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[b]3:50pm, Before the Concert, at [i]Petite Ceinture[/i][/b] [url=https://youtu.be/IQ4q9VrfW2Y?si=SP0I7tRPLp4slyFJ]Tunes[/url][hr]	Paris was not the worst place to be for Vitek. He had quite enjoyed it's serene views and bustling ways, more so now that the decades had rebuilt it. It was almost inspiring, seeing how things could turn from cinder to stalwart steel. It gave him hope. Hope that he could also change, perhaps. Thus far his search for the echoing voice that had called him to come back had been near-fruitless. He could only mutter his disappointment to the tracks under his feet. The rusted steel did a fine job keeping him honest with his rebuttals. It also provided a strange respite from the crowds of tourists, usually. Three months prior the Swede had found shelter in this park. It was difficult to get into and out of without prior knowledge which fit his means very well. Considering he had spent the last few years in the Balkans, fiending and feasting on wine and gore, this was a needed change. The Cantor insisted such.

	It was there he had not faced his possible mortality of his body, but of his soul. His self-destructive ways did not seem to do what they advertised. He lingered, bitter and mean for years leaving bits and bone and empty bottles. Yet, his mind, his heart, his very soul yearned for more. Meaning, effort, perhaps even answers to the wolf that now lay within him. If he thought back to the days before, those bombs and bullets tore through his frontal lobe. A buzz or a proper drunk usually took the edge of the flashbacks. But it always seemed to end in howling and fleeing. What was he? A big man with bigger problems? Who was he to solve his very life if not a warrior? But you can't fight some things the conventual way, no matter what his pugilist ears and scars would tell you. No, he sought peace for once, answers at the very minimum. Or so thats what this Pack, the Cantor, and the fate deemed worthy of his deaf tones that hollered in the night when nothing else seemed right. The wolfman sauntered down the track, hands in winter-ready pockets, and a gaze that would terrify meeker men. He had places to be after all. 


[b]8:10pm, Before the Concert, at [i]The Dorian Jazz Lounge[/i][/b][hr]
[hider=Barstoolin'][img]https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-n7gdAGlH8/Xxy4nduMGnI/AAAAAAAAD9o/NbLqoNbZMt0Qs4nj5QJoGq1S26rCxdT9wCNcBGAsYHQ/s1600/gustafsson.jpg[/img][/hider]
	Vitek was parched. Proper thirsty, even. He nibbled at his bottom lip in annoyance at himself, at his recent addiction moreso. But to be better one must try. So in that effort he did as he had been doing for weeks now. It was a routine he had managed to curtail into a method; quietly walk in as the sun went down, sit alone, and drink something without a bite to it. This evening he was feeling ambiguous. What would he order? Some chips and a lemonade were his go to currently. Yes, that seemed like it would do just fine, and the music he heard was calming enough to keep him humored on his stool. The bartender he'd gotten to know would be prompt he knew. Jason wasn't one to let things slip from his mind he had figured out. He raised two fingers as he saw him past, and gave him a brief nod. 

"Chips, and tall lemonade, If I may this evening."

[quote=@Aurkanthis] 
"You got it," Jason said. He set the coffee pot down, took a slight sip to test the temperature. Still too hot.

He took a few steps down and knelt to open the refrigerator. He pulled the pitcher and poured his own preferred recipe.; a reminder of home. The scent of citrus helped him to stay alert. Jason glanced to his mug down the way as he poured the bright yellow liquid over the ice. He was looking forward to enjoy it's flavor, but more so the promise of lifting this fog.

Jason put the pitcher away and strode over the rest of the length, snatching a bag of the big man's snack of choice off of the counter. He placed them in front of his patron.

"Anything else you need at the moment?" Jason asked, glad to not have to blunder through in French again. 

While the man clearly wasn't from the same place as Jason, it was genuinely enjoyable to be able to speak plainly on regular basis. Even just for work. It made the job he already didn't mind even more enjoyable at times. [/quote]

"This shall do nicely." Vitek nodded once more this time in respect of service well done. The aroma of fresh fruit hit his canine-infused nostrils very nicely. It was a zest that would make words flow easier he imagined.

Before he reached out he spoke again, noticing the bustle of night had yet to enter the door. "Perhaps, you might tell of what this city has for us. Yes, the bartop is din vän, but what else has your attention." Vitek took a swift but subtle swig of his fresh beverage, clasping his pallete with a smack as he did so. He was more talkative as of late. Something that gave him anxiety.

Another swig, and a brief look into his patron's hazel eyes. It was a glare that started off nearly aggressive, but lessened as Vitek enjoyed his drink more. He would need another glass eventually.

[quote=@Aurkanthis]
Jason's brow furrowed. He straightened it immediately. This guy was something else. He felt like he was in some kind of movie, or, something...

He shook away the thought.

"Well, uh, yeah... a glass would be nice, but um... besides this I uh..." Jason's posture relaxed, and he leaned on the counter slightly. "I'll be honest, man... I pretty much just research, write, sleep, and try to eat and drink with some kind of frequency."

He sighed. Then, Jason eyed his mug again before looking back to big guy.

"Besides," he added. "I don't know if you've noticed, but... I'm not exactly from around here. I haven't really lived here long, and this isn't a language I'm especially good at."

He raised a finger to indicate he'd just be a second, and took a few longer strides to grab his mug and return. He set it down near by and returned to leaning slightly on the bar, watching the current musician play as he listened for his guest to reply.
[/quote]

"Good, good, one must take care of them self." He sat down the half lemonade, and remarked in turn as he did so.

 [b][b]"Du van helt..."[/b][/b] He began in his native tongue before social ques came back to him, perhaps the language of the city was more appropriate. [i]"tu peux simplement être différent."[/i] 

The words were slower and somber. The chips were slightly salted and crisp in contrast as his large frame settled into the stool and elbows perched on the bartop for proper mauling of his meal. Vitek gave Jason a slight grin with debris on his lips, a sign of enjoyment and respite. His inner beast was amiable at the moment. The Cantor would be proud. The barback Jason was nothing if approachable, so Vitek expected little more from the conversation least both their curiosities peaked later on.