<p><em>ooc: first post ever here c: let me know if anything is off. AW - one only, i was also unaware if there is a drinking age or not.</em></p> <p> </p> <p>He had thrown in the towel for the day, taking off in his atypical diva fashion. His job was far from grand and it was far from what he had wanted to do with his life. Sitting in a terribly uncomfortable chair for several hours before a break, and then walking around kissing the ass of unattractive customers who thought that they were prettier than models, was far from what he wanted to be doing. Vyzander was a sales clerk in a major chain in Janarden. It was one of the few jobs he found acceptable, and it was straining even doing that. It, and his nightly work and whatever other 'work' he came across, managed to pay the bills in his studio apartment. Somehow he managed to keep himself fed, watered, and the big room buzzing with electricity. Regardless, he was sick of the work he had done for the past six or seven hours. Vyz could swear he had sores on his rear from sitting in that chair; it had certainly been a throbbing mess when he had gone to break and switched shifts with Merdula, the overdressed woman a couple of decades his senior.</p> <p>But now he wanted some fun. Distraction from the horrible thing he called an occupation. And to think he had once wanted to continue with his education, and had even been enrolled. Yet once he told his parents what it was he wanted to do with his life, and his not-so-cheap education, they told him to get back in school or else he would be on his own. And so now he was. Vyzander chose the blue collar route, hoping to get the break of a lifetime. Yet it never came, and he never found a chance to show the fashion world of his potential as a designer. He managed to keep his claws in the very edges of the industry, selling the clothes passed down the fashion chain so much only the middle-aged would look at it.</p> <p>That cursed shop was behind him, and Vyzander took the fastest route he knew to the nearest bar. There was plenty of noise around him; the city was full of it. He ignored the best he could, absentmindedly playing with his multiple ear piercings. One was new and still sore as he touched it. But still he played with it. His teachers had given him a hell in school when he would play with them in class.</p> <p>Oh, how he longed to drown his sorrow with a few drinks, knowing that it was still relatively early in the evening; it was only about 16 hours or so. Still, a drink at the bar was what he needed, and what he wanted. So he took it. It was one of his more common haunts, the Black Hibiscus. He ordered something bright blue with a slice of something equally fruity in it. The card exchange was quick and he was three khasi poorer. It was so totally worth it; it was citrusy and he smacked his lips in satisfaction. It was nice to sometimes pretend he didn't work a dead-end job and that his dream life was out of reach. Sometimes it was nice to pretend he was someone else entirely.</p>
<p>Another day, another rejection. Lines to thick, poor pallet choices and a completely unrecognizable themes. Those were the reasons that the art director at the Vhelic Gallery had given her upon gazing at her portfolio. Maeanu wanted to give her own reasons of why she didn’t even want to have her paintings in a gallery as unoriginal as the Vhelic, but she knew the director had influence in other Janardan art circles. So she played the role of humble aspirating artist and held her tongue. It would only be a matter of time before she would make the art pieces she dreamed of, than she would come back to the city and offer them to a much more worthy institution. But until then she was stuck wearing clothes that made her feel fake, carrying her portfolio and a smouldering anger within her gut.</p> <p>She made a point to dress in her nicest, most presentable outfit when she was lucky enough to get an interview at any of the galleries she had been applying to. This meant putting on the fitted pinstripe pants and matching vest over top of a pale grey blouse. With the addition of the artistic tie to add just enough “creative flare” that ‘dragons liked to get from artists. One of her main fears was that a gallery owner would judge her by her poor skills in compiling an outfit that didn’t clash with her already loud yellow pelt. Now the tie felt like a noose and the cuffs of her shirt like irons. As she made her way down the street away from the gallery she loosened the tie and undid the buttons at her wrist to roll the sleeves up to her elbows. It made her feel a little better, but it didn’t stop the outfit from reminding her of her failure to book one single viewing. Probably a sign that it was best to just start applying as an artist’s coffee slave just to get more experience.</p> <p>The rush hour crowd of day time workers heading home was a suffocating mess that Mae didn’t want to have to deal with all the way to the nearest Teleporter. Instead of having to push shoulders with anyone else she ducked into the closest bar that offered refuge, not evening paying attention to the name as she waltzed in. She knew the feeling of a quaint place to get drunk in from her years of working on the other side of the counter and that was all she was looking for right now.</p> <p>The first drink she ordered she shot back, letting the fluids burn the back of her throat on the way down. Worried that this would only serve to stroke the fire in her gut she ordered a follow up in a tall glass on the rocks. But before it got to her the bar tender lost his grip on the drink, causing it to spill out towards Mae. The yellow ‘dragon jumped back quickly before any of the spill made contact with her professional garb, her portfolio fell to the floor and the liquid menace claimed a few other victims who were unlucky enough to be standing by the bar top at the wrong time.</p>
<p>Plenty of people filed their way in and out of the bar. Most of them ordered and went to the individual little cubes, tables, and couches. Ordered and left, ordered and left. Vyz sat at the bar, nursing his second blue beverage, licking at the rim absentmindedly as he thought about his current prospects. The drink was foggy in his brain and it made the thinking all that much harder. It was a long day; he had be up from seven in the morning, and that was for his first job at the smoothy shop where he spent his morning as a barista for more overdressed people needing an energy boost or a healthy blend of smooshy fruits. Every time he got to work at the stupid clothing store he reeked of roasted beans and the smell of overripe fruit. Why on earth was he still doing this? Oh right, so he could continue to live in the city as he wanted. Otherwise, he would be running home to mommy and daddy, begging for money and an education in a field with high demand.</p> <p>A shudder ran through the ginger man, sending some of the hair on his neck standing. He downed his second drink with ease, ignoring the fruit slice again; he was sick of fruit and dealing with them. He shoved it aside, waiting for the bartender to serve a brightly colored woman when he saw the man trip up. He growled in protest as he jumped back out of his seat. The liquid went flying and he saw it splash onto people too stupid to pay attention. The woman had dodged as well, but she dropped a folder. <strong>"Holy crap, watch what you're doing,"</strong> he directed at the bartender, clearly annoyed as the man went running to replace the drink and give others freebies as well. Serves him right, not watching himself. No tip for him.</p> <p>Vyzander bent down and picked up the folder with a huff, hoping to see a new blue drink sitting in front of him. He found none. Displeasure was radiating off him as he opened the portfolio, rather rudely. He had no permission to do so but did so anyway. After a quick skim of a few of the works of art, the 'dragon's face changed to one of appreciation and he closed the folder. <strong>"Those are rather good"</strong> he said, handing back the folder. His tone had been laced with genuine appreciation. While not an avid artist himself, he was a designer by trade so he knew a thing or two about things that looked good. Not that the other designers thought much of him. He simply did not attend the same design school or come from a dramatic past. So they paid him no mind. Once an art student called him a hatchling to his face, mocking him for whatever reason. <strong>"Artist?"</strong></p>
<p>There was a blur of activity as ‘dragons either lept back from the table or took the hit. The downside to being drunk at the bar was that you were too slow to avoid spill. Some of the patrons who were hit scowled at the bar tender while others who weren’t hit so badly simply frowned and returned to their drinks. She would have been happy to be drunk enough not to care, but at least this way she had saved herself from a trip to the dry cleaners.</p> <p>Mae cursed a few times under her breath as she stepped around the small puddle that had collected on the floor. She would have shot death glares from her eyes but the bar tender had already disappeared, hopefully to fetch a mop. Even on her own first day she hadn’t spilt a drink. She was proud enough to carry a perfectly clear record at her first bar, that is until her final few days there when she had started to drink at work. There was only so long that someone could take the harassments of the grungy crowds of Bhim before you broke and sent some of the harassment back at them.</p> <p>Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she did her best not to snap. Without the bar tender there are the moment she would have been happy to yell at just about anyone. It was only a few seconds later that she realized that she was no longer holding her portfolio. Grey eyes scanned the floor around her and found nothing. Her heart nearly stopped as she saw the folio in the hands of a stranger. She was about to snatch the pages out of his hands before she realized that he was actually looking at them and not destroying them. Most of the pages were simply photographs of paintings back at her apartment but that didn’t stop her from being terrible attached to the document. He even went so far as to hand it back to her when he was done. She reached out and took the collection back a little faster than necessary.</p> <p><em>Good? Really? </em>She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Of course this young arden here would be an art appreciator, his taste must be as bad as her own pieces.</p> <p><em>“Artist?”</em> He asked and she realized that he was still talking to her. Pulling her mind out of the dark nosedive of self-hatred she regained enough composure to actually look at the orange ‘dragon in front f her.</p> <p><strong>“Trying.”</strong>She answered, her voice cool but not as icy as when she had cursed out the bartender. <strong>“You wouldn’t happen to be the son of some rich arden who’s looking to buy?”</strong> She was poking fun at him, at a first glance she could tell that this tall ‘dragon wasn’t made of money.</p> <p>There was a clink from the counter top, the bartender had returned to place replacement drinks next to the two of them.</p>
<p>She took the portfolio out of his hands and the young arden smiled mildly at her. As much as he would have liked to take his drink and go elsewhere for privacy, it was a little late now. So much for being antisocial. Usually, he would have frowned deeply at someone snatching things out of his hands like that, but he figured he'd toss her a bone; she did avoid a nasty drink accident with her rather high quality business outfit. Vyzander appreciated the work but thought that she could do better, especially as an artists. They needed to make statements loud and proud as their art. Younger artists as well. He himself tended to wear his own work, but his job called for something tame. Wouldn't want the older women to panic at the sight of an oddly dressed young man ringing up their ugly dresses.</p> <p>The woman's attitude was cold, but Vyzander was used to that, too. Plenty of women had looked at him and raised their noses at the sight of a kid at the counter dressed poorly. Cold was a step up from snob, so the young man did not point it out. Plus, they were strangers.</p> <p>Vyz could see the bartender return from the corner of his eye. The clink only confirmed it. Laughing lightly, the 'dragon reached for his bright blue concoction. <strong>"Me? Hardly."</strong> Taking a sip, he grinned over the rim of it. He pulled the glass from his lips, and said, <strong>"If I had been a good boy, I would be willing to buy some of those."</strong> A clink later and the glass was on the counter. Sitting himself on the bar stool, Vyzander ignored the bartender running around to mop the mess he had made. He himself had never served drinks outside of home, but he knew that any bartender worth his salt never dropped a drink, let alone sent it airborne. <strong>"What do you mean by 'trying'? No one buying?"</strong> Boy, he knew that feeling a little too well.</p>
<p>The ‘Mommy and Daddy’ card, that was all that needed to be played for Mae to assume that she was talking to someone else who had cut themselves off from their parents. She too could have lived the comfortable life of a councilman’s daughter had she been willing to live by the guidebook. Instead she was here, which was surprisingly a comfortable thought to her. At least she wasn’t being paraded around at dinners and made to give happy family interviews every few seasons. Not that everyone who was left of the family had been all that happy in the last year.</p> <p>That was when she really looked at the stranger standing in front of her. He was young, somewhere around her age even. He was taller than she was by a few inches and drinking a blue drink that she used to hate making because it often meant having to cut the fruit herself. Nothing that would have suddenly won her over, accept for the mention of being willing to buy if circumstances were different. It made have just been something easy to say but when small compliments were all you got you tended to cling to them.</p> <p>She shifted her file under her arm so that she could grab the drink that had been placed on the counter for her. A clean liquid with a pale grey cloud floating around in the substance to add a tart taste. As the impromptu conversation still seemed to be taking place Mae quickly looked around the room before taking the bar stool next to her new stranger companion.</p> <p><strong>“Buying would be the dream, I’d be happy enough if anyone even wanted to look at them. Or think that they could earn me an internship somewhere.”</strong> She tipped back her drink, finishing half of it without as much as a cringe. <strong>“I just don’t know where the appreciation of something fresh and new went. Everything today is just copy after crappy copy, ya know?” </strong>Her quick consumption of the two drinks were causing her to relax but it didn’t stop her from flinching when the clumsy bartender walked by one more time.</p>
