The man next to Toki was distinctively weird. Was he carving the bar?! The girl felt compelled to tell him off but before she got the words out another man strolled in and sat between them. The brief glance she threw him revealed he’s nothing special yet somehow she had a bad feeling about him. Which was probably why she ignored his greeting and only met his eyes when he actually addressed her. To ask to
swap seats. It was a poor choice of words. Of
course she didn’t mind. Who would mind something this trivial?
But today was different. So instead of being outright rude she used the fact that Roanne spoke to her then and ignored Jasper a second time. Her smile was instant when the woman was addressed. “Hey Roanne, long time no see. I have no idea what a Cheribita is but I’ll trust you on--” and then Lazarus spoke and he drew a lot of wide-eyed looks, including her own. She couldn’t stop staring for a moment after he had finished and then slowly returned her gaze to Roanne and tried to get her smile back too. “Err.. can I have an orange juice with that too, please?”
This, of course, was why Jasper didn't prefer to meet up with Roanne’s little friends. Whether or not Toki was a part of the choir the guardian found herself apart of, Roanne had a habit of making friends like herself--angels who stood among humanity as much as for it, lived with and as them as much as not. It was very sweet but more importantly very
young of them, and quite frankly Jasper found it tiring. For a creature as admittedly persnickety as himself, modern culture often clashed sharply. If he hadn't expected to be
sir’d or for Tokarin to jump to attention, he also hadn't expected to be simply ignored.
He closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. All would be well.
By the time Lazarus had finished his own nit-picking, which was certain to go over brilliantly during the late lunch rush among a healthy diner crowd, Jasper folded his hands to the wooden counter and did his best to ignore the itch to tell said mage to stop casually mucking with the essence of things. Perhaps he really
did need to eat something--for him, this was almost cranky.
“A Cheribita is a drink of sherry and bitters, traditionally. Fortifying.” He offered, chuckling a bit in the silence after the man’s statement. “And if I’m not ‘cool’ enough to be introduced to your friends, Roanne, you can just say so.” He added to the angel at work, amused while he propped up his chin with a wrist.
“It’s cause you’re old. Although I don’t think I qualify as a friend either so don’t feel too bad.” Looking at the picture beneath the bar’s surface he casually swiped his hand across it and stitched the essence back to the way it was when he’d found it. Maybe he could recreated it in oil later but given that the scene had largely been a form of fidgeting he doubted it would stick around long enough to make it to canvas.
Turning to look at Toki he stopped and did a double take. Flicking his essence sight like a set of glasses. Strange. He could almost swear that he’d seen that somewhere before. Folding his legs up onto the chair he continued to peer at her for a rather long moment.
Why do I recognize you? Finally he couldn’t help the curiosity. “What is your name?”
This time Toki acknowledged Jasper with a polite nod and a “thank you, Jasper” but again her attention was snatched by Lazarus when
he decided to invade her privacy as well. Why couldn’t she just talk to Raonne in peace? She had so many things she wanted to tell her! Ha. Maybe if they didn’t respect her privacy, she shouldn’t respect theirs either. Just you watch.
Sucking in a deep breath, the young angel decided to keep calm and remember her manners. Just because she had a bad couple of days didn’t mean she should make it everyone else’s problem.
”Don’t act like a brat and they might stop treating you like one.” “My name is Tokarin. And yours? And why do you talk to yourself and…. Do that thing to the bar?”
“Doctor Thomas Finch, And I do lots of things because the world fascinates me and when you tug at the strings the whole thing unravels and you get to see the interesting parts. That being said I appreciate beauty in every way shape and form. This.” He gestured at the top of the bar. “Is beauty. Well at least it was but then again I suspect that is the true nature of beauty now isn’t it: To forever be fleeting. That and it's not distasteful like using something so savage as a knife. As for talking to myself quite frankly I’m one of the smartest people I know, but that could just be arrogance. Actually it is arrogance. This is what happens when I don’t have people to keep me in check.” Chuckling, Lazarus smiled down the bar at her. “Sorry, That didn’t answer the question did it? I talk to myself because I’m sort of unhinged. Minorly. Its therapeutic. Sort of.” He trailed off considering the implications of the comment. Raising his eyebrow at Roanne he frowned in a manner that seemed to indicate he wasn’t actually frowning at her.
Man, Roanne just couldn't keep up with the whole spiel! Lazarus had lost her at 'cute,' some circuit or other in her tired brain frying as soon as she realized what sort of customer she was dealing with. This finicky type, which seemed to think she was a cocktail waitress in a spy movie and not a lead bodied, mediocre wage paid stand-in for a barkeep, normally would have won a sharp retort and a glare. The fact that he was vandalizing ol' Darlyn's dining room would have gotten him tossed out as well, but really, she'd just killed a demon the other day and what drunk was going to notice the uneven surface now?
“Yeah, whatever. One Dark and Stormy coming right up!” Roanne turned, lazily poking a finger at the shelf lined with booze to pick out a small keg of ginger beer and a bottle of dark rum. Both went into a mixing tin, which she eyeballed for proportions rather than using measuring cups. After a scoop of ice from the machine under the countertop, she closed up the mixer and faced her patrons again as she shook it over her left shoulder.
“Is it just me, or is there a cloud hanging over my angels today?” Roanne winked at Toki, taking note of the orange juice and mentally shuffling it into her to-do list. Which she would get to someday. “Once you've got some heat in your veins again, you'll feel much better, promise! It'd be a travesty for you to leave here feeling the blues. I’ll get to that orange juice eventually.”
Roanne bent suddenly, retrieving a chilled glass from another hidden cooler meant for just such a purpose. The booze poured smoothly into the stout little bar glass, with a twist of the wrist at the end to keep the mixer from dripping. Without even glancing at Lazarus, she slid the glass his way before emptying the mixer in a sink on the opposite side from the serving counter and rinsing the tin out.
Next cocktail, what was it she'd said again? Right! Cheribita, fortifying. She plucked an olive-colored bottle of dry sherry from among the booze, then a much smaller, practically glowing bottle of orange bitters. This time she didn't even bother with the mixer, dumping in ice and pouring the liquids over it to hear the slight crackle and pop within the chilled bar glass. Against all health code standards (because really, who cared among friends?), she dipped in her finger to give it a few swills before passing it over to the petite angel and licking her finger.
Finally down to her last patron, she bent slightly, brushing the backs of her fingers against the tender inside of Jasper's wrist exposed by resting his head on his hand. “You heard Mr. Dark and Gloomy over there, right? Chin up, pip pip! You've got a new patient and the day is barely half done. Lay your best booze on me—that you actually have some taste for.”
Looking at the Dark and Stormy Thomas tilted his head. Distinctly not a Hunter’s Cocktail but it was alcohol; it would suffice. Patting his pockets Lazarus withdrew the notebook in his left pocket and set it on the bar top in the midst of his other things. Plucking the pencil from his left breast pocket he stuck the sharpened point between his lips and slid it smoothly out removing the burrs on the tip of it. Flipping to the next blank page he went to work filling the blank lines neatly. The script was a safe version of Sathanian although it's strange arcs and sharp curves had always reminded him of arabic. Shay’s work last night had been an interesting sight for sure as it was another glaring difference between the master and the student’s talents.
Running his thumb along the outside of the glass he swirled the liquid with his will, C6H2O or more simply Ethanol. C12H22O11, Sucrose; traces of a few other things.
Molasses based then. Sodium, Calcium, Magnesium, etc. Standard dark Rum by the feel of it nothing too complicated to manipulate. Ginger beer; equally complex if not more so in comparison to the rum. Various organics, pretty standard stuff for an alcoholic beverage.
Easy enough fix dipping his finger in the drink he swirled it twice before checking for the amber coloration that indicated the difference in the drink he wanted. Thank goodness he’d had no need for citric acid; the lemon never did taste right when it was converted from something that wasn’t an acid to begin with.
Now where do I put it?Flexing his left hand Lazarus peered around the bar for a moment. There was no obvious energy sink; that was until his eye alighted on the silk pouch on the bar top. Carefully feeding the leftover energy from the conversion into the ring Lazarus picked up the drink and sipped at it. It wasn’t perfect but then it never was; still it was better than drinking rum. Sipping from the highball he continued working on the observations from the previous evening as the waitress served the other two at the bar. The uncomfortable desire to peer at all three of them with his Sight was starting to get on his nerves; he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the younger one.
Jasper, meanwhile, was busy being amused by Roanne’s question.
That he had taste for, indeed. He’d been a connoisseur long before this city had existed.
“I don’t think you’ll have my preferred vintage in stock, and I shouldn’t drink before returning to work.” Jasper pointed out idly, eyeing the selection with casual skepticism. It was rare that he drank at all these days, really, but he’d come to appreciate Roanne’s bad influence on him. As she would no doubt argue life was meant to be lived, and what was the point of keeping a stream clean if one never dipped a toe in the water? Finally, as much to avoid ruining her full run of her clients as anything else, he acquiesced.
“Vodka, then, whatever you recommend. Neat and chilled, if you would.” He spoke up, the slight sing-song of his accent breaking up the syllables a bit more than might be. Even ordering and definite his voice was softer and quieter than most, leaning back slightly to avoid being caught in the conversational crossfire. That a good therapist might be in order for dear Dr. Finch did cross his mind, but it was a thought he kept to himself as he allowed the pair to converse.
Which would, of course, have been easier for the both of them had simply switched seats with him. Not that he cared enough to remind her, of course. That would be petty.
Toki tasted her drink and almost recoiled at the taste. “It’s alcoholic?” Somehow the words spoken by Jasper had gone over her head and she just not understood what he’d meant. Taking another sip, this time more carefully, she leaned on the bar with a sigh but in truth, even just being here already made things better. Roanne often felt like the only friend she had on earth.
Even if she didn’t see the woman that often, she had been one of the first people to help her settle down in Loom – she explained things like money and grocery shops and bills, and she took her shopping for clothes because, believe you me, Heavenly fashion really stood out. Toki had grown up around angels, including the last remaining Archangel, Lathiel, but Roanne was different. Wiser, somehow. And the way she cared about humans was truly striking. Secretly, Toki really admired her friend and wanted to be more like her – a real hero, not a mock one.
“I suppose I need it.” She concluded, taking another cautious sip. “I started remembering some past life and it’s actually much less fun than people make it out to be. Have you ever had any flashbacks?” She asked Roanne but glanced at Jasper as well, wondering if he’d join on or pretend not to hear.
Roanne couldn’t help but laugh at Toki’s antics--she herself was a fan of the alcoholic burn, how it loosened up her muscles that always found a way to be tense. The poor angel always had Roanne worried about who would take advantage of her goodness--it wasn’t a question of if, always when. With things on the streets getting worse, she was tempted to broach the topic of having Toki move in with her, but something always stopped her. Roanne was far from a model angel, was almost never at home, and… well, Toki happened to be sitting next someone far more organized and better at keeping a body safe at home than she was.
“Yeah, I’ve had flashbacks.” Roanne turned from the counter to fetch some vodka, and, quite contrary to Jasper’s simple request, began to pour it into the mixing tin with some ice and dry vermouth. Shaking the mix over her left shoulder again, her face turned thoughtful as she wandered back over to her patrons. “It’s disorienting, always comes without warning, you know? You’re standing on a street and seeing what it used to be, but it’s not that anymore. Or you wake up and are confused about where you are because you remember falling asleep in a much different place. The weirdest thing, though, is meeting angels who knew you in a previous life. That gets awkward.”
Toki laughed dryly. “Yeah, because there’s history. And they might remember more than you do, or nothing at all, and you still end up fucking missing them.” She glared at the wall behind Roanne’s left wing. “ ‘Wiser’ my ass. It’s just gutting, pathetic, weird and unnecessary.” She concluded with a sip of the Cheribita. She felt somewhat sorry for the men next to her as they hadn’t asked to be involved in her troubles but it was liberating to finally be able to vent her frustration to someone who understood. Anyway, she had saved them most of the details so surely they’d get over it.
Pausing in his note taking Lazarus shook his head. “It sounds to me like you are having a tough time. The fact that you recognize that you are having a tough time seems pretty wise to me. Not everyone is lucky enough to realize that; sometimes you go whole life times and never realize it.” Closing his book Lazarus tilted his head and took another drink of his frankenstein's monster of a drink. Putting the drink in front of him Lazarus contemplated it for a long moment. “I used to work for Loom’s government. This was-..A very long time ago. The whole point of this is that lucky for you we don’t have half the problems we use to. Sure we have a few more now but thankfully we have people like your friend.” He gestured at Roanne, “Surface Angels haven’t always been welcome and we changed that. Now I can sit here and offer my less than sage commentary on your daily life, awkwardly in front of another individual, who judging by his lack of inclusion by our waitress knows rather little about your life either. Possibly at the expense of having my food spat in but what’s life without a little danger and unknown.”
Turning his attention to Roanne he tilted his head at her. “What did I say? I get the distinct impression that I pissed you off and am continuing to do so. No reason for me to stop so I might as well push forward. Conceivably the worst thing you could do to me is kill me but it won’t stick. So don’t worry.” Folding his fingers carefully on top of his notebook; Lazarus turned his calm and flat eyes on the waitress. “Well, don’t keep me waiting and don’t spare me the gory details. I can take it.”
Roanne’s gaze had softened at Toki--she’d stopped shaking the cocktail without even realizing it. There was no filter to Roanne’s emotions, the repressed pain, both from within and from knowing her friend suffered from the same symptoms acutely, was clear by the tension in her jaw and her brow. Toki didn’t have to explain: Roanne knew acutely the feeling of loneliness, of knowing there was not just some
thing but some
one she’d cared about that an ancient, mysterious part of herself longed for and could never obtain again. Deep down, she knew there was a part of them that would never be at home, not in Heaven or the mortal realm, because they were the product of broken worlds. Caught between times, between fragments of souls, between a society at war with itself, it was likely they would never find peace. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d sat at a bar, looking like Toki and talking like Toki until she lost herself in booze and men and violence.
Jasper must have been the next thing on her mind because she found her eyes pulled to the gravity of his gaze. He was watching her with the usual placid expression, interested and yet detached by the languid curve of his brow. Maybe it was the frame of her distressed mind, but she could have sworn there was something softer, a dove-like twitch in his smile reserved just for her.
I’ve seen that face before, his palliative blues said.
But I’m here. You’re safe. Relax.She blinked when she realized To-The-Nines was addressing her, his voice breaking through her reverie like bubbles popping on the surface of a flat cola. Distinct impression, yada yada, kill me, yada yada… gory details? What was she explaining, again?
Roanne sighed, shrugging her shoulders as she yanked another chilled glass from the cooler and poured out Jasper’s martini. She didn’t even glance directly at To-The-Nines, barely turning her head towards him. “Honey, I don’t know what angels you work with, but you’ve got a few things backwards. If I was crazy enough to stab someone every time they pissed me off, you’d look like swiss cheese. But you’re a well-and-whole lump of camembert, so try to lay off on crazy implications.”
The guardian then leaned over the countertop, spreading her palms over the wood with her arms stretched apart as she looked to Toki. “Anyways, don’t take the whole flashback thing too hard, mkay? Some things are worth remembering. Try to think of it as knowing you’re never really alone.”
Toki smiled at Lazarus’ words, her smile somehow lighter, easier, real. When Roanne compared him to cheese she couldn’t help but laugh – both at the image and the woman’s bluntness. It was so refreshing to hear someone speak their honest thoughts, even if they were so rude. She enjoyed the woman’s company exactly because it was liberating. You didn’t have to think about power or status or how they see you when talking to her. You could use offensive words and it was okay.
When the woman leaned over and gave her courage, Toki smiled brightly at her and nodded. “I understand. I’ll do that. Thank you, Roanne. And thank you for this as well.” She eyed the glass. “I hate the taste but it seems to work well as intended.” Then she looked past Jasper and over to Lazarus. “Don’t worry, Roanne would never actually stab you. Spit in your food… I don’t know, but I wouldn’t challenge her.” She laughed.
It was good that Roanne had finished Jasper’s drink, the click of the cold glass on the counter a tiny but pointed interrupt to the thoughts stirred up by the conversation. While he’d only been tacitly invited into the conversation by a sidelong glance and hadn’t wanted to muddy the angels with his own perspective, it had been hard as they spoke not to sigh. Though in many ways he lived the opposite of their struggle--losing nothing, remembering
everything--he empathized so clearly that it was difficult not to be affected. How many times had he watched a friend, an ally, a colleague die only to return in amnesiac silence as a different person in a different life? Had he watched them age and wither, never remembering the majesty of who and what they were or reclaiming what they had?
But the moment passed in laughter, as it should. Roanne to the rescue, her casual humor and demeanor so much more helpful to this new generation of angels than soft words and platitudes. Curling his thin fingers around the glass, he allowed the melancholy to pass without returning to it and smiled to take a sip of the drink.
A bit heavy on the vermouth, but pleasantly smooth and very nearly flavorless. It would do nicely.
“Please.” Jasper added with a quiet laugh and an enjoyable alcoholic exhale, the glass raising to the angelic bartender in praise. “The last time someone spat in one of her burgers he very nearly
was stabbed--there are few things in this world Roanne considers sacred, but her hamburgers are one of them.” After another sip of his martini, he turned to Tokarin and opened his mouth to say something--
And was, again, interrupted by his goddamn cellphone! This time accompanied by the mechanical tone of the doors swinging open as Alba made his gargantuan way into the restaurant. Big like a prizefighter, muscle showing clearly even through the well-tailored black suit he wore, he moved carefully between the booths to Jasper and proffered the black phone even as the angel sighed in irritation and stood. His wings drawing up so as not to be stepped on, he accepted the phone and swiped in with the same motion and a look of apology to the others, the blonde demon turning without so much as acknowledging the assembled crowd to make his way for the door.
“Is this critical?” The angel was saying, his voice weary but patient as he listened to the reply on the phone--and stopped in his tracks, one bare foot paused just before it touched the floor. All at once there was a focus about him, a sharpening as he bore down on something that apparently legitimately required his attention.
“I’m on my way. Halt the bleeding immediately, allow him to feed if necessary. Assign Barbas and Balberith to the human cells, Paladin Protocol. I will not have them devoured.” The normal folk of the restaurant seemed oblivious to the conversation, continuing their meals in peace--better that they don’t trouble themselves with such things. “Activate the wards on the lower levels, Malfas and Rahab on the doorways, Paladin Protocol. This stays contained. I’ll be there in ten.”
The phone swiped shut and Jasper closed his eyes for a moment, mind racing even as Alba moved to the door and silently held it open for him. The question, of course, was how--there was not, he knew, a loophole in the programming, not a matter of arrogance but simple fact. How, then, had--
“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve matters I must attend to.” He said without looking, draining the remainder of his martini in a single smooth swallow before placing the glass neatly back to the bar. “Dr. Finch, Tokarin, a pleasure to meet you. Roanne, thank you as always. Please put the drink on my tab.”
He was already walking to the door.
