DISSENSION -> 20-Something

 
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 20-Something, River x Rosabelle
25 | Magical | Unaffiliated
Rosie, Belle
Journalist Baltimore it's complicated Played by Cadie
shipper dragots 2600

Rosabelle hated what the heat did to her hair. She fussed with it in one hand, chiding herself for not booking an appointment with Lakeisha when she had the time. The daytime had cooled down to a crisp night. The trouble was what to do with her frizzy mane. She felt like a lion instead of a lioness. Glancing at her phone without precious bars and the buoying light of the bar, Shady Sam, ahead Rosabelle decided on the lesser evil. Stop crying or He will give you something to cry about. She took her keys out of the ignition and threw them along with her phone into her purse. She quickly pulled her dark hair into a high ponytail combing through any tangles. She touched up her makeup before she stepped outside of her vehicle. She was ever careful where she stepped, she wore high heels and did not want to chance the possibility of explaining a twisted ankle to her baby daddy.

She could hear Lucas Caldwell's smirking, “Rosie.”

“Shut up,” Rosabelle muttered. She pushed through the creaky double doors.

Rosabelle’s lips flattened into a thin line with a single glance around the establishment. She knew what type of folks were in here. They were people lost in the chaos outside and seeking temporary asylum down at the bottom of a bottle. She judged people and she judged hard.

There was a burst of laughter to break Rosabelle’s frown, if only for a second. Rosabelle was drawn, she walked with purpose toward the sound. Her heels clicked on the wooden floors until she reached the front bar. Another burst of laughter and a flurry of smaller giggles and chuckles accompanied it, Rosabelle had a face to match the warm sound. The bartender and his entourage, evident by the crowd gathered around him and the call for his attention when he was done with one customer.

The bartender was tall and handsome as hell, and apparently great with giving out the warm and fuzzies to whoever needed it.

A girl, about Rosabelle’s age, in her early twenties moved toward the empty barstool at the end of the counter. She was cute, short curly hair that framed her moon-pale face and eye-catching chic glasses. Rosabelle was faster, her glare killed questions and indignations.

Shifting her purse in front of her, Rosabelle went fishing. It seemed so strange to her, she was at the point in her life where she carried a purse with more than three items in there. Was she old yet? With a small smile of victory, she found of her phone, relieved the map on there hadn’t changed.

Great, her map hadn’t changed.

Annoyance was quick to rise. She fixed her eyes on the bartender’s own. She got the sense that she had seen him before, but she couldn’t remember where. Ignoring the itch of familiarity, she focused on the fact that he stared back. It took a rare person to look at her full.

Lucas had told her enough.

It felt like a challenge, as ridiculous as it sounded like they were in a classic western. Naturally, she was the sheriff, and he was the outlaw. Which one would one draw and shoot first? Rosabelle did not lose.

RIVER O'BRIEN
May 23 2018, 11:13 PM
24 | Magical | Unaffiliated
Riv
Bartender San Diego Single Played by MIX
shipper dragots 2800

"Keep 'em coming, barkeep!"

The rough command was met with slurred cheers of agreement, followed by a steady hum of satisfied voices that seemed to reverberate across the room amidst occasional bursts of laughter and the clinking of glass. The biting scent of alcohol in the air intermingled with cigarette smoke and faint traces of lemon detergent; the kind of miasma that stuck to everything, clinging stubbornly onto clothing and skin as it evoked distant echoes of nights barely remembered.

River stood at the center of it all, brimming with kinetic energy as he moved from one customer to another, drink at the ready, his lopsided smile free of charge.

"Game over," he mused with a raised brow at one particularly drunk patron who was nursing his nth glass of tequila. Swift fingers managed to swipe the glass away right as the man collapsed sloppily over the table, eliciting jeers and laughter from the rest of the crowd. River laughed with them, his head tipping back carelessly as he dumped what was left of the drink into the sink and made quick work of the emptied glass.

It was as if he was feeding off the misery and desperation that surrounded him, thriving as they subjected themselves to the numbing effects of intoxication and drowned their problems with a bottle of beer.

And maybe he was.

Even a dimmest of lights shined like the sun in the midst of total darkness, and the Shady Sam was as dark as it got.

The sound of bells signaled the entrance of another stranger, and River's initial reaction was to look, followed immediately by the sudden urge to duck behind the bar.

A familiar face.

And not just any face.

Willowy and lithe, her presence was as commanding as ever, her mane of curls cascading wildly down her shoulders like it had a life of its own. He'd had a name attached to that face, but it had long been swept into the recesses of his mind along with everything else that had to do with his beloved alma mater.

Unwillingly, he steeled himself and calmly turned away even though some absurd part of him didn't want to. It didn't help that he was suddenly hyper-aware of her, the graceful curves of her silhouette like a glaring spotlight in his periphery. It was distracting.

No amount of polishing could keep his mind occupied. The crowd around him only served as a flimsy wall that did little to cut her off from his field of vision, especially after she'd taken a seat by the far end of the counter.

He felt her eyes on him and he'd moved without thinking, his own flickering towards her a little too eagerly.

Shit.

There was no turning away now, no way of taking back that glance without looking like a total dick. So he stared back, lips twitching ever so slightly as he tried not to smile - a self-defense mechanism he'd picked up over the years whenever he was faced with anything uncomfortable. She was a customer after all.

"Can I get you anything? We've got, uh, booze. "

No shit.

He should have ducked behind the bar when he had the chance.

River smiled.

TAG ROSABELLE WALKER

Jun 21 2018, 01:48 AM
25 | Magical | Unaffiliated
Rosie, Belle
Journalist Baltimore it's complicated Played by Cadie
shipper dragots 2600

The bartender had a cute smile that melted the ice off Rosabelle’s glare.

“I noticed,” Rosabelle said, her lips twisted into a faint smile. It was there for a second and gone in the next. “Can you help with directions? Please.”

A part of Rosabelle, stubborn and prideful, hoped he would say no. Something to the effect that he was just as clueless as her. It irritated her to admit she needed help. She liked to do for herself and expected the same of everyone else. The other part of her, rigid as her core of common sense told her to get over herself.

Rosabelle was a wandless single woman driving with tags from out of state. It made zero sense to be out there in the dark playing chicken and inviting trouble.

Rosabelle abruptly dropped her stare for her phone. She unlocked it, sliding it over so he could see it too.

“I need to get to Stearns Wharf,” she said. Forget the prior thirty minutes she spent with road rage as she took this way and that.

Stearns Wharf was not her exact destination. She figured it was close enough to the strip of hotels alongside a major tourist attraction. Aside from that, she already admitted was lost. It would be stupid to give out more information. Her shoulders were stiff as she met eyes with the bartender again, waiting to see if he could help. This should be a moment where Rosabelle flushed from embarrassment, smirked flirtatiously, or did a coy mixture between the two. Instead, she squinted. It paired well with the beginnings of an annoyed pucker on her pink lips. The longer she looked at him, the more her interest piqued.

She knew him, like a word on the tip of her tongue. It was the type of familiarity born out of tens of minute encounters, brushing moments, but not solid enough for a foundation. It was enough to draw her closer, arms folding on the bar counter, expectant. “And one more thing, have we met before?”

TAG RIVER O'BRIEN

Jul 9 2018, 11:39 PM
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