Batofar

[The Exodus]

Natalie Blackwood

Natalie’s voice almost surprised her. She had been wishing and praying to be her twenty-something self; her wish was granted in all but physicality. Puns, plays-on-words, innuendos—she’d excelled in them all then, had earned admirers with them. Somehow, marriage and motherhood stamped that out of her. Or so she’d thought.

Now, it was as if the younger, more interesting Natalie was coming out of cryogenics, still looking for fun, as if she hadn’t been married and divorced. As if not a day had gone by.

She smiled at Myron—more of a smirk, really—even though on the inside, Natalie’s stomach swooped down to her toes. It was like the first time she’d flirted with a stranger.

It was the first time she’d flirted with a stranger.

Head up high, Nat. You look down once, and you’ll fall.

"You should watch what you say, Natalie," Myron purred. His eyes had gained intensity and they locked on hers. Natalie could feel the heat emanating from them. "Talk of stimulation can make a man act out."

Her lips parted to reveal her teeth. She tried to recall her last fully-fledged smile since the divorce. Tonight was all about firsts.

"Or maybe," Myron continued. His glass clacked onto the bar; his hand brushed hers. The shock almost bowled her over. "That wouldn't be such a bad thing."

“Maybe?” Natalie echoed. She traced the back of Myron's hand lightly with her finger tips. “I’d almost guarantee it wasn’t a bad thing. Of course, a lot of that depends on the man in question.”

Her smirk was downright devilish. She had to drown out the voice of her adult self, which was protesting that it was unbecoming of a woman of her background, her stature, her history, hitting on a man ten years her junior like a wanton predator.

But her adult self could wait. Natalie Blackwood had spent a lifetime making the right choices and it had never gotten her anywhere worth getting. She was at her best making mistakes . Maybe tonight, she’d make a few with Myron Bolitar.

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

Myron Bolitar continued to bore into Natalie Blackwood's eyes, and in the back of his mind, Myron was working on drowning out all of the voices that were reminding him of why he was really here, and that this was insane, what the hell was he doing? Myron let himself never leave her eyes though, and he figured it would help by forgetting everything that were like strings attached to him. She had no idea about the baggage he had and the other way around. Now it clicked. This is why it was so thrilling. So wrong, but that's half of the appeal. This was steamy and dangerous. Myron Bolitar had danger brought to him in these past months, but he never went out looking for it. This was the right kind of danger too. Natalie Blackwood was a gorgeous kind of danger, but that was the best kind, wasn't it?

Apparently the word of the day was danger, ladies and gentlemen.

“Maybe?”

Myron felt his breath getting caught in his throat when her fingertips began running along his hand. The faintest touches were the most explosive. Especially when it had been forever since Myron Bolitar had been touched by a woman in such a sensual way.

“I’d almost guarantee it wasn’t a bad thing. Of course, a lot of that depends on the man in question.”

Oh, it was totally on. Myron Bolitar was turned on when her expression changed to a flat out naughty expression. Natalie wasn't trying to hide it anymore, and Myron was sick of beating around the bush. They weren't going to suddenly get to know one another more or become best friends that go to Claire's to get charm bracelets before sex at the bar, so what the hell were they wasting time for? Who were they kidding? It was time to man up.

"If you're guaranteeing and it all depends on this said, 'man in question'-" Which was Myron, for those who haven't done the math yet.

In a sharp sudden move, Myron snapped his wrist up and snatched her hand that was tracing his into his hand holding it upward in a firm but sensual grip. Turning his head, he looked at her hand, examining it and bringing it closer to his face right near his lips, but not kissing it- just teasing.

"Then Natalie Blackwood, I have no idea what we are still doing here."

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James


If Toddy St. James could pluck the pathetic past Toddy St. James up from his chamber of doom and show him the future, he would have been a much more prettier person back in the day. Now, as he sit with a cosmo at hand, the latest expensive fashion clung to his went-down-a-size body, and his glamorous best girlfriend perked up with him at the bar, Toddy realized how beautiful life was. Tonight was a celebration! Toddy St. James was a fierce b*tch, and Paris was just a pitiful city that he was gracing his presence tonight! Toddy had the authority to speak like this now, because for so long did Paris treat him like some common Britney Spears, during Kevin F. times- which was trampy scum. Because there were hot changes coming in his life now, and this was the new and improved Toddy St. James. It was like Toddy had been the Ulta, and now he was the Sephora. Toddy St. James had the love of his life, a new closet full of trends, and...

"To a new fabulous job and a new fabulous best friend!" Toddy St. James cried out, flapping a hand out in excitement, as he lifted up his cosmo to cling against Madeleine de Chandon's drink.

That's right, a new job and best friend. Toddy St. James needed changes and he needed them in a snap. So, one morning he dolled up a little more dolly than usual and set out with a determination in his sparkling shoes. With a little bit of the networks he had made from his past job at the Rouge, he set up an interview, and he had his own little segment on Paris' hottest radio station. There, he would chit chat about fashion, gossip, the latest trends and deals, and just whatever was nabbing at Toddy St. James that day. Toddy St. James was being paid to be himself. How effing fetch, right? The people of Paris would now bow down to his fashion sense, be longing to hear the spiciest new gossip, and just be so interested in him as a person. Toddy would have to work on his radio voice, but for now, he would celebrate the fact that his goal to be the Perez equivalent of Paris was coming true.

Goodbye Moulin Rouge! And goodbye Myron Bolitar!

So that sounded tre' harsh, and Toddy St. James really was not saying goodbye to Myron Bolitar. Myron would always be that irking, hetero brother he would always and forever have. That's what Toddy needed to view him as though, because they acted like it. In the best of ways and the worst of ways. They needed that outlet from each other, and that's when Toddy realized he had made a boo boo. It was like he was labeling a fake Chanel a real Chanel, when it really was a Dior. It was still top of the line, but just not the right one. Toddy St. James needed a girlfriend, a best friend. Myron Bolitar wasn't cutting it. He was giving Toddy something else, but not what Toddy needed. He was off being a 'bro' or whatever those dirty things were called with Zorro Ortiz. Now he just needed to get the hell out Myron's apartment.

In conclusion though, Toddy St. James needed his Maddy boo.

"It just feels so right." He moaned with a grin, winking over at her.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Before she got drunk again, Madeleine wanted to take a moment and mentally kick herself for not inviting Toddy on her and Ashton’s let’s-egg-the-Rouge spree. They’d been so blind drunk that night that she didn’t remember much about it except running and running in her high heels to get away from a car that wasn’t Myron’s and then washing her yolky hands. She didn’t remember how she’d gotten home or when. The next thing in the sequence of her memories was waking up to a ringing phone that triggered her migraine and telling Lucian Michaud “to take a f*cking chill pill” and that Ashton would be fine with a couple co-codamol and some sleep.

But seriously. If Madeleine had only known Toddy was quitting the Rouge, he would have joined them for a bit of eggy fun. That she did remember. That it was fun. That was about it. Oh, well.

The point was, tonight was just as much of a celebration as she and Ashton had had, severing ties with the Rouge because Toddy, too, was joining Team Independence. Okay, so maybe he had a boyfriend and Ashton had a fiancée (who were son and father. So that was sufficiently creepy). And that wasn’t exactly “independent”, but you know what?

They were all on their own two feet with jobs these days. Close enough.

"To a new fabulous job and a new fabulous best friend!" Toddy crowed, meeting his glass to Madeleine’s.

Madeleine grinned. New best friend. Like they hadn’t been destined to be BFFs from the start. Puh-leeze. It was so painfully obvious they were a better match. If their shared passions for fashion, alcohol, gossip, and attractive people didn’t indicate that they were probably separated at birth, Madeleine didn’t know what did. Madeleine tossed back her drink. Gin, four sugars, slice of lime. Perfection. One gulp.

"It just feels so right."

“Mmm,” Madeleine said, swallowing and setting down her glass. She reached over and gave Toddy’s arm a squeeze. “No kidding. I’m so happy for you, babe.”

She’d be tuning in to his radio show daily. Even if she was running rehearsals. Especially if she was running rehearsals. She couldn’t imagine a better calming influence than her best friend, kvetching in the background. Soundtrack of her life.

“So, details,” she said, letting go of him and rapping her knuckles on the bar for another drink. “When do you go on air?”

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

Tonight, Toddy St. James would not accept their levels any less than belligerent. It was that kind of celebration and they were that sorts of fun tonight. There was nothing like drunken tantrums in a ritzy establishment with one of his honeys. Something about it scream Sex and the City, and something about that was bucket list crossing off worthy. If there were two people that could pull off drunk and bring some class to it, it was them. When Madeleine finished off her entire glass in one gulp, Toddy St. James knew it was just going to be that kind of night, and he was so ready. The question was was Paris ready?

"Mmm."

Toddy smirked from under his sip of drink as Madeleine gave his arm a squeeze.

“No kidding. I’m so happy for you, babe.”

'Proud' was something that Toddy St. James didn't get quite often. Unless he had done some great job being sent out to get gossipy information from someone, and had accomplished doing so, which he always did. This was such a different feeling, and oh honey, could he ever get use to it. The accomplishment and feeling of how he was above all the people now, felt damn good. The fact that Toddy could actually now pay for his tab at the bar and Madeleine's- Well, that was just a downright dangerous luxury to have.

“So, details. When do you go on air?”

Toddy St. James snapped his finger along with Maddy's rasping on the bar for another drink. How many cosmos can a gay man have? Never enough. Toddy gave the bartender a 'thank you' wave, and turned to Madeleine.

"I start next Monday. " He gushed, putting both hands on her lap. "It's a segment at three in the afternoon until four thirty. So," Toddy proudly sang out, brushing off his shoulders. "One hour and thirty minutes of my voice being heard by all!"

Toddy clasped his hands and let out an excited squeal. Turning back to the bar, which now had to lovely drinks for them on it, he grabbed them both, handing Madeleine hers.

"And I already got my first beginning cash flow, which is why tonight's on me." He winked at her with a devious grin. "So drink up, lover."

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine refused to say she was “proud” of Toddy. There was no word in the whole wide world more condescending. “I’m proud of you” implied that they weren’t living up to your standard before. Toddy surpassed standard. Toddy was her BFF. She wasn’t “proud of him”. Proud implied that she had something to do with his success. She didn’t. Madeleine wasn’t “proud”. She was ecstatic. She wanted to hop up on the bar and propose a toast to him and get the crowd so pumped he could crowd surf if he wanted to. She wasn’t “proud” of him. She was thrilled.

God, had it only been a year ago—two years?—since that day they met in the Moulin Rouge, when he helped her hook up the computerized sound-system during rehearsals, rescuing her from her junky-*ss boombox? See? Even their first meeting indicated that Toddy’s future had something to do with radios.

Toddy plopped both his hands into Madeline’s lap. She put her hands on top of his.

"I start next Monday," he gushed. "It's a segment at three in the afternoon until four thirty. So," Toddy proudly sang out, brushing off his shoulders. "One hour and thirty minutes of my voice being heard by all!"

Oh, yeah. She was definitely tuning in. It was smack in the middle of rehearsals. Her students would learn how to chasse and go up on point as Toddy gave running commentary about Paris’ top fashion houses and fashion plates. Utterly divine.

Toddy squealed and Madeleine’s grin widened, stretching beyond the limits she thought it could. Toddy handed Madeleine her drink.

"And I already got my first beginning cash flow,” Toddy told her. “which is why tonight's on me." He winked at her with a devious grin. "So drink up, lover."

“Aww, honey…” Toddy did not pay for things readily. This was probably the biggest honor he could bestow on a gal. Madeleine could get used to this Toddy as her BFF. She raised her glass in a salutatory toast. “To your kick-*ss new career!”

And now, bottoms up!

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James

Alert the media because Toddy St. James was picking up a tab.

There was a power to the whole, picking up the tab tango. Toddy St. James was a brand new dancer to this, and paying for a night of endless drinking with his best girlfriend ever felt pretty priceless. Do not get him in the wrong, being paid for was a major luxury Toddy was accustomed to during most of his life, but this princess was growing up into a Queen, and honey did it feel good. There was always something about the person always getting paid for in a bar- they were obviously some kind of royalty. Being on the other side, now that was power glamour. Toddy St. James could get use to the treating bit. Plus, it was about damn time he paid for a tab.

"Awww, honey."

Toddy St. James glared with a smirk over at Madeleine, who probably was just as shocked as he was.

"To your kick-*ss new career!”

Without even hesitation, the new dynamic darling duo drank their new drinks entirely. It burnt so heavenly, and Toddy St. James couldn't help but feel like the alcohol tasted different when he actually was paying for it. Richer in taste, and he made sure he was savoring each heavenly moment of it. The plan was that soon, this radio bombshell would be buying booze by the bottles!

"The girls are out and about tonight." Toddy St. James sang out, outlining the rim of his glass with his ringed pointer finger, glaring devilishly at Madeleine's breasts, which he totally had a gay crush on. Lets face it, if Toddy was into the woman world, he would so want a woman with those, and if he was a woman, he'd so want a pair like that.

With an even wider grin, he took his mini straw, leaning over the bar top and looking at her biting down on the straw. "Anyone been enjoyin' those lately?"

It was Toddy St. James' way of getting the low down on his girl's love life.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

The gin slid down Madeleine’s gullet so smooth and sweet that she didn’t feel the burn until it hit her stomach. It lit her insides on fire and set the rest of her happily ablaze. She shut her eyes, savoring the sensation. Each lightheaded moment, each tingling in her toes.

"The girls are out and about tonight," said Toddy. And until Madeleine opened her eyes, she thought he meant the two of them.

But Toddy wasn’t even attempting at eye-contact. Madeleine realized her best friend—her gay best friend—was ogling her breasts. Her smile died from her eyes, if not from her lips. She looked a little frozen, tentative to react. What the--?

"Anyone been enjoyin' those lately?" Toddy asked.

Ugh. Men. All of them, just staring at her like “those” were a nice paint job on a car or some particularly fine fenders. Or worse: a prime cut. Even her best friend saw her as a talking set of knockers. Great. Sometimes, she wondered if she really was nothing more than a nice set and all the brainy bits and years of dance training were moot points. She was proud of her body; she enjoyed flaunting it. But, seriously? She’d expect that as a really bad pick up line. Not a conversation piece.

“Clearly you are,” she said with an eye roll. Then, breezily, toying with her drink: “Watch yourself, T. You’ve got a boyfriend now. Wouldn’t want him to think you were batting for the other team now.”

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James


"Clearly you are."

It was a sassier tone than Toddy St. James had anticipated. He spazzed over a look and gave her a, 'well, duh' look. Madeleine didn't seem too delighted by the comment and didn't look all that thrilled suddenly. Toddy would kill for that set and half of Paris would too. Someone was having a moment ...

"Watch yourself, T. You’ve got a boyfriend now. Wouldn’t want him to think you were batting for the other team now.”

This made Toddy laugh and return to his drink, bringing it up perkily to his lips. "Oh, please sweetie, I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole." He truthfully said, taking a nice goodly swig and dropping his glass down. "Gay men have an infatuation with them, you know that."

It was true. The gays would never kiss, fondle, do the deed with any woman, and the mere thought made something steamy and moist boil in their mouths, but boobs and a gay man were a diffferent story. It dated back and was a known fact. Something about them a Queen could not resist staring and admiring. Jealousy? Perhaps. They made men look. It would be easy to have something that just... made men's jaw dropped like that. Oh, how easy the life would be.

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Madeleine had only met Toddy’s boyfriend a handful of times at wedding stuff for Ashton and Lucian’s upcoming nuptials, mostly. Best man, maid of honor and all that jazz. From what she understood via the gossip grapevine, Michaud Jr. was utterly crazy for Toddy. And by gossip grapevine, she meant Ashton and Bill. Small world. But, anyways, from what they said, or rather, from what Madeleine interpreted from what they said, Damien would probably go off some crazy artist’s handle if he even thought Toddy was ogling. No matter how innocent the ogling was. Well, as innocent as Toddy St. James could muster. Despite the name, the man wasn’t exactly a saint. Madeleine wouldn’t want him to be. She wondered fleetingly how one defined the difference between “ogling” and studying a subject for artistic pursuits. The guy had no room to judge, since he’d probably spent most of his college days staring at naked people from every angle.

"Oh, please sweetie, I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole," Toddy insisted. And there it was: the difference between ogling and whatever Toddy was doing. Look, never touch. Never dream of touching. She guessed artists’ didn’t feel up their subjects, either, so maybe they actually trusted each other. Huh. Imagine that. "Gay men have an infatuation with them, you know that."

“Psh. Men have a infatuation with them in general,” Madeleine said. And some women, she thought, but didn’t say. In her experience, women were more discerning and more critical. She took a swig from her gin. “So. Changing the subject. What’s your first segment going to be?”

[Deleted]

Toddy St. James


“Psh. Men have a infatuation with them in general."

Toddy St. James nodded, attempting to understand the so-called annoyance women put up with when men stared at their woman goodies, but honestly, Toddy wished he was graced with something that made the men stare and drool. Not that he would appreciate being a woman, because all womanly parts were just absolutely horrid, and he enjoyed being a woman without having those things, but how the hell was it fair that women got the magical baggage? Toddy St. James had a real Louis, that should have been enough magical baggage for four sets of girls, but the world did not appreciate high class fashion if it hit them all in the pores.

“So. Changing the subject. What’s your first segment going to be?”

Toddy St. James rose his eyebrows and huffed out, looking down at his drink, "Probably donate to the 'Toddy get the hell out of Myron's man cove apartment' foundation." It was a random vent, but something that was throbbing on Toddy's temples these past few days. Like, seriously, he was sick of living off of Bolitar's dollar. Especially since they weren't best friends anymore. They were like brothers, as Myron put it, but Toddy would be an only sibling for as long he as he could live- sibling love, he did not due. That was too giving and emotional. As if he needed that right now. Toddy St. James could only give out so much.

"Kidding." He said, taking a sip of his drink. Sighing with a grin, he bit down on his finger, "I figured it it'd strike me when I see the inspiration." He told her, "Paris has many a fashion don't and drama for me not to worry."

With enthusiasm, Toddy St. James flapped a hand out, playfully hitting her on the shoulder, "Promise me you'll be a guest star sometime, Maddy!"

[The Exodus]

Madeleine de Chandon

Getting the inside scoop on Toddy’s radio show was basically like gossiping. Juicy details that nobody else yet knew. Utterly delicious. Madeleine wondered if she was actually salivating.

"Probably donate to the 'Toddy get the hell out of Myron's man cove apartment' foundation.”

Madeleine pursed her lips. Sometimes, she (intentionally) forgot that Toddy lived with Myron. She wondered if that was why he wanted to know if anyone had been “enjoying” her body lately. If Myron had sent him to spy a little. She wanted a cigarette. She’d probably breeze through a pack after this tonight anyways, just because Toddy was in love and working his dream job, Ashton was getting married, and Myron was obviously spying on her.

"Kidding," Toddy said, daintily sipping from his drink and chomping down on his finger playfully. "I figured it it'd strike me when I see the inspiration. Paris has many a fashion don't and drama for me not to worry. Promise me you'll be a guest star sometime, Maddy!"

“It’d be an honor, hon,” she said, forgetting all thoughts of Toddy the Spy. “Of course, we want you to keep your job, so you’ll have to remind me what I can and cannot say on live radio.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Being out late and dancing night away with her friends was a side to Solange she rarely ever let people see. Normally she was very straight-laced, though admittedly sarcastic. A night like this was something she was in desperate need of a long week of dealing with heartbroken mourners and broken down hearses. This was her night to relax and forget about everything from the week and hang with the few friends who had stuck by her after learning she worked at a funeral parlor now.

Though it was times like this, partying at a club with her friends, that she couldn't help but recall her more rebellious years. Back then she had been all goth make-up and reckless attitude. She had caused her poor grandmother more than enough heartache and Solange dwelt on those years with a sort of guilt and shame. It was those same feelings that had caused her to follow her grandmother's wishes and take the job at the funeral parlor in the first place.

With a quick signal to her friends, she left the dance floor, red dress flowing behind her as she made her way up to the bar. It earned her a fair share of glances her way which made Solange grin to herself. Red lips pulled into a smile as she ordered a mojito. A moment later the bartender returned with her drink, saying some guy at the end of the bar had paid for her.

She grinned and waved at him in thanks as she sipped her drink. Oh yeah, she had definitely missed this. Here everything was alive and pulsing and exciting. There were no hearses. No bereaved widows. No dead bodies. It was a nice change of pace.

And then she glanced around the rest of the bar and her eyes landed on a very large and familiar figure.

"Tristan?!"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan had once read an article in Mortuary Science Monthly stating that morticians had high rates of alcoholism and chemical dependency. He’d called “bullsh*t” and thrown that month’s magazine in the garbage. Well, for that day. He’d fished it out the following morning because he needed the article about safely cremating obese decedents without starting grease fires. And every time he flipped through that magazine for reference, he came across the statistic blurb. So as a general rule, Tristan did not go out and party.

But there were nights where the job got to him. He spent his days in somber silence with a snippy secretary for company. Or else he was expressing his condolences in a way that was so emotionally neutral that Tristan sometimes wondered if he could still feel sadness or anguish, grief. He was on call all day, every day. And at the end of his day – whenever that was – he went home to a sparse apartment on the bad side of town, where the pile of dishes was never ending and the only one waiting for him was a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. There were nights when his insomnia left him awake and staring at the peeling ceiling above his head, unable to shake images of bloated bodies and wasted lives. Young people – people his age – who never accomplished anything before the Grim Reaper came their way. No family of their own, half a career left behind, a fistful of friends who would someday get on with their lives.

A girl like that had been on his embalming table today. She was twenty-nine, a librarian or something. A neighbor had found her because her cat had been yowling for four days. Tristan didn’t even have a cat to do him that courtesy. And on the drive home, all he could think was that in a year or so, if something went wrong, that would basically be him.

He knew it was irrational. He had friends. It would have been less than four days before Gwen or Torben stumbled on him. Gwen trekked to his office if he didn’t pick up after three calls. And no doubt she would be devastated. Torben might be, too, but he’d probably ask Solange if he could still do a body study. Tristan wouldn’t mind. Well, he wouldn’t have been able to. But his wishes were all outlined and clear, waiting in the office safe, where he kept both his sensitive personal and professional documents. And there were people who loved him in life, of course. Like he said… Gwen, Torben, even Laurence…

But the feeling was there, gnawing at his innards and keeping him from restful, restorative sleep. So he got up, got dressed and took himself to Batofar. It was a bar on a boat on the other side of the city. There, no one knew his name. There, he could drink to his heart’s content, and he could flirt (or, really, attempt to flirt) with girls who didn’t give their last names. He could tell them he was an artist and for the price of a few drinks, he could sometimes have their company for an hour or two.

But he didn’t bring them home, no matter how desperately he wanted to. Because then they’d know that he was a twenty-eight year old funeral director who lived on the wrong side of town with his Madagascar Hissing Cockroach and the magic would be gone. Once, he’d brought a girl to Laurence’s apartment. His uncle had been out of town for the weekend on a business trip. And Tristan claimed the place for himself, made love to a girl named Marceline who had a shag haircut and a tattoo of sword running the length of her hip.

That was three years ago. He didn’t dare try that again. Because in the morning he’d made her breakfast and she’d made excuses to leave, which made Tristan feel depressed for weeks afterwards.

But it was still nice to go out, say he was an artist, and get drunk enough to believe that he actually was.

He sat down at the bar and ordered a martini with an olive garnish. He didn’t particularly like martinis or olives, but it made him seem more urbane than the guy who tagged bridges between operating a funeral home and volunteering at a low-income school. He tossed it back too quickly and played with the toothpick, trying to stab the olive that had fallen to the bottom of his glass.

If he wanted to get drunk, it would take something stronger than a martini to do it. A lot stronger.

He raised his hand to order again, but the bartender seemed busy down at the other end of the bar. He went back to stabbing at the garnish.

And then he heard his name. Someone actually yelled “Tristan?!” and he dropped the toothpick and sat up straight, looking around. His name wasn’t particularly common or uncommon, so there was always the chance that whoever had said it – a woman – had said it to someone else.

And sure enough, when he looked at the speaker, he was sure she was speaking to someone else. The woman in question was elegantly dressed in red and her kohl-rimmed eyes were as blue as Tristan’s. She had silky, dark hair and razor-cut cheekbones. She was far too pretty – far too stunning – to be anyone Tristan knew.

And then recognition kicked him hard in the stomach. That wasn’t just someone he knew. That was Solange.And for that fleeting moment, Tristan had thought she was stunning. He cursed in his head, but had enough sense not to do it out loud.

Did this mean he would have to find a new bar? Because if it did, he was royally screwed. The bars on his side of town were the worst.

He ran a hand through his long, brown hair and pushed his drink out of the way, as if that hid his purpose for sitting at the bar.

“Solange…” he said, throat sticking to itself. He cleared it, hard. “Imagine running into you here… And I thought you got enough of me at work.”

It would have sounded halfway flirtatious, if it hadn’t been woefully true.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange was having trouble believing her eyes. Surely that couldn't be Tristan sitting over there a few seats down! She couldn't really be sure. She hadn't really ever seen him in anything other than the suit he wore at the parlor. This guy had a much more causal look, but still had the same long brown hair and blue eyes. But Tristan didn't go out to bars like this. He didn't do the party scene...at least, she didn't think he did. Again she couldn't really be sure. He'd surprised her before, like with Gwen and Torben.

If she hadn't been convinced that it was Tristan before, the way he sat up straight and gazed around when she called out his name sealed the deal. What on earth was he doing here?! She grabbed her drink and moved closer to him, still trying to figure out the oddity that was seeing Tristan outside of their work environment.He pushed his own drink off to the side as if trying to hide it and ran a hand through his hair, looking like he felt just as awkward about this situation as she did.

“Solange…” he said before clearing his throat loudly. “Imagine running into you here… And I thought you got enough of me at work.”

A wry sort of smile turned one corner of her lips as she leaned against the bar as she took a sip of her mojito. "You'd think so, wouldn't you..." she murmured, fidgeting a bit with her dress now in a nervous sort of manner. This whole situation was so bizarre. "What are you even doing here, Tristan," she asked. "I wouldn't have exactly pegged you as the kind of guy who frequented a place like this."

She half wondered if she should add "No offense," but refrained.