sherry&kite | static

toppingthebill:

It was still relatively crowded inside, the bar was hopping and the lowbrow boars in their suits were talking amongst themselves, wining and dining while women were objectified around them. Kite, suddenly sweating and annoyed, scurried past the animals and found an open spot at the end of the tall counter that kept the good old barkeep (he could not place the warped face but it seemed to belong to him) out of shit-throwing range.

He didn’t know how it happened, but he blinked and suddenly there was a gin and tonic in front of him. Opting not to question the warped time-space continuum, he nursed it carefully, eyes roaming as he twisted on the metalvelvet stool. Funny little world, funny little people. He recognised many of the customers; all beloved familiars of his several trades. The few he didn’t recognise were not human and therefore not worth his time. Not right now.

They were busy, anyway.

It struck him as a singular rarity that he would ever consider coming to the club while not working. Something in the universe was playing with him tonight. He didn’t mind.

Setting the cold glass down, empty, he wavered mentally between asking for another or simply setting his head down on the flat surface and letting the waves come and go as they pleased. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight around here, at least.

Sherry balanced carefully on her heels, not in the mood to fall.  What would the male patrons say if she wobbled—tripped?  Showing up tipsy to work?  That was something Sherry didn’t need to hear.  Another girl could be whispered about as far as she was concerned.  That girl could go out of business.  Because as selfish as it seemed, there was no room in the club to care about anyone but herself.  But there wasn’t much room to do that in the “real” world.

She sighed.  Usually lethargic during work, today she was not.  A drink would probably help…  But was it worth it?  Technically she wasn’t legal, but did it matter?  

The brunette decided if she was old enough to work there—at The Phoenix Club—she was surely old enough to have a drink.  Even if only when she was stressed.  That would mean she could allow herself a trip to the bar every night—when needed.  None of the drunks there—wallowing in pity, why did I come here?  None of them could ever be mine…, that was their usual mind set, they were never happy when the girls came of there; to make them happy or otherwise—would notice.

Ace probably wouldn’t even mind.  Again, only if he found out.

Nobody else is at the bar.  Whoever’s manning it won’t mind giving you a drink.  She needed to be calm.  Or else the girl would never give her a drink.  And she really needed one.  To keep her sane.