Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Jul 9, 2013 1:25:58 GMT -5
Zander Devereux really couldn’t complain about his life right then. He wasn’t unhappy, he wasn’t bored, he wasn’t wallowing in his own filth...if he did say so himself, he was generally perfect. But there was one thing he wanted – Bourbon. Now, he had bottles of the good stuff in his office, his car, and in his home. Heck, he’d been given a bottle that morning for conducting a highly successful merger with a small WiFi company. He couldn’t remember what WiFi was or why the company needed it, but there’d been a great spreadsheet. He knew numbers inside out and backwards, able to see where money was coming and going fairly easily. This whole WiFi thing was going to boost profits in certain areas, so he’d made it happen. He’d earned his bottle and he was happy with the Bourbon on his desk.
What he wasn’t happy with was the fact that there had been no one else in his office to drink with. All he’d had was the Alligator on his wall and the army men on his bookcase. Now, those weren’t the kind of company that sane people kept. Well, not while drinking. It attracted the wrong type of attention, after all. Now, playing with his toys and glaring at his Gator while he was sober didn’t even earn the bat of an eye. The world was a strange place when you were the boss...
So, faced with that pleasant thought, he left the bottle on the desk, the bright red ribbon still firmly in place around the neck of the bottle, before hailing a cab to take him to a bar. Now, he was an odd duck when it came to his drinking establishments. Where most of the rich and powerful preferred the posh, sleek lines found in Manhattan, paying for overpriced drinks and flirting with anorexic women wearing practically nothing, he preferred his bars a bit more real. He liked the dives out in Brooklyn that were full of sweaty and bad tempered people who just wanted a drink. He liked that there was no cover, no line up, and the women actually had enough muscle energy to have fun. He liked the dimness of those places. He liked how they were gritty and dark and not posh at all. He could have a good time without running into the people he did business with – which was a blessing, because they were about as dull as muddy water in a slew – and practically no one knew his name.
But the best part out of all that were the bartenders. Specifically the female bartenders. Oh, they had personality, unafraid of how their tips would be affected if they offended the wrong trust fund brat with an off the handle comment. No, these ones knew that as long as the poured the drinks, they’d have a good outcome at the end of the night. He liked that. Life would have been better if people were smart enough to realise this and just go with it rather than making it difficult to even have fun.
He wanted to have fun. And a glass of Bourbon. It really wasn’t that much to ask.
Walking into one of his favorite bars, he wandered between people, smiling, making comments, twirling around women, and making his way to the counter. He scanned it quickly, picking out a couple people working.
Man...man...ah! Woman. Perfect.
“Ah, Ellen, light of my life,” he greeted, wide grin in place, Louisianan accent clinging to the words.
Ellen or Hilda or something along those lines, was a beautiful young woman. Of course, she was technically young enough to have been one of his illegitimate children, but he was willing to roll the dice. After all, he didn’t think it would go anywhere. He was desperately in...infatuation with the lovely Morag, after all. That didn’t meant he couldn’t shamelessly flirt with his bartender, though. After all, Morag was married and he didn’t oppose to the fact they probably flirted and did other...things.
Yes, Bourbon. Right.
“I could use a bottle of the good stuff.”
She never gave him a whole bottle, but that never stopped him from ordering it. No, he was looking forward to sitting and having her fill his glass over and over again. She was always a good one for conversation and he was sure it was going to be a great night in her company.
What he wasn’t happy with was the fact that there had been no one else in his office to drink with. All he’d had was the Alligator on his wall and the army men on his bookcase. Now, those weren’t the kind of company that sane people kept. Well, not while drinking. It attracted the wrong type of attention, after all. Now, playing with his toys and glaring at his Gator while he was sober didn’t even earn the bat of an eye. The world was a strange place when you were the boss...
So, faced with that pleasant thought, he left the bottle on the desk, the bright red ribbon still firmly in place around the neck of the bottle, before hailing a cab to take him to a bar. Now, he was an odd duck when it came to his drinking establishments. Where most of the rich and powerful preferred the posh, sleek lines found in Manhattan, paying for overpriced drinks and flirting with anorexic women wearing practically nothing, he preferred his bars a bit more real. He liked the dives out in Brooklyn that were full of sweaty and bad tempered people who just wanted a drink. He liked that there was no cover, no line up, and the women actually had enough muscle energy to have fun. He liked the dimness of those places. He liked how they were gritty and dark and not posh at all. He could have a good time without running into the people he did business with – which was a blessing, because they were about as dull as muddy water in a slew – and practically no one knew his name.
But the best part out of all that were the bartenders. Specifically the female bartenders. Oh, they had personality, unafraid of how their tips would be affected if they offended the wrong trust fund brat with an off the handle comment. No, these ones knew that as long as the poured the drinks, they’d have a good outcome at the end of the night. He liked that. Life would have been better if people were smart enough to realise this and just go with it rather than making it difficult to even have fun.
He wanted to have fun. And a glass of Bourbon. It really wasn’t that much to ask.
Walking into one of his favorite bars, he wandered between people, smiling, making comments, twirling around women, and making his way to the counter. He scanned it quickly, picking out a couple people working.
Man...man...ah! Woman. Perfect.
“Ah, Ellen, light of my life,” he greeted, wide grin in place, Louisianan accent clinging to the words.
Ellen or Hilda or something along those lines, was a beautiful young woman. Of course, she was technically young enough to have been one of his illegitimate children, but he was willing to roll the dice. After all, he didn’t think it would go anywhere. He was desperately in...infatuation with the lovely Morag, after all. That didn’t meant he couldn’t shamelessly flirt with his bartender, though. After all, Morag was married and he didn’t oppose to the fact they probably flirted and did other...things.
Yes, Bourbon. Right.
“I could use a bottle of the good stuff.”
She never gave him a whole bottle, but that never stopped him from ordering it. No, he was looking forward to sitting and having her fill his glass over and over again. She was always a good one for conversation and he was sure it was going to be a great night in her company.
