kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

As it so happens, I have seen him in passing. A glimpse in the mirror, behind the face terribly lined and marred by the eternal march of time. An uncertain waver in a metallic reflection on the stairs.

Sen is, I believe, haunting your bar.

[...]

Quite literally, as a matter of fact. I've found a lovely seclusion here at your barmaid's feet. (Is 'Andi' short for Andretti? I hope so. Or Andromeda!) (I asked and she threw an ice cube at me.)

In any case. If Sen is in such high demand -

We could hold a séance (a Senance?) and summon him forth.

This seems an unlikely scenario.

Firstly, Jesus had twelve apostles to do his cock twists for him, and was frequently far too preoccupied with finding stash hoarders to twist any cocks not his own. Which he did not need to twist, as (refer to the above) he had helpers.

Secondly, he was either crucified or cocktwisted to death. God knows which. (Literally! Figuratively! Metaphorically and possibly strategically!)

(Nothing about that deity's historic actions seems particularly strategic. That was incautiously optimistic of me.)

In any case, the Christ in question is dead as a doornail and will do no burning of stash hoarders.

Are you certain you're reading the Nuking James version of Dipshits?

(I don't have any, Darius, my dear. Threatening me with Old Testament retribution will not make white horses appear for you to ride upon.)

You absolute gremlin. Don't be so dramatic; you're nothing near the grizzled gaffer you play at being. Is it true that a few spare lines - exiled from their home, with nowhere to turn - have taken residence upon your visage? Perhaps. But there is nothing marred!

No, rather, one might suggest these lines of yours serve only to enhance a certain roguishness. Taken with your field of unkempt scruff and the devil-may-give-no-fucks attitude that wreathes you, it suggests all the intrigue of a life-long knave.

A knave I intend to summon straight away! Yes, it seems I must manufacture a Senance to make a knave will pay senance for incurring Andi's wrath.

(You've met Andi! I'm pleased. Try not to vex her too terribly; she fits very well here. And I like her.

Well. I expect she'll like you, once she's learned that there's no bite behind your roguish ways.

You're a good man, Senan; don't forget that.)

[ Rin's sending the message and moving toward the bar when a patron calls their name, an unfamiliar voice speaking with familiarity. (It sounds like an invitation. Rin can guess where this is heading, and while they'd usually be at least a little pleased, just now they feel a flickered irritation. They're in the middle of something, after all!)

Pausing, they look over, meet eyes with a man who— Mm. They remember him, vaguely. From last week's readings? Yes, and from karaoke the week before. A not-unattractive man, silver-haired and brightly dressed. His hands wrapped around a drink, his smile a little too assuming. (Not too assuming usually, perhaps. But now. Just now. Rin has better things to do.) ]

Can I help you?

Edited 2021-04-18 03:11 (UTC)

Full of SHIT.

Dial back on the chatter, Wilkes; if I'm looking to lock down some insta-cola, chances are I'm in a fucking mood.

Also waving your religious studies dick around's not a good look. You got a hard-on for Jesus over there?

Like I give a shit about any fucking testament. We weren't all of us deep-throating the big twelve twisters from age six.

All right you fuckin miser. If you won't give up the prime goods, how about a drink? Pitch a bottle my way, maybe you'll reap rewards.

Edited 2021-04-18 03:08 (UTC)

[ Sen, seated on the floor behind the bar, his knees drawn up mantis-like to his chest, reads the messages inbound while chewing his thumbnail. Now and again he snorts mirthfully until he reaches the repetition of "senance" and sees what Rin did there - which garners a loud "Oh my God" and a low thrum of laughter from him that startles patrons who had no idea he was down here.

(Fuck 'em. He's talking to Rin.) (And ignoring Andi, who's been watching him rather curiously, and looking off across the bar at something that may or may not be Rin.) (It's nothing. They're talking.)

He starts to type a reply when the voice of the null in question floats down from not so far away at all. (That's wonderful. Hearing them not far at all. Never far, oh. (Oh, Rin.))

What's not wonderful is hearing the reason they're not talking to Sen.

Something that sounds like a pickup line from a male voice.

Sen has several false starts at sending a text, but (the sinking in his chest) (the sudden fucking drop) he really can't think of anything witty to say. He lets his hands dangle from his knees and rests his head back against the icebox, his eyes flickering to Andi and then sightlessly away.

(He shouldn't eavesdrop.) (Rin can do what they please. With whomever they please.) (If he'd wanted it to be himself, he could have said something.) (Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck FUCK.) (He's happy for them.) (Fuck whoever that guy is.)

(Rin deserves happiness. Sen wants them to enjoy this sanctuary, this life, this place. And the attention. And affection. They deserve it. They're worth all of it.)

(But.)

(Fuck.) ]

As often as one hears 'Jesus is coming', I should think he's got a hard-on for me.

[...]

Would you do it? Given the opportunistic nature of your sexual exploits, and given the circumstance-and/or-chance, would you 'exalt the heavenly host'? Make a literal example of the term 'fucking Christ'?

I don't believe I would. While I might consider the overwhelming imperative to add the most (in)famous name in recorded history to the notches on my bedpost, I don't think it would be very fun.

He seems as though he would cry. After, certainly. Possibly during.

Judas, though. There's the real action.

Full of rage and absolutely no conscience. Rough ride all around but he'd leave in the morning before I have to deal with repercussions like "communicating" or "do you want to get coffee".

Darius, allow me to ask:

What chances? You are perpetually in a mood.

Why don't you find a doggy to play with, hm?

[ The man - did Rin ever know his name? doesn't matter; they don't recall it now - is stretching one hand, setting it beside the glass. Head cocking loosely, smile turned an easy kind of would-be-beguiling.

'I certainly hope I didn't come all this way for nothing.' There's nothing particularly jarring in his tone. There's honey in his voice, a deftly cocked brow. And it could, in most cases it would be just a little flattering, to hear someone claim they've come looking for Rin.

Rin isn't drawn in just now. Rin's annoyed, slightly, that this guy thinks he's got a right to claim any piece of Rin's time. And Rin realizes they've been watching the man in silence for a moment too long, and they offer a sound, a kind of noncommittal hum.

The guy isn't put off. Takes a drink, smiles: 'We met last week.'

And Rin blinks. Offers a polite smile, nodding slightly, voice. ]

Did we? Yes.

The lounge.

[ On another day, they might have offered this man the near-fullness of their attention. Might have fallen into flirting readily, pleased by the game of it and the attentions garnered. Drawn to the prospect of a one-off fuck, of brief pleasure to punctuate the day.

Now, their focus is divided, and largely pointed elsewhere. They glance at their phone; there's nothing. To be expected, perhaps; Sen might be composing another of his novellas. Or, yes, of course, sending messages elsewhere, or simply sitting, or perhaps conversing with Andi. There are all manner of reasons he might be a bit in responding.

(Still. There's a glancing disappointment. A glance thrown toward the bar. Sen'd laughed, and Rin doesn't need to guess why. Perhaps the message will arrive shortly. And in any case, Rin'll be at the bar soon enough.)

Meanwhile, the man is nodding, stretching back in his chair, arm slung easy. 'I saw you perform. You moved me.'

Again, Rin thinks of the phone in their hand. Again, Rin's response echos dimly with distraction— ]

Did I?

[ The man shifting further back, one finger curling a casual beckoning, and intones, voice just a little lower, a little more hushed: 'I'd like to know more about you.' ]

Why don't u suck my dick?

You think I'm going to be deterred by a little crying? Fuck, I'll drink the savior's tears, I don't care. Show him who his god really is.

Tears and spunk, the holy fucking cocktail.

Also wait wait wait hold the fuck up. Hold UP

All this shit about repercussions, crying, coffee, the fuck kind of game are you running that that’s ever an issue?

Kick em out after, holy shit. You're not running a fuckin b&b

[ It's a bit like self-flagellation. Listening in. Letting every word drive into his skull like an icepick.

(It's nothing new. It was always like this. They have always had one-night stands. It's never bothered him (much) before.) (But.) (But after their reunion. And how close Rin has kept to him. And after two years' absence.

He'd thought nothing, really. But clearly, he's had some sentiment formed, some nebulous hope that maybe it wouldn't happen again.

For a while.

Ever.)

(Fuck. Couldn't they just wait until he was in his grave before -)

(Not fair. He knows that's not fair. They don't know what they don't know. And they've always been clear about how they mean to live. And Sen has always been supportive of it.)

(Fuck, though. Fuck.)

He listens to the asshole speaking (call that 'flirting', does he?) and his lip curls with disgust. It's clear the guy's only here for a novelty fuck. Here to solve for himself the mystery under Rin Renault's clothes and scratch 'fucked an enby' off his shitty little bucket list.

I saw you perform. You moved me.

Sen rolls his eyes and lets his head loll to the side with a scowl. Thinks, if you were moved, truly moved, by the person standing before you, you'd be on your fucking knees. You'd be begging. There would be awe in your voice. You'd speak in tongues. You're sticking a toe inside the fucking fairy ring and daring them to carry you off, and you don't know your own good fortune just to have seen them. Just to be in their presence.

'You moved me.'

What a fucking wally.

The conversation seems to drop in tone, turning intimate, and he doesn't want to hear anymore of this. Doesn't really want to be conscious, truth be told. He reaches out to tap the backs of his fingers against Andi's leg, but finds himself preempted: she's reaching down a double, letting it dangle just at his eyeline.

His hand hovers beside the glass and his eyes flicker up to hers (what do you know, my girl?), but she is very studiously not looking at him.

Well.

Softly, as he accepts the very thing he'd been predisposed to ask for, he speaks to no one in particular. ]

A fine girl, that Andi.

[ He doesn't knock the whole of it back, but he drinks enough to convince himself the burn in his eyes is from bourbon. And then looks up to find she's no longer pretending he's invisible; he offers a wan smile. A lift of one shoulder. ]

I'm happy for them. I am.

[ Andi raises both brows; the corner of her mouth drags sideways and down as she turns away. She's clearly unvoicing what he can only interpret as okay, dude. Or, in the meme culture of post-millennial America: sure, Jan. He exhales a laugh and tilts his glass back and forth, watching the liquid swish.

And lets his head fall back again with a soft thump. ]

I like the cuddling.

Disgusting.

You're disgusting, you know that?

What the fuck. Your own fault you've got coffee troubles, I swear to SHIT.

What the fuck's this bullshit

You OWE me after hearing that

Darius, I'm surprised at you.

Owe you?

You can have a cuddle all for free.

Cuddle yourself, you fungal fuckmuffin

Bring me a drink and whatever hash you can snag from Renault. THAT'S what the fuck you owe me. Bring it on over, be a good lad

'Cuddles.' I need a fuckin shower jesus shit

Edited 2021-04-18 15:51 (UTC)

[ Still no word from Sen; a glance at their phone, brow briefly furrowing, confirms it. A glance toward the bar reveals no sign of the man, though it looks like Andi maybe threw a glance at something or some-Sen. Rin’s hand tightens around the phone; they’d rather be at the bar than here, and their mood's starting to sour. (Sen just came home. Sen just came home; why is anyone getting in the way of Rin's progress toward Sen? There's nothing about it that's fair.)

The man's still talking. Gave a name that Rin missed; gave a name that doesn't really matter. And there's something about ‘linguistic prowess,’ something about soft skin and stunning eyes, something about a heavenly glow; preliminary compliments strewn, with the promise of exaltation to follow. Rin blinks, shakes their head once, a subtle gesture. ]

I’m not interested.

[ A simple statement, gently laid and landing on a blunt ending. A statement that ought to signal silence, but there’s a faux huff, and the stranger leans forward, brushes a fall of hair back from his eyes. Grinning; coaxing.

’So tense. Let me take care of you, beautiful, and I’ll melt all your troubles away.’

It’s not the worst attempt Rin’s heard. It also isn’t anything they want, and they feel their shoulders tense, their jaw setting slightly. ’Breathe,’ they think, and do. Breathe. There's no need to turn this confrontational. No need to embroil themself in this conversation any longer. When they speak, their voice is clipped, but gracious enough. ]

Charmed, but as I said: no.

[ And, when the man begins to protest, opens his (fucking) (’breathe, Rin, breathe') mouth to speak, Rin raises a forefinger, tilted slightly toward the man. ]

Have your drink, soak in the atmosphere. Try your luck elsewhere if you like, but our interaction ends here.

[ The compliments abound, and Sen raises the glass to his mouth again just as I'm not interested cuts through the bar like -

A knife.

Like the clouds parting, like the shaft of pure sunlight piercing through.

Like the final horn blown on judgement day.

He's not breathing. He thinks he felt or saw or sensed Andi falter (does she know, too) (does she know Rin is always interested in compliments?) (Rin is always interested in the stroking of their vanity. Is she wondering what could be more diverting for Rin than a compliment, a standing fucking ovation from an admirer?) (Sen's not wondering at all.)

Swallowing reflexively, he lowers his glass and strains to hear (he doesn't have to strain to hear; Rin's voice carries across the bar and across time and space, a clear and distant-polite dismissal. A delivery of lines and the decisive ending of a scene.)

Sen darts a look at Andi (did you fucking hear that?) and then scrambles to his knees to peer - eyes and forehead and flash of unkept hair - over the bar, startling a patron into a sharp What the FUCK -.

Sen pulls a consternated face at them (shhh!) and peers around them to see that Mr. I'll melt all your troubles away (gross) (how utterly trite) (he'd like to make loud retching sounds and might just, next time) is not bad-looking, as exploitative, cheaply complimentary fuckwits go.

Rin isn't having it today. Rin is -

Looking around at the bar quite a lot?

He ducks back down quickly and slumps against the icebox.

They're looking for him. He told them where he was and they're looking for him, and they're not going to be deterred by a pretty face with pretty words, and Sen is grinning at nothing.

He's not wondering why. He thinks there's a reason he can't quite bring himself to touch, to examine, something that had to do with how they smiled at him the day he came home. (His heart crawls into his throat and settles there, pounding out its demand.) How close they've kept to him, how much focus they've fixed on him. (Those fucking - flutters in his stomach are back.)

Sen rests a hand on his midsection and huffs a breath. ]

Andi, Andi, Andi - what on earth did you put in that drink?

[ Andi stops again and glances his way, brows raised, waiting. Okay, what's the punchline. He rolls his head against the cool metal, turning daft eyes and a dafter grin on her. ]

Got fucking butterflies, me.

[ Andi rolls her eyes, but he thinks he catches sight of a smile shadowing her mouth. "I'm working, Mr. Wilkes." ]

And fine work you do. The paragon of bartending: observant and ever-ready with a drink - the right drink for the right occasion, no less. Bourbon for the broken-hearted, Manhattans for the startled and suspicious. An untold catalogue of cocktails for every conceivable circumstance. What would one such as yourself recommend, I wonder, to a man who has succumbed to a case of effervescent delight?

[ She's trying to ignore him, trying to reassure Manhattan on the other side of the bar that he's just a friend of the owner, it's really all right - but the question proves intrusive enough for her to stagger in her comments and laugh a little.

And then clamp her mouth shut against the laugh and raise her eyes heavenward.

"I think I'd cut you off." ]

Ooh - interesting tactic. Most would say 'champagne'. That's what Manhattan thinks, isn't it, Manhattan? Don't say anything, I hear the wheels turning in your beautiful head. Me, personally? Something mellow. Amaretto. A smooth Malbec. Are they looking this way, Andi?

[ "Mr. Wilkes, I swear to god."

His grin broadens and he draws his knees in. Some of the effervescence escapes as a low near-giggle. ]

Me, too. Me, too. Whichever god you like.

[ And, raising his voice a little: ]

Sorry for the startle, Manhattan. This is where they keep the ladders and men they use for reaching things on the top shelf.

[ An ice cube pings the side of his head. Stop talking to the customers, freak.

He's laughing too blithely to mind at all. ]

Edited 2021-04-18 19:27 (UTC)

Darius, question the wisdom in sending me to ask Rin for their hash stash.

One: they don't like to share (with you).

Two: neither of us are possessed of money in quantity such that we would deign to share hard-earned narco of any sort with the third in our trio who has the means by which one might acquire more. (And does not because he doesn't want to get out of his comfortable chair, I imagine?)

Three: I might be diverted from such a holy quest as this by the temptation to seek cuddles with Rin, as you've rejected my very charming advances.

[ What in the world—?

As if Rin couldn’t guess. As if there weren’t a likely culprit causing the startled shout from the bar, never mind that Rin, glancing over, can see no sight of Sen. Not the first, or third, or fourth time they dart a look.

Well. If Sen is going to play hide-and-peek-and-hide-again, Rin will simply have to find the man. Which isn’t so difficult, now that the stranger’s fallen silent. Now that nothing stands between Rin and the man who still - still! - owes them a message.

Approaching the bar - at last - they offer a sideways nod and a smile to Andi, identifying the recently startled patron as a semi-regular, an RN with a talent with the double bass and tastes tending toward the tall and soft-spoken.

Still no sight of Sen. But he’s close. Must be close, and there’s an anticipatory grin crooking Rin’s lip. ]

Afternoon Kaleo. Andi.

[ One hand settles light at the edge of the bar, hand rocking slightly one way, then the other. For the moment, they divide their sight between Kaleo and Andi, though they’re listening for signs of someone else. ]

Have either of you spotted any pernicious, devil-may-fuck bar trolls lurking about?

[ Andi’s exasperated hint of a grin and Kaleo’s glance barward only verify Rin’s supposition, and they make a show of rolling their eyes, shaking their had. As if to suggest, ’Oh, the trials we endure.’ ]

It’s the warm weather; brings them out of the woodwork.

[ Then, tapping the bar gently beside Kaleo’s arm, Rin lifts an arch eyebrow and flicks a glance at Andi. ]

Consider that drink on the house. For psychic wounds sustained from sensationalizing vagabonds.

[ And, leaning over the bar, lifting onto their toes with both hands flat against the counter— ]

Senan.

I beg your pardon, is there a Senan Wilkes available?

Yeah I'm not thinking about that.

Fuck off I'm not even IN my chair. Ever occur to you, Wilkes, that maybe I'm trying to do us all a favor? Yeah that Darius is SUCH a prick, trying to keep from gashing blood all over the floor. Such a piece of shit, tryin to keep the stains contained to HIS shitty square of carpet

Booze.

Weed.

Maybe a bandage or whatever's fkin available

I'll give you the fucking money. Jesus, don't be a prude

A lesser man would have made a menstruation joke.

D a r i u s.

Why are you bleeding on the apartment?

An amendment: why are you bleeding on the apartment AGAIN?

[ Sen doesn't move. He barely breathes, his head back once more, his eyes closed in a quiet could-be-rapture. Barely four feet away is Rin's voice, jesting, amused, seeking - oh, him.

Maybe they'll wait until he's in his grave, after all. Maybe his remaining time on this earth will be ever-sought by Rin, just for the pleasure of his company. (The pleasure of their company.) While he's at this dream-driven hypothesizing, these maybes - maybe he'll live another fifty, sixty years, and they'll still wait until he's in his grave.

(It's a lot to ask. But it's his fucking daydream to construct as he pleases.)

Fucking bliss, to be near them again, whatever they do with their time. Whoever they do with it. He missed them. (Even if they are calling him a bar troll - which is apt enough, he's man enough to admit. He did come here seeking respite from the noise and lights, while still maintaining a nearness to Rin.)

Their voice is over him, paging him like the voice of god, and his tilts his chin, turning his face up in beatific pleasure. One more moment of this: Rin, like sunlight. Rin, warming Sen, whose eyes are closed yet and whose smile lingers softer, who emanates contentment. (Who is still swarming with butterflies, matter of fact.) ]

Which sort of troll do you suppose I am? The one that falls for the trickery of goats, or the one that swaps riddles until dawn?

[ He opens his eyes to see them upside-down over him and grins. ]

It's not morning sunlight that can turn me to stone. But suppose I call you a goat - an old goat, at that! - and you ban me from my hidey-hole? Ah, another exile from Rin's sphere could end me.

[ And. Softly, all the ill-hidden happiness in the world lingering around his eyes: ]

Hello, Pookie.

Why's it fuckin matter

Apartment's here I'm here, this is my blood drink it the fuck up free ticket to everlasting life

Everlasting carpet til I have it ripped out

Anyway apartment doesn't want blood, it shouldn't be here. Make you a deal, bring the shit I'll keep quiet for a whole hour, you can do what you want with the hash-hoarder

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