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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 8, 2012 11:37:46 GMT -5
The music pounded in Rachael's ears, vibrating her entire being. The lights flashed all different colors making it hard to focus her eyes on the people on the dance floor. Their bodies moved in ways almost too sensual for being alone. They were so caught up in there own little world that she'd been watching them for over an hour and they had yet to notice. What Rachael wouldn't give to be on the other side of the bar. Then there were the yuppies. Rich folks of all ages trying so hard to do what some of the students were doing. Granted it was the yuppies' usually place, but every so often a few college students made their way in and turned this bar around. There were older women desperately trying to keep up with some of the 'less dressed' ladies. Then there were the husbands who stalked the younger girls in hopes of trading up.
Definitely a long night, she thought while cleaning out of the martini glasses.
Once the song ended, Rachael realized she hadn't managed to serve one drink since it started. Her co worker James seemed to have a pretty good handle on the situation when she turned to look at him. There were glasses and shakers flying through the air as he made quick work of filling orders. She hated his flashy moves he used to wrangle in tips. All the rich assholes would 'oh' and 'ah' at his little show to fuel his ego. She relied on the quality of her drinks. No fancy showmanship required. Well, she also pulled in tips from flirting a bit with the customers. Normally she hated talking to people, but she quickly learned to use her looks in her favor and act like she was interested in them. Money was money and she'd earn it anyway she could. Rachael finally got her ass in gear and began working alongside James.
James was standing tall behind the bar, screaming orders for a pair of drunk wealthy women when Rchael caught a movement to her left. Glancing over she realized that this older man was completely drunk and bluntly checking her out. He was perched on a bar stool and looked pretty comfortable. Rachael had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, watching the two batenders do their thing. Rachael waltzed over to him and rested her forearms on the bar so she could lean closer to the stranger's face. "What can I get for you?" The man cocked his head to the side and smiled at her, "How about a 'Quicky'?" Rachael forced herself not to roll her eyes right then and there. Still, this guy looked loaded, and if she had to play along for the tip, she would. With a forced smile, Rachael appeared to consider it before responding back with, "I don't know. That seems dissatisfying. Let's go for a 'One Night Stand'."
"No, I think I'd prefer 'A Southern Screw', followed by an 'Orgasm'." She had to hold back the vile threatening to make it's way up. The drunk stranger moved closer, his smirking lips hovering near hers. She expected him to kiss her but he didn't. Before he realized it, Rachael was spinning away and walking over to the liquor. She greeted a couple of customers while her movements were smooth when she mixed and served their drinks. As the bar area began to pick up for the night; Rachael left James to tend to a couple of beers before mixing and delivering a drink to the older man. "A Goodnight Special," she said as she placed it in front of him. Just as the glass hit the hard surface beneath it she placed a bottle of water next to it. The stranger's eyebrows shot up in surprise and she just grinned before walking away. The man clearly needed to be drinking some water if he was going to make it through the night. The slower it took for him to leave, the more money she could squeeze out of him. Rachael made her way towards the next patron, happy to escape the man for just a bit.
NOTES: Anyone game to play with Rachael? 
TAGGED: Open
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 19, 2012 18:35:43 GMT -5
 Altair didn't know what it meant to be truly rich. Even as a child, she and her family didn't have mountains of money. It was a comfortable life, though, back when she could be coddled by her parents. Before everything went bad, and the fighting began, and Ro got in trouble and here she was in a crappy downtown apartment she'd been living in for three years now. Of course, despite the fact she and her sister were living in dire straits, her spending habits never changed. The most self-sacrificial thing she had done for the two of them and their financial situation had been to give up her Ducati in exchange for a Dodge sedan. And while she did enjoy wearing the clothes Rowena made, she still loved to spend money just to spend it. Nowadays, it seemed more okay. She was making quite a bit of money with her modelling contract, but not enough that she could move on up from her shoddy apartment.
It was enough, however, to go out to Blackjack. She'd always been curious about the bar, as it was reserved for the rich and affluent in Maple Hollow. She usually stuck to Corrosion, whose name suited it -- it was like an explosion of everything grungy and disgusting. But it suited her needs. Today, however, she had dressed herself up in a tight glittering dress, sheer pantyhose underneath. Despite her reputation as a whore, she never wore anything too revealing or skimpy. She had class, and she respected fashion too much to wear halter tops. They may have been the ugliest piece of clothes. Of course, she had strong opinions. She'd brushed her hair up into a bun, loose tendrils around her face, putting her makeup on before sliding her feet into stilettos.
The bar was a new scene for her, that was for sure. She wasn't even a college student yet, let alone one of the adults who came her to talk about whatever they did. She was nineteen, the legal age for drinking in BC, but she and her sisters started out in the Academy in the tenth grade. Now she was the twelfth grade Fire leader, and she was damn proud of how far she came. But this was different, people didn't care about what went on in the Academy in the actual city. Most of the people here had already graduated, moved on from the tight alliances and the war and the tensions. But she walked with confidence, clasp gripped in her hand full of money that would be better spent going toward food for the apartment. Altair believed it didn't matter -- the Academy certainly had better food than either of them could make. She recalled Rowena burning chicken nuggets before.
Making her way to the bar, she had aimed to sit a little far off from company before she caught wind of the conversation between the barmaid and a patron. She slid into her seat, lifting an eyebrow as the bartender came over. She was strikingly beautiful, with dark hair and narrow features. "How much did he have?" she said wryly. She had to deal with scummy men many times before as an ex-sex worker, and it was almost amusing when men thought they could hit on a barmaid and end up going home with her. "I'll have a gin and tonic." She was starting off strong, no beer before liquor. When Altair drank, she went hard or went home. And she wasn't really planning to get home early tonight.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 20, 2012 1:46:21 GMT -5
Well God damn if Rachael’s night hadn’t turned around. Now sitting in Rachael’s corner of the bar, all by herself, was a young blonde girl done up in all the right ways. A Yuppie, she was not. Though clearly put together as if she was part of the usual group at Blackjack, none of the others here had the sort of aura this girl put out. ’Shit her hair is as blonde as can be, Rachael thought as she walked over. A very pleasant strike one against Rachael on her end. She stopped in front of the new girl and leaned one arm against the bar. Everything about the girl just looked soft to Rachael. Her hair, her skin, her damn facial features even. Although Rachael’s stares were not as blatant as the man’s she previously served, they lasted a bit longer than what her boss would deem professional. As the blonde bombshell spoke for the first time, it was anything but soft. Girl had confidence that was for damn sure. ’Huh, interesting,’ she thought, tilting her head bit as though she thinking of far more complex issues.
With a click of her tongue and slight shake of disapproval Rachael answered back as dryly as the young girl before her. ”He might as well just buy out the bottle. Not like he can’t afford it,” her last comment sounded a bit more bitter than she intended. The drunk wasn’t paying attention to what Rachael was saying anyway. Out of the corner of her eye she clearly saw that he was much more concerned with visually focusing on the bartender. She usually tried to keep her honest opinion to herself, but her current company didn’t seem like she would be offended by it one bit. The girl and the older man were from completely different worlds. At least Rachael hoped so. "Alright," From behind the counter Rachael pulled a glass out of thin air and set to work getting her ingredients ready to go. She usually didn’t prep or mix such an easy drink in front of a customer, but it beat seeing James’s ridiculous routine or being drawn back in by Old Man River. Rachael typically saved her showmanship for complicated drinks or shots that were meant to entertain the dimwitted playboy yuppies and all the daddies’ girls out on their father’s dime.
”I would ask to see your ID if I didn’t already know you got carded on the way in. You seem a bit younger than the typical demographic we serve here,” Rachael carefully squeezed a lime wedge in to a highball glass with a few ice cubes littering the bottom. ”Not that I’m complaining,” she offered without looking back up; the corner of her mouth turning up a bit into a grin. It was the closest thing to a ‘genuine’ smile Rachael could ever give. Again, she was breaking the rules by not filling the glass with ice, allowing for more drink to actually fill the glass. For some reason she was in a generous mood tonight. Maybe it was the fact that she had just come off the tail end of serving that ballsy older man, or the fact that this girl didn’t seem to fit the terrible mold of her usual customer at Blackjack. Her employer constantly reminded her to use the correct form of glassware, just to push his anal tendencies of standard and perfection. Everything down to the fucking glasses had to be high end for these people. Damn fascist. She then rubbed the lime along the rim of the glass edge. It was important to get some juice in there - the lime isn't just a garnish, it binds the flavors together. So many bartenders seemed to butcher such an easy drink with crap ingredients and poor process.
Rachael left her customer for a moment, leaving the glass in front of her patron, as she waltzed over towards the liquor collection. What sort of gin was she going to use? The secret to the gin is the choice of botanicals. All gins have juniper as a flavor base in their distillation, which is what provides those foresty scents. But most use additional flavorings of citrus and spices. Bombay Sapphire had a reputation on its use of 10 botanicals, giving the gin a lemon peel to cubeb berries and even pepper kick to it. The mix made Sapphire’s taste profile spicier than most — though Racheal was a firm believer that it's the balance of flavors, not the number of them, that is key to a gin's appeal. Rachael’s hand lingered over the Bombay bottle a few moments before finally decided she would use the Tanqueray. It was more expensive and worth every penny of it. She wouldn’t charge extra though this time. Rachael was just going to let James wonder where the bottle had run off too for the night. Before making her way back, Rachael punched in a few things on a computer screen and began a new tab for her new customer.
Waiting for her back towards the corner of the bar counter was her customer and fully prepped glass. Rachael made clean work of the pour before setting the bottle down on the counter. She wanted to give the gin a chance to cool before adding the tonic, so she made better use of her time. It was time to figure out a little more about little miss blondie. ”So what brings you to Blackjack tonight, Miss-?” She let the sentence hang hoping to get some sort of name from the girl. It was obvious that Rachael was older, but policy was a bitch and proper addresses were in order when greeting a new patron for the first time. As she listened to the girl, Rachael topped off the drink with tonic water, slowly letting the liquid sink in so that it mixed with the gin. Grabbing a clean straw from behind the bar, the girl gently stirred the drink before sliding it closer to the blonde. ”Or should I be asking who?”
NOTES: Gin and Tonic! Do you know how British that is of you? lol
TAGGED: Altair
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 20, 2012 21:16:36 GMT -5
Altair had a person pinned down from the moment she laid eyes on them. It was her ocular assessment, as she so called it. Of course, she didn't believe that she could necessarily pin down a bartender, or anyone working for that matter. They worked in customer service, which meant they had to be nice all the time. While she made sure to always be polite, she didn't know if she could survive working like this bartender.
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and lifted an eyebrow at the dark haired woman. She looked rather young, shorter than Altair. Most people were shorter than her, however, being five-foot-ten. "Not like you would allow it. Hope he enjoys water." She smirked a little, noting the woman's bitter tone. She could sympathize, working with drunk bastards had no fun. Though she hadn't actually been in customer service, she had to set down ground rules many times. People believed that since you were a sex worker, you were immediately an object that could be disrespected. People believed they could do what they wanted with you. Unfortunately for them, Altair showed them that she could not be taken advantage of should they try.
She watched as the bartender prepared her drink, resting her forearms on the counter. The Fire leader didn't feel far out of place, she was a chameleon in every situation. She might not have lived in mansion country, but she could pretend if she wanted. She was not ashamed of her situation, however. The bartender spoke of being carded, and Altair snorted. She expected it whenever she went drinking now. Even though quite a few kids could sneak into Corrosion, she had still been asked for ID on several occasions. "Lotion works wonders, I'm actually seventy-two," she said. Then, with a little more seriousness, she said, "It's usually not my scene. But a change of venue can be good sometimes." Like the bartender, she wasn't overly fond of smiling. She wasn't the smiling sort, or really the overly friendly sort. Sometimes she had to be as a leader. If she wasn't good to her element, then she'd most likely be dealing with a coup. Though now it was nearing the end of the year, she would have to forfeit her position to someone younger soon. She didn't like the idea of it, but she also liked the idea of going to college. Before she had been on the fence and the only reason she would go was for Syria's desire to keep the sisters together, but now it was for her own benefit.
Despite all her violence and her piss poor attitude, she could be friendly. Well, friendly may not have been the best word to describe it. Sociable, more like. She knew how to speak to people and keep conversations going. It was a skill she picked up early, years ago, and it really did help her in the lines of work that she shouldn't have found herself in at that age. She knew ways to make her seem more mature, but nowadays she didn't really need that. Nineteen, and she didn't have to pretend she was something she was not. Or rather, an age she was not. Just to get by -- sex work did not pay so well, but she believed she was the best at it. She wielded her body like an artist wielded a paintbrush, like a writer wielded a pen. It was her tool.
She knew very little about what actually went into mixing drinks, how they were made, all of that. All she knew was that she drank it and that was that. The girl was definitely a heavy weight, and could handle anything the bartender gave her. So she didn't realize that there was anything suspicious about what Rachael was giving her. Instead of smiling as maybe a polite patron would, she lifted an eyebrow and said, "Altair. Can I ask your name, or do I have to call you barkeep?" There was humor in her eyes, despite the whole not-smiling issue. She could definitely try her hand at flirting, because that's what it was all about, right? One of her default settings was flirt, as it were. "I really just wanted to see how it is in here," she admitted. Once upon a time she might have been bitchy enough to just say the booze and be left alone. But if she was having such a bad night, she wouldn't come out in public. "As for who, I came alone. And I have to say if I'm bringing anyone home tonight it's going to be cab driver. I don't fancy the suits." And tittering socialites with their appletinis. In another life, Altair might have been one of them. If she hadn't taken her fall, had that surgery, became addicted to the medication that she only tried to get off of when her sister overdosed. Even though she wouldn't mind flirting, striking up conversation, she wasn't going to be a sleazebag that was going to tell the bartender that she would be going home with her. That was laughable.
She took her first sip through the straw, keeping a straight face even though she always hated the first taste of alcohol, the burning in her mouth. "I suppose you wouldn't have judged me if I ordered a jagerbomb? Thought gin and tonic might be more sophisticated." Hell, she was the girl who drank tequila straight from the bottle. Which wasn't the best idea, especially when the cops crashed that party. She remembered the Leo kid trying to help her, and of course she wasn't too fond of that. Well, it was one of the only things she remembered.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 21, 2012 3:01:09 GMT -5
”Barkeep? What is this, the 1920’s? Wait, you are seventy-two. I guess that makes sense,” she replied. Back in the day, most bartenders or ‘barkeeps’ were also the bar owners. God, Rachael wished that was her case. The bar allowed them back in the day a central location to watch their investment, while controlling the liquid assets. Since they had a vested interest in the success of their business they took control of the room. Barkeeps earned respect by entertaining one minute and then subduing a rampaging drunk the next. Now in modern times most of the traditional roles of the bartender are long gone. Security now handled most of the disorderly issues (which Rachael was more than happy to stand out of the way), managers take care of employee’s and guests needs. Any good bar, like Blackjack, had a bar back to handle stocking and the other assorted mundane tasks that bartenders previously handled. The electronic liquor control system even protects the liquid assets. So, Rachael was left to mix drinks and talk to people, plain and simple. ”You could at least dress it up and call me a mixologist. Though I would probably still preferred to be called Rachael.” She was secretly glad to hear that Altair wasn’t here for someone. Somehow it would have been disappointing if she was really just like the rest of the ‘suits’ here.
”RAY!” Rachael’s eyes closed for the briefest of moments as she cringed at the name. Her jaw had even slightly jutted out to the left in annoyance, something she barely noticed she did, before snapping her teeth shut again. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Only James was stupid enough to not understand what “No nicknames’ meant. And worst off, Ray sounded so boyish. ”Excuse me,” she said before leaving off towards James. ”I’ve got a new order of 12 for table 2C, mind helping me bang this one out Ray?” There was no time for correcting the daft man at this point. The ticket asked for all the usually sort of drinks; Sex on the Beach, Cosmos, Screwdrivers. Probably a table full of girls still stuck in their Sex and the City days. “I’ll start on the Screwdrivers,” they were the easiest of the orders and Rachael would get them covered faster than James could start on all the different Cosmos that were ordered. She got into a decent flow and picked up James’s slack. Rachael loaded up the last of her drinks onto the tray and watched a server whisk them away.
Her eyes were surveying the bar when Rachael noticed the older man was flagging her down once more. ”Did you serve that man another drink James?” The other bartender merely shrugged and gave Rachael a half-hearted response. She had only asked because the water bottle was gone and the contents of his drink did not appear to be similar to the drink she had given him. Once again Rachael was in the presence of her least favorite patron of the night. ”Why don’t you give me a real ‘Good Night Special girl’, that would make me real happy,” Someone was testing her tonight, God, Buddha, the whole lot had come together and formed an alliance to screw with Rachael. No amount of future tips was worth putting up with this any longer. She leaned a bit over the bar so as her next words were not drowned out by the music. I'm a bartender. Not a prostitute. I don't know what you do for your tips, but hey, whatever you need to do to pay off that divorce settlement you probably got screwed with or whatever, She paused for a brief moment so her words could settle into the man’s dense skull. ”I think you should settle your tab and leave. I’m sure that nice man over there can help call a cab for you,” Rachael pointed towards the nearest exit. Two rather large looking men flanked the doors, clearly on security detail. The drunk took a moment to consider it before forfeiting his credit card over.
A brilliant thought crossed he mind as Rachael typed in the man’s card information into the computer. When she was done she slid the card back to him without looking him in the eyes. ”Have a good night,” she called out darkly to his retreating form. He disappeared out of Rachael’s sight and into the crowd. He was now someone else’s problem. Rachael busied herself as she tried to let go the events that just occurred. Once again she found herself in front of the young blonde. She placed the two glasses down a bit too harsh in front of Altair. Rachael was still a little worked up over that guy. One was a shot glass, filled to the brim with a light honey brown liquid, while the other was a pint glass filled with a carbonated liquid that looked almost like the color of apple juice. ”That nice gentlemen paid for this drink. He just doesn’t know it yet,” the look on Rachael’s face was almost too wicked. It wasn’t really meant as a gift for Altair, but it was a small form of justice on Rachael’s end. Altair just was the lucky one to reap the benefits. Rachael eyes the glasses for a moment, wishing she had time to make herself a drink. ”One non judgmental Jagerbomb.” She waited to see what Altair would do with the drink. Not many people order 'bomb' shots here and she was curious to see if the blonde could actually down the drink.
NOTES:Booze, everywhere! I am destined to move up fro server to bartender one day.
TAGGED: Altair
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 21, 2012 18:29:23 GMT -5
The bartender's words did manage to coax a bit of a smile from the Fire girl, at least enough of one that it could be considered an actual expression, no matter how small it really was. "No I really wouldn't want it to be the 20's. Prohibition was a dark time." At least there were speakeasies, so she would probably have been fine. She had no problem with bootlegging. But the extraordinary thing was that she could remember what Prohibition was. She had never paid too much attention in her history classes, especially history, but she knew of Canada's time period. At least she was paying more attention in her classes than she once had. She had a name, and she nodded in acceptance of it. "Then it's good to meet you, Rachael." Altair had no idea that the woman was in college at the Academy, a Fire like herself. She didn't know everyone in the school, as much as she did get around, and not just in terms of socializing. She hung around college kids because she was college aged. She didn't think she'd ever get over how bitter she was about being a high schooler still. "And is mixologist really what it's called? That's pretty sweet." She didn't know any of the technical terms for anything, but for some reason when she thought of mixologist she thought of a DJ. Perhaps she was just weird.
Altair blinked as she heard the call, lifting an eyebrow. Her eyes refocused on Rachael to see the irritation etched onto her attractive face, her jaw clenching. Altair simply nodded when she excused herself. The Fire graduate hadn't honestly expected to keep her around all night, she had work to do. And she was all right with being all by her lonesome, as that's how she usually did it anyway. Though it wouldn't be unexpected should some guy approach and drop a line to her. While she had a reputation of not turning anyone down, that wasn't how it went at all. She didn't open her legs for everyone, she had far too much self-respect. And a desperate man staring too long at her chest was not appealing. Besides, she liked choosing, she liked being the one to make the move. Either way, she gauged a person by how they looked at her, how they spoke to her and she could weed out the sleazes immediately. They tried too hard, stared where they shouldn't, and as she knew immediately what went on their heads. It wasn't at all attractive either.
As she sipped at her drink, she turned her gaze to Rachael and the patron from earlier, overheard his comment. She was embarrassed for him, but more irritated for Rachael for having to deal with that kind of shit. But she responded in a way that made Altair want to stand up and start a slow applause, because that man had been scientifically and verbally destroyed. Yeah, bartenders were always about the friendliness, they needed a tips, but with every profession there was a line to how far that friendliness went. And when it over-stepped the boundaries that this patron must not have seen. Or didn't care about. For the bartender's sake, Altair really hoped that he did leave for a cab. She was actually capable of sympathy, surprise surprise, and it was especially in the workplace. She didn't think that a lot of men had to deal with shit like this, but for women it seemed as though they wore a name tag that said: "Hi, I'm interested if you try hard enough." Which was entirely untrue.
She moved her arms back when Rachael return, plunking down two glasses in front of her, and she lifted one of her fine white-blond eyebrows at them before gazing up at the bartender. The smirk this time was much more catlike, matching the bartenders own. She picked up one of the glasses and kicked it back. "Here's to passive aggressive revenge," she said, nodding to the other glass. "Can you drink on your shift?" she asked, because honestly this woman deserved one too. Hell, she deserved to take off right then, sit herself down and ask that other guy who was tending with her to give her a line of shots. Obviously, that wouldn't be the case. "Is this a usual occurrence?" Not the same man, no, but drunken assholes trying to take her home. She was curious, not having really spent much time with a bartender before. At the skin joint she'd had a few drinks after work but she hadn't honestly been friends with any of the girls there. In the beginning she'd stayed perfectly quiet and in the background until she was there long enough to gain some respect from them.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 22, 2012 2:53:46 GMT -5
Rachael rest her elbows on the cool bar, letting it take the weight off her weary feet. ”Usually no. The trade off is that I get free drinks on my night off depending on who’s behind the bar,” she replied. Since Rachael was on decent enough terms with her co-workers, it was never a problem. The fact was though, why would she want to drag herself to her work environment on a day off? Especially when Corrosion had a better crowd for Rachael than here. Rachael pushed the shot glass Altair had used closer to herself. As she poured the gin into the small glass she prepared herself for how bad it was going to be. Gin was by far her least favorite booze to have by itself. ”But since I’m only covering for someone’s shift for a little while longer, I think it should be fine,” Last time she checked the clock, she had little under an hour until the person who was actually scheduled would showed up. Lifting the glass up to her lips, she tossed back the glass and let the liquid in. The burn felt good as it settled into her stomach. Her red lipstick left a mark around the rim when she out it back on the counter. ”You get one or two of them on a busy night like tonight. It's usually the ones who come in smelling like booze already that think their ego is bigger than it should be.” Her hand wrapped around the neck of the gin bottle she had left behind and she turned to go attend to other business.
Rachael could hear the throbbing beat of the music permeate through her body even before hearing a single song lyric. Every now and then the house DJ had some sense to play a popular song or two that really lit up the dance floor. This time the DJ put one of those David Guetta songs on. All of his songs could have been the same to Rachael, but God she hated to admit that guy knew how to make some good mindless dance music. Catchy too. It beat that dubstep shit that was creeping it’s way into clubs now as well. The pulsing bass of the nightclub got her heart pumping even more. She looked out longingly from across the bar at everyone on the other side. Rachael would rather be drunk and dancing with the rest of the people here tonight. She was trapped while everyone else was free to do what they wanted. That’s what she gets though for covering someone else’s arse. Maybe if her co-worker Brittany didn’t schedule her appointments so late in the night she could show up to work on time.
Altair’s words rang through her mind. ”I wish I could steal another drink before my end of shift,” She rummaged for two clean shot glasses and held them up until James caught her attention. Once he saw her, she wiggled her brows a bit to coax him over. This wasn’t usually like Rachael to bend the rules. The moment she walked in the door though she was already exasperated with the place. Might as well make it endurable. James rushed over and grabbed the shot glasses out of Rachael’s hand. ‘Let him think he’s in control,’ she told herself, "It's worth it for the shot." He was the one who usually liked to skirt around the rules. With a click of the glasses and a quick cheers, Rachael pulled back the drink and felt the burn travel down her throat. Some of the people at the bar cheered for the two. That was it though. No more drinking until she finished up behind the bar. Thankfully she only had another hour left pulling duty. Rachael grabbed a cocktail shaker and slaved away, unaware of the subtle movements her hips and shoulders were making to the beat of the music when someone or something wasn't occupying her time.
”Shots, shots, shots, shots,” a group of young men called out, pulling Rachael out of her trance. Dressed in smart looking button downs the bartender recognized them as familiar faces. They had come to the bar often enough that she could remember their faces. The bartender laughed at them (not with them), as she lined up the glasses. They were no better than frat boys all grown up. ”Settle down boys, what will it be?” she teased. ”Flaming Dragon!” Really? Nothing too complicated for her. She took the two bottles of booze and poured out the ratio for them. They watched her like a hawk, excited for what was to come next. "Ready?" she asked putting the bottles down. With just enough flare, Rachael placed a hand over the first glass, snapping her fingers over the surface of the rim. Instantly the tops of the liquid ignited as the girl ran her hand across the rest of the drinks. Four miniature torches of fire cast a glow on the table top. Like moths to the flames they granted her a chorus of ‘oh’s’ and ah’s’ before going to town on the drinks. ’Remember that boys when you tip,’ she thought.
NOTES: -
TAGGED: Altair
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 22, 2012 16:10:01 GMT -5
She supposed that she should have asked herself what exactly she was doing here. A hangover would be fine tomorrow, she had nothing to do. That is if she got a hangover, which might not be the chance. Besides, all it would be was not eating for a few hours and four Advil. She had enough experience to know what did and didn't work. And even with a hangover, she woke up with the sun, drinking her coffee. She hated the idea of sleeping in, of missing the day. It was also something that got her out of a sticky situation if she woke up somewhere she didn't truly want to be. Would that be the case tonight? It really depended on just how drunk she got, how many bad choices she made. She remembered the party where she met Andrew, and that hadn't ended too badly, only with her getting pissed off. She'd gone home to Ro and made up cookie dough to eat. There was the time with Brett when she decided that it would be a good idea to experiment with drugs other than prescriptions, and she truly regretted it when she remember how bad they fucked up Ro. It just made her feel like she was disappointing her sister. She'd gotten in even more trouble by fucking him in the cell, but that was definitely not something she regretted.
In any case, Altair figured that no business would want their employees getting completely hammered. It would probably make them easier to deal with however, much more compliant. Apparently, Rachael had only been filling in for someone else the Fire girl watched as she filled the glass with gin and hit it back. "Well, hopefully you can't get plastered from just one shot," Altair said, nodding toward the glass imprinted with the other woman's lipstick. That would be terrible, and as a bartender she expected that Rachael would be able to handle her liquor. It seemed like a requirement for anyone who served drinks. She didn't respond to what the woman said, only mulled it over as she went off to her own business. Altair looked at her glass. Yes, she really did want to get hammered. Most nights she did, and sometimes she wondered if she replaced one dependency with another. Now that she had kicked the Vicodin -- though she always had to remember, once and addict always an addict, it didn't just go away -- maybe she needed the alcohol as a replacement.
Her fierce blue eyes went toward the group of men as they approached, giving them the usual once-over she gave most people. She knew it made a lot of people uncomfortable, and she hoped it did. Altair didn't mind causing uneasiness in another person -- it was better than uneasiness in herself. Rachael handled them just as pro as she had the man, and she was beginning to admire the woman who so seamlessly handled everything that came her way. It was like she expected it all. Altair's elbows rested on the counter, her chin resting in her hand, long fingernails tapping against the bar. She didn't look at them with interest, a come hither stare, and quickly her eyes were drawn to what the bartender was doing. She watched the flames ignite over the glass, clearly pleasing the young men with her act. Even the chilly high schooler was entertained, always amazed to see her element in action. And of course, her interest in Rachael was piqued where before it had been a quiet simmering that she might not have voiced to her.
She beckoned the woman over with a small smile, crooking her finger in the typical 'come here' gesture. It was much better than shouting out 'Yo, Rachael, get your hind quarters over here' and the blond actually had a display of manners. Her hand laid flat on the counter. "My next request is for anything that will get me shitfaced as quickly as possible." She tapped her hand lightly against the counter, the sound of a ring on her finger reverberating. "Rachael's choice." She tilted her head to the side, wondering what the bartender would come up with. She could feel the lightheadedness, kicking in minutes after taking the actual drink. She wasn't very out of it though. She was tall and sturdy and very much experienced. She felt like she might be a challenge for any bartender with this request. 'Mix me something that will get me straight plastered.' The she inquired after what had been on her mind ever since Rachael's parlour trick. "Are you still a student?" she questioned, curiosity giving over. She was certainly young, but Altair couldn't place a finger on her exact age and it was starting to bug her, a mystery she wanted an answer for.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 22, 2012 20:21:06 GMT -5
Altair silently beckoned Rachael over and the bartender was more than happy to obliged. The motion with which she had used to catch Rachael’s attention was subtle, but was enough to bring Rachael back towards the blonde. At the mentioning of Altairs new drink order, the request was enough to cause Rachael to chuckle. "Shitfaced huh?" So it was the girl’s intention to get thoroughly wasted tonight was it? She didn’t outwardly question her, but she had one brow raised as a sort of question. Challenge accepted. ”Well alright then. I can see what I can do,” She was about to get to Altair’s new drink, but stopped short when she asked her about schooling. ”Yes I am actually. I’m a senior at the University,” which made her one of the younger staffers at the bar. James was in his mid twenties and already out of school. What his element was though was beyond Rachael. She didn’t care enough about him to ask. ”Which is why I work here. Helps pay for rent, gas, food, and then whatever I can scrap up for myself afterwards” Which she usually blew on clothes and booze. It was the little things in life. Growing up in in various foster cares made Rachael feel the need to actually own her own stuff for once. Once she was old enough to leave the system she did whatever she could to get out of that terrible environment. With a renewed sense of independence and free reign over her choices, she made damn sure that she did whatever the hell she wanted to do.
What the hell was Rachael going to serve Altair that would literally make the girl see double? Clearly the girl fancied gin. She went off ticking certain drinks in her head until the clear choice screamed out at Rachael. She grabbed the Bacardi 151, along with several other rums, and began making measurement. This was Rachael’s go to drink whenever she wanted to start the night off right. It set the tone to all her friends letting them know she had no intention of stay sober for long. The best part about it was the mix off different ‘filler’ liquids that masked the nasty little kick the rums and whiskey. There was little runs on the bar’s stock that she didn’t use on this monster creation. She had thought up this little number back during her training days. A foolish fellow pupil wagered he could make a stronger signature drink than Rachael. His tasted like a combination of whiskey, cinnamon, and what Rachael imagined piss would taste like.
One of the first thing she learned about mixing was when a drink, contains fruit juices, it is necessary to shake the ingredients. Shaking the cocktail shaker to mix ingredients together and chill them simultaneously cut down on the time a person had to wait for their drinks. In the process it almost freezes the drink whilst breaking down and combining the ingredients. Normally Rachael did it with ice cubes three-quarters of the way full. With all the wild list of ingredients poured in, she held the shaker in both hands, with one hand on top and one supporting the base, and give a short, sharp, snappy shake. For the shake of professionalism it was important not to rock the cocktail to sleep. As water has began to condense on the surface of the shaker, Rachael knew the cocktail was sufficiently chilled and ready to be strained.
The top of the shaker came off with a slight pop, no doubt from the 7-up, she poured the drink into the highball glass. With the finishing touches of garnish, Rachael brought it over to Altair. ”Rachael’s Choice. If this doesn’t get you on the path to drunken salvation then I don’t know what will,” she declared confidently. The only think that could top this drink would be the infamous college favorite Jungle Juice. Rachael was kind of curious to find out what Altair was like drunk. Maybe she’d stick around for a bit once her shift ended. No need to waste a good night dressed up just to go home early. Altair was making her way high on to Rachael’s list for Most Valuable Customer of the Night. Or at least the most interesting. ”So are you still in school?” Maybe she was a freshman. It wasn’t like Rachael to pay much attention to her own classmates let along those in their younger years. Logic let Rachael know that she was at least 18, or had a good fake ID.
DRINK CONTENTS
NOTES: GKJAGKJSGHJAHSAKJ THANKS *insert that New Jersey fist pump thing*
TAGGED: Altair
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 24, 2012 18:52:15 GMT -5
As Altair was alone, there were only a few reasons why she would be at a bar. The one that related to her she spoke aloud to Rachael: "I came to get drunk, so drunk I shall be by the end of the night." She wasn't ashamed to admit it, and it wasn't spoken with a pompous and self-important attitude of a college girl with her friends downing mojitos like nobody's business. Sure, she had those qualities, but she spoke the fact plainly and simply, because it was just that -- a fact. Some people came to find someone to take to a motel, their apartment, wherever for the night. And while that was on her mind as it would always be since she was a purely sexual being, she simply wanted to get drunk. The Fire girl wanted a night for herself when she could enjoy just drinking, having no responsibilities or cares. She didn't care what time she got home, but wouldn't think of disturbing Ro. If the girl was even home when she got back. They were tight, but they did do their own things sometimes. She wouldn't be surprised if the Thunder found something to get up. Even if it was staying up late to finish a design or something. She admired that girl and her persistence with her art. It was inspiring to someone who made her life in fashion. They both had.
Before we ruined it. She didn't think long on the past, instead opting to hear Rachael's own story about how she went to the university. Altair figured she must have been talking about the Academy, and so it was good to know that they had common ground there. She snorted in that oh so endearing way. "Is there anything after that? Especially with gas prices, but that is just a horribly cliche topic of conversation." Altair shook her head and muttered, "Gas prices." Her Ducati hadn't been too bad with the gas at all because it was a bike, but now she had a Dodge. A fucking Dodge. If she had it her way, she'd have her sleek little motor bike. But she had a moment of clarity after Syr died, one that begged the question of what the hell she thought she was doing. How would she be taking care of her sister if she just kept buying stupid things like that. Of course, it didn't help too much, but she had gotten quite a bit better with it. Well, considering how she used to be. Since coming to Canada, she certainly had changed.
Altair leaned forward to watch the bartender prepare her request, spotting the Bacardi label. Her chin rested in the palm of her hands, more preoccupied with Rachael than she had been with any other bartender. Was she on the same level as that sleaze who tried to get Rachael home with him by dropping vulgar lines. Of course not. She had more tact than that. Come to think of it...she couldn't remember if she'd ever been with a woman. Past making out. She had always declared herself heterosexual, but the base truth of the matter was that she was sexual. If she saw a girl she found attractive, she wouldn't deny her attraction based on her sexuality. Just like she wouldn't deny the attraction to Rachael. Maybe the way she was working that shaker turned her on. Altair smirked. It was the fact that she could handle a conversation with her and not want to shoot her brain out. Surprisingly, the Fire leader wasn't that superficial, not to the point where she based her opinion solely off looks. If someone infuriated her, she didn't sleep with people she wanted to punch no matter how appealing they were to the eye.
She was given the finished product, and as the bartender spoke, she swirled it before sniffing cautiously wearing a quizzical expression. "We'll just have to see." Altair downed it before the burn that hit the back of her throat made her draw back and lift her eyebrows. "Well shite," she said, and she had to give kudos for mixing that together. "It tastes like a night spent in the gutter, I'll tell you that." But instead of pacing herself, she just steadily finished it off like she were drinking water. Pacing was not something she'd do tonight. Rachael's question came and Altair blinked, feeling a burp rising up and exhaling it lightly. "The Academy. I'm in the twelfth grade but I should be in college." She didn't elaborate too much as she was never one to talk about her own life. The last drop down she asked, "How long till freedom is it now?" Altair asked, and while it was apparent she was more interested in that sort of thing than a normal patron, she wasn't terribly uncouth and straightforward. Just a teensy, intsy, more than a lot drunk. To the point that she was in quite the pleasant mood.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 25, 2012 0:03:51 GMT -5
The drink was not meant for the weak of heart. Looks like Rachael won this round. ”If I called it ‘Gutter Water’ I don’t think people would be inclined to order it. ‘At Death’s Door’s’ seems to peek more of an interest.” Rachael almost broke her usual mask of confidence when Altair dove in and merciless attack her drink. Instead she held an expression of high regard. So… Altair did go to the Academy. That little bit of information did help clear up why Altair looked a bit younger. She had enough common sense not to pry on the subject of her current placement. ”College isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,”she said vaguely. Lack of direction was the only reason Rachael continued schooling three years ago. Now she had a year left and figure it was best to just finish what she started. Her lips easily curled into a smile in response. Lifting Altair’s empty glass, she tilted it her way in mock salute. ”I have to admit, you might be the first one to knock this back so quickly.” When was her shift over? Rachael craned her neck towards the bar wall and scoped out the clock. Shit she was so close to freedom. ”As long as my co-worker isn’t going to leave me high and dry, I should only be behind bars for another ten minutes.”
Turning around to face Altair again Rachael decided to watch the people dancing on the dance floor. The sweaty bodies moved and swayed from side to side. Some on beat, others embarrassing themselves. Racheal laughed at this thinking of how many times she had to see them acting silly on the dance floor. In ten minutes time Rachael could go out and join those people, show them how it’s done. She nodded her head towards the floor, ”All the money in the world and most of them still can’t manage to find the beat.” Just then, the DJ scratched and a familiar beat came banging through the speakers. Rachael began to imagine swaying as she recognized the song. She really wanted to hit the dance floor but dancing alone was not fun. The only time she ever really danced was when she was drunk, and being in a bar always made her want to be pissed off her face. It was a perpetual cycle of desires. She continued to watch, as everyone else got lost in the music; a few in sync now as if they were a sea of EQ. She brought her eyes back to Altair’s, rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulder in indifference, as if to say it didn’t make any sense.
With less than ten minutes on the clock for Rachael, she pushed herself off from leaning on the bar. Busying herself rather than mentally throwing herself a pity party would make time go faster. A small tap on her back was the God send Rachael had been waiting for. Her co-worker Brittany stood in all her root exposed, bleach blonde glory. Girl should have been working at Hooters. Without any follow up on Brittany’s pervious personal arrangements, the raven-haired girl worked the back strings of her half apron. Her dark grey dress had survived the night, no drinks slipped on her tonight. ”Make sure to clock in my hours before you leave,” Normally Rachael wouldn’t give her the time of day. “You heading home? Anyone waiting for you?” Brittany asked, jutting her chin towards her and wiggling her eyebrows at Rachael. The only thing she got from Rachael was a cold glare. Need she remind the blonde bimbo that it was her that covered Brittany’s ass. Brittany’s smug face vanished as she quickly gasped at Rachael’s silence. ”Oh my God, I was just joking.” ”I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet,” was all the fire student said as she shrugged Brittany off. ”Just keep my stuff behind the bar until I ask alright?” She didn’t want to be responsible for her shit when she had the privilege of it being safe behind the bar.
Her metaphorical shackles had been released for the night! What better way to celebrate than to drink? She breezed past James on her way out from behind the bar. As dramatic as it was to think, a weight had been lifted from the girl. She pushed past others crowded by the bar, her heels still doing little for her amongst some of the taller men. Her target was set on the seat next to Altair. ”Is this seat taken?” she asked. As if she didn’t already know, a smirk gracing her face. Even if she usually didn’t stick around Blackjack, Altair was making it bearable tonight. Might as well ride on that feeling for as long as she could. So far she was proving it was worth the trip here, Rachael thought as she took the unoccupied stool at the bar next to Altair. ”Please don’t tell me you really wanted to talk gas prices,” she said wryly. Now that she was on the other side of the bar and in the clear Rachael was able to the assertive girl that she was. Usually on duty she had to tone down and follow the flow of the patron. As Brittany finally settled in to the fire graduate’s role, Rachael flagged the girl down. ”Patron, Double Shot, followed by a Long Island. You want anything?” she turned towards Altair. As long as Rachael order it, she could probably slip Altair a few drink for free on the side. ”Need to wash out the taste of that ‘Gutter Water’?”
NOTES: I’m complete rubbish when it comes to describing clothes in an effective way (AKA not just listing off every damn detail in a boring way). So I just slipped a link in there.
TAGGED: Open
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Oct 27, 2012 19:07:56 GMT -5
Altair felt hot at that point, and no, not hot as she usually felt. Her clothes weren't even very thick, but the alcohol was doing a good job at constricting her veins. In a very pleasant way. "Very accurate...name," she grumbled, though she did not sound completely unpleasant. She wanted to rub the tears from her eyes caused by the burn, but was very aware of the makeup around her eyes. She would always thank god for waterproof mascara. She made a lazy gesture with her hand as she spoke of her qualms with being stuck in the twelfth grade, "All I know is that rather be in college than dealing with people who are like two years younger than me and somehow still acting like they're in primary school." She was nineteen, she had a career not a job, and because she always put herself above others she knew she would be much better suited in classes with others her age. Or rather, she would be happy not to deal with any other people. She wasn't antisocial, per se, but that didn't mean she liked everyone and everything. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. It had certainly gotten better over the years, from viewing everyone other than her sisters as an enemy to simply seeing them as a nuisance. Especially now that she was a leader of her element.
By that time, everything was starting to look and feel real good to Altair. It was always nice when she got merrily drunk. If she was in a bad mood by the time she started, she would end up in an even worse mood. She couldn't promise that fists would not be thrown. But if she started off in a neutral or pleasant mood, that simply elevated. She turned her gaze to the other people, the other dancers, everyone enjoying themselves and she laughed when she listened to Rachael. Quite different from her laughs before, it sounded incredibly sincere and gleeful. She knew she could show them something, she had been a dancer, after all. Even intoxicated the music would be like an old friend guiding and moving her. The Fire girl wriggled in her seat, as if she wanted to dance right then and there. It hasn't been a very long time since she last went out, and though some people may turn their nose up at this fact, she preferred it when she was on stage with a room of people watching. She rarely told people about her past as a stripper, because she would have to deal with the most irritating and aggravating questions. 'Did you stop because you felt exploited?' That was her favorite, made her laugh. She knew how to take care of herself, and she was certainly not the one being exploited. How about the men giving up their hard-earned money just for her to show some skin?
It wasn't to say she didn't have any dignity. For her, that wasn't sacrificing any sort of dignity. Even when she slept with other men. As long as she had self-respect, she had dignity -- the two were interchangeable for her. And she never felt bad about herself for what she did. The worst thing to lose would be her self-respect. That was when she would see sex work as her only option, and she knew she had much more opportunity than that. She was made for more than just this. Just like she bet Rachael was made for much more than bartending. Like strippers said, she was only "paying her way through college" and Altair could believe that. The woman was speaking to another girl and she just thought about the fact that she would probably be a good dancer. So fucking drunk. That made her giggle to herself as she thought about it, her own private joke. So that gutter water did it's thing exceptionally, it was the final nail in the coffin. The lights were making her just a little bit dizzy but nothing she couldn't deal with.
It made her astoundingly happy to see Rachael come and ask whether the seat next to her was taken. Like, really happy. Especially when she noted the adorable dress the other girl was wearing, grey with a patterned design. She gestured widely with her arms, said, "No, ma'am. Sit away." A little silly, that was for sure, at least she wasn't falling sideways out of her seat. That would have been embarrassing, but she always had her posture. And she did still have her flirt, when she smirked back at Rachael, and answered with a teasing tone, "Here I thought gas problems was the way to your heart. I suppose I've been proven wrong." She rolled her shoulders and eyes up as if she had been caught off guard by this discovery. She liked where this was heading though. Altair listened as she ordered her drink, before she asked if she wanted anything, adding the question about 'gutter water'. Altair's grin remained catlike. "I can think of something better to wash that taste out of my mouth?" She said, wondering how the other woman would take this. She was taking a chance, but hey, she was drunk and she had little reservations anyway.
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Oct 28, 2012 20:44:19 GMT -5
When Brittany went off to fix Rachael up with her order she finally let herself settled into her seat. ”God no, I hear enough of it in my economics class,” The two shots were the first to come. The thought of class made Rachael grab the two shots even quicker. ’One shot, two shot, drunk is what Rachael got,’ she sang to herself. Well, soon enough. Just because it was Patron didn’t mean it went down as smooth as water would have. Working here had made Rachael a drink snob herself. Once you taste good booze there was no joy in downgrading. Her ego had gotten a slight boost when Rachael noticed that her drink might have had more of an effect on Altair than she was first lead to believe. ”You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight. I’m just glad I can join in,” Rachael stacked the two shots glasses within each other and pushed them away. Altair was definitely in a good mood. Still confident, but she seemed to have let go of her inhibition a bit. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't think that laugh was adorable.
Maybe she wasn't humanity's biggest fan… but it seemed like only the most pathetic people seemed to reproduce these days. And most people are so… so … stupid. Rachael wasn't going to let one of the few sane people slip through her fingers if she could help it. Fools always just assumed that everyone walks around with some doofy looking expression and open ears to any conversation. But she never smiled back. She merely nodded stiffly, averting her eyes and focusing on whatever she was doing – walking, studying, hunting for some new hook up, glaring under her thick lashes whenever someone crossed her. Or the ever common lifting of her eyebrows haughtily and turning away. Ice Queen. That’s what her co-workers said about Rachael when they thought she could hear. Even the stoic ‘ice queen’ needed to socialize ever now and then. Good company was hard to find.
Now this was a turn of events Rachael could get excited over. Whenever she was in the mood to fool around with another girl she usually went to a different kind of club scene. One where she knew she wouldn’t strike out when she put herself out there. Blackjack had the occasion spoiled brat who got the drunken notion that they wanted to experiment, as long as one of her little friends don’t run home and tell Daddy. There was a small part of her that secretly hoped Altair was…open-minded. The look on her face was proof enough. And if this were merely a result of alcohol than Rachael would deal with the girl’s sobering guilt later. ”Better than gutter water? Something better than liquor?” She paused for a moment to sip more of her drink. She was well on her way, rocketing through having a buzz to give Rachael the courage to play back. She was silently thanking Patron, fate, her manager and hell, even Brittany, for pushing out drinks and being late to work – everyone who had a hand in getting her to that very moment. ”I would be interested in tasting what that could be,” She knew her mind was racing way ahead of what might even be going on in Altair’s mind. But she couldn't help it. Her lips were all Rachael could think about or look at currently. Giving Altair her full attention once again, she noticed that her glass was nearly halfway gone.
NOTES: Sorry it's shorter than what I usually do. Damn school and work.
TAGGED: Altair
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Post by ALTAIR SABINA BENNETT on Nov 1, 2012 11:02:00 GMT -5
Economics? Altair pulled a face of consideration. It was never something she imagined she would take in her college years, but it got her thinking -- as well as she could be thinking at this point in time -- what she was planning to major in next year. Booty. The thought made her laugh a little, and she hunched her shoulders looking away for a second. She hoped it wouldn't be considered too strange, after all the bartender knew exactly what she had done to Altair. That last drink had been a killer. "I make it a point to enjoy life whenever I can." One may have been deceived by her sourpuss attitude half the time -- it was mostly in school when that happened. When she was on her own, she worked toward her own happiness. One reason why she enjoyed binge shopping so much. While she didn't admit it to many people (only those who may have had other opinions about how she worked) Rowena was actually top priority in happiness for her.
But tonight, she was working well toward a good time. She didn't think that coming here would be too fun -- just an experiment to drop in on people she would otherwise have no reason to interact with. Instead, she had found Rachael and that was much better. And luckily for the bartender, Altair truly regretted nothing she did. Who had room in their life for regret? If living in the moment meant she sometimes did dumb shit -- playing chicken, cursing out cops, and get into fights weren't sometime events -- then so be it. She just lived with it. And how could she regret getting with someone as hot as Rachael? Not only hot, but witty too. She was someone she found easy to talk to, someone who didn't make her want to staple her ears closed, and she knew it wasn't just the fault of the booze.
From what she could tell, Rachael was interested too. Or that's what she got from the signals the other girl gave off, the fact that she lobbied back when she knew what Altair implied. It wasn't like the Fire student was trying to veil it. She watched as the bartender took a sip with a bit of a smirk. She could have been reading Rachael wrong. It happened. But she decided to take a chance because it wasn't like she had any inhibitions left. She leaned in closer to her, taking the leap and letting her hand rest on the other girl's leg. Bringing in her lips closer to the gradaute's ear, she said, "Blonds." The smile on her lips was playful as she leaned back again, before shrugging. This was coming on storng. "I can prove it, if you like." Her eyes flickered toward the door to the bathroom. It wasn't romantic, but hey, they were at a bar, it wasn't like this would be romantic anyway. And they were still strangers. A;tair just wanted a good time, and a little experimentation.
[don't worry, i can adjust. <3 and we gonna have to ftb soon, considering altair wants to bang her in the bathroom. xD]
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Post by RACHAEL MARIE CALLAHAN on Nov 1, 2012 14:20:48 GMT -5
She felt Altair’s hand first, stalling Rachael’s movements. This was absolutely not a mistake on the fire student’s part. At least now she had the peace of mind that she wasn’t wasting her efforts on someone not interested. Rachael’s own eyes followed to where Altair had looked out. The bathroom? She arched a brow towards Altair. The bathroom at her own work place? Well it would be a first and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste. With little thought, Rachael finished off her drink with ease. ”I wouldn’t mind,” Altair had laid it all on the line in hopes that Rachael would be in, so she wasn’t going to turn her down just because of the venue. She wrapped her own hand around the fire student’s and got up from her seat. It was clear that Rachael was the most sober of the two –marginally and for how much longer was debatable.
By the time they two even made it towards the bathroom the line was ridiculous. Rachael had business to attend to and she was not willing to wait. Instead of waiting on the line like a good little girl, she went to the front. As a woman exited the bathroom, Rachael placed her free hand on the open door ”Sorry, management” Rachael tried to sound as serious as possible, but noticing the look of the women on the line, she didn’t really do such a convincing job. Or maybe it was that fact that she had the blonde haired fire student following in right behind her? ’Fuck ‘em,’ It would buy the two enough time before one of the women outside complained. Once Altair was inside Rachael shut the door firmly behind them. She dropped the fire student hand and walked over towards one of the walls leaning back against the tile. It was the first time she was actually seeing her in true light. She was taller than Rachael, an achievement held by most people she met. Stupid heels weren’t fooling anyone this time. Rachael thought the she was blonde, but she was practically white. A rather stark contrast to her jet-black hair. She tried to stop ogling this girl in front of her, but everything about her was a bit memorizing. Thank God for booze and women.
When it comes to one-night stands, Rachael could care very little for gender. Both sides have given their shares of satisfying nights. Both sides have also proven incompetence is everywhere, and her judgments can be skewed horribly by alcohol. The only reason why Rachael's history was riddled with men, and hardly any women, is practicality. They have the natural tools to get the job done, they have experience, and they are easily available on the market. It does not take much to convince a man to go bed with you, if anything at all. You don't have to fear rejection. You also don't have to give a damn about his pleasures, because he sure as hell isn't thinking of yours. The trade off, you get a dirty experience. With the curtains closed, lights off, you don't have to see them, but some days, Rachael wasn’t looking for that. Women were a little different. Their skin is tender; it feels good to touch them. Although Rachael was not the one for flowers or fruit, they always smell and taste clean. They work as hard dressing down as dressing up. They are also much more curious, and ambitious, like to laugh, explore, experiment. Such an agreement is a social thing. You know, those things that take far too much effort to build, become stressful to maintain, and the benefits are hardly what you sowed. Such an agreement also takes a fair amount of trust, and a reliance on the other party. And Rachael hates all of this too much to bother.
And so, that was why the Fire graduate wasn’t one for making the first move. She much rather let the other think she was taking the backseat, especially with a woman. You never know how fast they want to go or how much experience they actually had with other women. Rachael had learned the hard way that a lot of the girl’s she tried to hook up with were not really as bisexual as they thought. Rachael’s hand came up slowly; testing to see if what Altair had said was really true. Seeing no hesitation with the girl, she reached out and cupped the girl’s check. Somehow she couldn't resist not touching the pearly white skin, caressing it very lightly until her other hand came to rest on Altair’s hip. So she was a soft as she had imagined. The girl took care of herself, past that of what normal female vanity demanded. ”Well Blondie?” she whispered against Altair’s lips.
NOTES: Rachael would be more than happy to fill that spot. Lady Pimp.
TAGGED: Altair
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