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 Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2015 7:46 pm
( this is backdated to October 10th )
Amphitrite had been shamelessly looking to take on new responsibility, and she’d gotten it; the cogs were turning on the team that would soon be her’s, one of the newly corrupted, younger senshi was going to be joining her household soon - so many things were happening and changing now all at once, all for the better, and the newfound power tasted sweet on her tongue.
This did not mean, though, that she was beyond pushing herself… in every possible way. She was enjoying seeing what she could and couldn’t get away with more now than ever, and she didn’t know if it would eventually come back and bite her in the a**. (Well. In a metaphorical way. Literally speaking, Ice had more or less covered that one.) Some things would undeniably be harder to do once she had more charges to look after (Poppy was easy; she also had a patrol tonight, and she was such a thoughtful, sweet thing that Desdemona never had to worry much) and a team to maintain, on top of everything else she was pursuing.
So tonight, she’d gone out as Desdemona, the mask she’d modeled for herself to function in the real world - and really, it was no more than that. A mask, a paper thin one that only barely separated her from Amphitrite. But it was enough. And convincing enough, it seemed, to be allowed passage into a bar of all places. Granted, she’d sort of chosen the place because she’d heard it was a little loose about age, but… she was sort of expecting to have to slip someone a twenty, at least.
Not that she was really complaining. Wearing what she was, it didn’t take too long before someone had stuck a drink in her hand - it gave her a rush, naturally, but a glance at the guy said he wasn’t her type. No. Instead, she drifted, fluttering around for a while, more holding what she’d been given for the sake of holding it than properly drinking it, until finally she found herself meandering up to the bar proper - and there she sidled up to an empty stool beside a man that seemed to, by all accounts, be there alone.
Now this was a little more promising.
“Hey cutie. This seat taken?”
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He’d been at the bar for a good twenty minutes already, though Fritz had talked to no one. He’d come in sometime in the evening, ordered himself a whiskey (Tolliver hated the stuff, but Fritz had always liked his alcohol strong), and sat in the same place since. Both forearms were resting on the desktop, and his fingers were absently caressing the top of the glass, a glazed, unfocused look on his freckled face.
Two drinks down - well, two and a half - and he was still alone. Right at this very moment, Tolliver was with his boyfriend, doing whatever it was that Hitch had planned for his birthday - though Fritz didn’t really want to think too much about the details of that. Instead, he was here, at the bar, completely alone and drowning himself in alcohol.
Happy birthday to me.
A voice to his left made him look up, though the haze had not gone from Fritz’s eyes. He gave the young woman a brief flicker of a glance, eyes sweeping over her appearance, and then looked back down at his drink, tapping a finger against the side before gesturing grandly at the stool.
“All yours, pretty lady.”
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He didn’t look at her the way men and women usually did lately when she cocked her hip just such a way and used that certain tone of voice… but he did still look, and even if he had said no, she didn’t have much of any intention of leaving. He’d caught her eye for a reason; color her intrigued and all that.
With a smile and a nod, she slid onto the stool beside him, ‘accidentally’ bumping the side of his leg with her knee, lightly.
She didn’t apologize.
Instead, she rested her elbow on the bar, and her chin atop that, staring intently at him. “So. Why the long face handsome, hm? - not that the brooding look doesn’t suit you. Girlfriend trouble?”
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If he noticed the way she knocked into him, he didn’t say anything, Fritz’s gaze on the half empty glass in front of him. He shifted slightly, picking up the glass and swirling the amber liquid around inside in an idle gesture, watching it sift and slosh against the sides without going over the edge. For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything at all, apparently not hearing her.
Or maybe he had, and just wasn’t answering. Fritz lifted the drink and downed what was left of it, swallowed hard, wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, and beckoned for another from the bartender, who nodded in understanding and set to getting another bottle.
“I always look like this,” said Fritz grandly - apparently he had heard her, after all. He gestured vaguely with one hand. “This is exactly what I look like.”
He, like his brother, managed to hold his alcohol well, but three glasses of strong whiskey was making him feel quite light headed.
“No,” he said, a little too forcefully. “No,” he said again, quieter. “No girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t do girlfriends, I don’t have anyyyyyone.”
He dragged the last word out too long, the bartender dropping off his drink a second later.
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One thing that Desdemona, or Amphitrite really, didn’t particularly enjoy was when eyes were not squarely on her when they should be - although in a way she appreciated the challenge.
She’d just begun to rethink her tactics as he polished off his drink, seemingly intent to ignore her, when he finally broke the silence and spoke, his voice ringing loud and clear in the air, even with all the noise of the bar. It was a rather pleasant voice to listen to, really, and fresh life was sparked into her smile. “Is it now? - well that’s good to know. I’d hate to look over and see someone else, “ she teased gently, wholly unaware that there was another person in the world with the same face as his.
The forcefulness of his ‘no’ was really very encouraging, and if anything her smile grew wider, a soft, almost musical little laugh rolling in her throat as she very deliberately shifted a bit closer. “No anyone, hm? - sounds lonely - is that why you looked so down, freckles?”
He might be slurred; she’d barely drank enough of her’s to get anything resembling a buzz. But it made it easier, really. She crossed her legs and bit her lower lip for a moment, and then laughed again, more quietly this time. “Well, it just so happens I don’t have anyone either. And I am pretty lonely. - what do you say? Mind if I keep you company for awhile? - I’m Des, by the way. Desdemona.”
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Her comment made him snort, half with amusement, half with something else, something unnameable. The fact that he shared a face with Tolliver was about the only thing he shared - other than that, identical to the way their eyes were shaped, to the freckles across their bodies (though Tolliver had more), to the lankiness of their frames (though again, Tolliver was slighter and skinnier, but only due to health reasons).
He didn’t want to think about about Tolliver. Or Hitch. Or the both of them. Or anything.
“That’s not why I look any particular way,” said Fritz with a scoff. “I just look this way because…” A hand rose, then dropped again, useless. He didn’t seem to notice her shifting closer. “Because I do, because I am who I am, and this is what I look like.”
Her suggestion, however, succeeded in getting him to turn his head. Fritz curled his hand around his new drink, pulling it towards him, and his brows rose as he lifted the glass and took a small sip. His gaze moved up and down her now, slower than before, like he was actually looking instead of glancing.
“You want to keep me company?” said Fritz, sounding amused. “I see.”
He took another swallow.
“I’m Fritz,” he said, after a moment, which wasn’t exactly encouragement, but it wasn’t rejection. “Why don’t you have anyone, Desdemona?
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She bit her lip to keep another laugh in check, her tongue flicking almost playfully over it as she released it from between her teeth. “Well, that was waxing philosophical right there. - so you’re usually the type to stare forlornly into a cup of booze by yourself in a bar? Typical Saturday night for you?”
Then, she reached out and patted him lightly on the shoulder, and this time she did chuckle. “Don’t worry, cutie, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Besides.” She finally tentatively took a sip of her drink, allowing the glass to linger near her lips for a moment longer than it had to. “The way you look, it’s good.”
Now, that look was more like it. Notice her. A thrill traveled through her, like the rush she’d gotten from the rainbow DJ when she’d blown the smoke into her mouth.
Another light sound of amusement escaped her. Oh, really, he saw - took him long enough.
“Fritz,” she echoed, arching a brow and flashing him a smile. “Cute. - is that your real name, or is it short for something?” Oh, look at him now, turning the questions onto her. Alright. She could play that game for a bit. “Well, because fancy that - I don’t do girlfriends,” she echoed back at him. “Or boyfriends, for that matter. What a coincidence.”
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“No,” said Fritz, and then a second later, “Maybe.”
But no, he was not going to sit there and discuss the philosophical meanings of drinking booze by himself on the weekend, because really, why else did people sit alone in bars? They either had no where else to go, or they just spent their time drowning their sorrows in alcohol. He was not necessarily sad, but he was also not happy, either.
A brow arched, Fritz turning his head briefly, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean, the way I look?” he asked bluntly, not unkindly, but lacking his usual finesse and easy confidence. “I look exactly the way I look. I look like him, except even he can find himself someone, even though that someone is a ragged ball of cigarette smoke and insecurities.”
He was saying too much. The alcohol was loosening his tongue. Fritz snapped his mouth shut again, thought better, and took another swig.
A sigh of exasperation escaped him and his forehead hit the bar with a muted thud, red hair cascading over his face.
“Not you too,” he groaned out. “Why is everyone around me so bloody gay?”
He didn’t actually mean it as a slur, but it still came out sounding bitter. Fritz sat back up and took several swallows this time, letting the alcohol burn down his throat.
“No offense,” he added, somewhat belatedly.
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Desdemona lifted a hand to her face and smiled behind it, a flare of amusement bright in her eyes.
What did she mean, the way he looked - someone was deeper in their little funk than they appeared to be, weren’t they? She took in the bits of information he scattered, fumbling briefly for the pieces. Although, “You sound like you’re talking about a lover even though I know you’re not, “ she observed, toying with her drink for a moment and casting him a slight smile, leaning in a bit closer still.
“As for what I mean, you silly, silly man, “ she murmured playfully. “I like the way you look. I think you’re cute - handsome - whatever adjective you want to go with. You’re the best looking guy here, so.” She shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her drink, lips still curled in a smile. Most men appreciated having their ego stroked, among other things.
The sigh and the thud took her by surprise, along with the comment, her brow arching… although the look of subdued amusement really wasn’t so subdued. “First of all, Fritz, you’re lucky - it takes a lot to offend me - although I just need to say, ‘gay’ is sort of a funny word choice, considering.” And because he was drinking and taking nothing quite so simply at face value - subtly was proving something of a lost art here. “You know. That I’m trying to seduce you and all.”
Then, almost conversationally, she remarked, “You’re here because someone you care about is a little gay, aren’t they? Is that what’s going on?”
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A half strangled snort of disbelief was dragged from his throat.
“No,” said Fritz hoarsely. “No. No. Bloody hell, no, I’m not talking about a bloody lover, good heavens no.” The very thought of it was revolting. “Bloody ******** hell, no.”
He rarely swore, unless either drunk or upset, and this was one of those rare occasions in which he was a mixture of both. Fritz dropped his glass onto the bar and ran both of his hands through his hair, elbows against the top of the counter. A few scars were subtly visible on his hands and wrists, just faint, small things that weren’t really noticeable unless one was looking particularly close.
His normal reaction would be to compliment back. To laugh, to smile with a twinkle in his eye, maybe to offer some sort of clever, cute response in return. He couldn’t work up the energy now, his chest tight, Fritz’s eyes going half-lidded.
“Well, it’s nice to know that you find me…” A hand waved idly. “However you find me.”
He was about to ask her why gay was a funny word choice, but she did the explaining for him, and Fritz’s eyes widened for a moment before they fell halfway shut again. He hadn’t removed his hands from his hair, or his elbows from the bar top, but he did turn his head slightly and give Desdemona look out of the corner of his eye, the light refracting off of his glasses.
He didn’t comment on the seducing comment, instead replying to the second.
“My brother,” Fritz muttered. “My brother’s not just a little gay, he’s a lot gay and he has himself a nice ‘ole gay boyfriend now.”
There was bitterness in his tone, though it was not necessarily from the fact that Tolliver was gay, but something else, something a lot deeper inside of his heart.
“They’re all gay and happy together,” Fritz declared, downing the rest of his whiskey.
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If there was any clear indication that this was a family thing and not a sexual thing - not that Desdemona was particularly invested, exactly. But she liked conversation. She liked banter. She was enjoying herself, even if Fritz himself was in the midst of dealing with some things. To dig and find out details, piece by piece, felt a bit like a game, a challenge in itself.
(There was a part of Natalie that’d always wanted to cheer people up when they were down - and Natalie might be long dead, but Desdemona still carried traces of her, wisps of ghosts here and there to rationalize and explain away.)
“You’re a bit cute when you’re horrified, “ she teased.
At the look, she simply smiled, the kind of smile that was, without words, ripe with invitation. Although again, he knew if he’d pick up on it - subtleties were not his strong point right now.
There it was, the basic root of the reason why he was where he was, drinking his troubles again. As someone who was more than familiar with bitterness and what it tasted like, it didn’t really put her off. Instead, she just went ahead and laid a hand that might have been sympathetic on his knee - or might have simply been something else. “Do you resent him for being gay, or for finding someone?” she asked; with subtly off the table, they were making much more headway like this.
Speaking of headway, he’d certainly made it into that drink, hadn’t he? Desdemona took the empty glass from him when he finished and toyed idly with it. “Can you handle another, or should I be cutting you off, freckles?” She wasn’t really going to push him one way or the other; she already knew she’d be picking up the tab anyway, if only for the entertainment. She could afford to do that much.
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He snorted, but didn’t comment on the cute thing. He did catch the smile and understood most of the meaning behind it, but still refrained from even thinking about it, Fritz just idly shifting his fingers through his hair and then linking them against the back of his neck.
Her hand was on his leg - his knee, rather. It was an unexpected warmth, though he knew it was probably not out of a desire to comfort, but for something else. He made no move to pull away, however, still stuck in that middle between acceptance and rejection, swaying towards neither one of them. Fritz eased out a sigh, at Des’s question, his eyes fluttering.
“What a loaded question that is,” he said flatly, and twisted his head from side to side, trying to work out some of the kinks in it. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing he’s gay. I mean, I don’t think I do. I’ve never had a gay brother before, I don’t even know what the bloody hell I’m supposed to be thinking about. I already messed things up with him before, with his - boyfriend - lover - whatever - and he hated me for a while, I don’t think he does anymore, but, whatever, it is what it is.”
His hands were shaking. Fritz lowered them from his neck and folded one arm down and propped his head up in the other, sighing.
“Another drink would be good,” he said, not touching the idea of being unhappy because he was just lonely.
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“If it’s not loaded, is it worth asking?” There was a light, teasing edge, trying to keep the situation a little light where she could; not because misery made her uncomfortable. Few things did anymore, really. But it was more for his benefit than anything. Most people didn’t generally go off drinking and confessing their woes to people they just met unless things were dire. - most people, because she was sure there were exceptions, and for all she knew he might be the same way sober. But she doubted it.
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” although really, what did she know? She’d only just gained a sister not so long ago. But she sounded confidently soothing saying it, and that was half the battle, as experience had dictated. “Although try not to overthink it so much. I mean, really, though - honestly, no judgement - would you be much happier if it was a girl instead?”
The hand on his leg had not been intended for comfort, exactly - not consciously - but when she caught sight of his shaking hands, the squeeze that followed was. She wasn’t completely inhuman, after all, at least not yet. “Another drink it is,” and she went to work beckoning the bar tender, flashing a charming smile as the guy set to pouring out another. “You still haven’t told me what Fritz is short for.”
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He shrugged, but the teasing question at least made the corners of his lips twitch, like he was almost about to smile. “Maybe,” said Fritz. “Or maybe not. Who the bloody hell knows anymore.”
It was probably a bad idea, being here - but, then again, since when had any of his choices been good lately? Fritz’s life seemed to be a series of bad judgements, miscalculations, and stupidity - none of which made for a good person, though he already knew he was not. He’d made too many mistakes over the years to keep up the pretense of being decent.
A snort escaped him, inelegant.
“I thought he would be with a girl all the years we’ve been together,” said Fritz, voicing something that he had not intended to, something that was in the very recesses of his mind, tucked away underneath the shame and the self loathing. He seemed not to notice, however, his eyes unfocused. “Maybe that’s why he never wanted to go on double dates with me in high school or uni. Maybe I should have noticed all this time. Aren’t twins supposed to be like, special? I’m supposed to be able to magically read his thoughts.”
He shook his head, exhaling a breath, and this time he really did smile, though it was more of a smirk than anything else.
“You’re right,” said Fritz lightly. “I didn’t.”
He did not elaborate.
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As she listened to him, accidentally unveiling parts of himself that she wondered if he’d admitted to anyone else, much less himself, Desdemona found herself smiling at the end. Personal space being relative, she went ahead and took her free hand, gently tucking some of his hair behind his ear and chuckling softly. “You are cute. It’s sweet that you can still think like that.” Kind of refreshingly naive, actually. Not that she knew, she didn’t have a twin - although really, Poppy could’ve passed for one if she wasn’t younger and so much smaller. “It’d be easier if things worked like that, huh? - but you can’t blame yourself.”
Her hand fell away, reclaiming her own drink - she still didn’t even know what it was other than sweet - taking a slow, tiny sip before setting it down again. “No one really knows anyone. Not all the way.” Not that she was speaking from experience. Had she ever loved anyone? - maybe? Had she loved Elle for taking her in? Did she love Laurelite for bringing her in, for encouraging her, supporting her? Did she love Poppy? Did she love any of them? Did she really know anyone? “There’s magic in the world, but it’s not between people. That’d make things too easy, probably,” and she flashed a smile then, as though that thought should have been reassuring.
She smirked back, then, laughing softly again. “Like I thought. You’re cute when you’re brooding, but you’re better when you smile.”
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He didn’t flinch at her touch, nor did he lean away; but instead just flicked his gaze sideways without turning his head to look at her, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “You’ve really got to come up with a better adjective than cute,” he said dryly. “Though I suppose I should say I appreciate the sentiments all the same.”
It would be easier that way - but it wasn’t. It wasn’t that way at all, and instead Fritz was left with the weight of all that he’d done. No amount of it’s not your faults could ease the pressure that was steadily growing on his chest, in his heart.
“Magic.” Fritz snorted, because he knew all too well the truth of this statement, even if Desdemona was just being flippant. “And no, perhaps not - but I know my brother. We’ve spent our lives together, grew up together, lived together. We’ve always been together, even if we’ve never been the same sort of person as the other.”
The bartender had dropped off his drink again. Fritz nursed it absently between his hands, feeling the coolness of the glass against his palm and fingers.
“And now he’s left me,” he said quietly, though in a voice that clearly indicated he was trying to make light of it. “He’s left me, and he and his boyfriend are probably out celebrating right this second - or in celebrating, bloody hell, I don’t want to think about that - and they’re all happy and cute and stupid together, and I’m here.”
Fritz raised his glass and toasted no one, a sardonic note to his voice.
“Happy bloody birthday to me,” he muttered, and took a swig.
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Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2015 7:51 pm
“Oh, I have plenty,” and Desdemona cracked a smile, squeezing his leg again and leaning closer to murmur something like, “But you’d need to look at me more to get them, handsome. Surely I beat a countertop, don’t I?” All teasing, of course - well, more or less. He really did have nice eyes, and she felt a little surge of gratification every time he glanced her way. But she was more trying to cheer him up than demand attention.
She couldn’t really imagine it - but again. Amphitrite didn’t remember enough to know if she’d ever had anything like it, and she didn’t expect she’d find that kind of closeness with anyone now. There was Poppy, but she was more - Poppy was someone to take care of, to dote on, to adore, not to share and confide in.
The thought didn’t make her lonely. It was hard to miss what might have never been, and though she craved some degree of companionship - even with Emory, she liked him, but -
Even if she didn’t understand the sentiment of the closeness between twins, she did understand abandonment, even if it was on a wholly different scale. And that made her perhaps a little sad for him, on some level. It’s his birthday. Why is he here? - why on earth is he alone, then, if he doesn’t want to be? Birthdays were, personally speaking, anything but significant to her - her birthday was a day chosen at random, how convenance, and really it was ultimately pretty meaningless beyond the measure of power being a legal adult provided. But she understood what they should mean to people who’d lived out normal lives, who had a proper reason to celebrate.
“You don’t have to be here,” she said, not really tentatively, quietly, gently - flirtatious, yes, but maybe something a little more than that. She lifted her glass, only half-empty still, in a silent bid for a toast, and cracked a small smile.
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He gave a little huff of amusement, in spite of the fact that it felt like his chest was about to crack open at any moment. Fritz’s fingers moved idly along the top of the counter, smoothing along the glossy hardwood without actually seeing what he was doing. “Well,” he said lightly. “I won’t deny that you probably do beat a countertop. Though, really, this a very nice countertop, have you seen the way the wood weaves?”
There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, in spite of the ache. Fritz was smirking, ever so slightly, the corners of his lips quirked upwards.
The amber liquid in his glass swirled as he rotated it slowly. Birthdays to him were maybe not as insignificant as Desdemona’s (even if he didn’t know that), but they were meaningful in their own way, sometimes quietly, sometimes explosively. Fritz had always been exciting on birthdays, had always tried to make things grandiose and fantastic for himself and Tolliver. He was nothing if not easily swept away in such celebrations, but they were fun, meant for pleasure and happiness.
Not this time, though.
“You know,” said Fritz, still staring at his glass now, rather than the counter. He seemed to be talking half to himself, less so to Desdemona. “This is the first birthday I’ve spent apart from him. We were never those ridiculously attached like those creepy twins you see that are always together. We stopped dressing alike when we were six. But, you know…” He shrugged. “We’re twins. We share the same birthday. It makes sense to celebrate together.”
His shoulders were not hunched, but tensed, like a strap pulled too tight.
“Except apparently he doesn’t care anymore,” Fritz bit out, then immediately regretted it, and took a swallow of whiskey.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth again. “Here you are trying to be all nice and here I am spilling my guts out to a complete stranger.”
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She watched the trail of his fingers and didn’t bother to bite back a grin, playfully nudging him with her shoulder. “Listen. If it’s curves you want, freckles, I know where you can find some nicer ones,” she taunted back, trying in her own way to encourage that spark, that subtle little smirk.
Then, though, he’d fallen back into the glass again, back into himself. It should have been boring for her, really - why should it be her job to tend to some miserable man on a bar when she was looking to go out and have some fun? It wasn’t as though she had any reason to keep this up, besides the chance that he might take her home - and with him being in the rut he seemed to be in, who knew? It’d been easier with the others, Emory and Isaiah and the DJ in the alley. Things had just fallen easily into place, and it’d never really gotten too personal, just… playful. Light. Sensual. Empowering.
This was the first time, really, that anyone besides maybe Poppy had sat there and talked to her like this. And maybe that was why she was still here, still going along with the motions, letting him sit there and talk. The gravity of what he was saying wasn’t lost on her, and maybe - no, it really wasn’t the same sort of power that came from commanding someone’s gaze to fall on her. But there was still an aspect of power to it, being an unwitting confidante.
On a different level, somewhere else entirely, corrupt or not - somewhat hypocritically, given her starseed research and her sadism against the other side - when it came to normal, potentially decent guys like this, so torn up over their twin, no. She didn’t especially enjoy seeing people like this suffer, lost to their own internal demons. Her cruelty ran deep, but it had its limits.
She sighed at the apology and leaned over, brushing hair away from his face, pressing her lips chastely to his freckled cheek. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I can’t understand what you’re feeling, but I don’t mind listening.” A cracked smile, playful. “Seriously, with a voice like that, you could tell me your woes all night and I’d be fine, freckles.”
Tentatively, at least for her, she slid an arm around him, patting his back gently. “Sometimes it just helps to say these things, right? - just get them out there so they don’t fester or whatever? - and I offered to keep you company.” She was probably terrible at this, she knew - battles, she could do. She was strong now, mentally and physically, and she knew that. But truth be told, when it came to anything like this, there was a lot Amphitrite had lost or never experienced at all when it came to the more intricate relationships in life.
Again. She didn’t really feel like she was lacking. Especially if she dreamed of one day standing by Alkaid’s side as an equal, none of this really mattered.
But she was here now.
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He snorted again, but this time not out of derision, amusement in his eyes. “You’re very kind,” said Fritz, with a touch of dryness. Her flirtatiousness was not missed, in spite of him not reacting to it like he normally would, Fritz instead tucking this information away for later reference - possibly. Or maybe he just wasn’t in the mood. Or maybe he was, and just was playing hard to get. Or maybe he just was terribly, painfully lonely. He wasn’t even sure anymore.
“My voice makes no difference,” said Fritz grandly, waving a hand carelessly. “I’m still just ladeling my issues out on a pretty thing instead of, you know, being a good guy.”
She’d kissed his cheek, her lips warm against his face, her fingers surprisingly gentle as they brushed the hair out of his eyes. Fritz’s own gaze remained steadily on the glass in his hands, but he made no move to pull away, just let Desdemona do what she was doing, wondering if he was doing the right thing at all by being here. There was hardly anywhere else to go, but he also couldn’t tell if this girl’s gentle kind gestures were a reassurance or a hopeful insinuation.
Especially with that arm around his back, a hand patting him.
Maybe it did help to just get things out. Fritz felt slightly dizzy, but he lifted his glass and took another swallow, the alcohol burning his throat, his mouth, his memories.
“Enough about me,” said Fritz abruptly, and he turned his head to face her, finally. “What about you? There have got to be more exciting things for you to do than sit around and listen to my woes.”
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It was too much for her to resist the urge to wink at him. “Oh freckles, you don’t know the half of it.” Whatever he was or wasn’t, by now, she was just rolling with it - and it wasn’t unpleasant.
She snorted lightly, shaking her head and throwing him a look, edged in playfulness. “Well clearly you don’t hear yourself talk enough if that’s what you think.” Desdemona turned and fidgeted with her glass, idly, not really taking a sip, just glancing down at it and lightly shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know. Personally, I think it takes a pretty good guy to care this much about his brother.” She glanced back through seafoam bangs, and her smile was a bit softer, less edge in games and flirtation. “It’s sweet. Really.”
As for what all that was, with her hand lingering longer than it needed to on his shoulder even after she’d patted it, it could have been either - flirtation or comfort. Was there really any distinction between the two? - was there any difference for her? Her lines were blurred, almost beyond recognition.
There, that was more like it; he was finally looking straight at her, although his body language hadn’t shifted. It’d been very easy just to shift back to that glass. She gave him an approving glance, not that he probably wanted or needed approval from her.
“What about me?” and she was back to playful then, flashing him a toothy smile in the dim light of the bar. “Don’t start. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” This was more true than he’d ever know, now. “Besides, for all I know, this has whole been one big elaborate ploy - sensitive guys get all the girls, you know, ” she teased, nudging him lightly again. “So how old are you now, huh, birthday boy?”
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He didn’t even know if he could be counted on as a good person anymore. Even as Celsus he’d managed to fail most of the people that he cared about, his connections falling and slipping away into nothingness, dissolving into a series of lost time and pain. He didn’t want to think about all the ones he had lost, or the ones he had thought he would last forever and now were gone. Tolliver wasn’t necessarily gone, but his heart was set and he was far from Fritz’s reach now, leaving him with a sense of cold, empty sadness. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want his brother to be happy, because he obviously did - but at the expense of Tolliver’s happiness came a significant loss in Fritz’s life.
Not that he would ever tell him that. He’d already told Hitch - or rather, Eurydike - way too much, the memory of that night making his head spin even more. His most vulnerable and darkest agony - or at least, one of them - had been exposed, and he didn’t want to think about the ramifications of letting that out, of giving that much of himself to a man he perhaps no longer hated, but whom he wasn’t even sure he trusted still.
“Sweet,” repeated Fritz, and he gave a little laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
He took a sip of bourbon before looking at Desdemona, and another smile cracked over his face. “Well, if it’s a ploy, you’re certainly doing well, I think,” he said, and this time his laughter was almost back to normal, though still tinged in a snort. “And as for being sensitive, well, that’s not exactly the impression I like to give girls, actually.”
Or anyone, really. Fritz swirled his glass without looking at it, head tilted to rest against his hand as he regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“Twenty-four,” he said lightly. “I’m now officially almost midway through my twenties.”
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At the small, sad laugh that didn’t travel as far as it should have, Desdemona replaced the hand on his leg, giving him a squeeze - that time, although there was really no way to tell the difference, there was no ulterior motive.
The more genuine one, though, she laughed with him, pleasant and light. “That so, freckles?” she asked with arched brows and a tilt of her head. “So then what is the impression you like to give, hm?” That one was ripe with innuendo, flavored by a playful licking of her lips and a playful glint in her eyes.
Twenty-four. “Good number, “ she mused, resting her chin against her hand, in all accounts body language turned towards him. “One of my favorites, actually.” She lifted her glass to him again, and at least this time he was looking at her to see it as she favored him with a toast - and really didn’t give him much of a choice, reaching out to tap her drink lightly against his. “Happy birthday, Fritz.”
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He didn’t mind the hand on his leg; Fritz had always been a rather touchy feely person in general, and usually saw no qualms about taking someone’s hand, or kissing their cheek, or just hugging them. He did it all the time with people he found affection towards, even if he kept himself deliberately distanced from all of them (Hitch definitely did not count as people he found affection towards, those hugs were all Hitch-started).
Her innuendo was not missed. Fritz arched a brow. “A better one than this,” he said dryly, but there was a glint of amusement in his gaze all the same. The alcohol had started to seep into his mind, hazing his thoughts so that everything had a tinge of blurriness to it, like a picture that was fuzzy around the edges. Fritz was starting to feel much less emotional and more like his own self, which he found reassuring.
“I’m sure it is,” he said with a laugh. “How convenient for you.”
The tap of Desdemona’s glass against his own made him quirk his lips upwards, and his body was now turned towards hers, Fritz idly smoothing his fingers against the glass as he knocked back the rest of it, ignoring the way it made his throat burn, made his heart ache.
“Thank you,” he said lightly, as he set the glass down on the counter - and now there was a look of the familiar old mischief starting up in his eyes, light reflecting off of his glasses.
“Want to give me a birthday present?”
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“I thought you’d never ask,” she teased, feeling the more familiar thrill of a successful pursuit well up within her. Alcohol was all well and good, but this was her chosen high, better even then the smoke the DJ had breathed into her mouth that night.
Desdemona shifted forward a bit, knees bumping lightly against his, her brows arching again as she offered, ‘ruefully’, “Too bad, though… I think I left the best ones back at your place.” She tried to look sad about it, but there was no shaking that playful smile. Especially as she murmured, much more quietly, “Oh. But I did remember one…”
She reached out, and if were any other time, she probably would’ve given his hair a sharp little tug - but perhaps remembering the misery he’d been in, was probably still in now, instead her touches were gentler, fingertips sliding into his hair and pushing it away from his face again. She leaned forward, closing the gap as she pressed her lips to his.
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He couldn’t say he hadn’t expected it.
Desdemona’s line made him snort out a laugh, Fritz amused in spite of himself - but he felt her knees hit his as she leaned forward, and then her hand was in his hair, which was down today, hanging loose about his face in curtains of bright red. There was a little smile on his face, but it was hidden behind the feel of warm lips against his own.
Fritz’s own hand rose; he let it rest on the back of her head, and he tilted to meet the kiss without hesitation, his eyes falling shut. And he didn’t let her pull away after a few seconds either, deepening it by parting his lips against hers, letting himself, for the first time in a long time, simply forget. Forget about Tolliver, forget about Hitch, forget about all of the failures and all of the pain that was resting on his shoulders, and just let himself enjoy.
He pulled away after not too long, however, his hand falling away, and the little smile was back on his face, Fritz resting his elbow back on the counter, his head propped against his hand.
“An acceptable birthday present,” he said lightly, hints of a tease in his voice.
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Her eyes slid shut as he accepted the gesture, and whether he would have let her pull away or not, she made no attempt to. As his lips parted, she made a soft sound of approval in the back of her throat, barely teasing him with the tip of her tongue before he was gone away, his hair sliding between her fingers like silk.
The hand that had been in his lap fell to his lap again, and she met his smile with one of her own; the tease in his voice and the faint flavor of whisky clinging to her lips in his wake made her feel pleasantly warm. “Acceptable, hm?” she quipped back, mirroring him again by resting her chin on her hand, visibly bemused. “No no no. Surely we can do better than that. You only turn 24 once, you know.” He hadn’t said no. There was a chance he might not. And when she was finally getting the kind of attention she was craving, even if it wasn’t quite the same as the likes of Isaiah and the rest -
The hand lifted from his knee to his hair, again, toying idly with the tips as she gave a soft laugh. “Just. Fritz, dear. Tell me you didn’t drive here?”
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He was smiling at her, though his mind kept shifting from one thing to the next. Fritz couldn’t focus, his head spinning with the effort of concentrating. He did manage to register that she kissed quite well, and her mouth was very warm and nice against his own - but really, it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself any sort of pleasure at all.
Desdemona was toying with his hair again, Fritz’s fingers were idly drumming the countertop, the haze of alcohol settling into his stomach and chest.
“No,” he said lightly. “I didn’t drive here, I just walked. I live down the street, driving would have been silly.”
He wanted another drink. He kind of wanted to kiss Desdemona more. He also just kind of wanted to go home and sleep for the next ten years, to dream away all of the pain inside of his heart that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Fritz eased out a long breath, and the mischief had gone out of his eyes, a dull ache settling inside of them instead.
“I don’t want to celebrate,” he said, resting his elbows on the counter and resting his forehead against his hands. “I just want not to feel.”
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He wouldn’t have seen Desdemona’s smile grow softer at the edges, her fingertips doing less toying and more slowly running through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. She didn’t exactly know how it made her feel, seeing him like this, but again, she wasn’t completely unfeeling - as much as part of her wanted to be. There were reasons beyond power and influence that had driven her to implore Laurelite to send younger corrupts into her care.
“Okay honey,” she murmured, letting her hand drop and slip to the back of his neck, gently rubbing the warm skin between her thumb and forefinger. She fished into her pocket with free hand hand and fished out a few bills from a thin wallet - if Fritz wasn’t as far gone as he was, he might have caught a glimpse of the pictures tucked inside, pictures of a girl who looked much like Desdemona did, but younger. Anyone could have mistaken them for related; it was an easy lie to play into.
She set the bills down on the counter and began to rise, her hand falling further to rest against Fritz’s back, between his shoulderblades. “Come on freckles. Let’s get you home. Have you got drinks there?”
Whether or not they’d actually drink, or something more, or if he’d just sleep - much as she might have her preferences, none of it really mattered as much as getting him out of there.
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He kind of liked the soothing gesture of someone messing with his hair, Fritz’s eyes fluttering slightly - but he was too far gone to realize much more than this. The sheer quantity of alcohol he’d imbibed already was succeeding in making his brain fuzzy and his mind feel like he was slogging through massive amounts of molasses.
“Okay, what,” Fritz mumbled, his fingers massaging his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing behind his temples. He was vaguely aware of Desdemona doing things, of pulling something from her pocket, of standing next to him and trying to ease him out of his seat. He went willingly, sliding off of his stool and stumbling, staggering to the side and nearly toppling over before he straightened.
“I’ve got loads of stuff there,” he muttered, which may have been a lie, but it didn’t matter. He gripped Desdemona’s arm and took an unsteady step forward.
“Time t’go home.”
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