xx. in the dark

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[attr="class","lyr4"]the sand and block

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[attr="class","lyr6"]out all the

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Tag: @rhysand // Wordcount: 467

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[CW: Drug mention, drug use, alcoholism]
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In all his life, he had reached many low points. Arguably, he'd hit rock bottom more times than most people ever had in their lives and at the rate he made his appearances now, he was beginning to become a regular. This was an exception, but not a positive one. After starting back to work finally his life had somewhat resembled that of the average person. On the outside, maybe he even looked as if he was healing from all the hurt and sadness and anger. But this was far removed from the truth. Ezra only continued to sink further and further down, past rock bottom, to the molten core of his anguish and pain. [break][break]
A knock on the wooden bar jolted him from his half-asleep stupor, and he raised his head, bleary eyed. With a vacant nod to the bartender, he straightened, grabbing the half finished glass of gin and downing it in one go. Sliding it back across the bar, he got a refill, no questions asked, and in that moment he decided out of all the pubs he'd gone to in Astaria since he moved, this one had just come close to being his favorite. Fishing in the pocket of his denim jacket, he procured his pack of cigarettes, flipping the lid and retrieving one to pose loosely between his lips and light the end of.[break][break]
With a long drag, he stared in thoughtfully at the gin in front of him, looking the picture of melancholia. Just an hour before he'd crushed an adderall up on the questionably clean sink in the bathroom and snorted it just for a change of pace. It had little effect however, and just when he was beginning to consider doing another, a fight broke out in the corner of the dive bar between two drunks who were promptly dragged outside. Cigarette just barely hanging between his lips, he watched for a moment until the action died down, ashing the coffin nail in an ashtray within arms length of him, taking another burning hit.[break][break]
A wave of disappointment crowded him for a moment, knowing if Saadia could see him now she'd be heartbroken. He drowned the feeling, along with the rest of his emotions with the gin, swapping between the two poisons like he was flipping a switch on and off. Cigarette, gin, rinse, and repeat. It wasn't long until the stick burnt down to the end, and he stubbed it in the ashtray, giving the gin in front of him his full attention. Ezra was distantly aware of someone brushing his shoulder, and climbing onto the bar stool beside him, but he didn't even bother to look. Instead, he slid the now empty glass across the bar again, and watched the gin pour into it once more.

[attr="class","boxo-notes"]song

KAY

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[Deleted]

Any questions that Rhysand could have had to ask about the Cabal, the particulars, the protocols, the motives - you name it - he'd done when he first made the move from New York City. You didn't earn a living as a PI by not picking something apart. He'd been satisfied. Enough. Rhysand was content with the paradigm he'd entered into with his new employer. Rarely did Rhys know why he was doing this or that for Perses and the Cabal. But he'd decided he didn't need to know the whole of it. His boss is the only one who did know the whole of it. Rhysand accepted that he did what he was told, went where he was directed, and his paycheck got signed. The less of a fuss he kicked up, the more efficient and no-questions-asked he was, the more the Cabal let him run loose between assignments. That particular evening's Perses-dictated job was drowning in gin, slumped on a barstool at a seedy tavern. Rhysand paused in the doorway, arching an eyebrow at the tall, gangly man who looked ready to pass out at any moment. Ezra Mournspire. What the hell did the Cabal want from this pitiful excuse for a human being? Rhys cast off his instinctive disdain - Ezra wasn't special, that was the PI's knee-jerk reaction to most all people - and moved over to the bar at the same time. He climbed up on the stool next to Ezra (everyone else in the tavern was giving him a wide berth) and propped one elbow on the bar. Rhysand looked long and hard at Ezra, who had eyes only for the glass he kept throwing back. His enhanced senses took in the shade of his skin, the hues of his unfocused irises, the reek of alcohol and cigarette smoke, the bit of lingering odor of a substance - Adderall, he was pretty sure - as well as, deep beneath all of them, the musk completely unique to the man. "Hmm," Rhys rumbled to himself. Then he faced away from Ezra and summoned a whiskey with a gesture to the barkeep. "You smell like sh*t," he said into his glass as he took his first drink. Rhysand set the glass down and rolled his eyes lazily at Ezra sidelong. "And you look like it, too." Generally even the drunkest souls would perk up and clarify a bit when their brains figured out they were being insulted. Plus, insulting other people numbered among Rhysand's favorite things.

. . . I've been running wild Had a good time But I can't stop now Over my head in the landslide Can you pull me out? ... omen @ezra

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Whatever sort of fight the stranger was hoping to draw out of him, Ezra didn't give him the satisfaction. He hardly even reacted to the insults, snorting in amusement instead and taking the glass of gin once more to nurse it. Looking to the side, he finally acknowledged the muscle-bound, hyper-masculine man that'd claimed the spot next to him at the bar. Visibly, and internally, he didn't appear offended or even put off by the harsh words as he tossed back his drink, the embodiment of unbothered. In his mind, it was just an obvious fact that he looked like death warmed over. Letting the glass clack against the wooden bar as he set it down, he fixed the intruder with a borderline curious gaze, but with his eyes as dead as they were he imagined it hardly showed.[break][break]
"That's a fair assessment." He answered finally, his Lancastrian lilt coming out raspy, the remains from his cigarette no doubt. "Though I suppose you're speaking from personal experience." With that, he laughed vacantly, catching the eye roll from the burly man and still tittering on. Ezra turned once more to his glass and drained it, rolling his shoulders as the cup met the bar once more with finality. With another sideways glance at his new drinking companion, he slid the glass across the bar once more and pivoted to face the man fully this time. Even just looking at him, Ezra could tell he was dangerous.[break][break]
Not just because he was no doubt physically stronger than him, but the look in his eye said he'd snap Ezra like a twig the first chance he got. A part of him, buried deep beneath the hurt and sadness, chimed in that he didn't think he'd mind that one bit. It was quickly muffled however, hidden once more against the writhing melancholy. "Ezra Mournspire." He introduced, his voice slurring just slightly. "I will warn you, if you're looking for a fight, you won't find it here mate. I'm more of a lover, myself." That was a lie, but for added effect, he threw the other man an arguably flirty wink.[break][break]
Turning once more to his refilled glass, he drank deeply, taking in the excess of alcohol gratefully like it was water and he was dehydrated. He retrieved the pack of smokes from his pocket once more and moved to light the end of another cigarette posed neatly between his lips, arguably the only tidy thing about him right now. However, he didn't return the box to his pocket, instead offering it freely to the other man and setting it on the bar between them.

[attr="class","boxo-notes"]:))

KAY

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Ezra's attitude trundled toward engaging with all the finesse of an unconscious pursing rolling over to yank a wedgie out of their ass crack. But it was progress. Rhysand had half expected Mournspire to be completely unresponsive, even at verbal jabs. That he was so easily stumbling toward interactive was a good sign. Possibly. Depended on how much he inherently pissed Rhys off. The PI shrugged in deferent agreement to Ezra's opening remarks. "I smell and see sh*t every day, so, yeah," Rhys responded gruffly, tossing back another mouthful of whiskey. The spirits trickled a trail of buzzing fire down his throat, settling warm in his stomach. His mark was picking up steam by the second. Rhysand settled his two-thirds empty glass back against the counter in time for Ezra to swivel on the barstool to face him directly. Rhys's lip curled, framed by his facial hair, and he cast a side-eyed, half-lidded glance Ezra's way and snorted derisively at the introduction and snark. When Rhys faced fully forward again, he tipped back his glass again. He drew it away and said, mouth spread thin by the whiskey's smack, "I don't pick fights with drunks. Just calling it like I see it." Rhysand had no intention of offering his name to Ezra. Half because it was a clever move that would probably get the other man to speak more, giving him more information as ammunition for the rest of his assignment. Half because he didn't want to. Rhys drained the last of his cup and, when he lowered it, a box of cigarettes was being waved lazily in his direction. He studied them, eyes narrowed, tongue stuck in his cheek, mouth still hanging partially open. "Ah **** it," he muttered to himself and took one. Rhys wasn't about to let Mournspire light it for him, though. He reached over and took the other man's lighter, doing it himself, then set it firmly down on the counter. The PI took a drag, then held it in his mouth, scrutinizing Ezra with intermingled distaste and wary, misguided interest. He spilled the lungful of smoke into the air in a sigh of surrender. "Rhysand," he said, low and prickly, and motioned for his whiskey to be refilled.

. . . I've been running wild Had a good time But I can't stop now Over my head in the landslide Can you pull me out? ... omen @ezra

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A lazy smirk curled across his lips, his interest decidedly taken by the other man on a whim. His eyebrow quirked at the gruff statement, and he cocked his head to the side curiously, eyes twinkling with a sliver of life. Ezra was equal parts disappointed and glad the other man wasn't there to pick a fight. That meant that at the very least that he wasn't underestimating the scrawny Brit at the bar. Taking a puff from his cigarette, he let the smoke curl around him before exhaling deeply and ashing it in the tray. Reaching forward, he pushed it so it was between them politely, and leveled another curious gaze at the man. "Sounds like quite an interesting story." He responded with a gravelly laugh at the statement about shit.[break][break]
With a nod of approval, he retrieved his pack of cigarettes once more, smirking when the gruff stranger snatched the lighter out of his hand. He stowed the packet of smokes away in his pocket once more and for a moment, let silence hang between them, until he caught the rumble of a name. Turning his head, he gave a cheeky laugh and asked: "Rhys and what?" It was likely to earn him a punch for his troubles, but he just couldn't help himself. If anything, a good fight might manage to make him feel something for once.[break][break]
"I'm jus' fucking with you, mate. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Despite all the signs coming from the other bloke, telling him not to fuck with him, or telling him to fuck off, he couldn't help but be intrigued. It hadn't escaped his notice that most everyone else in the bar had been consciously avoiding him. He could be a bit low on common sense sometimes, but in what was becoming a rare occurrence, his intelligence showed through. Either this guy was just as lonely and miserable as him or he just had some sort of motive. Maybe both. Whatever the case, his taste in company was decidedly poor Ezra thought.[break][break]
For a moment, he hesitated to take a drink from the glass of gin in front of him. Emboldened however, by stupidity or sheer self-destruction, he downed the contents in one go. With the final nail in the coffin, he decided perhaps that'd be his last for the night. Part of him had a strong feeling it wouldn't. He gave another careful side-eyed glance at Rhys, taking a long drag of the cigarette while he did so, and stubbed the remains of it in the ashtray between them.

[attr="class","boxo-notes"]-snort-

KAY

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"Rhys and what?" Rhysand's lip curled, baring his teeth around the cigarette tucked between them. The hand that'd been reaching out to grab the refilled whiskey glass hefted up, flicking Ezra off. "Bend over, and I'll show ya," he growled out the threat. Rhys didn't care enough to actually get irritated at the stupid-ass joke. The smoke that Ezra'd offered may have helped shore up his tolerance levels the tiniest bit, but he couldn't say for sure. He tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and used the opening for another swig of his drink. "Unfortunate coincidence," Rhysand said, words choked and slurred a little bit through the backend of his drink. "Thought you were too far gone to bother me. Guess I was wrong, there." He rolled his shoulders and then his neck, working out kinks between drags on the cigarette. "But so far it's..." he paused to observe the whiskey rolling around in the glass of one hand, and the glowing smoke in his other, "... hmm." Rhysand's closing hum clearly said what he didn't care enough to: "so far so good." He tossed a warning look to Ezra, though, just in case he was getting any stupid ideas. "But don't push it," that look said.

. . . I've been running wild Had a good time But I can't stop now Over my head in the landslide Can you pull me out? ... omen @ezra

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With all of the sarcasm he could muster, Ezra gawked in mock surprise, covering his mouth with his hand as if he was scandalized by the threat. Internally, he couldn't deny the shock of adrenaline it send through him, similar to the times before he'd vaguely flirted with death. It sobered him up a little bit, and in turn he looked a little less dead inside. Whether his look translated to his actual internal status was anyone's guess. In any case, he seemed a little livelier for better or worse. That, or maybe the adderall was just hitting. That would explain why his throat was suddenly so dry.[break][break]

Leisurely, he propped his arm on the bar, resting his chin in his hand as he watched and listened to Rhys with all the eagerness of a young mutt. He let out a laugh at the insinuation that he looked too far gone to bother the other man. A helpful voice in his head reminded him that was how he looked all the time, but he didn't speak the thought aloud. Instead he shut up and just observed, trying not to stare too obviously as the muscles in Rhys' neck stretched and pulled taut. In a bid to put his eyes anywhere else, he looked down at the bar, finding a particular gnarl in the wooden surface that suddenly became incredibly interesting. "That you were, luv. I'd wager I could drink you under the table." He teased, picking at the bar aimlessly.[break][break]
His head perked up at the hesitant statement that came next. Ezra watched with keen eyes as Rhys seemed to choose the words carefully, and he glanced at the whiskey glass, hearing the hum that followed. When he looked up once more, he caught the frigid look leveled at him, and a twisted smirk crept onto his chapped lips once more. "Oh? Is my winning personality and boyish charm getting to you?" He asked, with another wink. "You got a crush on little old me? Don't worry, kitten, I won't tell." His tone lilted once more, and he let out a light chuckle, eyes shining with mischief. If there were buttons to push, Ezra would push them. At this point, he wasn't sure if it was out of sheer self-destructive lack of self preservation or if he just wanted to see how far he could push Rhys before he pushed back.

[attr="class","boxo-notes"]oh boy

KAY

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Externally Rhysand didn't react when Mournspire said he could probably drink him under the table. Internally there wasn't much reaction, either. Rhys knew that, with the way his body'd been since that night at the research facility in New York, he couldn't get good and plastered if he tried. But Ezra's boast didn't even make it through Rhysand's brain enough to pluck up that observation. The only thing that happened was a faint scowling to his lips at the word "luv." Cigarette or not, Rhysand's meager patience for humanity was evaporating. He was starting to wish his lie to Ezra just now had been the truth instead, and that the other man would have been too lost in the bottom of his cup of gin to have noticed Rhys when he sat down next to him. Rhysand froze at the next bit. Either Ezra was too drunk to realize he was being a ****ing dumbass, or he was testing Rhys. Either way, the PI wasn't one to turn the other cheek. With the hand usually curled around his glass, Rhysand reached out and took the front collar of Mournspire's shirt in his fist. He held Ezra there, balanced his cig between his teeth and turned toward the other man with a flat, dry gaze, their faces separated only by the smoke. Rhysand used his other hand and plucked Mournspire's cigarette from the drunk's fingers, before very methodically jabbing it down into his empty gin cup, the end flaring then sputtering out as it made contact with the remnant coating of drink. Rhysand maintained immovable eye contact and released his grip on Ezra's collar, letting the other man flop back more fully on his barstool. Rhys turned his attention back on his whiskey, taking a long and intentional drag on the cigarette he was still nursing. "You always this ****ing annoying or is it the gin talking?" he grumbled.

. . . I've been running wild Had a good time But I can't stop now Over my head in the landslide Can you pull me out? ... omen @ezra

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Tag: @rhysand // Wordcount: 375

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It was usually quite a challenge to surprise Ezra, who felt by now he'd seen and done most everything. So when Rhys curled his fingers into the fabric collar of his shirt, he didn't appear shaken in the least bit. This had been what he was testing, after all. However, he was surprised by how the gesture effected him, chalking it up to all the gin in his system and his ever present death wish. Separated by a few inches of smoky air, the spike of adrenaline came back once more, bringing more lucidity into his eyes. His darkened hazel irises shined as they stared back into Rhys' pale ones, an indiscernible emotion guarded beneath them. Another shock of pure thrill when the cigarette in his hand was snatched and promptly stubbed out in the gin glass.[break][break]

As the hold in his shirt released, Ezra fell easily back into the bar stool. A lazy smile curled at his lips, and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, just before mockingly blowing a kiss at the man opposite him to push his luck even further. "Wouldn't you like to find out, luv." He'd caught the sneer the pet name had drawn from Rhys earlier, and decided to put it to the test as if he was running a science experiment and checking his hypotheses, cataloguing each reaction to see just how far he could push the other man's buttons.[break][break]

Ezra's humor didn't falter even under the pressure the stronger man exerted on their conversation. Although, with his renewed energy, things were bound to pass through the worn out filter in the lanky man's brain that wouldn't have otherwise seen the light of day. Such was the case for his next choice of dialogue. "If you stick around and take me home you'll see just how chatty I can be, Rhysie." He remarked, and even had the nerve to look surprised and scandalized at himself for a moment before letting out an airy laugh. A part of him knew he was bound to earn a smack for that nickname. "Okay now that was definitely the gin talking." He said that, but if he was honest with himself he wasn't too sure the validity of that statement.

[attr="class","boxo-notes"]-whispers- Ezra....STOP.

KAY

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The breath of leniency that the cigarette offering'd given Ezra was well past spent. With his continued douchery, Rhysand had to pull out and dust off what little self-control he'd tailored over the course of his life. It was something that only had to be put on when Rhys's paycheck was at stake and even then it was a 60/40 ratio. Ezra's cheeky comments made Rhysand's blood warm and the muscles in his jaw tense with his gritted teeth. If the situation was different in any way, Rhys would've either slugged Mournspire in the stomach or dragged him in the bathroom for a crude, violent quickie. The other man's next quip was an even new level of forward and bold. Rhys spun on his stool, chest expanding, shoulders setting, about to **** it all and do one of those earlier options, just to shut Mournspire up, Cabal orders be damned. Then Ezra caught himself a little bit and blamed that last on the gin. Rhysand gave him a half-lidded look that expressed his doubt very clearly. Mournspire was too drunk and too unpredictable to coax information out intentionally. So Rhys decided to pretend like this was a normal encounter with a stranger and see what he could use after it was over. Just no punching and no banging. "So tell me, Mournspire," Rhysand said, baritone rumbling through his chest, leaning one elbow on the bar and bracing one hand on his knee, still facing Ezra, "are you trying to get your ass beat, or ****ed? Has to be one of them. Even a drunk has more self-preservation than this," and intermingled disdain and snark curled his lips with the last few words.

. . . I've been running wild Had a good time But I can't stop now Over my head in the landslide Can you pull me out? ... omen @ezra

template by rem of WW

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