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Post by hal on Dec 27, 2010 22:18:08 GMT -5
Hal liked rock 'n' roll. He did. He really did. But sometimes he needed a change. Sometimes he needed piano and sax and deep, throaty tones of the blues world. It was coming up on the anniversary of his leg leaving him, not by choice, of course, and almost every year Hal would drift to the blues club and sip on top-shelf Black Russians while reminiscing.
The other person who was in the room with him, for only like two days, Olivia Somethingoranother, always listened to blues and got him hooked on it. Of course, he now related blues with a shitty thing, but what could he do?
Nothing. That's what.
Nothing except get wasted.
Hal was two drinks in when he realized that he didn't have a safe way to get home. Sure he could taxi, but where's the fun of riding second rate cars and paying someone to drive badly? There was no fun. Besides, he couldn't leave his bike at the club all alone.
Hal ordered a coffee next, black and strong. He decided he would wait it out for a couple hours until he was mostly sober before getting on his bike again.
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Post by kateapolt on Feb 1, 2011 0:31:30 GMT -5
As the day faded away, and the last customer had left the antique shop, the petite blond went about her routine. With her key in hand, she locked up the shop, and shuffled on towards home. The remedy for a bland day was an easy answer, she needed to feel the music within her to clean the cobwebs from her mind. The spice of a smoky room, the lazy thrill of music that lifted any moment of doubt from her mind.
Aimee made a quick wardrobe change, dotting her eyes with a fresh layer of heavy black eyeliner and placing her onyx knitted cap on her blond halo of hair. A quick overall satisfied Aimee that she looked adequate for a night in Harlem. It was really on a whim that she had discovered the jazz/blues club. The atmosphere radiated a tiny portion of her soul, and she always felt embellished after a night spent lost in heartache and sorrow of the sonorous voices of the music and the artists that made them come to life. A chirp from her cell pone brought her focus back.
A new email has been delivered to your inbox, SUBJECT: Internship at Davenport INC. >>
Aimee felt her stomach trip over itself as she quickly punched in her password to her email account. It was quite handy to have the internet at your fingertips. "Marmee" didn't understand any of her daughter's fascination and skill with the technology of the new era. She was still living in the days of old, and insisting that people would still survive even if they didn't have internet or a cellphone. A cellphone and internet access were a part of Aimee's everyday life, she honestly could say that SHE would be the one person who could not live without either. Aimee was in most respects a grounded girl. However, she had one flaw, she obsessed over monetary value and status. It was no wonder her bank account fluctuated so often. If an article in Marie Claire said that coarse hair stockings were all the rage, than Aimee would sell her soul to own a pair.
Her inbox had loaded, and Aimee opened the new message. It took just a second for her to know that she hadn't gotten this one. The bullshit, we are sorry to inform you... blah blah blah continued for a mere seven sentences. It looked like it was back to the starting line. Aimee shoved her phone into her back pocket, picked up her keys and stormed out of her studio apartment. She hailed a cab and arrogantly gave the driver her destination without a 'how do you do'. As she approached the blues club, she knew she had one goal in mind. To drown her sorrow. To shut off her emotion, for just a few hours and to pretend that she had the world in her pocket.
The dense air assaulted her senses the minute she walked into the club. With a fierceness in her demeanor she stalked up to the bartender. With a slam of her hand, she ordered a tequila shot and slammed it down. The rush of the alcohol made her dizzy for a moment, until she ordered the second shot. She almost didn't hear the sultry seduction of the music that was echoing across the room. Passing on a third, she finally allowed herself to breathe. Yes, this was what she needed.
"Here's to effing it up!" she remarked loudly as she ordered a third and slammed that down, she was giving in tonight. Tonight was a night for the devil.
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Post by hal on Feb 1, 2011 19:32:38 GMT -5
Hal was sick and tired of his coffee after two drinks and decided 'screw it' and began order hard liquor again. Hal switched over to straight vodka and knocked back a couple shots, the last one in unison with the girl who sat at the bar. He toasted with her, effing it up indeed, and swallowed quickly.
"Damn good bit of wisdom that," Hal complimented hoarsly; that vodka was strong stuff. Clearing his throat, Hal shook his head and waved the bartender over and ordered a beer. "So, what's screwed up your life today?" Besides the obvious of course. The world was going to hell in a hand basket, and everyone was drowing their sorrows. For Hal, the coffee wasn't strong enough to chase away the memory of having a leg, of remembering what it felt like. That phantom itch the docs told him about never went away, and it always seemed to be worse on the anniversary. That responsibility he had been trying to excersize with the coffee flew out the window when Hal could feel his toes and knew that they weren't there.
It was fucked to think you had both legs but when you looked down you only saw the one and a metal skeleton, mocking you, taunting you.
Hal Cooper only had one leg and it fucking killed him. Yeah, he projected that he didn't care but you know what? He had a lady that he wanted to impress, one that he liked a ton, and an old guy with one leg, scars, an ugly mug, and tattoos wasn't good enough for a Wall Street superhero.
And it was his fucking leg that was screwing it up. No way he could ever be good enough with one leg. Hal gulped down half his beer bitterly.
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Post by kateapolt on Feb 3, 2011 23:49:34 GMT -5
Out from the smoky depths, the hoarse voice came. For a moment, Aimee saw the backdrop fall away. Every now and then, without notice, came the 'winkle' as Aimee called it. To describe it was difficult, as it was a mixture of a wink, and twinkle of time. No, it wasn't some sci-fi moment, when a void opened between worlds. The 'winkle' was a mere second where time stopped, and Aimee was given inspiration for her muse. She saw clearly that this voice had history to the person who owned the symphony of sound from which it sprang.
Aimee didn't reply immediately. The world was returning and she closed her eyes a moment, it was subtle. Once she composed herself, she nodded in the direction of the stranger. Did he want the long version or the short version? She decided that the short version was sufficient and would at least allow some mode of comfort without sharing TMI.
"Falling short of expectation's" she amended, wondering if that answer would soothe the man's query. The earlier remark of a 'good bit of wisdom' came floating back to her mind. The corner's of her mouth rose in a smile, and she brushed a stray piece of her blond hair away from her face. Wisdom? Now that was a funny thought. Aimee couldn't even recall a time when 'wisdom' had been said and directed toward her direction. This stranger pulled at Aimee's curiosity. It wasn't the missing leg that drew her attention, beyond the thirty second check she had given when she first arrived, she hadn't even noticed. The man had something about him that Aimee found intriguing. There was an almost haunted look about him, but dressed on the edge of 'kick your ass'. The combination was sending sparks of imagination across her alcohol induced brain cells.
If she could remember this 'winkle' she would have to make a sketch for a new design, with her 'stranger man' muse. Aimee wondered if the man would ever be interested in sitting for a session for her? Well that all depended on how the evening panned out. Somehow she had acquired a beer, and she took a sip. The three shot glasses were sitting in a row. Another laugh spilled forth from the blond. "Looks as if I have all my duck's in a row! What brings you out in misery tonight?" She pinned her blue-eyed gaze towards the man.
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Post by hal on Feb 21, 2011 16:42:22 GMT -5
"An anniversary," Hal grunted. This girl was getting wasted. Bad shit today for her too it seemed. She was bitter and easily amused, all in one. Bit like him really.
Hal ordered another drink from the bartender even though he was still working on one. Overkill, ladies and gentlemen, was underrated. "What about you? Society pull another cock-block?" Hal didn't bother editing his words. If this kid was old enough to drink then she could handle grown-up language. He wasn't going to fucking protect when she was practically throwing herself to the wolves.
"And by cock-block I mean stop whatever grand plans you've been working on since you were two cause society's been doing a lot of that lately,"
Shut up Hal. Just...stop talking. Less chat, more drink. You've failed your mission if you don't wake up tomorrow hung over and warmed over. Like a Hungry Man Dinner. Hal was going to drink until Hell froze over (or he passed out, which ever came first) then he was gonna wake up and face the consequences.
That pain that was waiting for him in the morning was going to be a bittersweet reminder of the life that he continued to live.
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