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Post by Trisha Morello on Jun 15, 2012 15:10:31 GMT -5
His blatant reply caught her off guard slightly and she turned her head to him curiously, quirking a dark eyebrow inquisitively. She looked down at his food while he explained himself, watching him use his fork to wedge off a piece of the breaded entree. It looked tasty, but she wasn't hungry. She was never hungry. She was always just thirsty. So with that thought, she took another drink from her glass.
His next words also caught her off guard. She couldn't help but feel they were passive aggressive and at first she wanted to growl and tell him to watch his mouth. Instead, she smirked slightly, the corner of her lips twitching into a cruel smile.
"Not at all," she said easily, turning back to her drink and looking down at it. "That old man had it coming though," she said in a bitter tone. "There are people in worse situations than him and he is begging for money. I was there not to long ago," Trisha added hastily, angrily, spitefully. "You don't see me on the floor begging for some fucking money." She wanted to spit at the thought. She finished her drink and motioned for the bartender before she was even done swallowing. She needed this. She needed a lot more. As soon as it was filled, she downed it.
She'd lost track of how many she'd drank by now. She coughed slightly at the last shot, feeling a bit lightheaded. And she was grateful for that. This is the feeling she wanted - drunkenness. She turned her eyes back to Julian and she smiled slightly. "And you're a fucking janitor. See? People can do great things if they apply themselves." Her words were meant to be cruel and it was a mystery why she would be so rude to a person who had been so nice to her.
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Post by Julian McAllister on Jun 15, 2012 23:29:07 GMT -5
Though one of the other patrons nearby seemed to look over with disdain at Trisha's comment, it was completely lost on her companion, who only laughed in amusement. He looked away from her briefly to poke at some more of his macaroni dish, spreading some of the cheese and noodles around so the cool air of the bar could cool it off before it was devoured, allowing the steam to waft up and into the atmosphere of his personal space, filling it with the sweet smell of fresh cheeses and the like. But the smile, full and genuine, never dropped from his features, not even as he looked back in reply. It was like he was blind to any of the young woman's hostilities.
"That is the truth, that is the truth."
He nodded in agreement, the movement stirring some of the dark strands of hair that had been hung behind one ear and the fell forward across his temple with the lightest of touches. Then he paused, using his free hand to brush the strands back into place, finding them terribly distracting.
"It has to make one wonder why there are so many homeless beggars in this city in the first place. I've failed my whole life and I've still managed to stay employed for the passed six months. It's a simple wonder what those men and women left sleeping on the subway tracks must be doing wrong. Where in their minds, in their lives, does it all go wrong?"
Julian trailed off thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to the mirror mounted beyond the bar, as though he saw something deep within it.
"I suppose you would know more about it than I ever would, but the curiosity cannot be helped." |
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Post by Trisha Morello on Jul 18, 2012 21:22:29 GMT -5
His lack of retaliation at her words was slightly infuriating. He simply laughed her insult off like she was making a joke. It was impossible to get a rise out of the guy. He made a few comments that were mostly lost on her as she felt her head swimming with the alcohol she had been downing. She wondered how much she was going to cost the guy since alcohol in bars wasn't cheap and this place looked more pricey than what she was used to. Would a janitor be able to afford it? The thought made her almost laugh. What if he wouldn't be able to pay the bill? Would he get mad then? It was almost a challenge at this point - to make the guy angry. To get him to react.
Trisha couldn't help but feel like his next words were meant as an insult. Despite the fact that she had practically said those words herself, hearing him say them got a rise out of her. She jumped to her feet and turned on her companion harshly, glaring at him angrily. Her head spun for a moment at the quick movement.
"Hey!" she said loudly. "Don't suppose anything about me! At least I'm not cleaning up toilets and mopping halls. I bet no one even notices you!" A truth she was also familiar with, yet she put it on someone else, denying any association with it.
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Post by Julian McAllister on Jul 25, 2012 1:40:25 GMT -5
The heightened tone, the sharp words, the overall nature of the accusation was enough to get a reaction out of him and the lanky werewolf shifted momentarily in his seat, rearranging his legs where they bent from the stool. Something about the nature of it as a sound, the force behind this girl's way of speaking, it was like being hit in the chest with a metal baseball bat and he couldn't help but reel a little, not from the words but from the sound itself. It was fascinating, even, the idea that someone so small could be so... forceful. Though her attempts at insult continued to go unnoticed.
Raising an eyebrow, Julian tilted his head away thoughtfully before casually turning back with a toothy grinning smile that held none of his earlier displayed fear or surprise. He was not afraid of Trisha, not by a long shot. Not that he was brave or anything, but until she gave him something to fear, he wouldn't, and a short temper and bad attitude were certainly nothing to hide from. So he met them head on with a laugh and a pleasant shrug.
"You're right again, love." He smiles casually, not even noticing the pet name that slipped his tongue. His parents, and his father in particular, used to call everyone 'love'. By now, it's just a habit. "I could go missing from work for three days straight and no one would notice besides the ticker, and maybe my favorite mop and bucket..."
Trailing off thoughtfully, remembering his favorite set of tools from the shop- the mop with the super long handle and the tall bucket with wheels that never spilled, and in his moment of distraction, Julian found his slender fingers around the glass he'd be handed earlier. All of the alcohol was still seated within it, untouched, but suddenly, he found himself drawing shapes in the condensation on the glass with his thumb before seeming to remember that he was trying to avoid drinking and pulling his hand away to fidget with something else. It found a loose thread on his bluejeans that it could toy with instead.
"Do they notice you?"
Julian popped up suddenly, raising his eyes from the ministrations of his talented fingers to meet Trish's hard gaze with nothing but blank curiosity.
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Post by Trisha Morello on Jul 30, 2012 12:31:45 GMT -5
Again, he didn't seem offended by her words, and Trisha was on the verge of giving up completely. This man just would not budge. Did she need to hit him? At this point, it was her drunken state that drove her on and encouraged her. But it was also her mean nature. She wanted to see this man upset for no other reason other than to just see him upset. This was probably why she had no friends. Who could possibly stand to be around someone who made it their goal to make everyone around them miserable? Trisha swayed in her stance as she huffed out angrily.
She was about to sit down and give up, but then she heard his last words. Do they notice you? What kind fo question was that? It was a harsh realization that she really was no one. No one cared about her. No one noticed her. The only reason anyone ever noticed her was when she put on a show - made a scene, did something loud and obnoxious. It was the only acknowledgement she got. Her harsh words were a way of getting people to notice her. How sad.
Trisha's eyes turned on him in anger. She saw him thumbing his glass and she grabbed it from him even as he resigned from drinking it. She down the glass and slammed it down on the bartop.
"You better bet they notice me!" she shouted, her words stringing together slightly. "Unlike you," she said, jabbing a finger to his chest, "I'm not wasting my life away cleaning up bathrooms. You can't possibly be content with your life, can you?" She huffed in judgment and looked down her nose at him.
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Post by Julian McAllister on Jul 30, 2012 23:50:23 GMT -5
And this was when it hit him. Oh my, she was actually affronted by this conversation...
The realization was silent, but punctuated by a moment's hesitation as his instincts reeled. This was escalating into something of a confrontation, something that Julian liked to avoid, particularly when it public. Fighting was simply never a pleasant activity for him, either as a participant or a witness, and he made it such a personal goal to avoid it if he could. So somewhere in his mind, a quiet alarm bell was ringing. He had offended this woman, and his immediate instinct was to apologize or try to calm her in some way to avoid making a scene, to avoid her disliking him. But, as the situation replayed in his mind, the socialite realized that apologies would do him no good with this one.
She was lying. Or doing something of that nature. If he'd bothered to pay any lick of attention, he'd realized that he'd picked it out of the air, that scent, that flavor of concern over impending doom that was not there. She feared something, though feared it however slightly. But instead, he chocked it up to her over-the-top posturing instead, eyes following her hand casually as she jabbed him in the chest. The motion did not hurt, but he pretended to be offset slightly by it anyway, flinching more to be polite rather than feeling a legitimate need to. She probably wanted to see that anyway, to feel as though she had some power over him. Honestly, she probably did, but whatever it was, it was far from physical. Still remarkably unphased by her display, the taller lycan reached over to reclaim his now empty glass, casually returning to fidgeting with it with one hand. He spun the glass softly in its place, watching the light play with its reflection on the bar counter as though they were spelling out messages for him.
"Why can't I be?" He asked curiously again, slightly accented voice still smooth and calm as it had always been, and his blue eyes jumped from the counter to Trisha's face inquisitively. "Aren't you content with yours? With all of the... attention, for lack of a better word for this."
At the word 'this', he used a free hand to gesture vaguely in the empty space between them. The movement released one of the sleeves on his coveralls accidentally and it fell limply over his wrist. Julian gave the sleeve a moment's stare, as close to a glare as he probably ever got with anything, and then proceeded to roll the sleeve back into place above his elbow.
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Post by Trisha Morello on Aug 6, 2012 23:08:54 GMT -5
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hurt him. It was awful how much pain and discomfort she wanted to put upon this man. He had done nothing to her, and yet she was intent on making him ache. She wanted to hurt him with her words. How poetic. Convincing herself that she wasn't hating what she was. Pretending that she wasn't hurting while trying so hard to make everyone else miserable, telling herself she was happy, content. She was anything but bitter.
He spoke to her, called her out even in a hinted way. She crinkled her nose angrily.
"And how can you not aspire to be anything more than a janitor?" His logic didn't make sense to her. He was happy with his life? Happy mopping floors and being ignored as people left their messes in his halls and his bathrooms? Did he have no desires? No passion? No ambition? But what did she aspire to become? This couldn't possibly have been it. Getting drunk whenever she could and screaming at others in equally bad or worse situations.
Trisha took in a deep breath before setting herself back down on the stool rather ungracefully. She huffed out a sigh and held her head up with on hand, a long frown on her lips. "Are you slow, or something? Do I look content?" She rolled her eyes before turning her body away from him, giving him a view of the back of her head. "God, you're an idiot," she scoffed, unsure whom exactly her words were meant for.
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Post by Julian McAllister on Aug 8, 2012 1:23:08 GMT -5
He was about to smile, he was. Not out of glee or some sick twisted sense of victory, although that is probably how it would be taken. To be fair, that is what spurred most people to grin in a situation of this nature. But the lycan was simply amused, impressed even, by the young woman's resolve. He really knew next to nothing about her, and kept attempting to remain humble in his assumptions, but if there is one thing obvious about Trish it was her desire to fight and stand tall in the face of anything. A natural coward, Julian found this a very respectable trait. But then, before he could show it, it was gone and his blue eyes had to follow the smaller form down back into her seat at the bar, slumped and deflated in a strangely non-tangible way. Physically, she was fine, she had not been struck or attacked in any way, yet still she slumped like her spine at been ripped out. It all seemed like such a strange and foreign emotion to him, that kind of guttural sadness that almost seeped through the skin and back out into the air like a toxic gas that could be smelled or tasted.
So Julian frowned instead, also a relatively foreign expression for his features. His eyebrows jumped to the center of his forehead and pale skin creased around the dark hairs, valleys of deep concern for someone he know so shallowly but genuine all the same. He even turned his head slightly, training his gaze down the edge of his nose as though trying to read some etched across his companion's arms.
"Oh no." He finally started with something that was not really a laugh, more of a loud huffing exhale to punctuate the light-hearted tone in his voice. He was never good at being overly serious, even when the situation called for it, even when he knew it. "This conversation is all yours now, don't you try and turn it around on me. I'm very content as a janitor. I love my family, I have two... well, one great brother, an apartment in an awesome city... So this is all yours now. Why aren't you?"
Julian paused thoughtfully, still studying Trish with an unwavering gaze that drifted only slightly as someone across the room dropped a glass to the floor loudly. He side-eyed the big burly customer curiously for less than a moment of time before turning back.
"I mean, I understand your point-no one wants to work for minimum wage forever. But where you work, how much money you make, that says nothing about the value of one's life. I've met plenty of people down on their luck who are ten times the men and women who live in those mansions in Beverly Hills. There's more to living than getting what you want one-hundred-percent of the time. What about the people you meet, whose lives you've changed, or the places you've seen, the ideas you've shared that may have sparked others? That could all be important too, right?"
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Post by Trisha Morello on Sept 4, 2012 1:55:02 GMT -5
He kept talking and Trisha kept the back of her head turned to him. She mouthed along with him, mocking him and making faces as she did so - much like the way she would to her mother when her mother was nagging her to do some chores. It was a childish thing to do, but really, Trisha was only a girl. He was preaching to her now, going on and on about how life didn't amount to how much money you had - but the people you met and the changes you brought in them. Sure, she met someone who brought about a change in her. Did that amount to something she should be happy about? And what about the people she's changed? Trisha couldn't name one person who she left a lasting impression with. Other than the impression of, oh that girl who was really drunk and started a brawl fight. Yeah, that was really funny. That was the only impression she could think of.
And she didn't want to think about the next to nothing she's amounted to. It only angered her because deep down she knew she was no better than the people in the subways begging for change. She wasn't any better off. She had an apartment, sure, but that's because she got lucky with someone she met. Again, someone changed her life, but she had yet to change someone else. She didn't care though! She kept telling herself she didn't care.
So she swirled around, angrily again.
"I don't need a fucking sermon, doc. Why don't you go change some lives." Trisha suddenly stood up from her bar stool, nearly losing her balance as all the blood drained from her head. She swayed in her stance before storming out of the bar, leaving the man with an incredibly large tab. The bartender looked over to him pointedly, fully expecting payment.
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