Feb 13, 2018 15:19:10 GMT -6
Post by VICTORIA CARTER on Feb 13, 2018 15:19:10 GMT -6
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[attr="class","onlytimeleft"] One, two, three, four, five, six.[break][break] In one of the last few safe havens left in Lyeant, one would imagine there to be little time or need for the consumption of alcohol and the buildings that stood if only to serve such drinks to the common folk. When reconstruction takes priority, only a fool would make time to maintain or pay regular visits to a bar, correct? Clearly, though, this notion was not shared by a handful of ambitious citizens of the city, brave little souls who pressed on through volatile times to keep their favorite beverage in circulation. With the economic collapse that came hand-in-hand with nearly three-fourths of the region biting the dust or fleeing for safer lands, most of the bars in town had had to shut their own doors, but for a place trying so desperately to hang on in the aftermath of what one could almost label the apocalypse (although, that was so melodramatic), the fact that the number was above a measly little one was something quite startling. More than it was startling, however, was it something to be thankful for. Whether it be for convenience sake – having to trek all the way across the city for the only building in town, for example, could grow quite tedious quite fast, but with more than one, at least one could say they had options – or for income sake – the more business, the merrier the economy, perhaps – those who stopped by the handful offered to the city's citizens could only sing praises about the variety. In particular, on that particular night, a specific white-haired woman found herself kissing the ground of one of the spares. Variety, after all, had spared her losing the only thing to feed her near-crippling addiction; it would be quite hard to get one's hands on a cold glass of beer if the only bar in town had closed its doors on he or she, especially when that certain person could never quite die, forever.[break][break] Out with the old, though, and in with the new. The moment Victoria's regular bar, the likes of which she had affectionately referred to her as her “grimy second home” had found themselves fed up with her usual violent tomfoolery was the moment they gave her the final boot, swearing to call the police if needed should she ever try to step foot within its walls again. Too many fights, she'd assumed while staring down at bloodied knuckles and coddling what she was beginning to think was a broken nose. That, or more-than-once occurrence of her accidentally firing a whole through the crumbling walls with a destructive Dragon Pulse fired from drunken lips. They'd never much cared for her there, anyway, she knew, and if she was being honest – which she always was – she never much cared for them in turn. What a snobby little lot. In the end, she was proud to tell herself that it was simply their loss; if they would not trade her shots for crumpled dollar bills, she would take her business elsewhere. “Elsewhere” was where she found herself at that particular moment, cuddled in the furthest corner in the back with three empty glasses and a half finished bottle to her name as fumbling hands struggled to wind a bandage around a less-than-fresh gash across her left arm. The results of her last fight – the one that had ripped her away from her old stop – were an already swimming mind and several pulsing wounds, the likes of which she hadn't allowed herself to deal with until she'd gotten herself another drink somewhere else. She normally never went beyond the line that started knocking the memories right out of her head, but at that moment, the words in her mind were reminding her that, if she could still feel the pain from her injuries, she simply was not drunk enough. What did it matter if it was another night spent in mystery, another morning started in a pool of gin and an unforgiving hangover? Pain was winning out over logic, and the aftermath could take a backseat in favor of the present.[break][break] Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. [break][break] Done. The goddess admired the white fabric now tied around her forearm, crimson hues blinking sea water out of her eyes to inspect whether or not she'd done a fair enough job to keep it secure through the remainder of the night. The aforementioned sea water, however, refused to budge, vision still swimming gently, but rather than getting frustrated over her ignorance about her patchwork, she brushed it off with a shrug and a swig from her bottle. Faces had come and gone from the crowd before her during her tiny operation, all unfamiliar to her wavering eyes, and it came as a bit of a surprise to see almost all of the people she'd seen mingling before replaced with strangers even less recognizable than the ones from before. A bit of relief flooded through her when her gaze locked on two of the original patrons, but even that was short lived, realizing that the two were arguing about something or other and looking to start another bar-hosted fight following quick on its heels. The whole room shifted at that moment, black-clad stick figures turning heads or raising from chairs to gather around the tense scene. She, herself, was quick to stand as well, making her way across the tiny building and falling into place beside a dark-haired woman she was fairly certain she'd never seen before. Not that it mattered – her eyes were too focused on the way the taller of the two pressed flat palms against the chest of the heavier set one, how the latter did the same to the former despite the protests from the bartender across the way. All the little crowd needed was someone to start the chant of “fight, fight, fight!” and the stereotypical feel of it all would come full circle.[break][break] It wasn't until someone making their way forward stepped on her foot that Victoria's attention was ripped away, sharp back heel of a dolled-up shoe meant to make women stand taller “impaling” her straight through her own battered sneakers. “Ow!” she yelped quietly, biting her tongue and leaping away. Worse than the initial impact, though, were the flames that lept off her person, not-so-little embers flying through the air and catching fire on the ground below. Oh. Small was the flame at her feet, but such a tiny little thing could grow. Forgetting that she could have easily snuffed it out using her own manipulation, mind too altered from hours upon hours of drinking, she instead tipped the bottle still attached to the palm of her hand and watched its contents spill out over the small mess she'd caused. Liquid, right? Water was liquid. Water put out fires. Liquids put out fires. Unfortunately... not this one. The blaze screamed higher into the air, denizens once focused on a fist fight in the making jumping back as they caught sight of the big mess she'd caused. Uh oh. How was she supposed to put out fires again?[break][break] Looking toward the woman she'd noted standing next to just moments prior, Reshiram grinned sheepishly. Maybe she would know? “Uh... Can I getta little help with this?” | [attr="class","onlytimeright"] [attr="class","onlytimeimg"] [attr="class","onlytimelyric1"]hear 'em shouting at the stage [attr="class","onlytimelyric2"]JESUS SAVES [attr="class","onlytimeline"] [attr="class","onlytimenotes"] 'ey, six trillion years later, but i finally got something up! tori's in pain and drunk off her butt, so you gotta help her put out a fire before it ruins the whole bar, rip. ;u;
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Selina Silver [/di]
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