sounds pretty gross to me." Blunt, but not necessarily harsh. "You're okay to talk to, though. I usually have to move on in a couple hours if I come around here in a shirt with a collar."
"Trust me, it's worse bein a vamp. Like, imagine if every food commercial you saw on TV featured humans drinkin and eatin blood and raw meat. Gross as shit right? Every damn Mcdonalds billboard is like that for a vamp. Course, I'm bein a little dramatic. You get used to it. And speakin of gettin use to it, why the hell are you dressed so nice for this place anyway?"
"That's stupid," Steve says. "You used to be a person. You remember burgers not being gross," he asserts firmly, then swigs more liquor. "I usually bar-hop," he answers. "So I dress well enough to get into the nicest place I might go in a night. Simple as that."
"Actually, I don't really remember bein a person that good" he says with a shrug. "But I can tell you that when I was, we didn't have drive-thru windows. Or drivin, for that matter. I was a uhhh… privateer. That might give you a timeframe."
"Like…a pirate?" Steve answers, his eyebrows flying up as he turns to look at Bones. "That's kind of cool, I guess. I think I'd be pretty good at playing a pirate. Did you guys get drunk all the time?" He finishes off his drink while manufacturing more foolish pirate questions.
Bones takes a deep breath. "Yeah, a pirate. And no, we didn't. A bottle of rum was worth too much fuckin money to drink, and you're out at sea for weeks at a time. When you get in to port you might get a few rounds of delicious rotten fermented vegetable ale though." For the first time, Bones stopped grinning. "Most of it is just keepin the ship afloat. Slinging hot tar around to seal up any leaks, with only some burlap sacks tied around your ankles as shoes."
"That sounds shitty," Steve says frankly, stating the especially obvious. "But you had to drink /something/ alcoholic, didn't you? Because I heard liquor kept better or something." He doesn't exactly sound like a history buff. "Well, anyway, it doesn't matter."
"Nah, dosn't matter. Anyway, I told you what I used to do. S'your turn now buddy, start confessing. What do you do for livin? Or what did you used to do before bein a professional bar hopper? Your little talk about aiming high with your clothes choice makes it seem like you've been livin in a bar your whole life, but that can't be the case can it?"
"I told you, I'm sort of an actor. I used to be more than sort of an actor. An actual actor. On TV, whatever," Steve answers, finishing off his drink. "Maybe I've spent my share of time in bars, but unfortunately there have been long periods of time I've had to spend outside them."
Bones laughs at Steve's joke, but kept the conversation on his acting. "Really? That had to be pretty awesome. I've never actually owned a television, just watch it at bars and stuff, so I probably wouldn't recognize you. You kinda look like uhhh… Bold and the Beautiful type? Like, I look at your face and see you sorta staring intently at somethin off-camera, your eyes gettin all watery because you just heard some sorta shockin soap opera revelation."
Steve shrugs, looking into his empty glass. "I did a bunch of stuff," he says, "But I guess I was mostly doing a kids' show. I did a couple short stints on soaps, too, but those things are horrible."
Bones gives a big laugh at the thought of the bitter drunk in front of him doing children's television. "You? Entertainin kids? Yeah, I can see that. Let's watch Drunko the clown argue with his friends for twenty minutes that he's totally okay to drive!" Another hearty laugh, and he looks up at the wall clock, the laugh ending when he sees the time. "Aww fuck, already 4am? Shit, I gotta keep better track of the time." He hops off the bar stool, and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. "Next time I see ya, I'll trade some pirate stories for some tales of workin in children's television. They're probably just as dangerous eh? Hehe"
"Hey, fuck you," Steve answers, bristling in earnest at that particular joke. His face twists unpleasantly. "Yeah, whatever, asshole, try not to get sunburnt out there." Apparently it doesn't take long to strike the wrong chord with Steve.
Bones grinned. "Career's a soft spot eh? Startin to understand the drinkin. Well, if you hop bars as much as you say, we're gonna run into eachother eventually. I'd let you take a swing at me right now, but no time. Maybe later eh Drunko?" Another laugh, and he heads towards the door with that same jangle to his walk, slipping out of the Grisly the same way he came in.
