[o] [SE] Red Solo Cup

// You could be lonely, or heartbroken—Or hungover from the night before //

The advantage, the one advantage, to meandering around Caido to spread the word about the Rodeo, was that Colt got to see some of the sights, and taste test all the bars. So far this one had the best atmosphere, in terms of trapping you like a fly in a carnivorous plant, eager to keep you contained forevermore in its eternal twilight and amber drink. The weariness of traveling and the achingly long stretches of time to do nothing but think, and regret, certainly had her willing to linger longer than she should.

She tapped a finger twice on the counter, nodding her hat at the barkeeper, "another." The beer slid easily towards her, and she gripped the glass bottle like a lifeline, taking a swig as she glance across the room to a couple nearly eating each other's faces in the corner. "To be young and in love," she murmured with a smile over the bottle, laughing faintly at such a ridiculous notion.

COLT

// Turn that frown into a smile real quick—There ain't nothin' that a beer can't fix //

there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

”Well, you’re not that young.” The youngling said matter of factly, spade tail twitching behind him like a cat high in a tree. Soren tilted his head slightly towards the woman, the side of his chin, resting on his laced fingers propped up on elbows on the bar counter. Between his elbows rested an empty shock glass, sharper and warmer than what the woman herself downed.

Soren’s green eyes glinted mischievously as flicked them from her to the bartender. ”me too.” he said, indicating his empty shot glass by leaning back in his stool and lowering his arms from elbows to forearms.

Soren

and I play it on repeat

// You could be lonely, or heartbroken—Or hungover from the night before //

He popped up like a goddamn ghost, seeming to appear from the ether just to taunt her, and not in the flirty way that she liked. Her head whipped around at his remark, the line of anger immediately there on her 'brow, held back only with uncertainty that surely she hadn't heard him right. "The fuck you say?" she asked for clarification as she looked at him, too at ease with his casual lean on his hands, for someone who just insulted her.

"'Cause I'd hope, friend, that you didn't say what I thought you jus' said." Maybe it was the heat of the alcohol in her gut stoking her, maybe it was the weariness of travel that her closer to the end of her rope than usual, or maybe it was just who the fuck says that to a woman? Her hand gripped her bottle more firmly, a request for the cool glass to steal some of this rising heat from her.

COLT

// Turn that frown into a smile real quick—There ain't nothin' that a beer can't fix //

there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

Soren didn't move, didn't blink. He let the silence stretch after her words, the weight of her fury simmering between them like a kettle not yet shrieking. His eyes flicked to her bottle, then back to her face—calm, unreadable, but glinting with something sharp beneath the surface. 

“Relax,”  he said, voice low, smooth, nudging his empty glass with a knuckle. His smile was slight, maddeningly even. Not quite a challenge. Not quite an apology. The bartender filled his glass and Soren sat back on his seatbones, twisting in his stool to face her as he lazily draped his ankle over his opposite knee. "I just said you weren't that young."

Soren

and I play it on repeat

// You could be lonely, or heartbroken—Or hungover from the night before //

She smiles back at him, but it's tight, and shallow. "Guess I heard right," she says calmly, head tilting slightly as her gaze skims over him with the shameless intent of committing it to memory—not unlike a girl might before leaning in to say something husky and sweet. She even pivots towards him a bit more, a signal for continued conversation, usually a greenlight for interest.

Instead, one foot kicks toward his stool, her toe hooking the bottom rung as she drives her leg upward to topple it out from under him. In the same motion, her other foot hits the ground, jolting her out of her seat. She lunges toward him, all her weight behind the hand still wrapped around the cool glass bottle, swinging it from the counter toward the side of his head. She aims for his temple, keen to knock him into darkness. If not, well—maybe he’s still toppled, and she’ll get the pleasure of pinning her boot to his groin just to watch him squirm.

"You should talk less."

COLT

// Turn that frown into a smile real quick—There ain't nothin' that a beer can't fix //

there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

Soren didn’t believe in the “don’t hit girls” bullshit his grandparents tried to instill in him. They wanted to raise a brilliant and sophisticated Stormbreak gentleman, but instead got Soren.

Who started bar fights, apparently.

The smile on his face wanted to curve into something sharper, feline, as she turned toward him. He half-lifted a brow as she leaned in, feeling the ends of his fingers begin to tingle with the possibilities ahead. But she was swift, and strong, and suddenly Soren was on the floor.

His drink went flying and splashed everywhere, covering both of them in fragrant amber liquid. The ancient sucked a breath back into his lungs as he hit the floor flat on his back. In an instant she was on top of him, and his legs went up instinctively to kick and keep her from pinning him down. That didn’t seem to be her whole intentions, however, as her knuckles collided with his temple, and with his cheekbone cool glass.

And he laughed.

Soren

and I play it on repeat

// You could be lonely, or heartbroken—Or hungover from the night before //

The cold snarl on her face relents a bit as she leans away from him, a victorious pain throbbing along her fist that she presses her other hand against as she abandons the half-spilled beer bottle on the floor beside him. That quick temper of hers cools a touch under the swift justice she managed, and because of the strange laughter that bubbles up from him, skewing confusion where there had previously been ire. "You got a weird sense of humor, friend." she drawls to him, gaze slanted down her chest as she looks at him laid out flat.

She's caused a scene though, and he's done fuck all but use his tongue, so she can already see the bouncers moving her way. She got all she needed so she holds up her hands in quiet surrender to them, adjusting her hat a bit as she steps around to leave. She flicks some of the beer off her shirt with a sigh. Outside her horse is waiting, and setting back home never sounded better than now.

COLT

// Turn that frown into a smile real quick—There ain't nothin' that a beer can't fix //

there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

He laughed, more and more even as she hauled herself away. He didn’t care about the other people scoffing at him as he pulled himself up off the floor, still soaked wet in his spilled drink.

He leaned against the bar where his stool once was, the stupid smile still plastered across his face —

Because that’s exactly what he was. Plastered.

He lifted his head, searching the bar until he found her. Aithne, stepping out through the crowd from having stepped away to “powder her nose” or something along those lines. He didn’t waste any time in telling her when she came back and lifted his stool up from its position on the floor.

FIN

Soren

and I play it on repeat