How long had it been since this one had arrived on Libra station? Minutes? Hours? Days? Months? Years? Bellamy didn’t know. Honestly, Bellamy didn’t care. Time was fleeting to them. A thousand years could pass in a blink of an eye, and they would never notice. The only instance that time would be noticed would be when a finger or a toe or an entire limb began to stiffen, harden, and that would start the beginning of the end. The time when Bellamy would leave the Libra, say good-bye to everything, and find a place to live out the last of the sunsets and sunrises left.
But now, they didn’t know what to do. Life on the Libra was a repetitive thing. Wake up, go to work, learn more about the job they had obtained, and return home to sleep and start it all over again. Bellamy knew there were exciting things going on around the station. There were shops and strange foods and stranger people who dealt with each other both on the strange device used for communication and in real life. Bellamy didn’t know how to get involved in those antics, nor were they sure the want was there. Bellamy really didn’t know how to interact with others. Bell knew they was strange, and others capitalized on that strangeness to torture and torment Bell. It didn’t last long, of course, because Bell didn’t react to the tormenting, and the fun was soon lost. Still, that didn’t stop the others from calling Bell stupid or other nasty names. Bellamy wasn’t sure if the job they went to every day was worth going to anymore. They really didn’t understand how the job worked or what it represented, but it was easy to learn and easy to do, and there were familiar faces now, such that it would feel strange not to see those faces every day.
But Bellamy wasn’t sure they liked being at this mechanic’s job anymore. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t exciting. It was beginning to stagnate, because it was the same thing every day. Go here, fix this, go there, fix that. Bellamy had learned how to do the job by observing, and they watched how others worked and imitated them so as not to stand out. They had seen what had happened to those that stood out.
Tonight, though, for whatever reason, Bellamy had decided to do something different. To do something strange, even for them. They had decided to go out, to explore more of the station that was their current home. They had overheard their coworkers talking about a new bar that had just opened up somewhere, and though Bellamy didn’t know what a bar was, it sounded exciting. New. Bellamy had never been to a bar before, nor had they ever partaken of alcohol to the point that their attitude and demeanor was affected. They had observed such behavior, and certainly didn’t think it was a good idea for them to get that... different. But Bell wanted to do something they had never done before, and so they had decided to find this bar and see what the insanity was about.
So Bellamy dressed as inconspicuously as they possibly could. They were already conspicuous, what with their blue-violet hair and slightly oversized, luminous, blue-green eyes. But they had learned how to tone down that oddness by picking the right clothes. So they had chosen dark jeans and sneakers, and an oversized hooded jacket that they zipped up to their throat. Still unsure, Bellamy studied their reflection in a mirror and decided it was good enough. Then, they left their small apartment and headed down into Libra, following the instructions they’d overheard to find this bar.
It took a little bit of doing - backtracking and finding the correct path - but finally, Bellamy stood outside the bar. The 9th Life. It was a lively place, with deep pounding music that Bellamy could feel in their bones, and a long line of people waiting to get inside even as people left it, either under their own power or by the strong arms of the bouncers. Bellamy watched in awe as those bar patrons cursed and railed and wailed for a while before getting up and stumbling off, evading the Libran security officers. After a moment, Bellamy finally gathered the courage to join the line, and then they were inside, where the music was louder and the press of bodies was even stronger. Somehow, Bellamy escaped the press of the crowd and floated along its peripheral for a while, studying everything with awe and uncertainty. What did one do in a place like this? A number of people were drinking strange things, smoking even stranger things, and dancing in ways that Bell was sure wasn’t meant for polite company. And, in one corner, it looked like things were starting to get heated between two men, their voices rising until they could barely be heard over the music.
Then Bellamy’s attention was caught by movement by the very back of the place, behind a large counter that took up most of the space there. There were people sitting on stools against the counter, drinks in their hands, or waiting for drinks. Girls in tight, skimpy clothing carried trays to and from that counter. The wall behind it was filled floor to ceiling with glass bottles filled with every color liquid Bellamy had ever seen, and some they hadn’t. That alone would have drawn him closer, but it was the man behind the counter that caused Bellamy to take an empty stool at the counter and focus on the man and the man alone.
It wasn’t the man’s looks, or his physical strength, that caught the Starchild’s attention, but the fact that he was shaking two oblong objects at once. And that he was throwing those objects into the air with a speed and grace unbecoming of one such as he, and catching them with a dexterity that belied his frame. Then those oblong things were opened and liquid poured out into curved glasses, the man tossing in green and yellow twisted peels of fruit to garnish the drinks before he placed them in front of customers. Bellamy watched the man make more drinks, studying how he measured each liquid, how he shook it or stirred it, how he poured it in a certain glass, jar, or cup. Bellamy watched and Bellamy learned.
And then the man realized that Bellamy was staring.
