InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "IJ, the other blue meat."

liar_for_hire (liar_for_hire) wrote in haunted_roads,
@ 2008-04-07 19:07:00

Entry tags:

abigail, tavin

Week Five: Wednesday
When: Night
Where: Bar
Who: Tavin and Abby

It was dark. It was raining. It was typical Seattle weather and for being a cat, Tavin couldn’t say he minded it. He was likely one of the few that didn’t run about with an umbrella tonight. What was the point when the wind was picking up like it was? Just made you look like a fool chasing the weaving and near breaking thing about. No he simply moved quickly from location to location, never letting himself linger so long outdoors that he could be considered anything close to soaked. Course he had goods on him so letting himself get that dosed by the rain wouldn’t quite work in his favor.

That probably had something to do with why he was lingering about in this bar rather then moving on when it seemed the buyers had run dry. Always he was looking for that next deal but he wasn’t so hard up to get the goods moving that he had to rush around like a chicken with his head cut off. He was still above most others when it came to amount made. Selling was never a problem for Tavin, apparently he had a great business sense. It just wasn’t one that worked in that “real world” sort of atmosphere. Then again Tavin didn’t fit into that corporate business world mold regardless. He preferred the night hours; he didn’t do suits and ties, and just try to tell him to cover up everything that made him stand out a bit.

The bar wasn’t anything fancy; it looked like a hundred other bars he’d been to. Wood tables, stools at the bar, an older guy behind the counter and a few younger kids running around serving up drinks and wiping down tables. The lights were dimmed, the windows were a bit smoky, and radios spouted the most recent sports scores or highlight news stories that no one was really paying attention to. It was boring, plain, and not overly busy. But the few that were looking to score knew that it was one of the places Tavin could be found. At least for this week. Tavin changed locations often and never let any user know him so well that they could tell others where to find him too easily. Was a good way to have a cop show up looking to play the I swear I’m a junkie now sell me some goods game.

Tavin was good at spotting them, he’d seen them try it on others dealers enough. But they always had a heart that beat a little too fast and a look about the eyes that junkies didn’t. Humans wouldn’t notice these things, but he did.

A glass was on the table in front of him, the contents half finished but only half way considered interesting by Tavin. It wasn’t as strong as he’d like and the air was warm enough to the place that the ice melted nearly as quick as it was put in. Apparently one of the cute little waitresses with perky tits kept complaining about it being cold…so up that heater went, never mind that most of the guys in the place were damn fine with the temperature it was around here.

He itched for a smoke but this place actually kept that smoking ban in mind, most places didn’t care…that is until they got fined. Then suddenly they were smoke nazi’s. Ideally he was watching the bar, the way the people moved and listening to the conversations had that they didn’t seem to even think about someone else catching. That was the interesting thing about a bar. No matter how packed or empty everyone seemed to think that no one could hear them. Even when they were screaming to their friend over music. Tavin always heard though and sometimes he found out the most interesting things that way. If anything it was helpful in the clubs…gave him hints to who was looking to buy.

Picking up his drink he took another sip of the half watered down liquid.

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lapislazuli
2008-04-13 10:10 am UTC (link)

Abigail had never really been one to frequent dodgy bars. Oh, she'd done plenty of stupid, reckless things when she was younger. Even relatively recently (surely making out with a vampire counted as both stupid and reckless). But something about dingy little watering holes made her horribly depressed. Maybe it was the drunks, who seemed so integrated in to the decor of the establishment that they were almost invisible, camouflaged in a fine layer of dust and slick with sweat and alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact that most of those places seemed to have been plunged in to a time warp circa 1989 - awful music, guys with mullets, snakeskin miniskirts. It gave her an awful, unsettled feeling...as if when she walked outside again, she'd find the world completely foreign - like a bad X-files episode, or something out of the twilight zone.

Her irrational paranoia had not exactly been aided with her recent revelations as to just what exactly did go 'bump' in the night. Well...'Bump', amongst other things. It seemed almost suicidal to wander in to a dodgy bar in the middle of the night, now. But at the same time...

The past few weeks had made her increasingly reckless. Whilst she realised that the logical, mature response to her new found knowledge would be to hole herself up in her apartment, salt all the entrances, hang up some garlic, and do whatever the hell else she could to keep the nasties from getting in, she felt a compelling urge to seek them out. It was something akin to a kind of mania. Her skin itched when she was just sitting in her apartment by herself. She wanted to stand up and scream in the middle of class, just to disrupt the aching ennui.

Part of the problem was that since the evening at the theatre, nothing much had changed. She slipped so seamlessly back in to 'real life' that it was as if none of it had ever happened, at all. And it bothered her. Even the dreams hadn't made an appearance, lately. Everything was so normal. She'd have done just about anything to shake up her existence, a little.

And that was exactly what she was doing, now, about to wander in to a seedy bar at close to midnight. It had been more or less randomly chosen - nothing high-class, nothing that looked 'safe'. She'd heard from a few people, mostly burnouts that occasionally turned up for ten minutes of class before sneaking out the back to 'go to the bathroom', that 'unsavory types' tended to hang out here. Well. Fantastic. That was exactly what she needed...a run in with a junkie, or a prostitute, or a pimp, or anyone else who slithered around the underbelly of society. Or, hell, maybe a demon. Hag. Harpie. Werewolf. What the hell was out there, anyway?

She brushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, a little annoyed at the fact that it had got damp in the five seconds she'd been out in the rain, walking from the cab to the bar door. Ah well, fuck it. Who was she trying to impress, anyway? Maybe the slightly bedraggled pre-teen look was in this year.

She pushed open the door, slipping inside like a shadow, expecting heads to turn, people to look up. Foolish. It was one of those bars, afterall - the ones where people were far more entranced by the contents of their glasses than in any prospective company. She wouldn't even have to worry about being hit on, by the looks of things. She breathed in the slightly sick scent of stale booze and wet clothing as her eyes moved around the room. It didn't look particularly dangerous...just soul destroying. But you never could tell. It was still better than sitting at home.

She crossed to the bar, leaning against it and ordering the first thing that came to mind, vodka and orange, double shot. She may as well get trashed - she didn't normally do that, either. Well, that might shake up the night a little bit. Perhaps she'd wake up in a gutter. That would be new.

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liar_for_hire
2008-04-14 06:16 pm UTC (link)

The bar was nothing more then a bar. The sorts in it weren’t particularly dangerous or criminal. They were all just looking for a drink and the place served them up. If the place was a total hole in the wall Tavin likely wouldn’t bother. Those sorts of people were the kind that had no cash but wanted the free hand out. I’ll pay next week, I promise. That wasn’t a game that Tavin played. Cash up front or no goods, there was no pushing him on that. He had too much shit to see to in his life as it was, he didn’t need to add in chasing down junkies to the list. He did that already for the higher ups, why add in some more by his own choice and actions? No, that wasn’t for him.

The sort of bars Tavin picked were the kinds where working men treated to after work to try to escape the drone of the day. A place were college kids though it was “cool” to come in and mingle with the down and out folks. As though being in some bar that looked like all others made then more interesting then the kids that went to the high end clubs. Then again Tavin's idea of a dive and others tended to differ. He knew the real hell holes.

He staked out the sort of places that had people with money and an urge to hide away for awhile. Drugs were a good outlet for that. A means to run away and hide. It wasn’t that way for all that took them, especially the supernatural kind. But Tavin had no problem preying on those that did use the drugs for such means. Hell it wasn’t his problem. They were looking for an escape and he provided. He was simply giving them a service. One that they’d find from another if he wasn’t there anyways. Might as well capitalize for his own benefit. His and his brothers…as most of the money Tavin made went to the kid in some fashion or another.

Already a few had come by and picked up from the man in the back that fit in and yet somehow stood out just slightly all in one. His eyes likely had some to do with that. Though he kept his head down and dark hair often half covering them, they stood out in a dim and dank sort of place like this. In a bar where nothing seemed to hold any real bright light. They weren’t so strange that anyone would quickly point and question what he was but they were…different enough. Tavin gave the false words of contacts often, better people just think him some strange guy looking to stand out then to realize the real truth.

While so many others had no care for the new arrival, Tavin noticed. It didn’t appear he had, unmoved in his seat with his drink still in his hand like it was. But he noticed everyone that walked in. Sizing them up before they’d even sat down to see if they were someone of interest or someone he had no care to pay attention to. Cute, she obviously didn’t frequent bars like these. It was written clearly in the way she walked, the way she moved, the slight look about her features when she first entered the place.

His guess? She was looking for “different”. He knew the sort. The girls that had their lives rather well laid out. Jobs to do or classes to see to. Money available so they could do what they wanted. And what they wanted was always something so vastly different then what they had. The experimenters. The ones looking for just a bit of thrill. Something to make them feel like they weren’t such good girls. They always amused him…rarely realizing just what they were getting into until it was a bit too late. For some that taste, that one little act of rebellion, was enough. But for so many others it just started up the need for more more more.

Tavin didn’t say anything; he didn’t move to approach her or anything else of the sort. For now he just watched. Trusting that gut instinct about her but always the sort to wait and see. To feel out those around him rather then to jump onto someone like he was a rapid dog and he’d just spotted some meat. That was a good way to have things go bad and that wasn’t what Tavin was looking for.

He was careful. Always fucking careful.

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liar_for_hire
2008-05-03 03:03 am UTC (link)

A good possible deal but it didn't go that way. Not when things started to heat up. So often fucking drama ruined shit for everyone involved. Drama that was so fucking pathetic that Tavin could only roll his eyes and walk away. Some woman and her man, or at least he thought he was her man. The entire fight was a blur of slurred swear words and a lot of arm swinging. Nothing that Tavin needed to stick around for. He'd seen it time and time before. Too many damned times to count. Reminded him of shit that just wasn't worth remembering and brought too much attention to a place he was trying to blend in.

While the couple fought it out and drew everyone’s eyes Tavin was getting up and heading for the door. No one noticed him leave; likely no one would even remember that he'd been there after a few hours. That was how Tavin liked it. More a shadow then a person. Better for him to never be recalled, to keep unknown.

Out the door and away from the bar. Soon the shouting faded out and Tavin was on his way to another place. A phone call signaling where a good deal was waiting.

No matter the hour, no matter the day, Tavin was working.

Was the nature of the job. He wasn’t complaining. It worked for him.

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