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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 30, 2011 14:07:31 GMT -5
Top item on Nell’s ‘to do’ list: get a bed. Not a futon that’s more akin to a plank of wood with an afghan that she made sure was one of the only things that didn’t come to her second-hand. She had to budget wisely, but there was no way she was sleeping where other people had slept before. Even though, if it ever got bad enough…. Nell shook her head as she sat up on the wooden futon, knowing she shouldn’t think like that. Optimism is what got her through this, and she’d be damned before she let her own negative thoughts break her.
So she pushed herself off the futon with an easy smile and a sigh, scratching her head, and glanced at the clock on her wall and kept thinking of the good things. She napped after her classes, and now she would be early to work. In her freezer she had about a week’s supply of Hungry Man meals, one of which she ate before getting ready. And at least some of the clothes she bought at the thrift store were cute if she wore them right.
These are good things, what she needed to focus on. Before leaving her studio apartment, she watered the plants by her windowsill, growing with her own influence, and checked to make sure everything was locked. Satisfied, she left her building and set out into the streets, not bothering to take her car since the bar was so close. At night, downtown was even more dangerous than usual, though. But she grew up in The Bronx, and was pretty ballsy in sneaking out at night. Stupidly fearless and naïve? Perhaps. But she wasn’t dumb, she knew how to protect herself no matter how much she hated the idea of harming someone.
The Club was busy as Nell pulled open the door and entered the dimly lit bar, and she braced herself for a busy night. The counter was located in the back, lit up with flags of sports teams and fake awards for being the best dive bar in British Columbia. Which was a clear lie, but no one looked at that kind of stuff anyway. Brandon who had the shift before her barely made any sort of conversation before darting out of the building. She brushed her hair away from her face before adjusting her shirt. There was no uniform requirement so she usually came in casual wear—a t-shirt and jeans. The owner didn’t mind it and it made him happy, she guessed.
He did, after all, give her the job even though she was clearly lying through her teeth about her age and the alcohol license she got was forged—she was doing a lot of lying these days, it was very consternating. But it’s not like anyone here cares about protocol like that. But they didn’t care she was fluent in Spanish, or that she was a hard-worker, or anything. They were short on people, and she’d wandered in, and that’s how these kinds of things work. And she was going to make the best of it. They lay low of the law, which is just what Nell needed.
Taking inventory, cleaning up the pouring station, checking the beer kegs, wiping down the counter, she made sure of all these things to distract her mind from thoughts of other things. And already she was being bombarded, but she didn’t mind. Nell smiled and greeted people with a laugh, handing off whatever spirits, hoping for some extra tips because really, her salary was less-than-stellar. She was thankful that the work kept her mind off of other things that might have crept into her mind, and therefore set to work like she’d been doing this for years. But this wasn’t Cocktail, she didn’t need fancy tricks or crap like that (not that she wasn’t trying to teach herself such tricks from watching Tom Cruise) so it wasn’t that difficult.
Music played over the loudspeakers so that she had to lean in to hear other people, those seated around the bar conversing with their dates and what have you, making small talk with others when she wasn’t too busy.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 30, 2011 15:00:04 GMT -5
Living on his own was tough. He'd never had to support himself before, always having the endless funds of his parents and a large mansion to crash at when he needed time away from the Academy. Now he had to work a job at the tattoo parlour as well as keep up with his grades just to pay his rent. He might have been doing alright given all the extra hours he was putting in at the parlour... if it weren't for his girlfriend constantly hounding him. She knocked on his door that morning, a knock which the eighteen year old tried desperately to ignore. If he just let it alone and pretended he wasn't in--
"Joshy-kins, I know you're in there! Your car is in the parking lot!"
The Fire elemental let out a low groan as her muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door. I could have gone for a walk, he thought bitterly, but got up and moved through the hall regardless. She knew that he didn't take 'walks'--he didn't go many places besides the Academy and his workplace. The tattoo parlour was close enough to walk to, and walk he did to save gas money, but she tracked his schedule and knew that it was his day off. He didn't understand why Lady Luck hated him so much. He hadn't even meant to sleep with the chick, let alone get her pregnant. Heartless as it sounded, he normally would have shown someone like this the door and asked them to pawn their kid off on one of the other many guys they'd slept with. But there was his mother to worry about. Angel--as she was christened affectionately by her friends, she was anything but--made constant and increasingly more vicious threats against the career of Patricia Dale. And even though he was mad at his father for kicking him out, he didn't hold any sort of resentment toward his mother. She'd always been there to protect him. Now he would do his share of protecting her... even if it meant practically selling his soul to do so.
Sliding back both of the chain bolts and turning back the heavy duty lock on his front door, Joshua pulled it open and scowled apathetically at the bubbly blonde bouncing on the balls of her feet outside in the hall. "What do you want?" he grumbled. She'd woken him up for the first time he'd managed to get to sleep in what felt like days, and he knew that she was probably here for money. "The secret's getting awfully hard to keep, Joshy-dearest," she simpered, pouting at him. He hated every fibre of her being right now. "I had to skip class this morning because I was throwing up, and that's all your fault." She surprised the boy by punching his arm as hard as she could--which wasn't really that hard considering her size and stature, but it still offended him. "What the fuck was that for?" he demanded, irate. "You're the one that knocked me up, sweetheart," she said venomously. "And if you want me to keep my mouth shut--"
"Come on, Angelica," he pleaded, knowing that it would likely be of little use. "I couldn't get enough hours in yesterday and I'm not working today--I've barely got enough to pay the rent!"
Angel frowned at him. "Fine then," she huffed, crossing her arms and turning away from him, taking a few steps down the hall. She paused for dramatics and called over her shoulder, "It'll be quite the story tonight! I'm sure your mother will so oh-so-proud of you, Joshua. Getting a pretty girl like me pregnant! I'm only sixteen, after all! Did I mention that's illegal, honey? You're eighteen, you're an adult! I'm just a little lost girl who's going to give this story to the press to save my little one from--"
"Alright!" he said frantically, hearing enough. He truly believed that she'd do it just to spite him. She was a water student, it wasn't like their elements were born to get along. And a part of him did feel sort of guilty for getting her pregnant. He really hadn't intended to go and do something that stupid. He wasn't a virgin but he usually took precautions... then again, he couldn't remember fuck all about the night they'd spent together. Ever since his parents had kicked him out of the house he'd spent too many nights getting blackout drunk and waking up without his memories. "You've made your point," he concluded weakly as he pulled his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. The light from the hallway caught his bare chest as he stepped into the doorway of the dark apartment, gray eyes glaring slightly at her. "How much do you want?" It wasn't even a question of how much she needed--he had his mother's reputation to protect, as always. Damn it, he felt so helpless!
"Whatever you've got, it won't be enough," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I'll need at least three hundred--"
"Hang on!" he protested. "Angel, I haven't even got that much! What am I supposed to--"
"If you care about your dear, sweet girlfriend, you'll find it." Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. He met her crystalline blue gaze for a moment longer before he sighed and handed over what she'd asked for--pretty much everything he had. He just hoped that his car had enough gas in it to get him back to the Academy gates, considering how far it was. If he didn't have the cash, that would mean skipping school. Joshua's education meant everything to him--every day he missed was an absolute panic attack. Angelica couldn't care less about his well-being however, accepting the money and standing on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. He recoiled in disgust, but avoided saying anything to her. The less he riled the girl up, the better.
After she'd left, Joshua sat down on the couch and counted up the rest of what he had left. About twenty bucks, give or take--not nearly enough to pay the rent. Not enough for gas money if the tank was empty, either. "Shit," he cursed, shaking his head. What was he going to do? "Damn it, I need a drink." Alcohol always made everything feel better with its sweet buzz and its numbing feeling. He wandered over to his fridge and pulled it open, automatically reaching for where the beer bottles usually poked out from the bottom. His hand closed around empty air and he crouched down slightly to realise that he was entirely out. Today just kept getting better, didn't it? He didn't have enough for a bottle of whiskey or even a decent six pack, so the boy reluctantly (and rather irresponsibly) decided he'd take his last bill and go to one of the cheaper clubs in the heart of downtown.
And so he did. He was already there and downing his first drink by the time the shift changed. Joshua was used to the less talkative and more gruff bartenders in this place. They didn't even ask him for his ID anymore, bless them. He just sat and drank until he turned into a complete mess and couldn't think clear enough to care about his problems. That's what he planned to do tonight. Noticing that his beer was empty, the Fire student scowled at it and turned his attention to the chick who'd moved in after shift change. Isn't she a bit... young? Ah, who the fuck cares. He waited until she glanced his way and waved her over with a lazy hand. "Get me another beer, would you?" It was hardly a question as he slid the money across the counter. He wasn't being very resourceful at all, but he figured he'd cease to give a shit in the next half hour, maybe longer. "You don't look over eighteen," he remarked, unable to resist commenting. "Nor do you look familiar." He was generally acquainted with those that ran the bars in the area, sadly.
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 30, 2011 16:41:26 GMT -5
Nell was in the middle of cleaning out a mug before noticing a guy at the counter who brusquely pretty much commanded her to get him a beer. She quirked an eyebrow. Nell took the money and pocketed it in her server apron, then pulled out a bottle opener and cracked the cap off of a Molson. The heck is a Molson, anyway? She certainly noticed all the differences between Canada and America, including between their beers. Not that she drunk a lot, or at all really. She was much too concerned with her health, what with her sister having died of an illness she couldn’t find a cure to. Nell didn’t care for alcohol enough to let it affect her wellbeing, so she kept consumption of it to a minimum.
“Bad day?” she asked as she placed the beer before him, a tinge of sympathy in her voice. She may not have liked the job all too much, but she liked the people and hated to see them upset. Even a complete stranger, who was rather gruff with her and might as well have been surly all the time. Not that she minded surliness. She mentally shrugged as she gave him a bit of a once-over. Black hair, weirdly gray eyes, and looking as if the world tore him a new one—yeah, usually no matter how generally grumpy a person was, they didn’t look like crap. She wondered what it was on his mind, as she did with most random people she met.
At his statement of her age, she sent him a look before handing a draught off and replying. “Neither do most people in here,” she said, nodding to the writing crowd. She remembered the drinking age in British Columbia was nineteen. Looking around, she was sure half of these people were students from the academy starting from fourteen-years-old, all with fake IDs like herself. She was trying not to build any underground connections, for fear that it would get back to the shady Sinclairs, but her forged papers were necessary. She wasn’t so naïve as to think she can get by with her real name and information. Nell had been struggling her entire life, she’d grown used to surviving in horrible conditions.
“Not that anyone cares, really. No one’s too concerned with laws around here.” Which, sadly, was perfect for the situation she was in. And she had successfully avoided telling him anything about herself, but he was right. She was only seventeen. He didn’t look too high up there, either, though she really couldn’t tell. She gave a half-smile, finally deciding to say, ”But you’re right. I’m seventeen. Our little secret, kay?” She finished with a wink before throwing the towel she had previously been using over her shoulder. She was in a generally good mood—as per usual—even with the busy night and circumstances which she was under.
Not familiar? Well, well, quite the lush. She chuckled. “Just got the job. I’m new to town,” she said easily, not mentioning she was from America and was pretty much an illegal alien (because that’s not someone one usually brings up in conversation: “why hello, I just hopped the Canadian border, please don’t alert the feds because I also killed a woman”). But she figured it wasn’t too hard to tell that she was an alien. Nell at first thought of how everyone in BC had an accent, before realizing that she was the one with the accent in Canada. “Come here often, then?” she asked with a bit of a wry smile. ”Since I’m apparently not familiar.”
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 30, 2011 17:16:30 GMT -5
Joshua's gray eyes narrowed and glinted coldly as she questioned him, immediately throwing up every mental wall he had and preparing to lie incessantly. "I don't see how that's any of your business," he said in low tones, his voice sharp and mistrustful. Josh didn't like it when people poked their noses into his business, even if they seemed nice enough like this bartending chick who was to him so obviously underage. He had caught the sympathy in her voice and wholly resented it. Some people merely hated pity, but Joshua hated anything that suggested other people felt bad for him. His pride did not allow such things on a clear conscience, so he drove people away until they no longer felt that sympathy, that pity, that desire to help him. He was a grown man, he didn't need help. (Or, well, he was at least an adult in the eyes of the law. That was good enough).
She had handed him the beer, and Joshua wasted no time in swallowing a good third of it down without pause. When it came to drinking only to get drunk, Joshua Dale did not fuck around. At parties where he was there to have fun, he took things slowly and downed shots of whiskey every now and then. He would get drunk and do the stupid stuff that his fellow party-goers adored. Such events were the only times that Joshua ever felt included in some sort of social circle, and it was usually because they were all so drunk that they didn't care who they were hanging out with. But this... this was because his life was crashing down around him. This was because he had a girlfriend who could ruin that life in unimaginable ways if he didn't sell his soul to her.
"They're not," he replied bluntly, no emotion in his voice. He recognised quite a few of them from the Academy. Joshua himself was using a fake ID, but it wasn't like this girl could bust him for it without busting the entire bar. Besides, he needed this. The alcohol was the only thing keeping him hanging... albeit by a very thin and weathered thread. He wondered if this chick had forged identification papers as he did, wondered if she'd possibly gotten them from the very same gang that had nearly killed him a couple years ago. He lived in constant paranoia that they'd hunt him down once more.
He said nothing on the subject of laws, even though that was true. The crime rate downtown was absolutely ridiculous. He remembered his mother being stressed about the constant demands for the running candidates to promise a cut-back, but that wasn't as easy as it sounded. The small town didn't have enough police to fully traverse the entire place nightly. Thoughts of his mother made his blood run cold. He could still remember the night his father had kicked him out with perfect clarity--they'd been yelling and Donovan had been forcing Joshua to take the blame for the negative press that Patricia had been getting. It wasn't his fault the stupid media had decided to spread lies about him to make Trish look like she came from a bad family and had a delinquent son! His problems with the gang were in the past now (as best as they could be) but it seemed they haunted him still. "Sure, whatever." His tone was non-committal. He wasn't going to turn her in or anything, but he didn't really care.
"I can tell." Her accent provided stark contrast to his melodic British Columbian tones--well, as melodic as one's voice could remain when they grumbled and muttered each word that brushed past their lips. Joshua's accent could have been light and pleasant, but a miserable life was weighing down on him and affecting practically everything. She sounded American and he wondered why she'd came all the way out here, especially to work illegally in a bar. Where were her parents? But he didn't ask, because Josh was secretive enough that prying into the lives of others would have been terribly hypocritical.
"Yeah," was the short and simple one word answer to her question. He did come here often--much more often than your average teenager should have been frequenting a bar. He took another long swig of the beer and found it to be over half empty already, even though he'd only gotten the thing minutes before. Self control always failed him on nights like these. He would just have to hope that some flirty girl didn't take an interest in him, else he'd likely wake up with his pants off in the house of someone he didn't know. Worse had happened before, when it came to his drinking.
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 30, 2011 19:03:21 GMT -5
Whoa, talk about scary. The guy was obviously displeased by the innocent question, but she figured as much. As she tried not to look away from his intense eyes, she busied herself with cleaning another mug. “Nope, it’s not,” she said lightly. Obviously, he didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t going to force anything out of the guy. He just wanted to have a drink, after all. Besides, she knew something about secrets. Not that she was going to be any less friendly with him, even though he clearly wasn’t a friendly person. She merely wanted to know if she could help him in any way, but she guessed the best way to do that was with alcohol.
Talkative one, he is. Her lips twitched upward as she shook her head. He’d down quite a bit of his drink in one gulp, and she wondered again what was up with this guy. She invested too much energy in others, really, but it proved to be a great distraction from her own problems. Or what she pretended weren’t problems, what she chose to ignore so she didn’t spend her life looking over her shoulder for invisible specters. She was determined to leave her family behind in America, and she was even more determined to forget about what she did to her mother, to wrap it up in newspaper and bury it in the bottom of her psyche. But Nell would always remember what it felt like to watch her mother die by her own hands. The wrenching of her gut was quite painful, nearly physical.
Any word the guy spoke was low and muttered, as if he were speaking to himself. She almost lifted an eyebrow again. ”Ah, it’s not that bad,” she said when it came to the underage drinkers. ”Everyone just wants to have fun. No harm in that.” If people were happy, why the heck would she rat them out? Oh, she’d never be a snitch. The law was especially against her, so she felt a sort of kinship with anyone drinking without a proper license. As she felt a kinship with other fugitives. But murderers? It chilled her to think that she was now classified alongside those who took the lives of others without a fault. That wasn’t her. It was self-defense, her mother attempted murder—she stopped herself before these thoughts became too dangerous in her head. This was her condition, this overthinking of things. Bringing herself back to the topic beforehand, she thought of how she wasn’t here to have fun, instead serving up drinks to desolate people like this man. ”And as for me being underage…well, we all have to do what we can to survive.” Not that there was any good money in it, but it was the best job someone like her could get.
The guy said he could tell and she laughed a bit. ”Ha, it’s strange thinking that I’m the one with the accent here,” she mused aloud as she pulled the towel from her shoulder and began wiping down the counter where drinks had already sloshed over and spilled. ”Canada is a strange new land. Well, I guess not for you. You’re a local, right?” And she wondered even if that simple question was bad, but she was a curious girl. She couldn’t help but ask about others. And it was innocuous enough—she wasn’t asking him for his bank statements or anything. Even though it seemed he wasn’t one for pleasant conversation.
His reply was a curt one-word statement, and she didn’t bother to push for any more information on that subject. He probably just wanted to drown his sorrows like one of those older men with nagging wives who came in here to get away from household life. And she didn’t judge any of them, no one who came in here and got a drink from her was subject to any sort of judgment. If you wanted to escape your problems, then go ahead, have a gay old time. Who was she to stop them? But of course, there came a limit and that’s when she knew someone was being a danger to themselves and their wellbeing. Snapping herself away from her always running thoughts, she smiled brightly and said, ”The name’s Nell, by the way. I don't have a uniform or a name tag so everyone calls me 'Barkeep'.” She snorted at her bad joke, and shook her head. "Sorry, that was terrible."
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 30, 2011 19:35:37 GMT -5
Fun? The very word seemed alien to him right now, and a dark chuckle brushed past his lips. He said nothing, but there was something frightening about the sound alone. His gray eyes glinted coldly. This was not fun. There may have been some people sitting in this stuff and overcrowded bar who were looking to have a good time, but the Fire student was well aware that the majority of them were having anything but a good time at the moment. Josh couldn't remember the last time he'd really enjoyed anything. Even studying was beginning to sap his energy lately. He barely had any time to himself between keeping up with his grades and juggling the job with his school life. He'd nearly lost his apartment a few times already due to issues with the rent. He was severely overworked at the parlour--not like the owner cared. Sensing that the teenager was desperate he worked him long hours on minimal wage, pausing for snide comments every time the boy thought he might get a bit of a rest. It wasn't fair, but such was life. There may have been some who'd have downed a couple gulps and poured their heart out to the bartender, but Joshua was not such a soul.
They agreed on one thing--they survived by doing what they could. "I'm no rat," was all Joshua said, using the term his former gang had always done to describe those that snitched them out. Which, in the eyes of said gang, he was lying through his teeth right now. They'd held him at the station and frightened him with threats of jail time, so Joshua had become exactly the rat he claimed not to be. But that was when he was facing possible murder charges. Right now they were just discussing the matter of the bartenders age. She was quite pretty, but Joshua wasn't in that sort of a mood tonight. His charming side had been stomped flat by depression and the weight he was carrying on shoulders that by this time were already broken from the heavy burden. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his mother to hug him and tell him he was going to be okay and that he didn't have to work this stupid job and live in apartment that was about the size of the sitting room alone in the mansion.
She probably hadn't been here long judging by the strength of her accent, but unlike the girl Joshua was not the type to comment on such things. She mused about accents and foreigners and then said that Canada was strange to her. "Born and bred," he told her when she asked if he was a local. There was a hint of what might have been pride, but it was so buried beneath the emotionless apathy that it could have just been imagined. Joshua loved his birth land and he was not ashamed of where he was from, but it wasn't the nicest (nor the safest) of places for him to be at the moment. His life sucked, his job sucked, his girlfriend was a bitch... and on top of that he was a dead man if the gang ever found out he made it out alive. He was so damned lucky he'd never told them his name. His mother was on the news every now and again, they'd have made the connection. They mentioned his name as well but he tried to stay out of the eyes of the press, always paranoid of giving them any link to him.
She made a joke that might have caused him to chuckle if he'd been in any sort of a good mood. As it was, he simply blinked at her and committed the name to memory. Nell. It was interesting, he'd never met a Nell before, and he'd likely never run into her again, but who the fuck cared? They were all living on borrowed time. Live today, die tomorrow--who cared about friends and acquaintances when you were buried beneath the earth? "Josh." He could have just ignored her and neglected to mention his name altogether, but he figured it didn't matter. He did leave his last name out of the equation--he didn't know if she watched the news, but if she did he didn't want any damned questions. Nor did he mention anything else about himself. Just the name.
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 30, 2011 20:41:33 GMT -5
The man didn’t say anything in return, just gave a scary sort of chortle, and she shrugged it off mentally. He was moody and quiet, and she didn’t even know his life so she couldn’t blame him. Everyone has their problems, some that may seem even insignificant to others but are of great importance to those that have to deal with him. Nell continued working, the duties of a bartender she quickly grew accustomed to. If there was one thing she was expert at, it was adapting. She’d never even worked before but she learned quickly.
She was a hard-worker, which is why she devoted herself to studies, all the things she’d missed because she’d only just heard about the academy. And she was struggling to keep up with everything, with her job and her schoolwork and bills and life. But she took all of it with open arms, because this was freedom, and it was living on her own. Did she regret killing her mother, even though it meant this freedom? She didn’t think about it. Instead, she served people with a smile, gracious for all she could do.
He had something to say eventually, and she turned back to him with an interested gaze. She giggled and replied, ”I should think not. You don’t seem like the type to snitch.” And she meant by that he was amazingly quiet. A guy like him ratting on anyone? She couldn’t imagine him speaking long enough to sell anyone out. And though she may be talkative, she was not a snitch either. Not only for the obvious reasons, but because she was simply a great secret keeper. Nell then shrugged. ”Of course, I don’t know you. But I like to think I’m an okay judge of character.” Which was a complete and utter lie; she’d make friends with a serial killer if he was nice enough to her. And hey, this guy could be a serial killer. Didn’t matter. She didn’t judge, after all. She decided to amend herself: "Well, when it comes to those who'll sell you out, at least." She didn't trust people with information of herself, naturally, and he seemed to be the same.
He didn’t give much of a response, catatonic seeming even. Which was just as well, since it was truly busy and she needed to focus her attention on serving. But she turned back to him when he said his name. ”Josh,” she repeated contemplatively, tapping her chin as she looked askance. It then seemed as if she decided on something. ”I like that name.” And she spoke honestly. At least when she spoke like this, she didn’t lie. But when it came to other things—like herself—she was at the ready with a falsehood. Even her name was a lie, at least her last name. It was one of the only lie she truly loved—her surname distanced herself from her family and she created a new identity for herself. She could start anew. But there was no way she could part with her first and middle name, because she did not want to distance herself from Tilly.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 30, 2011 21:15:44 GMT -5
Seeing as Nell was busy with other people--and good riddance, for she was staring to grate on his nerves--Joshua took advantage of the silence to swallow down the rest of his beer. He glowered accusingly at the empty bottle as if it were the bane of his existence. Damn thing couldn't hold nearly enough liquid to meet his needs. Not exactly wanting to draw the attention of the girl back to him just yet, the irritable teenager flagged down another bartender who was passing by on their way to fill a separate order and got himself another beer, not hesitating to hand the cash over. After all, the bitch who was spending his rent right now already owned his soul, what did it matter whether he gave away the money he could have used to buy food for the night? In truth Joshua hadn't been thinking about how he was going to eat tonight. All he'd wanted to do was to come here and to forget.
Here's to forgetting, he thought as the bartender cracked the top off his drink and slid it across to him in one fluid movement. Joshua didn't bother to thank him--after all, he was paying the guy, it wasn't like the dude was doing him some sort of favour--merely tipping back the bottle and swallowing another large gulp of it. He was feeling a little buzzed at the moment. He certainly wasn't what you could call drunk, but sobriety was starting to dance away from him as his thoughts became a little less depressing and morbid. Normally it would have taken a lot more than two and a half bottles, considering his high tolerance of alcohol, but he hadn't eaten earlier and was running on almost no sleep. It wasn't the best idea to be drinking in his current condition, but Joshua had stopped doing what was 'best' for him a long time ago.
No, she didn't know him. And as standards went he had to seriously doubt her judge of character. Did he seriously look like the friendly type to her? Did he look like he was in the mood for conversation? Man, he could really use a shot of whiskey right now. But whiskey (the good kind, at least, the kind he drank) was expensive. It could have him totally wasted in a very short period of time if he neglected to pace himself and take it slow. Whiskey was also his 'drug' of choice when it came to picking favourites. But he didn't have the cash and so he tried to push the craving to the back of his mind, focusing on the girl and downing another large gulp of his beer. He felt like just chugging it and getting totally plastered right away, but that could make even Joshua sick as a dog by the end of the night. He wasn't usually the vomiting and retching type, but eating or drinking anything too fast could make a person sick.
"Better hope you don't plan to sell anyone out tonight." It was the most he'd really said since after he'd ordered his drink, and the threat was quite apparent. 'Don't you dare say a word about me', that was what he was implying. Joshua didn't want to attract the attention of the authorities again, and he especially wanted to avoid his parents. He was too proud to go crawling back home and he didn't want them to have to come bail him out of a jail cell. He was eighteen now and so he could be incarcerated for a short period of time for these sorts of offences. His mother would get bad press and his father would murder him. Yes, Nell had better hope she knew how to keep her trap shut or Josh would be having something to say about it.
- time skip, lalala -
He didn't know how many beers he had. He'd lost count by now. He'd also lost track of how much money he had left, not that it really mattered to him by this point. He was pleasantly and most indefinitely drunk. He wasn't exactly wasted--Joshua hadn't blacked out yet, he wasn't dancing on the tops of tables and yelling out that he was king of the world. But he was very clearly over the legal limit. Thank goodness he had chosen to walk here and not take his car. He didn't have enough for a taxi home and he doubted the bus would let him board, so he was probably going to be stuck walking staggering home and collapsing on the couch if he couldn't make it to his room without passing out cold.
He should have stopped by now. Anyone in their right mind would have stopped. But Joshua was not in his right mind and he also wasn't ready to be going home quite yet. He slid what was probably close to the last of his change (he'd found some more in his pockets--not a substantial amount, but enough to keep him drinking as long as he had been) across the counter, shooting a pointed half-glare at the barkeep. It was obvious what he was implying. He wanted more and he wanted it before he got seriously irritated with someone. Joshua was not an angry drunk--he was certainly calmer drunk than he was sober--but when you started to deny him his poison...
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 30, 2011 22:45:16 GMT -5
Bartending was about entertaining and hospitality, at least more-so in the better clubs. But clearly Josh didn't want that, and that was fine. Part of the bartender hospitality had to do with getting tips, and earning patronage, and all that other stuff, but Nell truly wanted to make others feel welcomed and happy. This club was a sort of escape for some, and she let them have that escape as long as they wanted, provided they didn't get too rowdy. Any potential for a brawl, and those responsible will summarily be kicked out by a three-hundred pound bouncer.
Even as she served others, Nell kept a careful eye on Josh, just as she did everyone else. Bartenders were very attentive to their patrons, that was a given. Any handbook would tell you that, Bartending 101. And she was an observant person in general. Not to say that her judgment was always the best, but she was rather impressive for a girl who spent most of her life locked up and abused. And when she did have lapse in judgments, she was crafty and resourceful. That's how she made it into the real world. She relied on her wits and natural intelligence. But how far did that cleverness go?
That had to be the longest consecutive string of words that came from his mouth yet. And it was a threat. It scared her a bit, but not as much as the governmental machine. "Trust me, I'm the last person you have to worry about being a snitch." And the grave brown look she gave him was the serious she'd been the entire night, and it met his fierce gray gaze firmly. She liked to prattle, sure, but why would she sell someone out when she had the government after her. She didn't even think she could write out a list of her crimes. This brought to mind the fact that she was also in trouble with the Canadian government, probably even more-so than the American one, even though they weren't aware of her felonies yet. However, the feds back home sure were. Would she be tried as an adult, she wondered? Most likely, being seventeen and knowing right from wrong.
Of course, Josh didn't know all these things. She didn't look at all like a criminal. To him, she was just this annoying bartender who talked too much. He didn't know how many secrets she kept, but she wanted to at least tell him she was zero threat to him. After all, he was a scary guy and she didn't need anyone else after her. Besides, there was nothing to even snitch. He truly had nothing to worry about with her. But, she was worried about him what with the amount of alcohol he'd subjected his system to while she'd been taking care of others. When he slid more money over, Nell looked over at her fellow bartender for a moment and he nodded at her, before she turned back to the patron. Josh wasn't acting out or anything, but bartenders are trained in the art of the cut-off and when to look for the signs. You didn't stop someone after slinging back three jagerbombs too fast. However, you did stop them when they've had over ten beers.
"Sorry, Josh, I'm cutting you off." The cut-off is truly a delicate situation, one that needed to be approached firmly by the bartender. Even with her inexperience, she knew this. "You can try to appeal to my friend over there, but he'll say the same." Not that her fellow barkeeper would be particularly worried about Josh's wellbeing, it was merely out of self-preservation he'd refuse to serve the gray-eyed man. There was the liquor control board to worry about in terms of fining, and since the club wanted to keep under the radar the last thing they needed was to alert the government.
Then, so as not to kick him out and to give him time to sober up (since time is the only way to sober up), Nell said, "I'd be more than happy to serve you coffee, or tea, or water." It sounded cruel to deny someone their spirits and then offering them a lame substitute in return, but that's another rule of the cut-off. Offer them something else to drink so they don't feel like they're being kicked out or rejected. And then, another rule. "The next time you come, first drink will be on the house," Nell said with a conspiratorial wink. Always make the patron feel welcomed back. Show them it's not a personal matter. No one liked to be cut-off, it was embarrassing, but it was more-than-necessary when it came to Josh's health.
[yay, time skip. xD]
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 31, 2011 7:12:00 GMT -5
Dulled rage flashed in the gray depths of his cold gaze as she announced that she was cutting him off. How dare she! It wasn't like he was trying to get it off with any of the girls in the bar--he was not in the mood--or starting fights. He needed this alcohol, damn it! He'd be more than happy to drink past the point of no return and pass out cold. What did she care how much she drank? They were getting paid for it, after all. If he was spending his last god damned dime at this bar it was practically blasphemous to cut him off when he still wanting to drink. "That's bullshit," he half-growled, and it came out as mumbled. He didn't quite slur when he was drunk, just took to muttering and speaking more slowly--like someone with difficulties or something. Really he just couldn't stand the sound of his own voice when he was this hammered, so he did his best to keep it from driving him up the wall. It usually failed.
He flashed a gray-eyed glare toward her fellow bartender at that moment, and the phrase 'if looks could kill' would have been quite applicable. "I'll pay double," he insisted slowly, raising a hand to the side of his head and wincing slightly. He felt kind of ill, but that didn't matter. Enough alcohol fixed all one's problems. He needed his fix. It wasn't like he could really spare the extra cash to pay double for one bottle of beer, but he'd do it if it meant continuing to drink. Bartenders were a greedy lot, right? Surely at least the guy would cave in to the temptations of the green? It turned out he would have no such luck, the response only a shake of the head in return. "Prick," Josh spat with feeling--the emotion he'd been suppressing was apparent in the form of anger as he hissed the word through gritted teeth.
In any other state of being Joshua most likely would have been embarrassed by this whole affair. He was a proud guy, and he would rather have just shot them a glare and stalked off without a word. But anger and intoxication were not only suppressing the voice of reason--no, he had indeed ceased to give a damn about anything besides keeping himself drinking for the rest of the night. He didn't want to sober up. Getting sober again meant facing all of his fucking problems again, and that wasn't the way that Joshua Dale wanted to go. Standing up and leaning heavily against the bar counter for support, he stared down Nell's fellow bartender with apparent loathing. If she'd been a guy she probably would have gotten this wrath herself, but she was not and he was drunk anyway so he was just taking it out on the last person to deny him anything. "I've got half a mind to come over there and pop you one," he said venomously, and he was damned lucky that the room didn't start to swelter with heat. It usually happened when he got this angry, but being plastered was probably limiting the extent of his power at the moment--usually bad, but an incredible save at the moment.
Noticing that the security was glaring quite threateningly at him, Joshua glared back and continued to use the sturdy counter for support. If he tried to stand still unaided he'd probably end up falling over--his balance was terrible, his equilibrium shot to hell by the amount of alcohol he'd drank. "Said I felt like it," he mumbled with a glower, his words short and low. 'Didn't say I was going to." If he was completely sober, Josh probably could have taken on the man behind the counter, or at least have stood a chance against him. He knew how to defend himself and at 6'3" didn't have much trouble doing so. Drunk? He'd be likely to get his ass handed to him in a paper bag.
The girl whose name he'd already forgotten offered him something else to drink, and the gray-eyed glower fixed itself on her fiercely. "Speak English where you came from?" he asked with a sneer. "Pretty sure I asked you for a fucking beer, sweetheart." He wasn't using the pet name in the usual drunken, flirty way of the male race. No, it was derogatory and clearly meant to come across as such by the way he smirked coldly at her. The security guard of the bar, the thick-muscled bouncer, took a step forward as if meaning to protect Nell from whatever Josh might do in his current mood. The eighteen year old turned his attention to the man as his hand moved slightly. "Touch me with that hand and it won't be attached to you come morning," he snarled. The bouncer didn't seem too threatened--he probably didn't detect just how serious Josh was being. Nevertheless, a threat to call the cops was made, which was met by a hollow and cracked laugh from Joshua as he half-walked, half-staggered in the direction of the door. "Call 'em, then," he dared. Probably stupid, but he didn't give a shit. "I'm outta here anyway." And it was going to be a nightmare to walk home in his current state, but he didn't give a shit about that either. If they weren't going to supply him with alcohol then they meant less to him than the gum that was probably stuck to the bottom of his shoe from walking the downtown streets.
[I cringed writing that, he can be such a prick xD This could practically be his anthem.]
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on May 31, 2011 21:14:41 GMT -5
Josh was clearly angry at being cut-off, and it had potential to turn into a bartender’s worse nightmare: a patron making a scene. She hadn’t had to deal with this yet, so she went through all the visible routes to take in her mind. The way he spoke, though not the usual slurring of those with alcohol in their system, was enough to tell her he’d had one too many. Clearly. And an angry drunk was never good. She scratched her head and sighed, intimidated by his anger but not enough to give in and serve him another drink. She’d dealt with worse than muttered insults and furious looks.
Luckily, her coworker was an old hand, more used to this thing than his greenhorn associate. And so he probably wasn’t affected by Josh’s drunken epithet, though it put Nell well enough on edge. Her coworker was covering his own ass, as well as the entire bar’s. They didn’t want to be liable for whatever a drunk did, as most bars didn’t. The cut-off was mean to protect both the patron and the bar. But Josh—of course—didn’t care. And Nell did feel sorry for him, after all he seemed to be plagued by something, and she was taking away a sort of escape (and thinking of that made it even worse). But she was simply concerned for his own wellbeing.
It felt like one of those Mexican stand-offs in an old Western film, what with Josh staring her coworker down. Though the venomous expression was mostly lost in the fact that he had to keep his balance against a counter. Even though she was the one to take away his booze, the object of his animosity was her fellow bartender. She stayed silent at his threat, her eyes scanning over the crowd in the bar to the security at the entrance whose attention was now drawn to the spectacle Josh was creating. And so he amended his words, which made her furrow her eyebrows. By this point, he was probably black-out drunk. Nell had never experienced it herself, but he’d probably not remember any of this night tomorrow morning (or rather, afternoon or night, whenever he woke up). So Nell—for pretty much the first time that night—kept her mouth shut as she observed. His temper was obviously volatile, as was the situation should he throw any punches.
His sneer to her didn’t affect her much—after all, he was plastered and was obviously pissed that he couldn’t get his way. ”Sorry, hon, still can’t serve you,” Nell replied with a soft shake of her head as security approached and Josh threatened him. And though he was of intimidating stature, she doubted that Josh could stand his own against a bouncer in his current state. But she really didn’t know anything about him—hell, he may go Hulk when drunk. But he was retaliated against with threats of police, and he bounced them back like they were nothing. Nell guessed it was a rather good thing that he said he was leaving, for it would diffuse the situation. But at the point, she was more concerned with him walking the dangerous streets at night because he sure as hell better not have been driving.
She took off her server’s apron and threw it on the counter, saying, ”I’ll escort you home, then.” It was quite the masochistic move, accompanying a guy who clearly had anger problems and was possibly violently drunk, but Nell was unfortunately the bleeding heart. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t defend herself. As much as she didn’t want to harm someone, she wasn’t about to play the victim again. And so, though it was naïve of her, she stepped out from behind the counter and went to the door, lifting an eyebrow at the irate drinker. ”Can’t have you stumbling through the streets, might get jumped.”
If Nell was anything, it was streetwise. She didn’t know how she’d survived traveling through The Bronx at night in her childhood—call it luck, she guessed. It had been incredibly stupid and totally reckless, but she hadn’t been thinking of that when she was younger and she most certainly didn’t have parents to warn her away from the dangers of the city. Sure, her mother said not to go outside otherwise her family would snatch her up, but that only made Nell more determined to get away from her. But she always came back for her sister. Perhaps that is how most kids got into gangs and the like, they had no one to tell them otherwise.
Now, she was all the more wiser when it came to hazards of the night streets, and had already faced them when coming to British Columbia. She didn’t have a car, so it’d be no problem to help him get home safely—even if he had objections.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on May 31, 2011 21:42:20 GMT -5
If he was in any state to be analysing the girl and her words at this point, Joshua might have been surprised when she shot back his comment. At first glance (and certainly when she'd spoken to him) she hadn't seemed the type that was capable of firing things back like that, even to an obviously hammered customer, but it seemed that his original speculations about her had been wrong. Not that he remembered such speculations now--he didn't remember much of anything. His mind was full of haze and anger, craving another beer so that he could pass out already and be done with it. "Bitch..." he muttered under his breath, obviously not pleased that she'd made any kind of retort at all. Normally Joshua wasn't in the business of comparing women to female dogs, but when he was drunk he had quite the mouth on him and absolutely no sense of humility. He'd been raised to treat women with respect so long as they hadn't wronged you--even though it felt like it in his current mood, Nell hadn't really 'wronged' him at all, she was only doing her job.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as she invited herself to be some sort of escort, immediately opposed to the idea. Both his current mood toward her and his masculine pride were protesting in full-swing. "Like hell you will," the Fire student hissed, shaking his head. "Go back 'nd serve the rest of the sorry pricks in the bar, leave me the hell alone..." He spat the offensive word and turned away from her, pulling it open roughly in a move that suggested he still had strength, even though his balance had been terribly affected by his little drinking games. "Fuck off," he muttered, using the wall just outside the door to brace his palm and stop himself from falling. He'd be damned if he embarrassed himself that much in front of her. His pride made have been partially obscured by his intoxication but there was still enough of it there to guide his actions as always. "Like you'd be able to help me if I got jumped," he snorted, cruelty laced through his tone. "You couldn't take me on, let alone anyone stupid enough to fucking jump me..."
Figuring this would ward her off, Joshua turned in the general direction of his apartment building and began the rather laborious task of walking home, bracing himself on the side of buildings to stop from swaying or accidentally staggering out onto the road. There weren't many cars around at this time but knowing his luck as of late he'd get killed in a couple seconds flat should he stray too far off the sidewalk. Though Nell had no way of knowing it, the idea of Joshua getting jumped was much more plausible and justified than he let on. As far as the boy knew the gang thought that he was dead, but they'd certainly recognise him easily enough. He hadn't changed much since he was fifteen and they'd left him for dead in an alley. Oh, he was much taller and his muscles had hardened from training in self-defence (that was his paranoia that'd spurred him in that direction) but he didn't doubt they'd make the connection. But what he'd said to Nell was true--she didn't stand a chance against them unless she had a gun or a knife of some sort. They were all thugs and street-walkers. Alone and with Josh sobered up, he could probably defend himself. But they attacked in numbers and he was anything but sober. He was fucked if they took notice of him.
He took notice of the fact that his harsh words hadn't discouraged her after only a few steps however, and in a brash and rather dangerous movement he had pulled the switchblade from his pocket and flicked it out. "Stay the fuck back, lady," he warned in a muttered growl. "I don't know what the fuck your problem with me is, but I don't want your damned help." He could get home on his own (hopefully). He was fine (but not really). "Quit following me. This isn't the first fucking time that I've walked home on my own and it's sure as hell not going to be the last." Joshua was a loner by choice and by nature, he was used to being independent and doing things for himself. They'd had a butler in the mansion--still did most likely, he just didn't live in said mansion any more--and Joshua had always insisted on doing a lot of the things for himself until he'd adapted to the fact that he didn't have to. It felt weird letting anyone else help him, even in a small way such as making sure he didn't get killed on his way home.
[Alas, he speaks--aaaand cusses like every other word. Oh drunk!Josh your trolling amuses me so~!]
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on Jun 1, 2011 5:44:29 GMT -5
Nell wasn't necessarily trying to be snarky, it was simply her defense mechanism. After suffering years of abuse, it's not like she was going to lay down and bear her belly to any attacker. She may dislike confrontation like all Earth elementals, but that didn't mean they also wouldn't defend themselves and retaliate. And at another venomous word, she almost sighed. He'd have to do a lot more to affect her, it wasn't like her mother never called her such things. From him, it sounded more like a little kid testing out new words, not that he wasn't an intimidating guy. She simply had quite the tough skin, but that didn't mean she blocked out everything else from getting in as she'd seen in jaded others, derelict souls on the streets. She had her naïveté, but that was mostly due to her overgrown heart. And right now that organ was overpowering her brain that might have otherwise warned her away.
Of course he would be opposed to the idea, and upon instructing her to return to the counter, she laced her fingers behind her head in a decidedly easygoing posture and said, "My shift's almost over anyway." The words were like a shrug. She would lose a few bucks, the other barkeeper would probably fill in for the night, but in the end it didn't matter too much. She didn't make a lot of money anyway, what was eight dollars lost? Such was rather uncharacteristic thinking, but it had been a long night. That still didn't stop her from keeping up with the grey-eyed lush. Josh threw open the door and she feared he'd fall out and face plant or something. But he steadied himself against the wall, and she crossed her arms over her chest against the cold outside air. "I guess not," she stated simply, though she would have rather said 'you'd be surprised'. But that most likely would have been taken as a challenge in the eyes of the inebriated man.
Would she be able to defend herself again Josh? In his state, perhaps. And any other offender, hopefully. But she truly did not like to think about that. Because she had been defending herself when she killed her mother, her powers had been too deeply attached to her fear, and the result tore her life apart. She feared that happening again. Which is why she saw the Academy as a blessing, a chance to condition herself. After years of honing her powers, only to have herself lose control like she did...it had been devastating in many ways. But it also pushed her to become stronger. And she'd be extra careful when it came to self-defense. Just think concrete shields.
She tried to keep pace as he darted away, intent on losing her. She felt a bit like a stalker, but whatever. It didn't matter what she felt like as long as he got back okay. And even though she was well in-tune with others' needs and wants, and respected them, when someone else's safety came into question, she had to put her foot down. Which was why she had to be totally stupid and annoying right now with this guy. Sorry, dude, you're on my Nell-protection-list. A list made up of wanderers and destitutes and drunks with attitude problems.
Okay, so it wasn't in her plans to get shanked tonight. So as he pulled out the blade, she dropped her hands to her sides, ready to defend herself, a part of her mind going back to a certain night when she also had a knife pulled on her. There was enough concrete around should he prove trouble, but she really didn't want to do that. Nell eyed the weapon and then sighed. He has to be difficult, of course. As much as she'd convinced herself to stay away from such trouble, she felt responsible for him, whether he liked it or not. She kept her face carefully neutral when she told him, "I never said anything about 'help'." Of course, that's just what it was but she'd unfortunately become quite the liar as of late (how else was she expected to survive?). "Consider it walking in the same direction. My apartment's this way, after all. Don't even pay attention to me." He may not live anywhere near here, but that didn't matter. Why am I being so damned stupid? She knew it was because if she didn't know if he got home safely, she'd have to live with it on her conscience. Plus, she didn't want him to end up dead, no matter how much of a dick he was (though the fact he was piss-ass drunk might have something to do with it).
"Please put the blade away, I don't want any trouble." And she didn't want him to hurt himself either, but it was something else she didn't say aloud. But what the he'll was she doing, reasoning with someone who was obviously shitfaced? "It's not like I'm a threat or anything." She was calling back to what he had said earlier, about not being able to do anything if they got jumped. Nell liked to believe otherwise, but whatever made this guy feel comfortable... She just wanted to avoid confrontation ad much as possible.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Jun 1, 2011 9:22:23 GMT -5
[Josh just doesn't factor elemental abilities into it considering they're not supposed to use their powers--not even in self defence--against mortals xD]
The girl said something about her shift being over--almost over, same difference--but as was to be expected Josh couldn't give a flying fuck about that. "Run on home, then," he hissed through tightly gritted teeth. No matter what way he looked at it, the drunkard most definitely did not want this chick tagging after him. He didn't like her as it was, and his affections were becoming less and less each second her presence infected his personal space. "Just leave me be." His acidic tones and the fact that he was quite obvious smashed might have driven any other sensible person for the hills, but it seemed that Nell would not be so easily persuaded. He had no patience for the girl and her insistence, yet she had all the patience to insist on following him home. How annoying was that?
If Joshua had known she was an Earth elemental, he might have realised why she was so confident in her abilities to defend herself. But he wasn't telepathic and he didn't actually recognise her from school--again, his current state might have been to blame--so the thought didn't even cross his mind. Even if it had he might have dismissed it as nothing; they weren't supposed to use their powers in front of the mortals, part of the code set in place to protect them all from the government. This wasn't some storybook, they weren't able to snap their fingers and erase the memories of the people who saw their gifts. His pyrokinesis was powerful through years of training, and it did kind of suck that he wasn't allowed to show it off or at least use it wherever he liked. But he didn't want to risk a code violation. It wasn't like they could kill you or arrest you, but he knew that some people had been expelled from the Academy for it. Cocky students that thought they'd just do whatever they liked coming under the radar of the school and being booted out on their ass within seconds.
He snorted in contempt and rolled his dull gray eyes when she tried to cover up the fact she was indeed intent on helping. "I may be drunk," he muttered, "but I'm not that stupid." He wasn't falling for the whole 'we're going in the same direction, so just let me stalk you in peace' deal. Wait... was she stalking him? Immediate suspicion flooded through the angry male and he cast a glare on her, eyes smouldering with rage and hatred. His vision was blurred and unclear from the amount of alcohol he'd drank, but he could still make out the basics of everything. It was like denying someone with vision problems their glasses. He couldn't have read something if you'd paid him, but he could get around as long as he knew the direction to go in. "Walk on the other side of the street, then," he hissed in mild triumph. If she was going the same way, it wouldn't matter then would it? "I bet if I turned down a fucking alleyway you'd be right behind me, I'm not as stupid as you seem to think." Oh, he was a lot less intelligent than usual and his logic and judgement was most definitely impaired, but he wasn't a total idiot.
She asked him to put his knife away and he slashed the air with it instead, a silent threat. He would most definitely not hesitate to cut her if she came too close. Josh was dangerous sober and holding a weapon, approach him when he was drunk and there was no telling what he might do. Along with dulling most of his senses, the alcohol had also served to jack up his paranoia by a few levels. What if she knew the gang? What if she planned to... to turn him into them or something? He'd told her his name but that didn't really matter seeing as they didn't know it anyway. "Stay back," he snapped defensively, a guarded look in his eyes. "Come any closer to me 'nd I'll cut you, I swear it!"
Really, Nell was lucky he wasn't a sex offender or someone with a risk to become as such when he was heavily intoxicated. There was an alley right next to them and barely any people on the streets. But right now it was Josh who was wary. He didn't want to lead her in the direction of his apartment. He didn't want this chick to know where he lived. It could be dangerous, revealing such personal information. "Go on then," he said, still holding the knife in his unsteady grip, fingers clenched so tight that they were bleached even whiter against his already fair skin. "Go home t'your apartment or whatever. I'm staying here for awhile." He lifted his chin defiantly, as if daring her to suggest that she wasn't trying to follow him now.
[That was fun to write xD]
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Post by NELL DOE DALE on Jun 1, 2011 16:42:19 GMT -5
She wasn't trying to be creepy with the whole "following you home whether you like it or not" deal, but what else was she going to do? Even as Josh protested, she kept up with him all the same. Like an idiot. Because she was too damn nice, or rather too damn stupid. Something like that, she didn’t really know. She just didn’t like the idea of letting anyone—especially a drunk—walk home alone at night. It did not sit well with her at all, and so what was a girl to do? Stalking, it seems… Nell didn’t reply to his rebuttals, because it was clear she wasn’t going to leave him alone. Even though for his sake, she’d like to. Because she wanted people to be happy, but also wanted them to be safe.
Nell wasn't keen on politics when it came to elemental powers. After all, she was very late to the game. When she started growing flowers outside of her window, she knew it was something that could help her get away from her mother. It wasn’t until she spoke with her family in the hospital that she learned about her lineage, and not until she was in British Columbia that she learned of this Academy that could prove to be a sanctuary. She knew because of all the secrecy it'd be frowned upon by the academy for her to do anything so rash as to raze a building (not that she could and would, especially since steel and concrete were so diluted that her powers barely effected them). And she seriously did not need the Academy on her ass. Still, sidewalk pavement could peel up to form a protective barrier from...uh....underground explosions? It was the only way she could truly defend herself. With the stature of a squirrel, close-combat was out of the question. And there was no way she'd carry around a weapon like Josh. In any way, she hugely disliked violence.
”I never doubted your intelligence.” Just your judgement. He was obviously paranoid about her, even though she made it clear she was no threat. The way his grey eyes practically bored holes into her head made her scratch the back of her head in a sign of both exhaustion and exasperation. If he just shut up and let her get him home, jeesh! But no, he had to be all snappy and angry. Her frustration was more like a mother with a child throwing a temper tantrum. A child about a foot taller than her and looking like he was ready to snap her head off. At the mention of her following him down an alley, she sighed. "I'm not some stalker or anything." Nell shook her head. "If you turn down an alley, you'll be more likely to end up in an ice-box with a fancy tag around your toe even when wielding a switchblade." Now that sounds pretty damn stupid. The words were not to be cruel, they held more pleading than that and were more like an appeal to his better judgment. She'd dealt with giggly drunks and the such, but bitter and contemptuous drunks were new territory.
He waved around the blade and she tilted her head to the side, brown hair falling over her eyes. This guy... She surely didn't want to be gutted so she took a step back, her gaze still firm. ”I wasn’t planning on getting any closer to you while waving your knife at me.” Nell’s tone was heavy and exasperated. Yeah, she wasn’t a complete moron. A drunk with a switchblade...not a good combination. She measured the possibilities. If he got jumped, he did have a weapon, but how well could he fare while intoxicated? Nell definitely didn’t want to put herself in danger, but… It would have been so much easier had he not been brandishing a weapon. How could she convince him to just let her help him home? It’s times like these her patience almost shattered and caused her to stomp away with a ‘good riddance’! But no, she had patience of iron and the desire to help anyone in need, whether or not they believed they were. Even now she held a steady gaze on Josh; she wasn’t about to curl up and cry because he had a knife on him.
She arched her eyebrow at his words. "Stay here and do what, exactly?" Nell sighed, putting her hands into her pockets. She got an idea then while measuring whatever options she had. "How about I call you a cab? Then you won't have to deal with me, kay?" This was her compromise. She didn't want to put herself in harm's way with this guy and he obviously didn't want her up his ass, so a taxi seemed like the best way to go. She was already pulling out her phone from her pocket and going to her contacts where she kept the number in case one of her friends got plastered and she didn't have her unfortunate-looking Monte Carlo. The sooner he got home, the better, and he wouldn’t be moving too fast what with a knife in his hand. She really wished he’d put that away, it was bringing back some pretty painful memories and she wasn’t about ready to deal with the psychological trauma should she ever confront what she had done.
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