08-27-2013, 10:53 PM
Continued from A Lawsuit
Jon peered into the crystal tumbler in his hand and noticed it was empty again. What had this been – his sixth drink? He didn't even remembered what he had ordered, let alone what it tasted like. Something brown and smooth – with a bite. Whatever it was, it was doing its job.
He slid the empty glass to the other side of the bar and politely caught the attention of the bartender to bring him another. The blonde woman running the bar nodded to him and held up a single finger – it would take a moment. Jon nodded. The place was starting to fill up, probably in anticipation of the midnight show, and service was having to adjust accordingly. Not that it mattered too much to Jon, the show or otherwise. But perhaps he would stay awhile.
Kallisti's was hardly the sort of place Jon would consider frequenting. Indeed, he didn't normally consider any sort of club as a good use of his time when there were things to be learned, briefs to file, opinions to write. Other experimentation and meditation to be done. Awake or asleep, he was always focused on a goal, except for today. In his current mood, having spent the day idly walking around Moscow and blowing off all other work that lay waiting for him, it had been mere coincidence that he had chanced upon this place, and on a whim had decided to come in.
Fortunately he had been properly attired for the atmosphere. The hostess had taken his blazer and he was adorned in presentable, if simple attire. Copper-colored vest buttoned in the front, laid over a crisply starched white shirt with wide collar, kept up with a wide tie of copper, silver and white striping. The cuff links on his shirt were set with mint condition silver dimes from over a hundred years ago, emblazoned with a representation of Mercury, the ancient messenger, an androgynous figure set with wings on the side of the head. Probably a little under-dressed, yet good enough.
The next drink came. Jon grabbed it and took a deep sip, honestly he could hardly taste anything at this point. He supposed it was good. Had he ever drunk so much before? Probably not, even in college he had been more focused on work and studies than parties, or girls, or drinking. His mind was a bit fuzzy, as was what Jon had been aiming for. He didn't want to think of his recent hearing, and especially the fact the Prosecutor General had killed himself, and the implications that meant for Jon's culpability in the matter. He didn't want to think at all. He just wanted to feel – well, nothing would work. Anything other than guilt would be better. For the moment, he was savoring the feeling he had loosed the firm grip of control over himself. At the moment, on the edge of stupor, he was king of his own castle of oblivion.
Idly, Jon looked from his glass and his seat at the bar to scope the room. His thin-rimmed spectacles weren't doing him a whole lot of good as far as helping his deficient eyes focus anymore. It probably wasn't the fault of the glasses but the drink in his hand. At a private table in the corner – well, not too private as it had a full view of the bar – a well-to-do man was toying with a waitress. No, perhaps the waitress was toying with him. Jon made some inquiries and after some hemming around the subject found out the woman over there was actually the owner. Perhaps the flirtation was merely an exercise in the subtle seduction this place was known for. But it was clear to him as an observer that both of them thought they were in control of the dialogue between them, the man with a black diamond in his lobe flashing a smile as he got his drink, like he had won a victory, the sultry owner playing her own game with him.
Jon sipped his drink – how many had it been? Great Spirit, he was definitely drunk. Having nothing better to do, he continued to watch.
Edited by Jon Little Bird, Aug 29 2013, 03:34 AM.
Jon peered into the crystal tumbler in his hand and noticed it was empty again. What had this been – his sixth drink? He didn't even remembered what he had ordered, let alone what it tasted like. Something brown and smooth – with a bite. Whatever it was, it was doing its job.
He slid the empty glass to the other side of the bar and politely caught the attention of the bartender to bring him another. The blonde woman running the bar nodded to him and held up a single finger – it would take a moment. Jon nodded. The place was starting to fill up, probably in anticipation of the midnight show, and service was having to adjust accordingly. Not that it mattered too much to Jon, the show or otherwise. But perhaps he would stay awhile.
Kallisti's was hardly the sort of place Jon would consider frequenting. Indeed, he didn't normally consider any sort of club as a good use of his time when there were things to be learned, briefs to file, opinions to write. Other experimentation and meditation to be done. Awake or asleep, he was always focused on a goal, except for today. In his current mood, having spent the day idly walking around Moscow and blowing off all other work that lay waiting for him, it had been mere coincidence that he had chanced upon this place, and on a whim had decided to come in.
Fortunately he had been properly attired for the atmosphere. The hostess had taken his blazer and he was adorned in presentable, if simple attire. Copper-colored vest buttoned in the front, laid over a crisply starched white shirt with wide collar, kept up with a wide tie of copper, silver and white striping. The cuff links on his shirt were set with mint condition silver dimes from over a hundred years ago, emblazoned with a representation of Mercury, the ancient messenger, an androgynous figure set with wings on the side of the head. Probably a little under-dressed, yet good enough.
The next drink came. Jon grabbed it and took a deep sip, honestly he could hardly taste anything at this point. He supposed it was good. Had he ever drunk so much before? Probably not, even in college he had been more focused on work and studies than parties, or girls, or drinking. His mind was a bit fuzzy, as was what Jon had been aiming for. He didn't want to think of his recent hearing, and especially the fact the Prosecutor General had killed himself, and the implications that meant for Jon's culpability in the matter. He didn't want to think at all. He just wanted to feel – well, nothing would work. Anything other than guilt would be better. For the moment, he was savoring the feeling he had loosed the firm grip of control over himself. At the moment, on the edge of stupor, he was king of his own castle of oblivion.
Idly, Jon looked from his glass and his seat at the bar to scope the room. His thin-rimmed spectacles weren't doing him a whole lot of good as far as helping his deficient eyes focus anymore. It probably wasn't the fault of the glasses but the drink in his hand. At a private table in the corner – well, not too private as it had a full view of the bar – a well-to-do man was toying with a waitress. No, perhaps the waitress was toying with him. Jon made some inquiries and after some hemming around the subject found out the woman over there was actually the owner. Perhaps the flirtation was merely an exercise in the subtle seduction this place was known for. But it was clear to him as an observer that both of them thought they were in control of the dialogue between them, the man with a black diamond in his lobe flashing a smile as he got his drink, like he had won a victory, the sultry owner playing her own game with him.
Jon sipped his drink – how many had it been? Great Spirit, he was definitely drunk. Having nothing better to do, he continued to watch.
Edited by Jon Little Bird, Aug 29 2013, 03:34 AM.