Sweet dreams are made of this ... Who: Caspian & Laura What: First meeting When: June 2010 (backdated) Where The bar she worked at Rating: Mild - some language here and there, darker things Status: Complete
And when you’ve taken down your guard, if I could change your mind I’d really love to break your heart, I’d really love to break your heart…
The background was alight with sounds; between the clatter of glass on wood, the sound of the legs of chairs scraping against the hardwood floor, laughter, the vintage jukebox in the corner crammed full of seventies, eighties, and nineties music, the clack of cue pummeling ivory colored ball over felt.
This was one of Caspian’s favorite songs and so he hummed along, an elbow pressing casually at the wood of the counter where it made a clean edge. He didn’t mind the feel of the wood, it was cool, slick. Just to the right of his elbow sat a lukewarm, halfway filled lager of some Irish shit nobody else was drinking. There were some things about his heritage he was proud of - he had never been much of a drinker as the taste was awful - and some things he felt were better left laying where someone had left them as a child might a broken toy.
Whatever lay ahead in the night he couldn’t be sure but he was willing to chase about any end to see where it lead. A touch reckless, 2010 had been a cornerstone year for Caspian. He was approaching thirty years old and up until now he had amounted to about nothing the way he had dreamed. No steady relationship, odd jobs here and there in between working up in the ranks in his present occupation, no family. His mum always inquired after him about settling down, finding a good job.
Adventure, thrill-seeking. That rabbit hole was deep and unyielding and yet he craved it all the same.
Blue eyes swept the place.
It was the early summer and whatever women entered the establishment reflected the warmer weather. He was not complaining a single bit and while some of the women were older than he was Caspian was eager to talk to at least one (or more) of them in the duration of the evening. He would not admit that he was lonely, but then again he bounced from one thing to another (whatever had his interest) without allowing anything solid to form.
After another moment he turned to the right, back to his drink. The glass was plucked from the counter and that gaze crawled along the bar only to settle on someone else almost instantly.
Some days moved by so quickly, while others dragged on. This was one of those interminable days. It wasn’t even that late, but Laura had already been on her feet working for 12 hours between the bar and the coffee shop. She was on autopilot now, filing drink orders and cashing out tabs without barely a glance to the faces of the customers that moved before her. The tips were meager, and all she could consider was how much more she needed to make the rent on her little shit hole down the street. At least the majority of the guys drinking tonight kept their hands to themselves. Along with their cash.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped back from the bar and peeled off her oversized vintage band tee, revealing a black tank beneath. Showing a little more skin was the easy way to make more money, but this was the most she was willing to reveal. The top still kept all of her bits and pieces covered up, but gave the illusion of sharing more. Stuffing the discarded shirt under the bar, Laura pulled her hair into a high ponytail and went back to work. The barback was out: glasses needed to be cleaned, garnishes refilled, bottles restocked. The work was never ending, and June was too hot already. It was going to be a long night.
Focusing on the music on the jukebox, Laura hummed to herself as she kept her hands busy. Paying little attention to the newfound stares and murmured comments, she reached over the bar for a discarded glass to add to the wash bin. Briefly catching the eye of the dark haired man nursing his drink, she gave an upnod in the direction of his glass. At first she’d thought he needed a refill, but it wasn’t empty yet. “You letting that age, or just don’t like the taste?”
Her voice was soft and low, and somehow reminiscent of the crackling of a fireplace in the winter. She waited for his response, but her eyes stayed focused on the task at hand: cleaning up things behind the bar.
“A bit of both, actually,” he admitted.
It wasn’t his favorite beverage choice but it was one he was familiar with. The only son of an Irishman should have been more well versed in the language of amber bubbles and disorderly conduct. Caspian despised what drinking did to his father and the impact it had on their family. Trying to walk in those shoes was not a task undertaken with zeal. He drank here and there to keep up appearances when in places that it was a necessity.
The bartender was easy on the eyes; many women crossed his path and few of them were worth anything in the grand scheme of things. Caspian was not looking to settle down with anyone any time soon but the prospect wasn’t lost on him. He was a young man still - twenty eight was itty bitty in comparison to the age of the world itself - and though his Mum was adamant that he find a nice girl and settle down he had other plans.
“Not much of a drinker.” A toast was offered to her and he took a sip from his glass. The liquid sat in his mouth for a moment before it was swallowed, those eyes flitting to the side to observe a bit of motion elsewhere in the bar.
The glass went back down to the counter and was forgotten momentarily.
He turned back to the bartender and watched her work. Her voice was like music and it seemed only to add to the ambiance. Or perhaps his lack of drinking was beginning to show its colors.
“Ditto.” Her eyes rose to his face briefly, studying him for a moment before drifting away again. “Strange place to hang out, then. Unless you’re waiting for someone.” Shut up, Laura she kicked herself for her words. What the hell was she trying to do? Kick out a customer? If the guy wanted to stand there all night long and barely drink a thing, what business was it of hers? This was far from a classy place, and he was one of the few people in here that actually looked at her face instead of her body.
Laura wasn’t even sure why she’d talked to the guy in the first place. She was far from a conversationalist, and he was clearly not drunk enough to consider rambling on to her without expecting some sort of response. Maybe she was lonely, in a way, although she refused to let herself get really close to anyone anyway. Did that even really equate to loneliness? Or just self-imposed solitude. Semantics.
“Not that it’s any of my business what you’re doing in here.” That was a weak attempt at saving face. Telling herself again to just stop talking, she turned her back to him and busied herself with taking stock of the bottles of liquor that needed to be replaced. He’d move along soon enough, maybe one of the scantily clad women across the room would grab his attention.
A chuckle.
Caspian shook his head. His bangs were longer than he liked, the dark strands threatened to tumble into his eyes if he let the strands grow out any more. That was another source of conversation from his Mum - Your hair is too long, dear! Bless her, she cared far too much about what other people would think of him. He learned early on to think about himself unless it mattered otherwise. Manners, though, were the exception.
“No one in particular.” Did that seem desperate? Odd? A man like him being in a bar like this one with nobody coming to meet him. He kept friends but he preferred being on his own because of his dealings with the people he had gotten swept up in.
He didn’t mind the exchange of words taking place. Actually, he was fine with it. “No, it’s fine,” he laughed softly. “I bet you have to hear a lot of tales, hm? Adventures of those who have found the bottom of their glass a few times over?” It seemed to come with the territory, that lending of an ear. Alcohol seemed to be tricky that way. He saw it as a man made truth serum as comfortable as it could make some.
There was no alcohol that beat being able to read someone’s mind - a gift and a curse - but he did find it amusing when he came upon someone who had been hitting the sauce far too much.
She found it odd that he wasn’t waiting on someone, but she didn’t pass judgment. Maybe he just needed a break from people, or just prefered to be alone. That, she could understand easily. Glancing back to him over her shoulder, she looked him over curiously once more. She was looking for any signs as to what he did for a living. He wasn’t dressed for any sort of professional business, but looks could be deceiving. He carried himself in a way that showed he was in charge, or wanted to be.
Turning back to the bottles, she smirked a little before responding. “Something like that. It’s not just the lushes. Sometimes people tell me the things they wish they’d said to someone else. And some just like to hear themselves talk.” She wasn’t sure what category he fell into yet.
Hesitating a moment, she plucked a bottle from the back of the shelf and picked up a clean rocks glass, pouring in a third. She slid the glass to him and waited in silence to see if he’d take it.
“Ah, you are a dear for lending an ear to those in need,” He replied softly. She was braver than he was, more accommodating. When anyone he knew spoke it wasn’t to share stories or say what was on their mind. Those words came as orders and you followed if you knew what was good for you. Soon (he hoped) he would be the one shouting orders. He didn’t care about the risk it involved, he had no one but himself to look out for.
Tasting the power and the wealth had come to him once or twice and that was not something he wanted to give up without a fight.
As the drink was poured he watched her hands. They were steady, precise. Her fingers were lithe as the beverage was slid in his direction and instantly the lukewarm glass was left behind in favor of the newer one.
“Thank you,” he said, lifting the glass. He held it up as if to toast her, “Cheers.” It wasn’t often such a small, sweet thing came along so he would savor it for as long as it intended to stick around.
He knew she was working but the desire to keep the small bit of conversation going was strong, “I am Caspian, by the way.” This was probably not the first time this conversation had been had like this, or at least he suspected. A sip from the glass and he managed to not make a face before it went down onto the wooden countertop.
Laura shrugged a bare shoulder, finishing with the bottles and turning to watch him again. “I don’t know about all that. I just stand here and pour the drinks. I don’t know if people even care if I listen half the time. Just as long as the alcohol keeps flowing.”
She noticed him watching her hands, and suddenly became self conscious. Once the glass was taken and the bottle set back in place, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her low slung jeans, hiding her sore, burned fingertips and chipped and peeling short teal nails. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the pink blistered skin. Or if he did, hopefully he wouldn’t ask about it.
When he took a sip from the fresh glass, she couldn’t help but hide the amusement that sparked in her eyes. He didn’t like the drink; so much for assuming he had top shelf taste. “I figured that would be a little smoother than what you had, but I guess it’s still not your cup of tea.”
Laura noted his name, it was a little unusual. But she purposely didn’t provide her own. No one really cared what their bartender’s name was, why would he be any different?
It wasn’t that he did not appreciate her consideration to his plight, he just was not as up on drinking as many his age. The members of the gang he was infiltrating often drowned themselves in scotch or whiskey, vodka if the funds were running low, but he kept his participation minimal. Mental powers did not mix well with intoxication.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he replied. The small glass was tapped upon gently with fingertips and Caspian took on a look of thoughtfulness. “Being an accent to your environment is not an easy thing to do. Everyone deserves a bit of recognition. Your job here, I assume, is not always an easy one.” Being around drunks all the time could be dangerous in the wrong setting.
Another small glance around for nothing in particular and his eyes found hers again. Whatever had happened to her fingers was none of his business and he didn’t think to pry about it. Nor did she offer her name.
“So, what should I call you then?” The question was playful in a way. He didn’t want to just call her bartender or something crude - though he was sure she had heard her fair share of nicknames - when she preferred being called something else. Letting her pick seemed easier. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
The worst she could do was tell him to piss off and he would.
Picking up a rag, she absently wiped a few spills on the countertop. The need to keep busy was subconscious at this point, she knew she was doing it but barely bothered to wonder why anymore. “Is anyone’s job easy? Is yours? As far as recognition, I’ll pass. I think it’s overrated.”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue the conversation, but it wasn’t like she could leave. He wasn’t bothering her, just reminding her of how long it had been she’d just talked with someone about more than a food or drink order.
“Laura.” The name slipped from her lips so easily that she’d nearly forgotten it wasn’t her birth name. Did it really matter what her true name was? They’re all just labels. “Your name is… different. Never heard it before. Any special meaning?”
On that idea they felt the same, the part about recognition. He had discovered the desire to be forgotten, to fade into the ether of memories. But that was a personal choice. A safer choice. “I suppose not.” But then again your life was your own to shape and mold. Some forgot that they had control over the paths of their lives.
When she offered a name Caspian registered it. Laura. It was simple, but pretty, much in the same way she appeared to be. And when she inquired of his own name he nodded and indulged her, “From what I understand of the origin is that it is the same name as a Sea. I would suspect my Mum is to blame for that one - she always has been partial to the water, though I have not really studied much about the particular body of water that I seem to share a name with.” Maybe he should have been more familiar with it but nobody had ever asked him that question before.
When he mentioned the origin on his name, her expression changed briefly. Her brows lowered and her face filled with a look of revulsion. All to aware of being triggered, Laura quickly dropped the look to resume her usual blank canvas. “Interesting. I don’t think that’s anywhere near here, does she like to travel?”
Tucking a fallen strand behind her ear, she attended to a new customer but for some reason drifted back toward Caspian again to hear his response. She didn’t like the idea of being drawn to someone, but she couldn’t deny he was a bit intriguing.
That was the complexity of the thing, his Mum had loved to travel. Long before she met her husband had relocated to the states. Their leaving America was less frequent even as he had grown but mostly their trips were to Ireland to see relatives. The stops to see his gran faded into oblivion. Often his Mum spoke of her life but that was after Caspian had reset her memories.
“She does. She and Da both, honestly. They are both from overseas, moved here before I was born.” It was a short explanation but then again Laura probably was not interested in a life story told by some young lad in a bar.
His life was odd, probably interesting but most certainly not normal.
“Do you travel too? The furthest I’ve been is Jersey, and that was just because I got on the wrong bus at Port Authority.” Laura offered a little smirk, surprised at herself for sharing anything about herself with this stranger. Maybe she was just over tired and her guard was starting to come down a bit. She’d have to be more careful about that.
Grabbing another clean glass, she mixed together liquids from several different bottles then placed the glass in front of him. To any observer, it looked like an alcoholic beverage but upon tasting it he’d find it was just a pleasant tasting mix of juices and seltzer. “You probably won’t like that either, but it definitely goes down easier than the other two.”
“Just when I was younger,” he explained. “Recently I don’t stray too far from New York. Not for any particular reason, I just don’t make the time to go any place other than to work and back home.” Routine was good, it was solid and sturdy. Predictable, but otherwise dependable.
“If you could visit any one place where would you go? Anywhere in the world.” The question was posed in a whimsical way. Now that they’d talked about visiting other places he began to daydream a touch on running, fleeing for the hills and never looking back. He had a bit of income saved but not enough to live as comfortably as he would have liked.
And then there was a new glass being set down. With interest he peered down at the bubbling liquid. The glass he had been given just before that was set gently aside with his right hand, while the left hand (his dominant one) plucked up the new beverage. “Thank you. That is kind of you.”
Those blue eyes found hers again and then he took a sip. It was a refreshing mixture and he found that he didn’t mind the bubbles or the taste of it. “Actually that’s not bad at all.”
“Where did you go, when you were younger?” Laura had no idea why she was asking, but she didn’t stop the words from leaving her mouth. “Work and home, and here, you mean? Unless you’re working right now and I am a distraction.” The words are almost flirtatious, if she knew how to flirt in the first place.
His question took her off guard but she had the urge to answer anyway. “Anywhere. I’m not picky, I’d just like to see how other people live, what other places look and smell like. I’d just like something… different.” That was the second time she’d used that word, both times with an air of wonder.
When his eyes met hers, she held the gaze for a moment longer than she should have, searching for something. She didn’t say a word, but offered a small genuine smile when he approved of the drink.
“My Da always called it the homeland,” Caspian began. His expression turned amused if not a slight bit rueful. “Ireland. His family is from there and so we have family. Most my age have moved here but I have cousins and the like abroad. Not a bad place, but I am more partial to things here.” It was pretty, if nothing else.
A soft clearing of his throat and his eyes narrowed in a playful manner, returning that spot of flirtation he was hoping to have picked up on correctly, “Even if I was working I would not mind being distracted by you at all.” Alright, so work, home, and occasionally the bar. That was all of the information he was comfortable offering right then.
The way the response fluttered from her lips was curious. “The food is often better in other places. When you dig into a spot of culture it’s a trove of reward. There are a few places around here that come close to what I hear of - Italian food, you know what I mean. But if you do get the chance to visit another place don’t go where the tourists go. You want to walk where the locals do.”
A slight, older man emerged from the back office and headed for the door without a glance to anyone in particular. Laura’s demeanor changed in the instant, moving away from Caspian to check on other customers. None were in need of a drink and once the old man exited, Laura visibly relaxed a bit. Though not completely. She took longer to return to him now, slipping out from behind the bar to bus a few tables and right a few chairs. Always working, always staying occupied.
She’d caught his flirtation but had no idea how to purposefully respond in kind. Although she wanted to, which was an entirely new feeling to Laura. She figured it was just safer, and easier, to keep up the small talk. “I hear Ireland is beautiful, I’m sure the pictures and stories don’t do it justice though.”
Laura couldn’t imagine being a tourist, that label was far too public and obvious. If she ever did travel, as if that could ever actually happen, she’d prefer to blend in with the locals. “Where would you go, if there were no limits?”
Observant, he watched the way Laura’s expression and posture shifted. Caspian’s eyes lifted. He searched for the source touching minds here and there though he knew it was not his place to interfere in the going’s on there at the bar. The older gent seemed the source of the sudden change but Caspian couldn’t say for sure so he left it alone for now.
Quietly he sipped the seltzer and juice. None in the bar besides Laura knew he was there anyway, he was a ghost.
Upon her return to chat his own demeanor became more relaxed as if he was falling back into stride. “It is. You should put it on your travel bucket list. If you do plan a trip, you should let me know. I can guide you a few places off of the usual pathway that are worth the experience.” It was a sly move. A subtle way to inquire for her phone number if she would give it if only to correspond about travel attractions.
“Me?” He inquired, pausing to think. “I’ve always been fond of living off of the grid. In the middle of a forest someplace, in a cabin. Not necessarily roughing it but close. Perhaps near a lake for the purpose of fishing it sailing, but either way it’d be happier in a more rustic landscape.” Living, visiting, wherever that destination was either way he desired it.
He saw the change, and that made her all the more cautious. She wasn’t used to people looking at her so closely, it was uncomfortable. But she had to admit it was better than a leer or a stare. His attention made her feel significant, even if only for the purpose of chatting to pass the time. No one looked at her the way he did.
A dry chuckle, like the snapping of burnt logs, was her immediate response. “I don’t have a travel bucket list. Or even a bucket list. It’s easier to stick with reality than build a list of dreams that won’t ever come true.” It sounded way more defeatist out loud than it had in her head.
Laura just nodded. He mentioned water again, which was a huge turn off in and of itself. But making the connection, perhaps to his mother, was endearing enough to forgive the offense. “So you want solitude, not adventure?”
“You are the one in control of your life, Laura. You are the one with the keys to whatever shackles are keeping you bound to this reality. Dreaming is good, but chasing them around is better. Existing is not living.” Words he knew he was hypocritical to in a sense. He should take his own advice but then hearing what she had said struck a chord in his heart. The tone of her voice, her expression - her statement was the truth, not some silly utterance seeking pity or a quip of reply.
She didn’t seem to him like a woman who would allow someone else to control her life but then again we only tended to see what was in front of us most of the time.
And then he nodded. “I do like adventure, but I find comfort in solitude. Most men my age seek grandeur, perhaps I’m an odd duck in a sense. I want to be comfortable, to achieve what I have my heart set on, but also do so on my own terms. Whatever that might bring.” His experience with life had been hard and fast. It had taught him a good many lessons that most either bypassed or did not heed the value of.
Laura arched a brow slowly at his words. No one had ever somebody to her that way, no one had ever encouraged her to take control of her life and it’s direction. It was inspiring, but also felt impossible. She looked down at her ragged Converse, considering his words further.
Preferring the other topic, she looked back to him warily. What she was about to ask might be crossing a line. “What do you have your heart set on?”
What a complex question that was. He almost laughed at it, not her, because of the answer which weighed heavily upon the end of his tongue. “To be myself. My own person. In whatever context that might be.” It sounded simple but it wasn’t. Honestly he had no idea what he really wanted - life had a funny way of taking you by the hand and leading you down a path you never expected.
He did not want to let anyone else take over his life the way some people allowed. Freedom, being part of a group, having a family, having no family, whatever role he was supposed to play he wanted it to come from his own diligence. Earning something the right way tasted sweeter than being handed something too easily.
So far he had been doing alright, at least by his standards.
For now this answer would suffice because it was the easiest one to give.
Tilting her head to the right, Laura studied Caspian curiously. She had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that most people had that opportunity. Except for the few with the same unusual set of circumstances she had. Even then, others seemed more confident, more set on making a life for themselves. Really living. The way Caspian seemed to want to live his life. For years now, Laura’s sole focus had been survival. Now that she’d seemingly managed that, she didn’t know what else more there was to reasonably want out of life. Everything seemed so far out of reach. “You don’t have that freedom now? Why not?”
It only took a moment for her to catch herself, cheeks flushing pale pink as she took a step back and looked away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s none of my business.”
Her question was to be expected. Caspian only smiled warmly at her upon hearing her apology. He waved his fingers at her in a dismissive way, a gentle one, and took another sip from the drink she had given him. When the cup was down again and his mouth empty he spoke again.
“That’s quite alright,” he breathed, amused.
“I wish I had the means right now to really live the life I want. I’m trying, you know. Any chance that arises I do the best to recognize it for what it is and take it.” Dreams often took a bit of cash to fund it but he was getting there slowly.
“Plus it would be quite boring to venture out on my own to see the world and live. I’d rather do that with someone who wants that exact same thing.”
Glad he was able to forgive the faux pas, Laura offered another small smile. She parted her lips to respond but was interrupted by banging at the opposite end of the bar. A large, surly looking man who’d already had one too many was glaring in their direction. “Hey! Honey, when you’re done trying to get laid you might want to get back to work and pour me another damn drink!”
A flash of annoyance, mixed with embarrassment, moved across her features. Turning away from Caspian, she moved over to the rude drunk without hesitation and refilled the man’s empty glass. She spoke softly, but her tone had a hint of an edge to it. “Calm down, Walter, your jealousy is showing.” She was used to the regulars and when he wasn’t shitfaced, Laura actually didn’t mind the guy so much. But like many others, he was an angry drunk and the best way to avoid a bar fight was to keep him drinking until he passed out.
The utterance was loud. It shattered the ambiance the way a rock would disrupt the purity of a pane of glass in a window. Caspian turned to peer down the counter at Walter, brows furrowing with distaste. Rude. He was not a fan of rudeness or disrespect when it was unwarranted. People had a right to be upset, angry, but in this circumstance Laura had not deserved such a verbal lashing though that might have been timid in this circumstance. He hated to consider what might be said later on in the evening when Walter had imbibed whatever else he thought he could handle.
Without a shred of hesitation or consideration Caspian reached out to the mind of the sloppy drunk and changed a few things around. He was not above tampering with someone if they deserved it - this felt too familiar in the same instance as it was conducted because it felt so close to home - and almost instantly the gent began to settle down.
Turning away, Caspian went back to his drink. Nothing out of the ordinary was left beyond the calmer expression painted across the face of the once unruly customer.
Assuming it was the alcohol that calmed the man, Laura gave him a small but genuine smile before leaving him alone with his drink. She served a few others, just to avoid further drama before returning to Caspian.
“Sorry about that. He’s not so bad, really.” And she meant it. She’d gotten to know a few of the frequent flyers over her last year working in the bar and Walter was one of the ones she didn’t mind so much. Last year, when it was bitter cold out, he’d given her an old coat of his to keep warm in her walk home. The guy had a heart, he just didn’t often show it.
“I totally forgot what we were talking about. I’m not usually very good with conversation as it is.” This time there was no shame in her comment, she assumed it was pretty obvious at this point anyway.
His gaze went to Laura again when she had made her way back. Her story about the man at the other end of the bar was endearing, her expression matched the tale and he felt a bit bad about his own reaction. Nothing Caspian had done to Walter was permanent, the alcohol would help keep the faded memory suppressed and by tomorrow the man would be right as the rain.
Shaking his head at her, Caspian smiled, “No worries. I assure you it was me rambling on about nothing at all, not worth revisiting.”
A moment later he finished his drink. The empty glass was set aside with a gentle motion. “Again, thank you for indulging me. I should be going, mostly to allow you to get back to your work. I feel I’ve been distracting you.” It was playful, but part of it was true. He was keeping her from serving her clients which could impede the money she would have otherwise made had he not been stealing her away.
“You’ve been very kind to me, Laura. Perhaps we will see each other again.”
The disappointment on her face was plain, and this time she made no move to disguise it. Laura knew that talking with him, and enjoying it, would be short lived but she’d secretly wished for a little longer. Sighing, she nodded once in acceptance. “Maybe. It was very nice to talk with you.”