Brian O'Connor-Cox (oconnorcox) wrote in nearside_rpg, @ 2010-01-18 12:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: brian o'connor-cox, character: lucas halstead, location: darwin's bar, player: amanda, player: skippy, status: discontinued |
Who: Brian and Lucas
When: Monday, January 18, 2010
Where: Darwin’s Bar
Rating: PG-13, for alcohol abuse and possible cursing.
Summary: boozy fun times go go go
Warnings: drunken pretension? rambling angst? eerie coincidences?
It was nine o’clock and the bar was not quite half-full of customers, the small crowd morphing and shifting in number as the night wore on. But it was only Monday evening after all. The weak traffic that trickled in and out was mostly composed of the hard-drinking regulars who liked to start their week as early as possible, like Brian.
He sat at the far right of the dim, hazy bar, shoulder to the wall with a collection of Yeats cradled in the crook of his elbow and a half-finished pint of imperial stout at his fingertips. His white shirt was crisp and bright in the darkness of the bar, chocolate-colored tie thrown neatly over a shoulder. It wasn’t obvious, but Brian was already at a comfortable stage of intoxication, at which his face was buzzing with flushing warmth that diffused throughout his body, though the symbols on the page in front of him had not quite begun to swim and blur into nonsense.
Not that Brian was having an easy time trying to understand the poem. “These Are The Clouds” was a lovely one though, its lyrical phrasing floating and tumbling around in his mind -- even if he only had a vague notion of what the hell it was supposed to mean. Soaking in booze made appreciating mysteriously poignant verse rather more difficult, but at least Brian wasn’t so worried about how awful he thought he was at managing Mama’s at the moment. The restaurant wasn’t doing horribly, but he was short of staff and not spectacular at customer service, which was sure to be casting a long shadow over business in the future. Time for another drink.
“… ‘And discord follow upon unison/ And all things at one common level must lie...’ ” Brian murmured to himself, barely a slur to his words even with two pints of stout and the day’s run of alcohol moving through his system. His dark eyes, narrowing in cottony thought, roved across the text, and he took another sip. At some point Brian would give up trying to glean significance from the poem and go on the next, and then another, until he gave up all pretense of critical thinking to drink himself into a proper stupor and stumble home around midnight. That was the plan, anyways.