maskormenacelogs | I've become the hollow man [OPEN]

Entry tags:

I've become the hollow man [OPEN]

WHO: Yomiel and YOU
WHERE: A bar in Heropa
WHEN: 6/2 evening
WHAT: Taking a break from his crime spree for some potential normal interactions with people (before all hell breaks loose.)
WARNINGS: Dead guy angst, slightly icky details about Yomiel's gross body. Brackets are fine if you'd rather switch to those.

This was a bad idea.

His original reasoning for heading out on the town tonight was to make himself visible. Nobody could say they hadn't seen the guy in the red suit for a few weeks if he did-- and his flashy style was hard to forget. That is, if anybody looked his way in the first place. Generally, they didn't.

But he wanted to try. Being the center of attention had done something for him this week. There was a thrill in being normal, if just for a few minutes-- and if screaming and robbing people at the same time.

He knew deep down that that's why he was here. To see if he couldn't replicate the feat by himself, in a peaceful manner this time. If he couldn't just be normal for one night.

So he sat in the corner of the bar at his own table, doing his very best act to pretend to be normal. He ordered and paid for drinks he couldn't drink. He even put a few tiny sips in his mouth to complete the illusion, only tasting them with dull, dead senses. The strongest whiskey was little different from water. Anything he swallowed would just sit inside of him until he emptied it out. Mostly, his drinks were poured out into a floor drain behind him when nobody was looking.

Maybe someone would join him at his table. Or maybe he'd sit back in the corner all night, a mock-up of human life, pantomiming everything from his drinking to his breathing to blinking his eyes.

After a while, he bolstered his courage enough to step up to the bar itself. He turned to the person beside him.

"What's good to drink in this dump?"

There. That sounded normal, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Apollo hadn't meant to end up in a bar tonight, but after taking a walk when sleep proved impossible, and poking his head in out of curiosity... well, it had been too tempting to resist. He wasn't one to even have a beer that often, but landing in Heropa also made it the first time this week he'd been able to just stop and relax. Not that he particularly enjoyed it; it felt wrong to be forced into having so much free time, when he knew that everything was so screwed up at home.

So Apollo grabbed a seat at the bar, and ordered a single beer, not really intending to go further than that. Up until he'd been tempted into drinks that catered to his sweet tooth better, and went from trying out a Blue Hawaiian to sucking down a Creamsicle with hardly a care. The only problem was, he'd never had a great tolerance for alcohol in the first place, and is definitely drunk by the time he's starting on his second one, only putting down his glass when he realizes that someone actually said something to him.

"Huh?" Apollo turns to the taller man, blinking exaggeratedly, his gaze soon straying up to take in that hair. "You sure you need more to drink?" He asks, his words a little slurred. "You already did somethin' weird to your hair, it's all... skyscraper an' twisty. At the end."

Oh. Hadn't noticed the guy was drunk.

Man... getting drink. That would be nice. He can't even sleep or breathe, much less imbibe and feel any effects. But rather than jealousy or irritation at the crack about his hair, Yomiel found himself smirking with amusement.

Actually, a drunk guy was a good idea. He would be less inclined to stare or pay too much attention.

"I could say the exact same thing, pal," he teased. "You sound like you're having a good time. Or at least an efficient time."

"Efficient!" Apollo echoes, hitting his fist down against the bar a little too hard. It's not quite the force he'd put into slamming the bench in court, but he still sways slightly in his seat. "Tha's it, I'll be a machine. It's perfect... don't have to worry about anything but working, just, oil changes an' replacement parts, an' fighting dinosaurs with lasers..." Wait, didn't that happen in a B-movie he saw a few weeks ago? Oh, whatever. For all he knew, there were dinosaurs around here.

Apollo takes another quick swig of his drink before squinting a little at the tall guy, "Wait, didn't you ask me something?"

"Huh?"

Okay. A really drunk guy. But at least he seems to be the fun, funny kind of drunk and not the type who will start trouble. It would be lame as hell if he went to all this trouble to pull off a crime spree and then got caught because he was hanging out with some drunk guy.

"It wasn't important anyway," he insists. "But I'll ask something else. You want another drink? I could use someone else at my table."

"I got a drink," Apollo points out, tilting his head towards his half-empty glass. He's giving the other man a more critical look now after that invitation, though it's not like Apollo would be able to use his perception at all in this state. Alcohol was a wonderful thing. It's more because being inebriated makes it harder to concentrate, and he can't tell if this guy might be a scumbag or not. The implication of getting a free drink was tempting, though...

Apollo finally shrugs, "Sure, why not? Gets boring, sitting around like this." It's not entirely easy to get down from his barstool, the way the floor suddenly seems to be wobbling, but Apollo manages to stay on his feet... and grab his glass to take along with him.

"Yeah, but after that one, obviously..." Apparently it's been a while since Yomiel went to a bar, because most people are happy to accept a free drink. Double-fisting it, even.

He smiles when Apollo finally acquiesces to come over to the table. That'll be an easier place to sit and converse... or look like he's conversing with this clearly drunk guy, anyway, and it's away from the bulk of the crowd. That will be good.

"So what are you drinking, anyway?" he asks as he pulls out a chair for the young man as they reach the table.

It's a good thing Yomiel pulled out the chair, considering Apollo probably would've stumbled over it otherwise. He doesn't so much take as seat as drop into it, and casts the man a grateful look, even if it isn't quite a smile. He's not on the level of being able to smile just yet, but the attention is nice.

"You bored, too?" Apollo asks, sympathetically. It sucked to be in a bar without company. He brightens up a bit when he's asked about his drink, almost sounding excited now, "This's something called a creamsicle, and it tastes just like one! You gotta try it," he insists, sliding his glass over to the other side of the table. It's a good thing his glass isn't full, or he would've spilled plenty of it in the process.

"Yeah, something like that," he answers. He merely eyes the glass as Apollo pushes it over to him. Letting a total stranger drink out of his cup? Guy must be pretty friendly.

Yomiel hesitates a moment, then grabs the glass and brings it to his lips to take the smallest ever of sips. He couldn't taste it really. It was vaguely sweet and a little cold and that was all he could get out of it. But he remembered what creamsicles tasted like and so was able to use his imagination that much.

"Pretty good stuff." He passes it back over.

"So what's the occasion? Why are you out on the town tonight, Mister...?"

"It is, isn't it? It's the best!" Apollo's getting close to a smile again, pleased that he was willing to try it. With a drink that good, why wouldn't he want everyone to know about it? And it wasn't like he was overly concerned about germs, when he could just drink from the other side of the glass.

"I'm Apollo," he offers as he takes his glass back. "And 'm here because everything ssssucks." He hisses the word between his teeth with relish, pausing to take another quick gulp of his drink. "Life was complicated enough before I ended up here! It's not a bad day, it's a bad week. Things start goin' bad, and it doesn't ever stop."

Apollo's hair spikes have long since drooped down into his face, and he has to push his hair away from his eyes with an irritated air before squinting at Yomiel again, "And who're you?"

"Apollo." Well, there's a name you don't hear every day. And he wasn't here to celebrate. He's here to drink away a bad week- everything going downhill all at the same time.

"I'm-" it takes him a moment to figure out what to say. He's given an alias to some people, but part of him doesn't really want to, for once. "Yomiel," he says finally. "And I know how that goes, pal... I had a bad day once too."

A bad day that led to a bad week that led to a bad decade. But he doesn't care to think about that right now.

"What seems to be the trouble for you there, Apollo?"

Maybe his own name was unusual, but that one was downright weird. Apollo's not entirely confident that he can pronounce it back the right way, so in a rare flash of drunken common sense, he decides to not try repeating it. It sure seemed hard to forget, at least.

"A bad day?" Apollo echoes instead, eyebrows raised in a skeptical look. A guy in a fancy, probably expensive suit, who was apparently too rude to take off sunglasses indoors? Yeah, he could believe that the guy only ever had a single bad day. Apollo has no idea just how wrong his first impression of Yomiel is, considering he sure looked like the kind of person that had everything else going for him.

"My bes' friend was murdered." The alcohol doesn't dull the raw bitterness in his voice, that's for sure. Apollo wouldn't have been willing to even say that much if this were any normal conversation, but he's hardly thinking about keeping up appearances right now. "A bomb went off durin' the trial, I landed in the hospital, and when I go off an' inves-ti-gate it, I end up here jus' to find out half the people from my home don't even know what happened!" He smacks his glass down against the table, just because the sound is satisfying, "And then? I yelled at a teenage girl. I'm havin' a swell time here."

Wow. That does sound like a bad day. Yomiel makes a bit of a face at the revelation that the kid's friend was murdered. Well... he could understand some of the emotions that come along with that.

"Sorry to hear about your friend," he says quietly.

Man. He was never very good at this sentimental stuff. She was. Even when he was at his most frustrated or worked up, she seemed to know just how to talk to him. Put a hand on his knee, squeeze, ask him questions that would get right to the root of the problem.

Yomiel's hardly about to touch Apollo and really doesn't know what else to say, so he'll try asking questions instead.

"You said there are some people here from your home?"

"Why's everyone gotta say they're sorry when someone dies? Just sounds all awkward an' formal, like they can't figure out somethin' that's not off a greeting card. What's it help to know that someone feels bad? Join the club!"

That small rant was more philosophical than out of any real anger. It was just one of those things that had become surreal, now that he was in the position of having lost someone close to him. All the awkward apologies and dancing around to avoid saying the word 'died' hadn't improved his mood back home, so why would it here?

Apollo polishes off his drink before answering Yomiel, "Yeah, we all work in the LA legal system. Even the ones I never met before comin' here. How weird is that? Maybe this cosmic force or whatever wants us all outta the way."

"Seeing as I don't even know you, there really isn't anything else for me to say, is there?" Blunt, but not necessarily offended.

Actually, Yomiel is probably a good person to rant about this to, as he understands exactly where Apollo is coming from there on the uselessness of apologies.

"People are terrified of death. They can't speak about it without feeling uncomfortable." He adjusts his sunglasses on his face. "It's worthless to look for comfort in others... you can only come to terms with death when you're satisfied. When things are concluded."

For Yomiel, that conclusion will never come. But perhaps this kid has an out, unlike he does.

Apollo just shrugs at first, but he's genuinely paying attention as Yomiel continues. Right now, it seemed like good advice. Apollo was used to being independent, even took pride in it sometimes - but Clay had been there when he needed help, or just a shoulder to lean on. The two boys had always supported each other, even when no one else would. So how was he supposed to cope without that?

"Then I'm screwed," Apollo points out with a deadpan laugh. He folds his arms on the edge of the table, not so much leaning forward as just resting his weight against it. "I can't find who killed him if I can't go home. This might as well be Mars, f'r all the good I can do here."

"I didn't say it'd be a quick conclusion. If the clues are back where you come from and you're here now, then there's no way you can solve it. Yet."

Again, blunt, but Yomiel doesn't especially seem to be trying to be harsh. He makes his chest rise and fall as though taking a deep breath or a sigh. then he glances back up at the younger man.

"So it sounds like all you can do is make the best of it here. I don't know your friend, but he probably wouldn't want you torturing yourself about it when you're a whole world away."

A beat.

"You know. If people where you from know about other dimensions."

Apollo actually appreciates that he's being blunt, and not trying to sugarcoat any of it. In fact, it seems like Yomiel is speaking from experience, which makes his advice all the more relevant.

"Didn't know about dimen-shions outside of fictional stuff, no." But he was right, Apollo knew that Clay wouldn't want to see him like this. On the other hand, he doubted that he'd be able to accept that delay in his investigation so easily. He was going to spend his time here not knowing why Clay had died, or why it had happened to him, and it wasn't going to be easy to just forget about it.

"I can try," Apollo says after a moment. "Tryin' is all I can do anyway. Thanks, Mr. Yo'meal. You're a good listener."

"Oh. I am?" He's actually kind of surprised that worked. For an awkward second he twiddles his thumbs together, then looks off to the side. "I mean. Yeah, sure. Glad it helped a little bit."

He let another awkward silence go by before pushing ahead.

"So, what do you do for a living then, Apollo?"

He snorts softly at seeing the fidgeting, more amused by it than he normally would be. What, had Yomiel not expected him to be grateful that someone was willing to listen his depressing story?

Apollo rests his head on his hand, stifling a yawn. Yeah, he's feeling a little sluggish now, but the night was still young, and he was willing to stay at the table as long as Yomiel wanted the company. "I'm a defense attorney! Been practicing for a year an'... er, over a year. They're gonna keep letting me do it here, long as I register, I guess."

He shrugs, then lifts an arm to wave the waitress over, casting Yomiel a hopeful look. "Terms of this were you'd buy me a drink, isn' that right?"

Crematia had developed a fondness for alcohol. She's not sure what was in this drink that gave her a pleasant loopy feeling, but she liked it a lot, especially if the drink made her feel like her throat was burning, like she can breathe fire in her human form.

At least she can cast spells in it. (Small favors.)

She turns when she assumed she's being addressed, by a human male. Wearing her typical revealing red dress, she swings her long legs idly on her stool, red hair tied up messily into a bun.

"Vodka," she suggested, taking a swing of her own.

"Vodka, huh?"

His eyes are hidden behind his dark sunglasses, but he does take in the sight of her from head to toe. Hard to avoid it, dead or not. Yomiel is beyond uninterested in the intricacies of dating and relationships, at this point, but a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman.

Regarding her for a moment, he suddenly smirks. "Need a refill, there, my lovely friend?"

Crematia had very little notion on what was physically attractive. She did had a mate once, during her time in the Abyss, and admired his strength . . . but then he died, perished under Crematia's own fangs and claws. He was cowardly and weak in mind, and was no father worthy to Crematia or Crematia's future brood that was currently growing within her. But it will be several years before she will lay her eggs, and a few hundred years before they will hatch. Hopefully before that happened, she will already be back at home in Krynn. Her conditions on what is attractive is limited at best even to her own kind, let alone among humans.

So she saw nothing in the man. She smiled wanly and glanced down at her small glass, half full. She took a swing, emptying it.

"Now I do."

Plus there was that whole... hair thing he had going on.

He smirked and motioned to the bartender. It seemed to take him a moment to be noticed. "Another vodka for the lady, please," he said, and set a few dollars down on the bar to cover the drink and the tip. He had plenty of money now, and no need to buy drinks himself. So why not?

"Having a good evening?"

She didn't even notice the hair, to be honest. She thought it was another human thing.

"I suppose so," she admitted, idly rubbing on the rim of her glass with her pinky. "I am . . . " she pauses, trying to remember the phrase again. "Job hunting, is what is called."

"Ah. Job hunting sucks," he remarked, and settles into the stool at the bar next to her. He wasn't exactly comfortable sitting in the middle of the place like this, feeling like everyone was staring at him (for reasons other than his general appearance). But it would allow him to focus manipulating his body to look more alive than to focus on keeping his balance and standing.

"What kind of stuff are you looking for? Anything interesting?"

"I'm starting to think that there is nothing here that really suits me," Crematia admitted. "Back home, I grew up under my dear mother's care, and she taught me the ways of the warrior. When I became old enough, she showed me the door and told me it's time for me to make my own way. Before I know it, I was here."

She taps her long fingernails against the bar impatiently. "Even there was something, it is not something that this dear old government of altruistic persuasion will allow a hero to have access to, native or newcomer."

"You were a warrior back home?" Just a reminder that people around here came from all different societies and all different strange places.

"I guess it would be sort of difficult to follow up on that. Short of joining the military, I mean... but I don't think anybody's too happy with the government, enough to fight for them." At least, nobody in Yomiel's circles.

"What is it you'd like access to?"

"A position."

She said it flatly. "A position to provide my own abilities. I can level this city on my own if I truly wanted to, and I want a position that reflects that."

However, if she wanted to be honest, leveling this city would take a lot of work and even then it will be useless. Without her kindragons, she has no one to support her ability to lay waste on her enemies - if there are any enemies to find. Supporting a gang and stealing their rival's riches is a game for younglings, and Crematia started to become impatient. Not with just them, but with herself, failing to find a purpose here. Finding her strongest enemy and kill him - but where are the enemies? This world is supposed to be in need of heroes, but where are the villains? Where are the enemies who she need to kill, to prove herself once more as Takhisis' beloved daughter?

Where can she find her worth in a world that Takhisis doesn't even exist?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I've become the hollow man [OPEN]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject