(( Thanks to all those that took part, Sabien, Artem, Etc. Log edited to make the reading a little smoother.))

For a date he brings all of the essentials. He wore a suit, modern cut and unbuttoned. Beneath was a steel green shirt, more grey than green but still the color was there. The shine of his shoes said that the evening was just as new as his unscratched cellphone. Every date required the best presentation along with a hacksaw. The metal bow of it rested on his shoulder, a cigarette pinned between two fingers as he elbowed the door open. Huh. Empty. He strolled up to a table that was situated close to the bar, setting the hacksaw down on it before he stepped behind it. The cuffs of his button up were out, folded back over on his black suit. Drinks were a requirement as well. He was working on it.

The door swung open a second time some five minutes later. The man who stepped through it had blue eyes that were so bright they were practically electric, and they swept from one end of the joint to the other, looking for its occupants. It was... practically empty? So much for meeting in a public place. That could work out to his advantage, really. His hair was some shade between brown and black and it was on the shortish side of long, falling past his chin but not quite to his shoulders. There was a natural curl to it that had been brushed out, practically straight, but it still turned up at the ends. His suit was a pebbled grey, the shirt underneath it black. He did not have a hacksaw. Strolling towards the bar, he hadn't actually looked down at it when he spoke. "Are you ...Tom?"

Maybe it was the little slip of red carnation peaking out from the front of his jacket pocket that gave him away. Maybe it was that there just wasn't another person to ask. With the entry of the other, he stood upright, matching drinks held in both his hands as he looked at him. "Sure, but everyone calls me Amare," he set one glass in front of his company, "You must be Eric. John. Steve? Yeaahhh, Steveeee."

He smiled, his hands in his pockets as he stepped up to the bar. Only now did he see the instrument on the table, was this destruction or construction? A general warning, protection from the wrong kind of date? This last thought rendered a more drastic smile. "Any chance everyone calls you Amare 'cause it's your name?" He asked, pulling his hands from his pockets so he could lean against them on the counter top. There was a strong Southern lilt to his voice. "M'pretty sure I said Steve."

"Ohhhh a boy never kisses and tells statistics and probability. That would just be cruel." There was a look down at the drink and thenhis index finger, meeting the base of it, nudged the glass two inches closer to the Duke of Hazard. Amare's voice didn't give away much, but his manner of speaking was hard and fast. "You had me at don't like cats."

"Well **** so that's what I've been doing wrong all this time. I'll have to remember that." The way he said the word remember, it only had one R to it. The end finished in a relaxed ah sound, bleeding into the front of the next word after. The drink was pushed towards him and he accepted it, lifting one hand from his lean against the counter to take it in his fingers. He lowered himself onto a barstool in the same movement. "D'ya always bring one'a those on a date, or is this like a highly specific Village People fantasy?"

"Bring one of what?" The drink was a whiskey-bitter-something. He wasn't was a bartender, but that didn't prevent him from dumping whatever liquids he felt like into a glass. When Steve took a swallow, he copied the motion, setting his glass down afterward. There was something about Steve that wasn't striking him the way he wanted it to, but the thought scratching in the back of his mind was hard to pin down. It was annoying, as if he couldn't remember the name of that actor in the movie?you know the one.

Maybe he was feeling reckless, or maybe he didn't think there was anything in the drink that could hurt him. He brought it to his mouth and swallowed readily, not really caring one way or the other how it tasted. One swallow, two, and then he set it down again, vibrant blue eyes never leaving the other man's face. He was cute, but he'd also showed up with a goddamn hacksaw. "That," he said, at last, leaning back in his seat as he pointed to the weapon on the table.

"I already explained that." A quick stab of annoyance before he continued, "I like adventures." He was in that movie with the guy that had a backpack and they were going on some kinda vacation. Oh, you know his name. Amare grabbed his glass by the top, his fingers and palm making a tent over its mouth as he stepped out from behind the bar. He looked taller than he was. The interaction was turned, "You're not local, but are you new?"

He shook his head, drinking more of the...whatever it was. He swallowed mechanically, setting the drink down. "Naw. Been here 'bout a year now. Long enough to know that nobody's really a local. You?" He tipped his chin up to punctuate the question. Cute, but something about themannerisms tolds told him this wouldn't be as easy as he'd hoped. Why?

"Five years, give or take." He set his glass down and then picked up the hacksaw, "Do you know anything about starfish?" He swung the hacksaw up, the bridge of it propped back on his shoulder. Eyes stayed on Steve's face. Something about the moment said that an answer, any answer, was needed within seconds.

"You cut one arm off, it grows a new starfish." He supplied. Somebody'd had a lot of free time on his hands, a lot of free time he'd maybe spent watching the Discovery Channel. He caught up the drink, finished it, his eyes still tracking the other man's face.

"Fantastic. You passed your primary education classes," He moved to the end of the bar, setting the hacksaw down and then he slid out of his black jacket, haphazardly letting it fold over the seat of one of the barstools, "And what do you know about this bar when it gets damaged?" He was rolling up his sleeves, a few lines of his blond hair combing loose from where the others were tamed with some product and finger combed back out of the way. His eyes didn't leave Steve's. Maybe you're thinking of the brother of the actor. Three of his brothers were all movie stars. His brother was in one of those coming of age films. Oh, you'll get it eventually. You'll wake up at night and realize his name and say it out loud.

Any blissfully quiet night at the Inn was better than a whole congregation. At least that is what Artem?s mind registered when he shouldered into the Inn. A jacket tight on his shoulders, pants tight on his legs. He paused and glanced here and there, hand coming up to sweep through his hair. There were two at the bar only. One he recognized. The other he did not. Squaring himself, eyes cast down, his legs carried him to the break.

Cradling the empty glass between his outstretched fingers, he turned at a quarter angle on the barstool, tracking Tom/Amare. Picking up on the sound of the door opening, Sabien glanced toward it and then back again, just long enough to take in the figure of the other man. "I've heard tell that it fixes anything that gets broken, but I haven't personally witnessed it yet." One brow ticked slightly higher than the other.

Lucky him! Amare wasn't exactly at the break, but right at it. Not in a place to block it. Since there was no one but them at the bar, Artem's appearance didn't go unnoticed. Lucky him, there were starfish and hacksaws to consider. His hand wrapped around the handle of it. "I have. Because I've hurt the bar, many times," he patted the top of it with his free hand before he turned, setting the metal teeth at the edge. He was, approximately, three feet away from the actual break. "We'll do this in shifts. I don't want to get bored." With that, the saw began to move. A long, raspy tear of metal unzipping wood.

Artem cleared Amare, leaving a span of space enough for a smaller person even to pass through. He glanced at the task at hand for Amare and his brow furrowed. His jaw tensed. Regardless, he kept quiet. Turning, glaring at the bottles lined along the wall. His mind distracted for the moment, unable to come to a decision.

Sabien patted the bar like it was an abused lover, a kicked dog. Something in the gesture struck a chord with him, but he didn't laugh. "You're... disassembling the bar." He wasn't objecting, mind, just making sure he understood what game was afoot. Maybe a little pleased that it hadn't been a game of disassembling people...but then again, maybe not. His brows twitched, blue eyes glinting in the half-light of the bar room's interior. He could say one thing for the experience-- this was definitely the most unusual internet date he'd ever been on. "Just to watch it go back together? Or are we building something?"

"Don't be stupid." The sawing motion stopped long enough for him to shake his hand, switching to the left, "I am making a starfish. Or we will. For fuck's sake are you even pretending to pay attention?" He turned back to the task and there was just the metal wood sawing back and forth, a little more feverish and fast, the sound a higher pitch when he impatiently whisked it back and forth. He was three inches in, right hand curled around the front edge as the other worked the saw like an instrument.

Artem sighed as he returned to the bar rather than to the bottles. There was a mini-fridge beneath the bar. He crouched to grab for himself a bottle of water. Standing and nudging the door shut with a boot, he glanced again at the bar as he made his way back through the break. Walking down the length, leaving stool after stool between him and the two. He slid onto a stool, rolling a shoulder and twisting off the cap to his water bottle.

Sabien maybe didn't know a lot about magic, but he did know a little something about wood. The man's ministrations were a clue to the itch that persisted along the back of his brain. The strokes had a power to them that didn't entirely match the body wielding the saw. "I am payin' attention, I can assure you of that." He said with a dim smile, his drawl lazy.

"Good. Your turn" h,e leaned back, shaking his left hand and stepping back. He wasn't sweating, but he was on the verge of it. He sank into his barstool, Artem not far off but kept safe from his dangerous affections because, well, there was a bar that needed sawing. Amare's back was to the bar, his elbows drawn up behind him until they were propped against it, opening his chest towards the commons.

Artem cleared his throat, glancing over to the two. "... Why are you doing this?" Jutting his chin to the destruction. His brow had relaxed, and his face was stoic.

More people had entered, he could hear them, but it was more than that. The scent of unfamiliar people was heady and powerful as it washed over Sabien, an experience he wasn't used to. The man swallowed the excess saliva that had suddenly welled up in his mouth. Covering it smoothly, he stood and removed his suit jacket in kind. Bold or presumptuous, perhaps, but he laid the grey one over its blacker counterpart. He stood, moved closer. An inhale filled in the rest of the puzzle, telling him the key piece of information he'd been missing until just that moment. Sabien laughed, amused at his fortune, mis- or otherwise. Still smiling, he took the saw from his 'date'. Blue eyes were piercing as he watched Amare up close. "How deep?"

"Starfish," Amare leaned more weight on the elbow closest to Artem, "We're tearing a leg off of a starfish." His eyes went to Steve, mostly to inspect the quality and commitment he had to the starfish. His expression was as severe as a mathematician?s, one leg crossing over the other, foot bouncing in thought. Perhaps some part of his examination was for good ol' Stevey boy himself. With the question, he tilted his head, "To the floor."

Steve laughed and Amare smiled, but it seemed more like he was showing his teeth than he was smiling. That tick-tick-tick of thought, that little timer for the memory he couldn't catch, the familiarity he couldn't quite label, was itching near.

To the (other) stranger he shrugged, gesturing Amare. His grip tightening on the saw, the muscles bunched up under his shirt as he worked it back and forth, cutting deeper into the bar. "How quickly does it put itself back t'gether, ya' think? Will we end up with two bars?" He made casual conversation, no shortness of breath or even the slightest bit of perspiration, despite the deep inroads their combined efforts were making.

"Seriously? You're not serious. You're not asking me why... an hour of effort to take something for free is easier than thousands of dollars and weeks of building... that's not your question... for fuck's sake." Amare's weight leaned back enough that he could push off his elbows, making a surprisingly deft landing on his feet. Another two steps forward with the momentum and then he picked up his glass, swallowing his half-finished drink. He moved over where Steve was, and in that instant, the fact that they were strangers to one another was more apparent. He was measuring Steve, but that was what he did when someone had his attention. He picked at the details of them. "That's the idea. Two bars. Experiment one on the Starfish Inn." A tip back of his drink. He set his drink down and crossed his arms, leaning forward to examine the sawing. Squinting at it, he looked back to Jethro, "You dun sawed a thing before, huh?" The elbow met with that smile-of-teeth.

(( The story of Simone the Bar continued. Inn log edited for ease of reading. A big thank you for those that played along-- Artem, Goshen, Ed, etc. As always, a big thank you to Saila's player.))

A long, lazy stretch out on the couch at the hearth. These days, it barely burned, but the heat was just enough to warm the surface of someone's skin. There were empty glasses on the coffee table, it was hard to say if they belonged to him. The evening was calm, sedate even for him. He yawned and rolled to his back. One ankle threw itself over the other.

The Inn was quiet in all ways. There was no commotion through the windows. No din of voices on the porch. And as Artem stepped inside, no conversations to be had at all. His smile registered somewhat crooked. To be out in public and have such a place to himself would not be wasted. His eyes scanned as he unbuttoned his coat, falling on the hearth. A momentary silent prayer of gratitude that he had not done or said anything as the shock of another body came and went. He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the form as the man who took a portion of the bar. He glanced around again to make sure his instincts were true, and his made his way over to the lounge-r.

They were true. It was that one. People said he was unstable. They said being around him was like being around someone who had teeth. Like being around someone who had gotten too close to the sun. To see him now would have be a disappointment. He looked as though he needed another nap, he looked comfortable and unwilling to move. Amare was a far cry from the man who yanked out a piece of the bar victoriously. Oh! But look! Life. He sat up with a grunt, shifting so that one foot planted on the cushions. The base of his palm cradled his eyes to clear them.

He did not take a seat, but stood before Amare. "... Who are you?" The question was asked without accusation or interrogation. His eyebrows relaxed, and the emphasis was on 'are.'

"Amare." He answered the question like it had come from God. No contest, no objection. He was still clearing his eyes from sleep, "And you?" A flick of whatever got on his index finger. He rolled to a seated position, both feet on the ground.

With a small disruption of the room, Artem turned away from him. He wasn?t sure if it was important or an excuse but the company was gone, short lived, like it tended to be. He wasn't interrupted from his efforts to wake up. Amare gave a lion's yawn and when he looked again, the half dream that was Artem's voice was already gone. Huh. Maybe it was all imagined.

A mild shrug made before he rolled to his feet. Amare whistled an absent tune as he stepped up to the bar, edging to the self-serve size to prepare himself a drink. Once he wa there, he lazily groped around.

There were bottles, too many bottles, and that was what he occupied himself with. Waking from his relaxed nap at the hearth, his fingertips pinched the necks of several bottles and started to bring those around. By the time he was pouring his third? His smile had an acidic trouble to it, ready to meet a tide.

Saila's entrance wasn't hurried. She wasn't drawn like a superhero to the distress signal beamed by terrorized citizens. Her long stride was slow(er) paced than usual as she hauled herself up the steps and across the porch. Shoving the door open with a twist of her hips and a shove of her shoulder, the purple haired girl let herself inside.

"Just in time to be horrifically late," he pour a portion of whatever he was having into a highball glass and then set it atop the bar for her, "You should know I'm becoming a reputable man by now."

"For an appointment we didn't have?" Her brows lifted quizzically. She had her hands balled up in the front pouch of a black hoodie with "Born This Way" emblazoned across the chest in silver lettering. The set of her shoulders was straight, the line of her brow showed recent signs of being furrowed. "...Reputable? You mean like you have a reputation?" She could have told him that.

"Something like that. Drink." He nudged the glass further her way, both of his hands curling around the edge of the bar, "I went on a date for the first time in... whatever. It was okay. He ended up being useless, but I suppose that's how most of dating is. Useless."

This was a lot of information to process all at once. Apparently she'd missed rather a lot while she was busy being a lion. "You went on a ---that personal ad thing you did acctually worked?" Color her a teeny bit surprised. "So why was he useless? Wasn't smart enough?"

A moment later she took the offered glass, running her fingertips around the edge of its rim, trying to figure out what it was and how much of a headache it was going to give her.

"Two dogs, one bone." The offhand shrug of his shoulders. Amare was... difficult to be a friend to. He was difficult to know in the loosest realms of what a friendship was. He was near impossible as a date. It took suspended disbelief and no sense of self preservation to survive it. He took a swallow of his drink and used it to motion to her, "And you've been boring, becausssee....?"

"He was a wolf?" Saila smiled, and it settled uneasily on her mouth like maybe it was the first time she'd smiled today. "What are the odds of that..." Shaking her head, she brought the weird drink to her lips. Her nose wrinkled at the taste of the so-called 'drink', but she swallowed anyway. "Well I had work. And then a friend of mine died."

"Well, that's not true. She died a couple weeks ago. But I didn't find out about it for sure until this week."

"Someone I know?" Not likely, but he asked anyway since she mentioned it. Amare stood behind the bar, sinking his hip into the most comfortable edge he could find so that he could lean into it while he took another swallow of his drink. She added more detail, which he considered but without a name, she could have been a fairytale, "Was it expected?" You know what they say-- sometimes people are just asking for it.

Saila shook her head. "I don't think you ever met her, unless you were paying attention some time when she was tending here. Her name's Lirssa. Long red hair." She gestured the empty space behind the bar next to him, half expecting the ghost of Lirssa to spring up fully formed beside him. It didn't. Shaking her head, her gaze shifted back to him. "I have no idea. All I have to go on is the obituary in the paper, and... the person who printed it didn't know the story." Maybe she'd checked.

"So maybe she is dead because some jerk off said blah blah blah... come on, Saila. What does your..." a pause for the word, his fingertips stretched through the air and then closed in a fist, "What does everything that is you say about it? Do you feel she is gone?" Extraordinary machine, Saila only needed herself as a reference and yet still were all these other ants being mentioned. Maybe she just forget about it.

She shrugged helplessly at first, swallowing more of the so-called drink. "As far as I can tell, yes. She is gone."

"Then she must be." There was his shrug to follow. Amare would not have known to mourn. What he could understand was that Saila was slightly displaced because of the emotion.

Displaced was a good word for it. She wasn't entirely on her game, wasn't as bright and sparkly as normal. Today she fit her monochromatic black clothes a little more closely. She didn't shrug out of her hoodie despite the fire burning in the hearth. She shrugged once and then nodded, oddly reassured by Amare's confidence. "Yeah, probably. So... are you going to see this other dog again?"

"What?" That was the best answer he had for her query. A stray dog promised him only a headache and the sort of mess that needed two mops to clean up. But he had helped him with the podium. The jury was still out, it showed by how he shrugged his shoulders, "I imagine that's Quinn's problem, not mine. I'm not the one pissing on territory lines." Amare was just the sort-of junkyard dog that caused problems only if someone came to the area. He wasn't noble or idealistic enough to be considered "guarding" an area. He just so happened to be in the area another poorly chose to occupy. What to do with a lost little dog? Sell it? Give it a home? He wasn't part of homeland security. "He'll figure out a way." No favors.

((cont.))
"You," and it was because the bar was so very quiet that the wolf saw the boy, Ed. There was his smile, his little wave. It was near like being friends but not because of how sharp he tended to smile. Also there was the not-calling and not-hanging out thing that usually accompanied a friendship. But with barely any other patrons? The blue eyes of the wolf leveled on him, clear as if to see through him and then they wandered away to Saila, awaiting her response to what was said before.

"I am paying attention," she said calmly, not flinching even an inch when he slapped the bar. The escalation in his energy though, that drew her eye. She pulled the bottle out and set it on the counter a short ways away from them, out of range of his drink making and its various ingredients. "I just also happen to know what I want, for once." Her smile was thin as she took the glass he'd made for her and finished it a second time without bothering to stop and discern its ingredients this time around. When she was done she set it on the bar and reached for her bourbon, prying out its cap. His gaze wandered away from her and back again, and when it returned, she'd arched a brow. "Now who's not paying attention, hm?"

"Go find a spot." Somewhere they could settle. It wasn't polite suggestion, but command. And there was that smile which ensured it would be obeyed. Goshen squeezed the boy's hand, leaning to press a kiss on Ed's cheek before disengaging and strolling beautifully through the break.

Artem shouldered his way back in, pausing here as there were more people than before. Hands in his pockets, a tight pair of pants around his legs. Smart jacket with a high collar and charcoal, cashmere scarf around his neck. He blinked, taking in the faces in turn and hesitantly began making his way to the bar. His stride grew more relaxed the more steps he took.

"Oh? What are you wanting? Are we getting pleasantly plastered because... everything is **** and stupid and going to hell?" He looked at her, long out of the corner of his eyes and then took a long draw from his hot and spicy nuts and bolts vodka. She made the remark and he shrugged a little, "We danced a little once, is all." That was how he summarized his interaction with Ed.

"I remember." She said evenly. She remembered, more than anything, how unreasonably good her sense of direction had been for a time after that exchange. She drank more of her bourbon, swallowing it like a desert wanderer dying of thirst. Setting it down again, she took a deep breath and let it out again. "I can't get plastered, pleasantly or otherwise. But it does look like fun."

Moon-eyed only for Goshen, he didn't even realize the wolf was, in fact, you-ing him. The cheek kiss earned a burbling little coo of delighted noise, and he snuck in a nose nuzzle before the older boy got all the way away. For a moment longer he lingered just to watch him, sighing like the lovesick fool he was. Then he turned about and bounced away from the bar, as far as he could get from it, which meant the hearth. The couches were comfy over there. He plopped down on one, obediently, and looked up in time to see Artem coming in. Now he lifted a hand and waved, calling out cheerfully, "Hello, Artem!"

Artem?s attention caught the bounding Ed, grinning for the greeting. A chin raise. "Ed." And then, of course, because they travel in pairs. "Goshen." A raise of his chin to Goshen with a crooked smile, still heading bar-ward.

"Hello, Artem." The prince appeared tired, both in tone and in the absence of his scrupulous posture. His body was bowed sedately, still dignified yet somehow negligent. He'd fished a bottle of water and a can of soda from the cooler's depths, but lingered while eyeing the Russian upon approach. "Would you... like something while I'm back here?"

"That's fairly boring. You should be able to... you know... not be so you." Amare offered with a shrug. Young lover boys wandered off, and other than a weirdly phrased "hello" there was nothing to say. The you disappeared, they went to the hearth and he stayed focused on getting a bit wasted at the bar with the girl-who-could-not-be-wasted. What a rotten night. More vodka was surely the answer. There was a look to Goshen behind the bar and then to Artem. Huh. That.

Artem?s crooked smile remained as he leaned upon the bar, forearms and biceps slightly straining his coat. "Yes." And his lips disappeared as he thought. "Give me... What you like to drink." His eyes shifted from the bar to Goshen, his expression as though he had just shared a riddle.

At present they were on opposite sides of the room, but they were there together, that was true. Ed wriggled his arms out of his coat and let it slough off behind him and pool on the couch cushions. He made himself a little nest by patting it down here and there and then drew up his feet to sit cross-legged.

It felt more and more that Artem was becoming a friend to him as opposed to some person with whom he interacted regularly. Goshen tilted the bottled water and said, "I'm having water tonight. Were you talking about the spritzers, or this?" Something about his expression indicated he would not mind mixing up one of his usual beverages.

"Is anyone really capable of not being who they are?" The question was sort of blithely stated, the way children sometimes hit on deep philosophical questions without realizing what they've said.

"Sure. People tend to be polite. It's a term that means... being mild so that you can be pleasing. It's a waste of time, especially for those that have so little." He meant humans, that was quietly implied.

While he waited, Ed thoughtlessly put that cigarette filter back between his lips, dug out his Zippo, and lit it. An inevitable thing. There was no ashtray on the coffee table, so he got up and moved around to snatch one off a random, unoccupied regular table, then circled back to reclaim his seat.
Artem winked. "Voda." Water in Russia, which given how thick was his accent, sounded close enough to 'water' that Goshen should not feel alienated by it. Cooly, while it was obtained, his eyes slid to Amare. An undisguised once-over given before he returned to golden Goshen.

Jakob pushed through the doorway, one arm straight out and hand held up like a quarter back straight arming an opponent to get to the end zone. He wore a leather jacket which was quickly unzipped to reveal the sky blue hoodie worn beneath. Checkerboard Vans adorned his feet but with the sludge of winter upon them, they were becoming dull and gray. He wore jeans, not too tight but not saggy baggy either. His blond hair was short on the sides and only long enough at the top to flip up in the front.

Amare did well on once-over looks. He was handsome because he was young, he was fit, his blond hair was brass enough to catch the light. His smile had an interest in it, a painful curiosity. His blue eyes cut to pretty pieces. Artem was familiar now. They had talked about bars and now, he'd given him his name. The look was exchanged, but he was getting drunk and his impulse control was even (gasp) less than the norm.

Jakob recognized a few faces and his smile grew as he tugged his back pack closer to his body. Well, hello everyone. Jakob seemed happy to just be. He made his way through the tables and around the bar to fetch himself a bottle or two of water.

Saila nodded slowly, considering that term, turning it over in her mind. "Time is... kind of a weird thing, isn't it? I have trouble with it still, sometimes." Drawing a fingertip lightly over the mouth of the bottle, her gaze washed thoughtfully over Amare, just in time to catch him exchanging glances with the guy she only knew as Mist's boyfriend. She didn't think anything of it, if she thought that Artem and Mist were still together. She'd spent more time than not around people who had more than one relationship at a time. Glancing away to retrieve her bottle, she caught sight of another blond coming through the break, one she was pretty sure she'd seen before.

And yet there was one short moment of irresolution, a hitch, a skip in the track. Goshen's comprehension caught swiftly, his expression doing the same. "Hello." The luxuriant smile on display for Jakob as he got out of the way. Two waters and a soda. He moved back out to join Artem on the other side of the bar and beckoned him to follow. Ed was waiting at the hearth.

Sitting still was not a skill that Ed excelled at. He fidgeted with his coat, plucking at the zipper and the sleeve, patting down little fabric bubbles that formed as he shifted around. He balanced the ashtray on the armrest, using it when necessary, and smoked his cigarette. Jakob looked friendly enough, if not entirely familiar enough, for him to wave a cheerful hello to as he came in.

It did not hurt Artem to be seen. He dressed for his body; moderately tight fitting shirts to accent his built frame without being garish. Same for pants. Usually, almost always, in dark, heavy shades. They looked striking against his pale skin and dark hair. He resolved his lean and waited for Goshen to join his stride, taking the water bottle. "Thank you." With a tip of the bottle to him. A softball cheers of sorts.

"Hey," he smiled happily as he moved past Goshen as if it were a choreographed dance. He laughed as the bottle of water was taken from the cooler. He then turned and Goshen was already gone. There was the Purple Princess as he dubbed her and he waved. Amare got a chuckle as he made his way out from behind the bar. "Did you grow a new bar?" he asked Amare as he settled onto a barstool. Ed was given a finger wave and another happy smile.

"I am. I always drive when everyone else is drinking." Saila said it matter of factly, though her gaze took in Jakob with a nod of acknowledgment. The blond boy had mentioned Simone, which suddenly reminded her of their obligations elsewhere. "So, we're doing this Harry Potter thing tomorrow?"

Ohhh Jakob. That guy. Amare raised his glass to him to say hello and finished it. letting it drop to the bar with all its glassy weight. She mentioned Simone and he shrugged, "Sure, she should be ready for you then. I already tucked her in tonight." To his feet, he strode behind the bar ahead to prep a new round of drinks for the two of them. A few blaes of his blond hair fell to his brow as he prepared them. Almost corporate clean cut, except the collar of his suit was opened up and nothing meticulous.

Amare?s eyes followed Goshen and Ed, just long enough to know that Artem would join him and well, the odd wolf would be on the outs. He didn't have a big friendly smile, or award winning manner. There would be no dinner party invitations, not that he would know how to respond. Amare's gaze was dulled with booze, but not so much that he couldn't read a damn bulletin board when he saw it. He crossed one leg over the other, settled in a barstool with his cigarette. He blew smoke out of the corner of his lips, responding to Saila's bit on time, "Yeah, well, it's not linear, that's for damn sure. So," he cleared his throat and looked at her, "Whose driving tonight? Me? Me? Or Me? Or... you?" He reached for his drink, the metal clacked glass as he swallowed.

Goshen cradled the other two drinks protectively against his abdomen as he cast himself into an elegant sprawl beside Ed.

His attitude toward Jakob changed suddenly and obviously from cheerful and friendly to 'there's a guy I no longer want to associate with' the moment he saw him speak to Amare. The smile vanished from Ed's face as if chased away by a snap of fingers, and he turned his head to delete Jakob from his area of focus. Instead he concentrated on Goshen, who instantly brought back his smile, delighted as ever, especially now that he was seated beside him. He leaned to press a loud kiss on his cheek, welcoming him to the soda, and reached for the can of soda, which he suspected was for him.

Goshen passed the can to his boyfriend, then looped that arm up and over the boy's head, fitting its length snugly along his shoulders. "How are you tonight, Artem?"

Tilting back into place, with Goshen's arm fit behind him, he maintained a pleasant smile. This was company he could enjoy, Artem included. He flashed him another hello smile before ashing his cigarette in the tray, waited to hear his answer to Goshen's question.

Artem found an armchair near to the pair, sitting himself. "Ah, very good, thank you. And yourselves?" He opened his water bottle, taking a sip.

"Great! No complaints." And he genuinely meant it too. Ed hardly sat still. He was a bundle of twitchy, rocking, bouncy little movements as he sat in place. Nothing exaggerated, but definitely fidgety. He pried open his soda can with a jovial hum of some song or other.

"Today was the first day of Fashion Week. I've been awake since before sunrise, though I did manage to take a short nap earlier this afternoon." Bottle wedged between his legs so he could crack and twist the lid off.

He rested his water bottle on his thigh, the other hand relaxed over the arm of the chair. His smile was natural and easy, without being forced. He raised his free hand and undid a few buttons of his coat, then tugged at his scarf. "Ah," to Goshen. "You are model? It... Would not surprise me." He smiled wider.

Jakob?s question remained unanswered, and that was ok. He shrugged his shoulders and then leaned his back against the bartop. The bottle of water was opened up and he took a long sip. He'd seen Ed's sudden reproval and he canted his head as his own smile disappeared. "Huh," he breathed out and then turned his gaze anywhere but over towards the couches.

Unfortunately, it was not an issue he was motivated to up and explain right here, right now, and he might never. "I can drive my truck now," he interjected. "Did you see it?" He pointed at the wall, meaning outside. There was an old 1930s Model B Pickup parked out there.

It wasn't unanswered, but only if you happened to know that Simone and the Bar were synonymous. Which nobody could be expected to know, Saila had only learned it herself an hour ago. She laughed. "I didn't know Bars needed to be tucked in for the night, either. Y'spose this place ever takes a nap?" The teen tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling -- more accurately, at the various sources of life and light that she could see above it. Could a place be said to sleep when it was full of living, breathing entities? She had no idea, and Google was offline for the night, or getting that way by the glass full. She watched Amare instead, having nearly finished the bourbon she'd opened a little while ago. "Gonna change it up this time?" She nodded towards the booze he was concocting, maybe hoping for no more gummy bears.

"He's been working hard on it with his cousin." A proud smile directed at Ed.

Pride that washed over to Ed and made him puff up, nod enthusiastically.

"Not an ordinary bar so... " there was his look to her, as if she had been the one to say something offhand. There was a look to the present inn and he nodded, "Sure, why the hell not? I take naps so... yeah.... everyone needs a break." The latter part sounded more morose than he meant for it to be. She asked him about his drink and he looked at it with a shrug, "I feel like... " there was a toss of his hand, "I don't want to be a person right now." And then he laughed, knowing many had felt that way before but perhaps not as meaningfully.

Artem blinked at the change in subject, and exhaled a laugh for Ed's enthusiasm. "Is that yours? How does it drive? Okay?"

Well, Saila and Amare weren't being very quiet so Jakob could hear what was being said. And to Jakob it made no sense, whatsoever. He gathered his things together and as subtle as he could he moved down the bar a few stools. He took another glance over at the trio at the couches and pondered trying his luck.

"New bar?" He had caught Jakob's question belatedly. He blinked and then nodded, "It's in foster care, at the moment. The jury is still out."

Even more belatedly, she put it together, peering from Amare to the retreating Jakob and back. "Wait, did he see you take the bar?" The cigarette she'd lit for herself was half smoked and burning itself out in the ashtray, a column of skeletal ash. Seemed maybe it needed tending afterall. Ignoring it, she nudged Amare lightly, shoulder to shoulder contact, and then she smiled.

"Oh, best of luck with that," he lifted his bottle to salute the baby bar and all. It was very strange and more than a little funny to Jakob. Amare was an odd ball, that was for sure. A smile for Saila and he nodded. "he sure did."

"There's still a few kinks to work out. She kicks and starts sometimes, but otherwise she runs great." Ed beamed, and then slurped some of his soda. A covert glance was spared to the bar, and seeing that Jakob had scooted further away from Amare and Saila made him look a little longer. Then his attention skipped over to the other duo at the table, and then back over to Artem. "Sorry. I interrupted." They'd been talking about Fashion Week and here he was gushing about his truck.

"Damn, the things I miss being an actress." She'd said it with a smile, to dramatic effect, but there was a measure of bitter truth in it.

When Ed looked over, Jakob smiled almost shyly and lowered his head slightly. He meant no harm.

"Your truck is far more exciting than what I do for a living." But Goshen liked it nevertheless because it was easy and paid well for the amount of effort required. Fine-boned fingers lightly squeezed Ed's shoulder.

He waved away the apology. "It is okay. And Goshen did not mind," a wink to Goshen. "Plus, your truck is exciting. You should be very proud. I did not know you were so handy as mechanic. It has always been, or are you learning?"

Amare didn't mind the distance, he expected it and he sort of went about his way, being him. He grew bars and drank weird things. He grabbed spray paint cans and left odd half-hearted messages. What he didn't like was the feeling of excuses, of a whispering back and forth. There was room in the world for one sort of person, he had always been acutely aware of that and the more he drank the more it smelled like ****. He rolled to his feet and smiled to Saila, walking backward to the door, "I just.... want to go swimming. Yeah? Grab us a bottle, hit the springs and just... float like a couple of dead bodies?" He laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was getting a bit too sideways.

Like a couple of dead bodies might not have been the best phrasing right this second, but Saila shrugged it off, rolling with it. She got to her feet, and this time she was the one who stepped through the break in the bar, trailing her fingertips lightly over the slightly newer space that had so recently regenerated. With a touch of a smirk, she chose two bottles of bourbon and stuffed the both of them in her bag. Retracing her steps back to the other side, it was only a few steps more to catch up with the wolf. "Let's do this."

There was a glance to Artem, but he was engaged and even seeming to blush in a far off conversation at the couches. Otherwise, he would have invited him along. All company seemed sated and it felt as if he was the only one at odds. Maybe he was. There was a grin, though, one he caught from another patron at the bar (Temp) that he didn't entirely understand. Was that because of the vodka? For all that was holy, he wished he'd had more.

Jakob waved goodbye to Amare and Saila as they made their way out. His smile was bright as ever. Content to sit alone at the bar, he sipped his water and let his gaze fall somewhere between the small clusters of people.

They were out the door and gone seconds later.

Just like when she stood near the hearth, it was a little warmth she was after. Maybe even a touch of a burn. Instead of going for the smooth single-malt she chose a bottle of midshelf whiskey. Not something that was utter rotgut, not something that would break the bank. Unaware at the moment of the rifling of her peacoat, she went after a glass. Those boring, boring pockets didn't contain any treats or treasure. Maybe a handwritten note with medical notation, but nothing to explain the weight. Unless a keen eye might spy where the lining had been altered. It didn't take long for her to snag a glass and then she was heading back through the break to retrace her steps to the hearth. Which slowed when she caught sight of Amare with her coat. Slowed and silent in her approach.

That pocket was boring. Boring. Boring. Oh, lint. Did she not believe in using her pockets? What was that? He unfolded the piece of paper between his long fingers, his eyebrows lowered as he squinted to read. Dear God. Doctor handwriting. Some of the short hand he recognized. The screen of his phone he left behind with his drink lit up but he wouldn't be bothered. He turned the coat over curiously, the clever lining of it keeping its secret minutes longer until he paused, two fingers swiping over the threading, the perceived oddity of it. Really, one had to be looking with the same curious fervor he was to have seen the hint of it. Before digging in, he checked on where sh-- oh, and, "Hello. What," index finger pointing down at her coat, "is this?"

At least he went for her coat and not the messenger bag. He might have missed the heavy thing sitting next to the chair. Many more interesting things in there to be easily found, though perhaps not as exciting as a mystery pocket. Sira, for her part, almost looked amused rather than bothered, though there was still the tap, tap tapping of the toes of one foot, and a disapproving look aimed down the length of her nose. "It's a coat." Like she didn't know what he was asking. "I think you need a shirt."

"There was blood on it. Tragic story." And old brush marks of said blood on his wrists he hadn't quite washed off. Amare, though, was insistent, making another pointy finger towards her pea coat on his lap, "Let me rephrase. What's with the sneaky-mc-hidey coat?" It seemed only fair she should answer him since the mystery of no-shirt had been solved. He was going tit for tat.

Boredom touched with restlessness brought Sabien down out of the woods; impulse-driven curiosity had him climbing the steps of the bar. He'd come for a drink, maybe, or maybe to see how well the bar had healed itself. What he hadn't come for was the scent that filled his nostrils the moment he opened the door. A twist of a smirk curving his lips, Sabien pushed the rest of the way inside, stepping out of the immediate doorway. He gave a quick look around, his hands in his pockets, spotting the source of the familiar scent over by the hearth. Blue eyes like electric skies rested on him and then moved on, checking out the bar critically as he walked towards it.

Oh, that was subtly sneaky. Sira tipped her head to one side and considered the question. While she was turning it over in her head she was also moving for the chair, or rather the chair next to it, so she could pour herself a glass of whiskey. "You never know what goes bump in the night." She answered, finally, fixing Amare with a look.

His hands held her pea coat by the shoulders, lifting it up for further inspecting before he eased it back down on his lap. His eyes met hers, the jury of his thoughts and opinions moving behind the blue of them. The moment stretched on. Things that go bump in the night. Slowly, he smiled, his lips splitting to show his teeth and his throat jumping with a silent chuckle. She hadn't said a joke, but he enjoyed the sentiment. There was a break from her gaze at catching sight of Sabien's entrance, who he met with an undecided knit of his eyebrows, the smile on his lips still a leftover from Sira.

"Good coat," Amare stroked it like a cat on his lap and then stood up, turning and... for what seemed a handful of seconds, like he badly wanted to wear it, he paused. No, Sira wasn't broad shouldered enough for that to work. He eased the coat down so it was mostly, sorta where he found it. One wag of an index finger towards the crumpled torso of cloth, "Stay. No wandering off to see me next time." The coat was to blame, of course.

Sabien wore blue jeans in a dark wash with a plain white t-shirt. The jacket was a brushed suede in charcoal grey, the kind that was lighter or darker depending on which way you rubbed it. Dark curls were kinda-sorta-mostly brushed and shoved behind his ears, and he still had both hands in the pockets of his coats as he stood at the bar, appraising it. Satisfied that there was no seam, his next inhale had him lifting his head for another look around, his gaze not lingering on any person in particular -- if he'd found anything remarkable in the scent of the room, his face didn't show it.

Stepping through the break in the bar, Sabien picked a bottle of vodka off the shelf and poured it into a glass, adding some soda water to it and a lime. Satisfied, he moved back to the other side, his steps carrying him through and then past the bar in the direction of the hearth.

For a moment there Sira was wondering if she was going to have to buy a new coat on her way home. In fact, she was trying to remember if she had a spare in the room she kept upstairs right up until it was returned to her chair. "It's a wonderful coat," she agreed. She had glanced towards the unfamiliar face that had entered, the one Amare's attention had jumped to briefly. She was satisfied that her coat wasn't going to get molested any longer, and perhaps now it was safe to let her own attention drift. On over to the windows to see if Mesteno was alive still or if he'd drowned himself in vodka.

When a coat dresses the way that one did, it's asking to be molested. All sprawled on a chair like that, alone in a mostly-lit inn. Amare moved to the edge of the coffee table, snagging his glass and cellphone which dropped into the pocket of his jacket. His drink wasn't empty enough to motivate him to go behind the bar and make a something. There was one more look to Sira's coat, as if it had given him a little white lie that still worked around in the back of his head. Attention went to the bar and so did he. It was rather like blinking and then, he was there, on the least occupied side of Sabien. Amare set his glass down and looked down at the seat of the nearest bars tool.

Sabien had been headed towards the bar, but it seemed that the Mountain was coming to Mohammed after all. He paused, then, his progress halted. Sipping from his drink, neon blue eyes watched Amare approach, watched him look pointedly down at the seat next to him. Both brows may have lifted in silent response, but he took the seat anyway.

There was a moment where in taking note of the wolf that he might have known the wolf was taking note of him. In a blink, he was looking at Sabien, who seemed to wait. He took a seat beside him, his hands resting on his knees when he looked at him, "I'm taking a few things tonight."

I'm taking a few things tonight. There were a number of ways to read that statement, especially when it stood in place of hello. Sabien's smile ticked wider, spreading further along his teeth. The flash of his eyes seemed to suggest that he was open to more than one of them. Sipping his drink, he set it on the bar, pinning bright blue eyes on their match. "Care to be more specific?"

Shirtless, with the distant smell of copper penny blood. The only mark noticeable was Amare?s tattoo, about the size of a hand and curling his ribs. He leaned in, sniffing at Sabien and then his posture straightened. He was trying to calculate what exactly that was, "You... what is that, a spell? A trick? Are you tricking me?" The first subject matter was suspended at the moment.

He'd noticed that the other wolf was shirtless, certainly. Sabien was still noticing it, in fact. He wasn't shy about checking out that tattoo, at least as much of it as he could see from the present angle. Reclaiming his drink, he swallowed another mouthful. ?Tricking you?" His nostrils flared as he set the vodka inside, taking a deep breath. On the exhale, it came to him. "Oh. You mean because I'm alone?"

"Is that it? Okay, then," he sounded annoyed at the revelation before he grabbed the seat of the empty bar stool by Sabien and then jerked his head towards the door, "Well? I told you I would make you a drink for ***'s sake." He went about five strides before he called over his shoulder, "And you will be taking something, too," a shake of the bar stool to indicate. Sabien's smile better not be a lie, he hated it most when someone just pretended like they knew how to have fun.

"Probly," the soft Southern twang in his voice showed up in the way the syllables ran together, the "ah" sound elongated and all the b's smushed into one sound. He could surely smell it on Amare, in any event. "Wasn't always the case but ... has been for a minute now." Rising when the blond man grabbed a bar stool, ten seconds later he figured out what was wanted.

"It's like that, then," he said more to himself, reaching for the glass to finish its contents. Leaving it empty on the bar's surface, he turned and lifted the stool he'd just vacated, wrapping it up neatly tucked underneath one arm like an umbrella he carried just in case it might rain. Two steps and then four, it wasn't hard to catch up. "So Project Starfish is working out."

"Why not?" Amare didn't understand the statement was rhetorical. Both hands holding his bar stool, he gave it an impatient shake. When Sabien caught up he seemed sated but still slightly uneasy. Other wolves could be a problem, but they were decidedly more durable company. The tattoo was a mark of something already obvious about him-- a wolf, howling, a rectangle of its ink missing from the image. Pushing one hand through the barstool rungs to hold it, he used the other to open the door as he spoke, "Simone is... special. Nothing short of becoming a pearl." Becoming. There were clearly a few assumptions being made.

"Long story. I'll tell you on the way." He wasn't all that secretive about it, if only because sooner or later the It he could smell on his new companion (...?) would show up with the same exact questions. He maneuvered the stool out from under his arm, carrying it across the threshold in an embrace that was more bear hug than here comes the bride. Under the near midnight sky, he smiled. "So it has a name."

"Don't be stupid. Of course she has a name." There was no motion towards the parking lot. Apparently, it was a walk-it-there sort of night. A closer inspection would have said that his car wasn't in the lot. His steps were for the marketplace, where he had been before. He was quick to cut to the point, "Start the story." Digging in, curiously and with teeth and claws had always been who he was. He wanted to know about the core of things, he wanted to know what the world tasted like.

Once they were through the door and down the stairs, Sabien returned the pilfered bar stool to its spot underneath one arm. He wondered, briefly, if the bar would simply sprout two more stools in the wee hours of the morning when all but the most dedicated drinkers had gone, or would these particular two mysteriously vanish from their new location, called home to the bar by some kind of homing signal? He smirked to himself, the expression wide on full lips. "Well, to start with, it ain't Steve. Name's Sabien." Whatever else he had to say would trail off on the wind as they cut across the marketplace.

"Thank God. Steve is an awful name. Seriously terrible." He volleyed back, seeming directed by a magnet down the road. He was likely cold without his shirt but he didn't say anything about it. They went onward.

?First thing in the morning and? yeah, that?s it. 8am is your choice.? By asking, Amare had apparently gone ahead and made the decision. Down the dock was a cheap little row boat he had acquired, its oars left in the bottom of its belly. He stepped around the car to snag the barstool, moving down the pier as he called, ?Don?t take all night. Time is real.?

With that, he was already situating himself at the seat on his boat. His eyebrows were lifted up, blue eyed gaze staring down Sabien?s way with the sort of impatience in his gaze that should have felt familiar. Was it possible that he belonged to a pack just like him? No, not likely. Not if this was the first time they had finally crossed paths. That meant the other members were more discrete and that Sabien had lucked upon one of the emboldened members.

It took just a little bit more effort to get the stool unstuck, mostly because it wasn?t his car and he wasn?t trying to hurt it. After a few more seconds spent rocking it back and forth in futility, Sabien lost patience and pulled it tight against his body, swearing colorfully as it finally pulled free. With part of a scowl in the wrinkle of his forehead, he pushed the bar stool out onto the ground outside the car and then followed it, lifting himself up out of the seat.

Slamming the door behind him, he snagged the stupid stool by one of its crossbars and carried it down the dock to the boat. Gauging the distance and the rock of the water, he waited two seconds and then stepped down into the center of the boat, balancing himself as he set down the stool and then sat on the opposite plank seat. ?Eight am, huh? And just what are the duties I don?t remember signing up for?? He asked, brows lifted mostly out of curiosity.

?Simone needs someone to read Harry Potter to her. I?ll be starting around three AM and when I?m done, it?s your turn.? This was all said with the irritation of someone who expected him to fully know all of that already. Awkwardly getting the oars out from under the stool and setting them on the hand bars, he twisted to work the loop of splintering rope off of the small dock?s post. The old rope dropped like a dead snake on the inside of the boat.

He gripped the handles of the oars and began working on it, ?It?s not dinner, but I can get you a drink at the bar to soothe your,? a moment to snicker, ?sensibilities. It?s no dinner but arguably better.?

?You mean to tell me there?s no dinner to be had on this island?? Full, almost effeminate lips quirked in an amused smile, his vivid blue eyes skeptical. A wild island in the middle of nowhere that didn?t have other wild animals on it didn?t seem feasible, but maybe that was why Amare had put his baby bar project there. ?Guess it?ll have to be two drinks, then,? he bargained, ?especially if I have to be awake to read to it at stupid o?clock in the morning.?

Shifting out of the way, he rearranged the two stools to make it easier for Amare to navigate the oars, letting him do the work this time since, to Sabien?s mind at least, he?d been the most inconvenienced on this little excursion so far. ?I mean. My sensibilities need a lot of soothing.?

Dinner being scarce in that there was not a burger joint or some place flipping waffles. Sure, if Sabien wanted to snag a rabbit or small deer there was bound to be something. Usually that wasn?t the sort of dinner a person wanted to be treated to. Maybe he just misunderstood what someone thought ?owing dinner? would be like. Maybe that was how wolves did it and he was just missing those clues.

?A lot of soothing? What a delicate flower. I would have never guessed,? he quipped, but he wasn?t looking at him or smirking too heavily. A portion of his attention was cleaved away, focused on the rowing until the boat hit the shore in a wet-dry strapping of the boards against rocks. He stood, jumping out of the boat to land ankle-deep in the water. He reached inside, drawing up the dry rope snake to coil it around his hand. He tugged the boat further along, to a tie-off post.

Wading to that ankle-deep water, he jerked his barstool out of the ribs of the boat, stepping backward and fully expecting Sabien to be at his heels, ?The dinner on this island is? random whatevers, but no stores are open?? There was a look over his shoulder. Even in the dark, there was no indication of street lights or buildings.

It had been full dark when they left the Red Dragon, but here it seemed like sunset, the sky a war of greys and dark blues versus the fiery reds and golds of a dwindling daylight. Taking a moment to consider this strange phenomenon, Sabien?s lips parted subtly as he took a deep breath in. As soon as the boat was secured, he was on his feet, itching suddenly to explore this new place full of curious new scents.

He caught the remaining stool and then his balance as the boat rocked, and as soon as he was steady, he stepped up onto the dock, quite literally at Amare?s heels. ?Mm. Mobile dinner is a lot more effort,? he conceded, though it also had its upsides.

His shoulders twitched as they moved down the dock, deeper into the island?s parallel dimension atmosphere. A quick look back confirmed what he already suspected: the trip across the water had been a short one, but there was absolutely no sign of the city lights on a nearby shore, in fact there was absolutely no sign of a nearby shore at all. Eyes bright and alert, he followed the blond man towards his latest project at a measured pace despite the sudden urge to run.

The woods was, well, it was the woods. And other than being annoyingly pleasant? It was overgrown and felt natural. It was there that they had stuck the piece of bar. Simone had since grown, being now five feet long with a few boards behind the bar and in front it of. This allowed for her to look more like a tiny tiki bar, juxtaposed in the face of the woods. Amare had taken minor efforts to help her journey along. That meant he had grabbed some string lights and sporadically strung them between the trees and hooked it to a car battery. Upon getting close enough and him flicking the bottom switch, it all became apparent.

He?d accidentally made something charming. It was best not to tell him as much.

Setting the bar stool on the small ledge in front of it, it was clear that Simone was not yet of an age to really support it. That didn?t seem to bother him, perhaps the stools would help her come along. Beyond that, she was a distortion of her father, twisting her growth pattern out of the way of larger trees and the slope of the ground. In some respects, it was a Salvador Dali melting bar.

Driven to distraction by the barrage of new sights and smells, Sabien was glad to have something to focus on, the squared shoulders of the man in front of him. Amare was proving something of a curious anomaly to him. At first he thought maybe the man was newly ?out?, like he didn?t know how to flirt with another man, hadn?t quite gotten the hang of it yet. Then he found himself wondering how long the man had been a wolf, and if maybe that was it, instead. He?d never come across a packless wolf before, and he was beginning to think that maybe he?d just never tried to flirt with one of his own kind before. That opened up a whole new line of speculating, and in the speculating, he?d almost walked in to Amare before he realized that the blond had come to a stop.

Quickly correcting his trajectory, he came up beside the other instead, surveying the progress that had been made on this project he?d unwittingly become entwined in on what was supposedly a first date. Did that make this a second one? He glanced sidelong at the blond briefly, shifting his focus back to the scene before him almost immediately.

The sight was? enchanting. He started to smile and then covered it, curbing the curve of his lips with some difficulty as he leaned in to examine the new growth. ?Holy fuck, it worked,? he said under his breath, impressed.

?Of course it worked,? he could be dismissive now that it had worked. What if it hadn?t? He likely would have kept it as a podium in the woods, making people visit it, anyway. Did the bar actually like Harry Potter? Did it like to be tucked in and managed? Somehow Amare was aware of those details or he said them with such authority that a monologue on how stupid you were was sure to follow if you asked.

His shoulders rolled and he tugged his shoulders and arms out of his suit jacket, throwing it over one section of the bar. Beneath, there was a bottle of vodka, a container of cherries that didn?t seem to go bad or fall prey to the insects, and a jar of olives. The options were grim and harsh, but Sabien got it anyway. Straight vodka with olive juice and olives. That seemed to be the only drink Simone was hosting at the moment. Give her time, her and her selection would grow.

?Andddd here you are, Steve,? the name said with a smirk, knowing it was wrong and shoving the drink towards him anyway, ?Something to accompany your deflowering.?