SCIENCE FICTION, DOUBLE FEATURE [x]

The little hole in the wall dive isn’t the sort of scene Miles likes to slum in, but he strides in with purpose, long legs closing the gap between door and bar stools swiftly. A chilly breeze blows in before the door closes behind him, and he gathers his white fleece, holding it closed until the uncomfortable sensation passes.

His money’s in hand but it takes a moment for him to order, probably because he’s not used to the sort of places that don’t have a menu above the bar. The bartender’s not exactly thrilled with his drink order- old fashioneds are a pain in the ass to make- but he sets the drink in front of him. The grimy orange and smushed cherry in the base of the glass don’t exactly look appetizing, but they’re in strong rum, so Miles figures that should kill any potential contamination. He takes a sip, and he can tell it’s the cheap stuff, but after the first few gulps it won’t matter anyway, now will it?

Miles is here because he’s heard rumors of a sorcerer who likes to perform bar tricks for tips at the bar, he’s here because there’s rumors a couple of Weres frequent, he’s here because he’s hoping to find something to do with his life other than shitty retail work that he’s overqualified for. Because he’s hoping to use his magic, even if it’s the innate sort rather than something honed through study, even if….

But he doesn’t approach the large group in the corner, even though they’re his best bet. Instead, he takes a seat beside a green haired young man, hoping to psych himself up a bit before approaching the larger group. He’s well-mannered enough to blend into nearly any crowd, but breaking in to a new scene, a bar scene no less, doesn’t take manners. It takes balls. He’s running a little short at the moment. Blame it on his recent complete and utter failure at becoming a Magi, because yeah, shit still stings.

The manly thing to do would be to nod or maybe even fistbump the man beside him (he’s not really clear on working class etiquette), but Miles just smiles at him, then goes back to his drink. Or rather, goes back to toying with it, stirring it with the little straw and watching the ice clink, watching little seeds fall out of the orange.

“Hm?” Miles sets his drink down, looking more closely at Alex. “Sorry- were you expecting someone?”

If he’s taken someone’s seat, /he’ll/ move. Doesn’t make any sense to make the other man move when he was here first. “I can move over, if you want.”

There’s a fundamental miscommunication occurring, though Miles isn’t aware. He might be less nervous and more socially confident than Alex, but his confidence is misplaced, at least in this situation. It’s a good thing none of the folk he’s here to find are in today, because right now he’s coming off as incredibly awkward.

Also, he definitely managed to miss the coaster when he set his drink down, though the bartender doesn’t seem to care. The bar’s a wreck, one more water circle won’t even be noticeable.

“No, you’re alright,” and Miles fiddles with his drink, twisting the straw around. It’s not that he’s never dealt with anyone recalcitrant or shy, but typically, he doesn’t run into that sort at bars.

There’s a roar of laughter from the crowd in the corner, but after a quick glance, he finds himself returning his gaze to the man on the stool beside him. He doesn’t want to rush his drink, so he lets it sit, trying to fill the silence instead. “So, what’s your name?”

Now that Alex is talking, Miles relaxes a bit, feeling more at ease. “Miles,” he says, and now he’s back to working on his drink, taking a long sip through the straw. Condensation’s starting to collect on the glass, and he sneaks a peek at the bartender. He’s down the end of the bar, so he doesn’t notice as Miles uses the straw to stab the cherry from his glass and eat it. It’s a little soft, but not bad.

The dull sense of magic in the vicinity has been with him since he entered the bar, but he can’t tell who it’s emanating from. And he can’t exactly ask directly, either. He pauses, trying to think of a way to lead into a conversation that’ll reveal if Alex is the one (one of?) with the magical signature. Nothing comes to him. The loud chatter of the other group doesn’t help, it’s quite distracting.

“Noisy bunch,” he comments.

So Alex isn’t terribly social. He’s also not drinking hard liquor, so Miles supposes he’s likely not a drunk, either. That leaves it a mystery as to why he’s here, though truth be told, that mystery is secondary in Miles’ mind. Finding the source of magic here is still his priority, as is enjoying his drink. After the week he’s had, he’s earned it.

He’s tempted to remove the orange from the glass in the same fashion as the cherry, but it’s buried beneath the ice, impossible to get at. Reluctantly, he gives up. He’s going to have to carry this conversation if he wants it to continue, isn’t he?

Well, Alex, you’re going to wish you were more talkative, because otherwise, Miles is going to talk about his job. His boring, boring job.

“I’m not usually a drinker, but it’s been a long week,” and he probably sounds like an alcoholic, he realizes, making excuses. But it’s a reasonable hour to be drinking, and he’s not drunk! Oh well. Either Alex will believe him, or he won’t.

“I work at a clothing store,” and not even a particularly nice one, “and most of the people who come in are miserable. This past week we’ve had two people decide to relieve themselves in the dressing room, as well as a ridiculous number of shoplifters. And I had to pick up three extra shifts to cover for irresponsible drunks who didn’t show up on time.” Even overtime pay isn’t worth cutting into his precious few free hours.

He’s halfway through his drink, which isn’t nearly far enough. “And a new tenant moved in above me. He’s an opera singer.” Miles, truth be told, is a fan of opera. But not at all hours of the night. And not of Phantom of the Opera, which unfortunately, is his new apartmentmate’s favorite, if one can judge favorites by the frequency with which they are ‘performed’.

Oh Lou. If you have never had to hear an opera-ized version of Phantom, I envy you. Miles, though, should just be glad it isn't Fiddler on the Roof, because Tik has heard /that/ opera-ized as well, and... Well, maybe we should change subject here before the flashbacks set in. Needless to say, local small theater production groups are often not as good, creative, or original as they think.

"Are you out of work?" and suddenly Miles feels insensitive for complaining, because hey, he does have a job. A shitty job. One he's really fucking overqualified for, but that's what happens when you set your expectations on the one thing you can't have. "Retail pays terrible, particularly considering-"

Oh.

There's a counter flying through the window.

To be fair, Miles' first thought it s vague remembrance that bar fights are common in drinking establishments, and drinking establishments are popular with working class men who often have a lot of rage and no effective outlet. That logical conclusion, however, doesn't stop him from jumping at the counter soars across the room and shatters the glass, and it also doesn't stop a less-than-elegant "Fuck!" from escaping him. He turns to Alex, and his petulance quickly melts into a combination of concern and, well, more concern. And maybe a little anger. "Why did you do that?!"