ghosts with heartbeats

enemies to lovers, but you'll never own my heart

A starry evening after all of the events that had unfolded just days before, has Caly leaning against the bar, making notes in her navy leather bound journal with gold glittering on the paper ends. A swipe of ink here and a swipe of ink there, crossing out on occasion when she mixes something to try it and winces at the taste.

Ah well, it was worth a try at least.

Sighing and straightening up, she smooths the cream shirt she wears, brushing her hair back out of her face to look up as she notices the next group of people step in. Taking their orders easily and doing it quickly, she’s able to settle back in while the bar starts to slowly come to life. For now, though, it’s only about a quarter full, which is slower than usual, but given the events as of late, she can’t really blame them.

Calypso

one-sided, it's pathetic how you think you're being smart

there was no where for me to stay, but I stayed anyway

The door swings open with precision—none of the casual flair or elbow-led chaos of a regular, and certainly not the swagger of someone who belongs here. Everest steps in like he’s crossing a boundary: shoulders a little too stiff, eyes sweeping the room in a practiced arc before focusing on the counter with the sort of intensity better suited to a laboratory than a tavern.

His clothes are clean, pressed, and somewhat too formal for the Hanged Man—fitted navy button-up, sleeves rolled just-so, slate-grey trousers without a speck of dust. He moves with that same exacting stillness, every gesture economic, purposeful. And if his hands fidget slightly at his sides before he approaches the bar—well, that’s just processing, not nerves. Obviously.

He waits for a lull in Calypso’s notes before clearing his throat—a small sound, calculated for minimum disruption. "Excuse me," he says, voice clipped but not unfriendly. "Are you Calypso Marin?"

The next sentence feels memorized, his tone shifting slightly like he’s reading from a mental list: "I’m Everest. I was hoping to purchase a few bottles of wine—red, ideally. For a date." He pauses, blinking. "I'm also not an expert on wine, so I was going to ask for recommendations, though I have done some research, if you'd prefer I just pick on my own."

everest

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

enemies to lovers, but you'll never own my heart

Looking up the second someone else sweeps in and speaks to her, Caly’s amber gaze focuses on the prim and proper man before her - looking somewhat anxious or nervous, or simply just… Worried that this question won’t go the way he wants it to. It has her hyper aware, straightening up and offering him a dazzling, sunny smile. “I am!” She hums brightly, settling in and giving him her full attention when the question arrives.

“Oooh, a date huh? I can help ya with that, Everest.” Keeping that smile on her face, Caly scans him again before she twists toward the end of the bar, reaching into the box kept nice and cool below, snagging a few notes from the top. “Are ya thinkin’ somethin’ sweet or dry? Somethin’ that’ll stick around for a bit?” She hesitates on the edge where the wine sits, her amber gaze looking up at him curiously, trying to read his face for more answers than he might verbally give.

Calypso

one-sided, it's pathetic how you think you're being smart

there was no where for me to stay, but I stayed anyway

Everest’s eyes track Caly’s hand toward the wine box, then flicker back to her face—briefly, precisely, like a camera lens adjusting focus. The question she asks isn’t difficult. But the way she asks it—sweet or dry, stick around for a bit—introduces too many variables at once. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides as he parses each possible implication, then recalibrates.

"I—" he starts, then stops, brows knitting faintly. "She has a preference for dry reds. Earthy notes. Nothing too fruity. I read that a Syrah or a Cabernet Sauvignon might be appropriate for richer flavours," he explains, each word clipped with care. "Though I’m not serving meat. It’s a picnic. Cold food, mostly. Cheese. Grapes. Fruit. So perhaps white would be better."

A pause. His hand moves, then retracts before it can reach the bar surface, an unconscious etiquette override. "I suppose I want something that lingers, yes," he amends, echoing her phrasing but clearly interpreting it literally. "Not overwhelming. Memorable. Something that doesn’t...fight with the rest." There’s a hint of tension in his jaw, a flash of self-awareness at how clinical it all sounds, but such is Everest Hart.

everest

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

enemies to lovers, but you'll never own my heart

He’s quite the closed book - though it isn’t like she knows him well enough to know the differences in his looks. The brief knit of his brows has her wondering if she’s asked too much to start with, so she makes a mental note to keep them relatively simple. One at a time. Luckily for her, though, he’s done his research and answers each question as she’d laid them out. The young attuned nods her head, blonde curls bouncing against her shoulders as she flashes him another sunny smile. “Sounds like a really sweet date.” Especially if he was going through the trouble of researching the best wine for such an occasion.

Humming a note as she considers it and peers down into the cooler they keep the wine, she runs her fingers along the tops of the bottles until she settles on one in particular. “Well, ya definitely did yer research. I think stickin’ with the dry red is a good idea, an’ even your suggestion of a Syrah.” She plucks a bottle from the cooler, lifting it with the label facing Ever. It’s a tan, aged looking label, the edges slightly frayed but legible still, both the edges and text are foiled in gold.

“Maybe this’ll work for ya? It’s more peppery than the other ones I’ve got, so if you’re doin’ cold cuts and don’t want it to be too fruity, should be right up your alley.” Flashing him a bright smile, Caly lets him inspect the bottle. “If ya want it florally ’n earthy, I’d suggest keepin’ it chilled when ya bring it.”

Calypso

one-sided, it's pathetic how you think you're being smart

there was no where for me to stay, but I stayed anyway

Everest leans forward slightly as Caly presents the bottle, inspecting the label with sharp-eyed focus, as though the weight of the entire evening rests on the typography. It probably doesn’t—but try telling that to the part of his brain already cross-referencing her description with the wine notes he memorized yesterday.

"Peppery is good," he says after a pause, nodding once with deliberate precision. "Complex. But not...aggressive." The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a ghost of a smile more than an actual one. "That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway."

He straightens again, eyes flicking back to Caly with something like relief. "Thank you. This helps more than you probably realize." There’s no casual charm behind the words, but there is a quiet sincerity. "And—chilled. Right. I’ve made a note." He taps two fingers lightly against his temple, then glances toward the exit like he’s running down a mental checklist. One more task complete. Two to go.

"I appreciate your help," he adds, after a slightly-too-long pause. "Your explanations were very clear." And though it might seem like the conversation is over, he hesitates, shifting his weight slightly. "Do you—work here most days?" It’s not a flirtation. It’s logistics. If he needs another wine, it’s best to plan ahead.

everest

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

enemies to lovers, but you'll never own my heart

She’ll let him inspect the label for however long he likes. After all, in comparison to the rest of the early crowd, Everest’s been the most exciting event to happen today. And while she doesn’t know the Aviator, something tells her that might be a terrifying compliment. So, she wisely keeps her mouth shut on it, flashing a bright sunny smile at odds with the ghost of one on his own lips. “I think you’ll succeed.” Tipping him a wink, the bottle is slipped over to his side of the bar.

His gratitude is incredibly genuine. It isn’t the thanks sunshine, she typically gets from the regulars. Ones that feel somewhat snarky depending on what she’s given them and how drunk they are. So her smile softens a touch when she nods, the mental note taken and proved by the tap to his temple, where she just assumes he’s absolutely made that note – if he’d made the notes about the Syrah’s tasting notes, then obviously remembering to chill it would be next to nothing for the man.

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help.” And she is, especially after hearing how clinical Ever spoke. “And yeah. I run it with my siblings, so I’m never far.” She answers easily, leaning against the bar toward him, elbows up to prop her head on her hands. “But if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ when I’m not here, I’d be happy t’come in and help ya again.” Call it great customer service, but that’s how she intends on keeping the reputation the bar had when they’d taken over.

Calypso

one-sided, it's pathetic how you think you're being smart

there was no where for me to stay, but I stayed anyway

Everest nods at Caly's response, internalizing the offer with the sort of serious consideration most people reserve for strategic planning sessions or emergency protocols. He doesn’t smile outright, but his expression shifts—shoulders easing slightly, gaze lingering a moment longer on her rather than darting away like it’s been trained not to linger anywhere too long. Then, he rests a hand lightly on the bottle now in front of him, fingers aligning it parallel to the edge of the bar. A mental tick box appears somewhere in his mind and is quietly marked off.

"Thank you again, Calypso," he says, voice clipped but warm. "You made this easier than I thought it would be."

He steps back then, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it’s suddenly too warm before giving a brief, awkward wave—just the fingers, nothing so bold as a full hand—and turns to leave with the wine held carefully in both hands, like he’s carrying something fragile. Because he is.

~FIN

everest

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)