Insomnia you little devil (Open) INACTIVE

[oscar]

Eleven o’clock at night and the clock was ticking by slowly. Crane had just come home after a long day in the lab, which consisted of pulling out small chunks of metal on a bullet riddled body. It wasn’t every day that gang warfare got dramatic enough to bring a 20 year old down to the level of Swiss, but this was what happened in New York sometime. The coppery smell seemed like it was permanently attached to his skin until he burnt it off with the boiling water of the shower. Half an hour had gone by since he had gotten home and he already felt the antsy need to get out. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes he pulled one out and lit it, looking down at the streets as he silently debated on going out to the bar or not. It took about two hits of the Newport before he grabbed his dark brown leather jacket and pushed his feet into the clean brown polished shoes.

Shoving his wallet in the back pocket and slicking his hair back, Crane walked out and locked the door. While he could have picked a nicer location with the money he made, Crane had chosen the small ten story apartment building that was close to the bars. It made for an easy walk back late at night. The walk might have been short, but the dark lurking shadows that swarmed around him as he moved down the sidewalk was unnerving. He took a deep inhale, lids lowering partially behind his glasses as he glanced left and right. He frowned and picked up his pace. It wasn’t the people that bothered him around the area, no they were fairly decent. It was those damn creeping, crawling, shadows. What might be lurking within them, down those dark alley ways, slithering out to reach with unseen icy fingers…

Crane shuddered and looked right and left before chucking the cigarette butt and walked across the street to get the club. As he entered music slammed against him like a drunken idiot. He winced and shook his head, walking towards the back bar where it was quieter. Taking a seat on the stool and turning to face the bartender, “Whiskey on the rocks, top shelf” He said flipping out and handing his debit card to the man to open his tab. He might as well start strong. The music here always got better by the fourth or fifth drink.

By the time he was able to get the drink the music had finally changed to something with a slower beat. His foot tapped unknowingly against the ground as he took a sip of the whiskey and glanced around the bar for familiar faces. Was he looking for company tonight, and if so, was he looking for the familiar or something new and refreshing? He supposed that only the night would tell.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane didn't have a clue why she took the commission. She didn't frequent bars, nor did she plan to, but the offer was too much to pass up for the both literal and figurative starving artist. The owner of the establishment wanted a few pieces to liven up the place and elevate its status from trashy, seedy watering hole to trendy, exclusive drinking club. After several interviews and test sketches, Jane was finally able to start on a tryptich of different bottles filled with different things. The champagne bottle, obtained from the bar, had insolation pouring out of it's spout instead of bubbles and foam. The whiskey bottle was filled halfway with rusted washers that were easy enough to find in her apartment. And the vodka bottle had tin foil carefuly pressed against the inner walls of the bottle.

After chosing the subject matter, it took Jane almost two months to complete the project, putting in nearly eighty man-hours on each piece. Now, all on huge five foot by eight foot canvas, Jane carried them to the bar. It took much longer than she anticipated, moving the large pieces without damaging them, but she moved them none the less. Originally she wanted to beat the bar before it opened, but due to delays, she arrived after the regular crowd had rolled in.

Manhandling the tryptich the best she could, Jane walked up the the bar and asked for the owner. The bartender nodded and disappeared into the back room. While waiting, Jane leaned the bundle, wrapped in butcher paper, against the bar and sat on the edge of a stool. The loud music and the smell of alcohol wasn't that pleasant and she wanted to get out as soon as possible.

[oscar]

The lack of familiarity of people in the bar, other then the bartender told Crane two things. One, he liked to drink far too often if all his nights off entailed the bar, and two he was not the best at making friends. It wasn't as if he was entirely off putting, though odd at times. He was just so wrapped up in work usually that he didn't make time in his busy life to make friends. One night stands didn't count, to him they barely counted as acquaintances. A true acquaintance would at least know something about him mentally. He never liked to add chat with physical encounters. Crude perhaps, but it made things simple in the end.

So perhaps that was where his thoughts were leading to. Although an in depth conversation seemed equally appealing. Looking around though he found a lack of... intelligence in the bar. That of course could be because it was in fact the bar. Most people were trying to induce themselves into a drunken stooper, which is in part what he had thought about doing.

Crane looked down at his drink again, frowning slightly as if wondering if he should go that route or note before he shrugged and took another sip. Setting the cup down he took a slow deep drag from the cigarette, examining the entrance of the door as if something of a higher interest might walk in. As the smoke rippled past his lips and up into the air a smoky image of a girl walked through the door holding what looked like large pieces of some form of art work. It was covered which of course brought his curiosity to peak. Perhaps there was something more interesting in this bar then dancing drunken fools. He set the cup down and turned towards the bar as he saw her coming up. Holding the glass between thumb and middle finger he swirled the golden liquor slowly and glanced over at the girl who was now next to him. As she was now loser to him he realized that she was extremely young, perhaps a little out of his age range, but far more interesting then anyone else he'd seen in the bar.

Setting the cigarette down on the ash tray he finally turned and looked over to her, "An artist in this dreary bar?" He asked curiously tilting his head slightly in questioning towards her.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane jumped when one of the men at the bar addressed her. She wasn't normally approached in places like this unless the men mistook her for an escort. But this man, he knew she was an artist right off. Jane turned to face the man, her hands tightening spasmodically on the edges of her parcel. "Yes, well," Jane's accent was thick and heacy from the shock. "The owner commissioned some pieces from me a while back and I'm simply delivering them,"

Jane didn't want to appear to friendly towards the man; it had been her experience that conversing in a man in an alcohol based environment never ended well. So, after answering him, Jane perched herself more securely on the stool and adjusted her skirt so that it stayed demurely over her knees. Jane was not at all comfortable in the bar but the money the bartender owed was going to buy her some fresh produce and meat, something she hadn't had in a good, long while.