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Post by Malorie Cohen on Aug 25, 2009 15:19:56 GMT -7
When she had been a younger woman, the sound of pumping base had been exhilarating, the lights and sounds were like her blood pounding in her ears...part of her pulse, part of herself.
Though now, sitting at a small booth, in a club by herself, it felt cold, like she had cut herself and that life had slowly bled out of her. That part was dead, in fact, she would argue, she was all dead by this point. The fact she was up and walking around was hardly a sign of existance.
Really Malorie couldn't stand it, but by now, she was just torturing herself with what used to be, and what was. A drink in one hand, and the other idly fondling the satin patch that covered what was once her right eye. She took a long deep breath and sighed, lighting up her umpteenth smoke of the evening and sucking it down like it was the only thing between her and oblivion, which, was mostly true.
The sullen woman watched the crowds, intent on what made them so alive, she was alive, but didn't feel it, but these people...they were, and she hated them. Almost as much as she hated herself.
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Post by ichabod on Sept 2, 2009 12:50:46 GMT -7
Ichabod was an overbearing figure, towering over the heads of most others. At six-and-a-half feet he was rather imposing and somewhat frightening to those who didn't quite understand him (or his nature) yet. He used this height - and the respect-slash-fear that came with it - to his advantage, wading through the crowd easily. He made his order from the bartender brief, baritone voice well heard despite his lack of volume. When his drink was prepared, he stepped away from the bar, only to have his spot immediately filled by several drunks. Oh well.
Weaving through the crowds of people, his stoic and slightly masked expression poured over table after table, booth after booth, seeking an empty one. To his great dismay; such a thing was impossible to find - no, he'd have to share tonight. He reached up gently to fondle the cigarette tucked behind one ear, the mere presence of his filtered friend calming him considerably. The first open seat he found - he dove into, flipping the cancerstick up and into his lips to light before glancing at the other occupant.
It was a woman. An eye-patched woman at that, Ichabod mused. He stared for only an instant before returning his attention to lighting his cigarette, tugging an ashtray over to flick the cherry lightly against the edge, his fingertips light, unbecoming of his size. "Good evening, ma'am." He nodded, sincere - somewhat apologetic for intruding on her evening - but he had no intentions to move. Instead, he focused his gaze on his fingers, caressing the Gin & Tonic in his other hand lightly.
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Post by Malorie Cohen on Sept 8, 2009 16:17:01 GMT -7
Malorie watches for a moment as the male comes into her space, it was expected, but none the less, it made her bristle some. But that was just the sort of gal she was, even before she had supernatural instincts to make her territorial...she had always been one who kept to herself. But still she forced a bit of a smile, which turned out more sardonic than anything, as she puffed out a smoke ring.
"Evenin'." she says in a low drawl, her gaze darting up and down Ichabod, though from the looks of it, A big guy, but to Malorie, that didn't impress her much, and she was hardly concerned, but then again, very little managed to raise her above dull interest these days. "Pretty busy tonight." for now she'd try to be social, of course that didn't mean that it would work out, her tone was so sharp, making her sound almost snippy with the man, even though that wasn't exactly her intention.
Maybe this place was just starting to raise her ire? It wasn't too hard to that after all. For a moment she was about to ask the man whether or not he reckoned he was staying there, but instead she bit her tongue, taking another long drag from her cigarette as her false smile fades.
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Post by ichabod on Sept 9, 2009 16:00:50 GMT -7
He chewed on the edge of his tongue, taking another drag off his cigarette; his eyes squinted against the smoke rising. Clearing his throat, he alternated cigarette puffs with sips off his tonic, watching her as she.. well.. watched him. She was a unique individual. Almost sort of eerie, but that was probably due to the eyepatch - not many women were missing eyeballs, and even fewer who were missing eyeballs were attractive. She pulled it off though.
Running his tongue over his teeth, he nodded in affirmative to her mention of a busy night. Aye, it was - he liked busy nights to a degree, but really loathed crowds.. they just tended to go faster if there was a lot going on, he had less down time, less time to stew and to think. Snuffing out the rest of his cigarette, he gazed at her before slowly answering. "Yup, it is." He made no move to apologize for sitting here - tough tit, she'd need to get over it - and beyond that, he had nothing else to say. Scratching his cheek slightly, he polished off the rest of his Gin & Tonic and flagged down a waiter to hand off the empty glass, paying for a new one shortly. "Buy you a drink? Consider it payment for allowing me to sublet your booth here." His comment was without humor though it no doubt sounded humorous; and he left his tone light and forgiving, with that slight upward inflection intending it to sound in fact like a question instead of a statement.
"What'll it be?"
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Post by Malorie Cohen on Sept 10, 2009 15:11:44 GMT -7
Malorie gets comfortable, she wasn't going anywhere, and it seemed that this fellow wasn't either, and after a moment of careful internal deliberation, she decided, she could be stuck with much worse company. So in spite of herself, she smirked, this time a little less forced.
She tugs on the collar of her shirt a bit, busy meant stuffy, and she certainly didn't dress the part of someone who'd be in a place like this, almost like some sort of one eyed, bespectacled librarian. The woman was regretting her decision to come in her regular clothes now, especially since his invite for a drink was all too inviting, it made her nearly sweat and got her stomach to do flipflops. She wanted that drink so hard is was nearly burning a hole in her gut.
"Um...thanks, but no thanks, just...a sprite or whatever it is you call it here." she says with a cough, her hand going in pocket, fiddling with the coin in there, just to keep herself focused. But eventually, she lights up yet another cigarette and then laughs, almost bitterly as she eyes Ichabod one more time. "Malorie, by the way." At least she'd give him that much, a simple introduction, he seemed nice enough. "You?"
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Post by ichabod on Sept 16, 2009 14:28:30 GMT -7
Waving the waiter away with a shake of his hand - the man was paid, why have him wait around after their order was issued? - he folded both hands around each other and placed a sedate stare on the cyclops before him. Well, not quite a cyclops, I suppose. Her eye would have needed to be in the middle of her head, for that. Blinking, he concentrated on her nose - it was a fine line between staring - gaping, more like - at her unusual eyes, to the more sexual innuendo that came from staring at one's lips. So, her nose it was. He alternated this harsh seeming stare to flicking gazes around the room. He was by nature a rather timid beast in crowds, and his scalp was screaming at him. He'd been shedding for weeks now. Nerves, ugh.
He came back to awareness abruptly as she spoke her name, obviously indicative of an introduction. Pausing, he cleared his throat. "Ichabod." And the waiter - rather, waitress this time - saved him, sliding his glass to him and placing the clear, sparkling soda in front of Malorie. He waved with one finger, dropping a tip onto the tray. He had such an appreciation for humans, they were adorably naive -- he tended to tip big with them. Such a sap, Ichy. Such a sap.
"Am I right to assume you're of an other-than-human persuasion?" Round about way of asking rather than just blurting out "Say, are you a wolf?" .. tact, tact, he was working on it. Failing, usually, but at least attempting to sound a bit more ... normal? was that even the term for it when you were not quite a normal creature to begin with? Flicking fingers against each other, he watched the smoke drift from her cigarette to the ceiling, returning his gaze to her nose.
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Post by Malorie Cohen on Sept 16, 2009 15:17:42 GMT -7
Malorie smirks a bit as the man introduces himself, "Ichabod...like the Washington Irving character?" She plays over the name once or twice in her head as she kept thinking of the old "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" she once read a child. Ever the book nerd this one, more so enough she had once married a literature man. But that was ages ago...what felt like a lifetime.
"A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky."
She shakes her head and laughs, putting her cigarette down, not wanting to bore the poor man with boring old American stories that most folks out here had never heard of outside a piss poor Johnny Depp movie. But still her attention was now on Ichabod,who seemed to have issues making eye contact, which was something she did not share with the man, her eye trying to meet with his at every slight provocation, which was...when ever he looked over at her. But not to seem antagonizing, she at least broke her gaze between sips of soda.
"Do I seem it? Nonhuman that is." Malorie hums a little, looking up over her straw and then...what? Winks? Blinks at the poor man? It was hard to tell with one eye. "By you asking, I'm certain you aren't either..." her voice had an almost melodic jaded quality to it, like she had practiced sounding this bored while managing such interest.
The female takes a long deep breath, readjusting her glasses. "To answer your question: You are correct to assume so." Malorie points at the male and then shakes her head. "Though...I wouldn't take pride in that...jumping to assumptions can be dangerous. Detrimental to one's health." of course, she doesn't sound like she's warning, or scolding, even if she was, she was smirking.
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