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Post by rhett damon halewile on Aug 3, 2011 7:23:24 GMT -5
“You really have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?” Well, that certainly caught the brunette’s attention; it caught it very well. He looked up at Moz, suddenly feeling like he was about to tip over and fall to the floor—now, it could be argued that this was a mixture of his feelings for the mundane and the fact that he downed a whole glass of the Manhattan in less than five minutes. So, Moz was interested in him? He wouldn’t have just openly complimented his good looks if he wasn’t…right? Or perhaps he was one of those over artistic types. No, thought Rhett, he seemed pretty down to earth, even if he was overly artistic. He seemed pretty sure of himself, or of his feelings, anyway. As for himself, he didn’t seem to care all that much, which was a complete and utter waste in Rhett’s opinion. He felt that devilish blush creep up again and did his best to push it back down, but with no success. He could feel the heat. He was starting to get a little nervous again, but luckily his hands around the empty glass were staying completely still. Was this it? Was this where he told him “you’re incredibly gorgeous, too. I’m attracted to you”? Or was he supposed to wait some more because in all honesty, Rhett didn’t know how much longer he would last. It has been so long since he ever felt this way for someone, nevertheless another man. He was, in other words, at a loss for words.
A woman behind the counter saved Rhett from saying something completely stupid. When she arrived, it was much easier for Rhett to control his flushing, so much so that he got rid of it all together. It wasn’t like he would be ashamed of it, but it was still personal. Though he had nothing to say to Moz, or more correctly, he didn’t know what say, he was still sort of disappointed that this new barista ruined the mood. Moz took his empty glass and began to refill it, all while the girl was complaining and telling him to get the hell out. It amused Rhett in the slightest, but seemingly everything was amusing him now, even when Moz jumped over the counter. Sure, he was a little surprised, but it was…kind of cool. Oh God, he was starting to lose it. He grabbed a hold of his drink, not even sure why he was drinking anymore. Maybe he thought it easier to confess his feelings for the man he met twenty minutes ago while he was drunk. And while that would be true, would it mean anything? He wasn’t given much time to think of his answer when Moz pulled him up from his seat. Numbly, he grabbed for his sword, only proud of himself that he remembered placing it besides the bar stool he was sitting on. As Moz began to drag him away, Rhett felt like he was in one of those love movies where they’re galloping through the grass fields and—well, except this “field” was made of metal and concrete and instead of supporting him, he felt like it was caving in.
Moz sat down in one of the booths, leaving a nearly poorly balanced Rhett to stand there after him. To his explanation that the new barista eavesdrops, Rhett simply nodded, not taking his eyes off of Moz or the seating, afraid he really would fall over. And yet, he managed to raise his glass to his lips and take a rather large gulp. Stupid, stupid Rhett. Just about the only thing holding him up were the runes etched into his skin, which he realized were covered by his clothing. Thank God.
As Moz played with his fake fangs, Rhett, with a start, thought he saw blood dripping from them. Right, he was drunk. They were just tricks of the mind. Luckily, Rhett managed to sit down in the seat opposite of Moz without tripping or falling flat on his face. For a lightweight first-time drunk, he thought himself to be doing rather well. He could still think straight and he had his body under control for the most part. Except for the paleness, but the strobe lights were back on, so hopefully the other boy wouldn’t notice. He took another long sip of his drink, trying to steer his mind away from his self consciousness. Damn it, just this once, could he not be his only enemy? He looked up at Moz when he began to speak and realized that he saw a clear Moz and a kinda blurry Moz behind him. The logical response would be to focus on the clear Moz, but Rhett found he couldn’t take his eyes off both. “Me?”
[/b] he asked, proudly, without much slurring yet. He shook his head in an uncoordinated manner. “N-No, don’t be blind.”[/b] Damn it! Even when he was drunk he was self conscious! He then began to chuckle, which progressed into a nice laugh that wouldn’t normally belong on a drunken person. Again, the sober Rhett deep, deep down inside was rather proud of himself. “ ‘Sides, that’s you. The stunning part, I mean.”[/b] [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Word Count: eight seven four Tags: Moz =] Notes:Is it a bit unrealistic that Rhett would get drunk so fast? Maybe, but I just want Rhett in Moz's house NOW. xD Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather [/justify][/size][/right]
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Post by mozart julius adams on Aug 3, 2011 10:02:07 GMT -5
'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight [/b][/i] AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size] .....[/center][/b] He hadn’t been able to see it before, but now that he’d removed Rhett from his stationary post at the barstool it was rather obvious that the poor fellow was drunk. It was incredibly not good that it had taken Moz this long to realize that Rhett was drunk, because half of his job was determining how toasted his patrons were and cutting them off if they’d already had too much to drink. Had the boy been drunk this entire time? Moz thought about it, his heart sinking at the increasing possibility that it hadn’t been a mutual flirtation, but rather a one-sided flirtation with a drunken skunk who would flirt with anything that moved and had hit puberty. Not that Rhett was a skunk or anything. It was just an expression. Nah, he decided, watching the male carefully as he settled himself a little clumsily into the seat opposite Mozzie. He couldn’t have been drunk when he’d sat down at the bar. He’d been too graceful, his movements too fluid and his eyes too sharp as he stared wondrously at the ADD haven that was Hot Wings.
So when had Rhett managed to go from sober to intoxicated in the past twenty minutes? All he’d had to drink was one little Manhattan! Wait. He’d had a Manhattan. Brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully as the other male took a long gulp of his refill, the amber liquid disappearing past his extremely kissable looking lips. It might not have been a large quantity of alcohol, but then again. Rhett was a lot smaller than Moz. Sure, they were around the same height, but Rhett was skinnier. Scrawnier. Lankier. And Moz wasn’t all that buff to begin with, so using himself as a comparison was like starting with a lamppost and getting slimmer from there. Maybe one itsy bitsy Manhattan could be enough to make such a twiggy person tipsy, verging on smashed. He probably should have thought about that before he’d given Rhett another drink.
“You’re drunk,”
[/b] Moz said plainly, leaning forward across the table to get a better look. Rhett’s skin was pale- paler than before, if that was even possible. The brunette could almost see his blue veins winding through his body under the tight skin on his temples. He started to amend that maybe Rhett wasn’t drunk drunk quite yet, but he was well on his way, when the boy opened his mouth and started talking. “’Sides, that’s you. The stunning part, I mean.” He blinked stupidly, forgetting to consider that maybe that was the alcohol talking. It couldn’t be. Rhett had been a blunt, straightforward type of person well before he’d taken his first sip of the Manhattan; the alcohol had just torn through the few filters he had in place, and now there was no telling what was going to come out of his mouth. “You sound like you’re talking in cursive,”[/b] he said, meaning the slight slur melting into Rhett’s words. And the stammering. “I think it’s time for you to slow down, okay?”[/b] He reached across the table and gently pried the drink from the other boy’s hand, sliding it out of his reach. Or, at least far enough away that Moz would be able to see him reaching for it and keep it away from him. His mind stumbled along the path that Rhett’s words had pointed his thoughts toward. Was he really stunning? Moz didn’t think so. His nose was a bit too big, and he was too skinny for his height. But if Rhett couldn’t see his how sexy his attractive features were, then maybe he couldn’t either. He did have nice coloring, he guessed. His first girlfriend, the one way back in middle school who realized he was bi before he did, had called him a s’more, with graham cracker skin and chocolate eyes, and marshmallow teeth. Though graham cracker colored seemed like an odd way to describe a person’s skin,, and Moz personally thought his hair was more of a chocolate color than his eyes; they leaned closer to a cup of coffee after adding the first cup of cream. “And, uh…”[/b] His fingers caught hold of his ear, tugging at the lobe because he felt like they needed to be doing something, and he couldn’t even subconsciously think of anything else to fidget with. He swallowed, trying to think of something remotely intelligent to say. “Thank you?”[/b] It came out like a question, like he was secretly asking ‘is this what you want me to say?’ [/justify][/size] ..... tagged : rhettie. words : seven five seven. lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service. graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy. outfit : see graphics. notes : just realized, moz has to take rhett home. rhett can't remember where the institute is. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]
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Post by rhett damon halewile on Aug 3, 2011 11:09:14 GMT -5
“You’re drunk.” Even though Rhett somehow, deep down inside knew this, he still felt fine and happy. He tried to imagine himself out of his body, watching on from the sidelines and concluded that he was acting somewhat like Zell did when he was drunk, which thankfully wasn’t quite often, but it did happen on occasion. It hurt too much to think outside of his body, so Rhett chose to come back inside it. When he “came to”, Moz was leaning into him, examining him, or so it looked like. What did he find so fascinating? He was a bartender for crying out loud; surely he’s seen his fair share of drunken people. What made Rhett so different? Rhett was tempted to lean in as well, to get as close as he could, but inner sober Rhett lashed out and held him back. See, that’s what he didn’t want, so why he’d let himself get drunk again? For shits and giggles? “I know that,”
[/b] he said in a whiny voice in response to Moz’s statement and it was the truth. He in fact did know he was drunk; there just wasn’t anything he could particularly do about it. To his remark about speaking in cursive, Rhett laughed hysterically. He even had to place a hand on his forehead from laughing so hard. “I can’t talk in cursivv, Mozzie. I can ‘ardly write in one!” [/b] He laughed again and placed his hand back on the table, ready to grab for his drink before Moz took it away from him. He looked at him accusingly, with beady eyes. “Heyyyh, I waznt’ done wit that, Mozzie,”[/b] he complained and when Moz refused to give it back, he let his head fall into his folded arms on the table. God, his head was killing him already. Rhett didn’t even want to think about a hangover. Zell’s were pretty horrible and hopefully Rhett’s weren’t as bad, though he doubted so. A few moments of silence passed and a drunken Rhett didn’t like that. It bored him. He turned his head to the side, his cheek resting still in his folded arms. He was looking at the wall of the joint, the one the booth was hugging. He thought he saw something moving and when he narrowed his vision to inspect it further, he saw little silhouettes of men marching all up and down the wall like little ants. Not only marching, but some of them were dancing and skipping and jumping and kart-wheeling and…they were each carrying something and Rhett saw with jealousy that they were bottles of vodka and he only knew they were vodka because he was pretty damn sure he smelled it; though he probably smelled his own breath. One of the little silhouette men stopped and waved at Rhett and then proceeded to drink his bottle. “He’s mocking me,”[/b] he said as he continued to watch the little black bastard climb all the way up the wall in a voice that closely resembled a child’s “mommy, sally won’t share her dolls with me!” Then the little man fell and Rhett was all over it, chuckling slightly at the little comedy act he just witnessed. Rhett’s attention finally drifted from the wall to Moz again when he said thanks. What was he thanking Rhett for again? “You’re welcome, Mozzie,”[/b] he answered nonchalantly. Then he chuckled again. “You have a funny name, Mozzie. It soundss like it should be British. Mauzzie,”[/b] he repeated his name in a pretty damn good British accent for a drunk man and then laughed again. The glamours set around the perimeter were driving Rhett’s drunken mind crazy. One minute he’d see a pixie fly in and then next, she’d be gone, and then the next after that, she’d be back again. He wondered how much longer he was going to lose his Sight. Did this always happen when a Nephilim was drunk? It was…kind of scary, actually. Something dark could be approaching and he wouldn’t be able to see it coming. And he couldn’t depend on Mozzie to see it, either, considering he was a mundane. Because it frightened him in the slightest, he brought his attention to the entrance to the place. When he’d walked into the bar, he remembered seeing a fey girl. Now, as he stared at the exit, he could not see her, but he knew she was still there because her glamour was up, and he saw the faint sparkles in the lighting. “I can’t see ‘er,”[/b] Rhett said aloud, on accident, but his drunken state didn’t register that it was supposed to be a thought. He reached for his urumi—which he knew damn well he couldn’t wield while drunk, but he still felt safe with—and set it on his lap. Even while drunk, he’d at least have a chance. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Word Count: eight ffiteen Tags: Moz =] Notes:Uh-oh drunken Rhettie with his urumi xD Lyrics:Here in Your Arms by Hellogoodbye Outfit:Just made of plastic and leather [/justify][/size][/right]
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Post by mozart julius adams on Aug 3, 2011 12:27:44 GMT -5
'TIL OUR SHELLS SIMPLY CANNOT HOLD ALL OF OUR INSIDES AND THAT’S WHEN we’ll explode & it won’t be a pretty sight [/b][/i] AND WE’LL BECOME SILHOUETTES WHEN OUR BODIES FINALLY GO. [/font][/size][/size][/size] .....[/center][/b] Rhett whined about knowing that he was drunk, and the brunette scowled. “Well, as long as you know you’re drunk, please, carry on!”
[/b] Mozzie said, sarcasm dripping from his words like thick, heavy molasses. He wasn’t a big fan of drunk people, which is why he sometimes wondered if he’d picked up bartending as a second job because somewhere deep down inside he was a masochist. No, he concluded. He’d picked up the job because he liked meeting new people and getting to know them while they got intoxicated on the alcohol he fed them. It was the after effect of their drinking, when they got silly and clumsy, emotional and horny that pissed him off and made him hate his job. But he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset with Rhett for being one of the loopy drunks, because at least he wasn’t crying hysterically over having his drink taken away- “Yes, you are done with it,”[/b] he informed the other male when Rhett complained about not being done with his drink, glaring at Moz with sharp, beady, accusing eyes- and it was his fault that Rhett was drunk anyways. The other boy had wanted to know what he suggested, and Moz could have easily suggested a Coke instead of a Manhattan. Moz watched as Rhett laid his head down on his arms, which were folded over each other on the table. When the other boy turned his head to the side, he wondered briefly if he was being ignored. When Rhett announced that someone was mocking him, Moz followed his gaze to the wall, curious as to who, exactly, was mocking the drunken boy. He wasn’t all that surprised to find nothing there, and he looked back at Rhett, his eyes softening in concern. He was drunk enough to be seeing things? Already? That was not a good sign, not good at all. And then he told him that his name should be British, Mauzzie as opposed to Mozzie, and the male arched an eyebrow questioningly. Okay. He was definitely dealing with a loopy drunk, which Rhett confirmed this by laughing hysterically at things that weren’t even all that funny. And then the brunette- the smashed one, not the one watching the smashed one- turned around, focusing all of his attention on the entrance to the club, announcing that he couldn’t see “her.” Moz frowned, deflating at the mention of a her. So, Rhett had been waiting for someone the entire time? And he’d been waiting for a her, a soft, curvy, presumably attractive her. “Oh,”[/b] Moz breathed, understanding that he must have been a distraction, a way to pass the time until Rhett’s her showed up. But why would he have been flirting if he’d had a her to wait up for? It was all so confusing that Moz decided that the easiest thing to do right now was forget about the fact that there was a her, because whoever she was she certainly wouldn’t be expecting Rhett to meet up with her already wasted. He already had enough to worry about without adding the mysterious her into the equation. “Hey,”[/b] Moz said, surprised, when he noticed that Rhett had picked up something sharp and pointy, placing it in his lap. That thing didn’t look safe to begin with. Add one drunk, most likely uncoordinated teenage boy to the mix, and it was a recipe for disaster. The bartender shoved his physics book into his backpack, and grabbed the drink he’d confiscated from Rhett, choking it back in one long swig. He tried not to think too much about the fact that Rhett had also used this glass, and that it was essentially sharing spit, just not in the fun sense. The bourbon stung his throat, trailing fire through his insides and leaving a sharp taste in his mouth. But he was more accustomed to liquor than Rhett apparently was, and the one Manhattan wasn’t enough to make him dizzy in the head. He slid out of the booth, shifting over to stand by Rhett’s side of the table, hovering above the younger boy. “I think it’s time that we get you home,”[/b] he said softly, soothingly. “Where do you live?”[/b] He held out his hand, ready to help Rhett up, because from what he’d seen earlier, Moz didn’t think that Rhett would be able to actually stand on his own, let alone walk. Certainly the her wouldn’t mind if he just helped the poor bastard home before he stabbed someone’s eye out or managed to get himself any more trashed? [/justify][/size] ..... tagged : rhettie. words : seven six five. (four three two one blast off! :D) lyrics : “we will become silhouettes” by the postal service. graphics : by Caridee @ caution 2.0, cuz i’m lazy. outfit : see graphics. notes : he’s not hitting on rhett, i swear! well maybe just a little bit [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]
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Post by rhett damon halewile on Aug 3, 2011 13:16:15 GMT -5
Even when he was drunk, Rhett could sense the sarcasm that dripped from Mozzie’s voice. Well he could have been nicer about it. The younger brunette managed to tell him to “shut up” and then he returned his head to his arms, on the table. It was a rather comfortable position and a drunken Rhett considered doing it more often. He tried to clear his mind, tried to just for once in these moments, think straight. He couldn’t do it and he found himself snickering into his arms every time he tried. At least he wasn’t the emotional type of drunk. That would have been a very bad thing considering his health condition. He contemplated, in a daze, if he should bring that up in conversation, just to start talking again. He liked talking to Mozzie, more than he liked talking to anyone. Well, maybe with the exception of Zell, but in the end, he decided not to tell him because it wasn’t his business, hot or not, and no one besides a select few knew about Rhett’s asthma. It was considered a burden among his kind, a curse. Something that shouldn’t be livable with. Rhett’s been living with it for seventeen years. Suck on that, Clave.
Rhett rolled his eyes when Mozzie explained that yes, he was done with his drink. Rhett knew he should be done with it, but the taste was just so good—even though it burned his throat. He supposed that’s what’s called an addictive substance. His throat just felt very dry without it, though he suspected that the alcohol was what made his mouth dry in the first place. Oh, the irony. No wonder Rhett didn’t drink often.
Through hazy, mischievous eyes, Rhett saw Moz’s mood change. He looked like he was seriously let down. Had Rhett said something wrong? He didn’t know, couldn’t even remember what he’d said. Something about a “her”, but he meant that weird fey lady, not another lady. “No…there waz someone there, Mozzie. Now se’s gone.”
[/b] He wasn’t at all helping himself, especially since he kept calling the poor man “Mozzie” –why he insisted on the nickname, he couldn’t tell you. Maybe it really was because it sounded British and that reminded him of Justinian, something to keep him sober, however much it was working. Any girl here was bound to leave eventually, so Rhett was only making himself sound crazier. When he was sober, he decided he’d tell Mozzie what he really was, who this woman he was talking about really was. It wasn’t like he’d never see the marks, like he’d never ask questions. Rhett had his suspicions that Mozzie was sighted, but he just couldn’t prove it. Especially not right now when he was wasted. “Hey,” Moz said and a moment later, Rhett found him looking at him with concerned eyes. He liked those eyes. They looked nice and they were looking at him. He had to remind himself hastily that Moz wasn’t used to seeing weapons in plain sight and it wasn’t like Rhett’s looked fake. Rhett, with the same lack of coordination he’d been having for most of the night, did his best to swat away his concern. Miraculously, he found the hitch on the belt on which to attach the urumi’s sheath and even more impressively, he managed to snap it in. Looking up from his accomplishment, Rhett saw Moz down the rest of his drink. “Are you scerious?”[/b] he asked, now even noticing the slurring himself. “ ‘ts not fair, Mozzie.”[/b] Even though it was completely fair considering that Moz was sober and Rhett was not even close to it. Then Moz dropped the question “where do you live?” Huh, well, Moz, that was an excellent question. Rhett was lost enough in this big city and now he was drunk. Was he honestly expecting him to answer that? Rhett tried to retrace his steps. He found himself, in his inner mind, in front of the Institute, glaring as Zell as he made some witty remark about Rhett’s lack of sleep. The next thing he remembered was fighting a big ass demon in the alleyway, with Zell right behind him. After that, after they’d wiped all the demon blood off and grinned and laughed, he just remembered being here. He couldn’t tell Moz he was looking for an abandoned church because then he’d just claim it was the alcohol talking. “I dn’t know,”[/b] Rhett said and sighed. “I was lost to begin wit. I jusst stumbled in here. I’m sorry, Mozzie.”[/b] he said. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/justify][/size][/right]
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Post by mozart julius adams on Aug 4, 2011 19:28:19 GMT -5
This thread is being continued here.
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