Out on the Town

[Anonymous]

‘‘Drinkin', huh?’’

Nehemiah had been content to lounge about in his underwear for another hour or so that morning--and it was awful early to start with any alcohol; but, after having his brains bounced out of his ears and being dog-piled, he shoved his brotherly band-mates off and chased them out of the room so he could make himself presentable. By his own standards, of course. There was nothing fancy-shmancy about charcoal colored, semi-tattered skinny jeans and a shirt that looked like static on a television screen.

Not bothering to run a comb through a cropped mop of hair that shone like a White Dwarf, Nehe swung nonchalantly from his bathroom mirror and all but galloped out of the door, joining his companions in the hall. They bustled like some bachelor herd out of Synesthesia and down the street, eventually arriving at some bar that he didn't manage to observe the name of. That was alright, though. With their schedule, he didn't expect to become a regular of anything.

As soon as they entered, most of the group split up. Two of them went off to get their drinks right away, including Nehemiah. Two more were content to be snagged off by people who had been at the Synesthesia the night before; and, lastly, the lone one began his usual routine of meandering about elsewhere. He didn't like to drink much, but he did enjoy mingling.

Nehemiah himself was no heavy alcoholic; but every now and again he could make an idiot of himself. He never expected to, but it happened. Hopefully he wouldn't end up doing that today--that kind of rep could make or break a band in a new town, no matter how good their music was. Approaching the bar, he pulled his semi-gangly form onto a stool next to his company and ordered up.

‘‘Blue 'sinthe? Sweet. Thanks, man.’’ While he waited for his mug of an electric blue, bubbly beverage to roll out, he twisted around childishly on his perch, eyes full of wonder not quite deserved by a humble little bar. They shifted and panned and flickered about--up, down, left, and right. No rest for the "wicked."

[Anonymous]

Days off were hard to come by, and when she was feeling the least bit adventurous she went out, nursed a drink with some sort of alcohol in it and people watched. Kit was dressed in civilian clothing, probably one of the only Pilots that didn't prance around in normal clothing when she was on duty. A plain teal shirt and jeans with her boots.

The tattoo that went down her arm was visible, the dark grey lines obvious against her pale skin. Her fingers tapped at the bar while she looked around, her hair covering some of her face. She sensed it more than she noticed them, and she turned around and watched the people come in and tilted her head at their reception. They weren't Pilots, maybe a band?

A well known band. Kit watched as two of them were dragged off by strangers. A close eye was kept on the one that sat a few seats away from her at the bar and she pursed her lips and moved over. Curious. After pushing her hair over her shoulder she took her bottle of beer that she'd been nursing and took a seat beside his.

"Let me guess." Kit said slowly, placing her drink down with a loud clunk before her bottom followed into a chair. "You're from off planet? A special guest?" She smiled, friendly of course. Wouldn't do well to snarl and gripe at a stranger. "I'm Kit, Can I ask your name?"

Of course it'd be easy to just snag his name from his mind, snag where he was from and his friends names and if they were really a band or not, but that was rude. Kit wasn't a fan of being rude.

[Anonymous]

Having satiated his hunger for observation, Nehe turned to acknowledge his drink and pulled it into both of his hands, outfitted with long, pale fingers. Occasionally he would lift it up to his lips, chortling whenever one of the big blue bubbles decided to explode in his face. The first time he'd had blue absinthe, he'd succumbed to a sinus infection for a week because it had gotten up his nose and irritated it. Fortunately, he knew how to tilt the pointy little thing while sipping to avoid a repeat.

Hmmm? What was this?

Coincidentally enough, Nehe had been twisting around on his stool a second time when he noticed a woman getting up a few seats away--approaching. He didn't watch her the whole way, but he did acknowledge her with a little smirk. Any actual prolonged eye contact was saved for when she was seated.

While she spoke, he suckled a long few gulps of his absinthe and then set it down lightly, turning somewhat in her direction again. His friend on the other side of him was doing the same thing, but was pointed the opposite way, yammering off with some guy who'd started a conversation about hovercycles. Damn, now they'd never get out of here. That was okay, though. Nehe was enthusiastic about flying bikes, too, and would be more than happy--if he found no one more interesting to entertain--to get in on that jabber over there.

A little, amicable smile replaced his previously absent expression, offered up the entire time she was talking; and it didn't bother to ebb away when it was his turn to speak. Instead, it turned his jaw into a sort of incessantly active, grinning machine, open or closed. ‘‘Mmmhm,’’ he grunted initially, ‘‘D'nno 'bout special; but we're guests.’’

‘‘Sweet meet, Kit.’’ After greeting her in a tone that was, humorously--enthusiastically--a little higher than it had been before, he extended one of his slightly spindly hands toward her, the other gripping at his mug again. ‘‘Yeah, sure! You don't gotta ask me to ask a question,’’ he chortled, ‘‘I'm Nehemiah.’’