|
|
Post by plantnerd92 on Jun 24, 2013 12:03:35 GMT -6
Sasha Ivanova
She needed a fix. Her "Managers" Igor and Uri were out bargaining with a prospective client. She could not handle another one of these today without possibly OD'ing on SOMETHING strong enough to knock her out. She lifted the bottle of cheap vodka to her lips and guzzled, praying that maybe she'd get lucky and her liver would fail and she wouldn't have to deal with it.
The liquor was poor quality, but at least it was something. She pulled her ratty sweater on and went back down to the bar for another bottle, maybe hoping to snag a drug dealer on the way before they confined her to that hell-hole death trap room again with some disgusting perve needing a cheap lay.
Sasha went up to the bar, slamming down a handful of cash. "Bolshe vodka." her native language slipped out of her lips easily, though her voice was rough, stained by the nicotine of the cigarettes she smoked on a regular basis. The confused look on the bartender's face alerted her to the fact that he probably didn't speak Russian. She sighed.
"Vodka. Another bottle. Or, if you've got anything stronger I'll go with that."
|
|
|
|
Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jun 24, 2013 14:20:17 GMT -6
Georgette Duguay
In the dark bar, Georgette waited, knowing she wasn’t alone. As usual, Santiago sent one of his boys with her for protection, but which patron of this seedy bar he was, she didn’t know. Santiago had some deal, some exchange to partake in across the street which she wanted no hand in. She was on the outskirts of his side business, but rarely looked in. But he owed her dinner and a movie and so she waited for his work to be finished, worried that every gunshot she heard was lodged in his chest or brain.
She sat on a barstool, which slouched under her weight, stuffing spilling out of the knife-slashed seat. “Gin.” She said. “With lime.” To the bartender, who, looking over her shoulder hurriedly poured her drink before turning to the customer who ordered before her. “Some place,” Georgette said to the woman beside her. “You know, you’d think they’d have at least one light. Honestly. It’s like I can barely see the hand in front of my face!”
Though, Georgette had to admit, it’s better than the annoying fluorescent lights at work, I guess.
|
|
|
|
Post by plantnerd92 on Jun 25, 2013 2:12:31 GMT -6
Sasha Ivanova
Sasha didn't really pay much mind to anyone else around her. She just wanted her liquor to drink herself into oblivion with. Though, she was mildly surprised when the other woman turned to speak with her. Sasha's vibrant blue eyes studied the other woman. She was... beautiful. A startling tinge of panic bubbled up inside her. Did she realize what kind of place this was? What kind of dangers lurked here in the dark corners of the hotel?
“Some place. You know, you’d think they’d have at least one light. Honestly. It’s like I can barely see the hand in front of my face!” The woman said. Sasha was silent for a long moment, before speaking in her heavily accented English.
"A good indicator that you shouldn't be hanging around in these kinds of places, devushka." the bartender gave her the bottle of vodka like she'd asked and paid for, and popped the lid off, and took a long slug. "Many dangers are hiding in the dark corners. Not wise to be alone." Her eyes were starting to become bloodshot, and her vision started to haze a little, but she was no where near as drunk as she'd like to be when the impending event of a new client arrived.
"You aren't here alone... are you?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 7, 2013 15:49:19 GMT -6
Georgette Duguay
As Georgette leaned on the bar, something in the woman’s eyes faded, a new condescending panic brimming and reflecting in the scant light. "A good indicator that you shouldn't be hanging around in these kinds of places, devushka."
The mane the woman called her was in some purring, lilting language Georgette didn’t understand, but the patronizing tone made Georgette’s skin crawl and bile bubble and burst in her veins. "Many dangers are hiding in the dark corners. Not wise to be alone."
Georgette suppressed a smirk as she thought about the man watching her every move, ensuring her protection. She thought about knife Santiago strapped to her and the 78 ways to kill that her years in the medical industry had taught her. Danger wasn’t something she was concerned about. Staring the woman head-on, she downed her gin and lime in one deft gulp and tapped the glass for another waterless beverage.
"You aren't here alone... are you?"
Georgette’s teeth tasted like sour irritation as she beamed sardonically at the woman. Her eyes flicked to a darkened corner where a faceless man watched her. She was never alone. Like a carefully guarded crowned jewel, she was under constant surveillance. At least one of Santiago’s men was watching her—armed and ready to strike at any threat.
“Oh golly!” Georgette gasped sarcastically. “I never thought there could be actual, real danger here!"”she put a hand over her heart. “Thank you ever so much for your warning! I’ll never come here again. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers!” Before Georgette could sound any more like a Disney movie, she turned to the bartender who had failed to pour her a new drink. “I said ‘another drink’, man!”
|
|
|
|
Post by plantnerd92 on Jul 8, 2013 13:12:41 GMT -6
Sasha Ivanova
Clearly, she had done something to offend the woman. It wasn't her intention, but she could tell with the scorn in which the other woman responded to her. She sighed, and took a long slug of her vodka.
When the obnoxious bartender poured the woman's second drink, Sasha spoke again.
"Prosti," she said, then remembering to speak in her maddeningly broken English. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you." her eyes glanced around to see Igor entering the bar, eyes searching for her. Sasha cowered, and sank down into her bar stool, focusing on her vodka, hoping he wouldn't notice her, willing the ground to open up and swallow her.
"Sasha! Igor's voice snapped, and she flinched. Damn it all! So much for trying to go unnoticed.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Jul 9, 2013 19:05:11 GMT -6
Georgette Duguay
"Prosti," the woman said again in her unknown language. Russian, Georgette guessed, judging by the harsh gentility of it (and the vodka stereotype that reeked from the woman’s breath). Georgette fought off the urge roll her eyes. This woman was her age, possibly younger, and yet, Georgette couldn’t help but think this is what her mother would sound like if she was drunk and Russian. She downed her gin and began sucking the lime casually. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you."
Georgette’s eyes grew wide. “Offend me? Oh, mon cherie,” she returned the patronizing tone gladly. “That’s a very difficult thing to do. Don’t you worry your pretty head about le petit moi. I’m not offended,” she lied with a doe-eyed gaze as she ate at the green sour meat of her lime.
She woman glanced behind Georgette’s shoulder at whatever had cast a shadow in the doorway and cowered. Georgette glowed. Was Santiago done and here to retrieve her, save her from the humdrum hospitality and mediocre drinks? She turned, beaming. But her smile faltered as a man approached, eyes blazing and transfixed on her bar companion. ”Sasha!” he bellowed and Georgette felt validated in her guess of the woman’s nationality, smiling with gloating pride until another man in the dark stood. Her eyes darted down to his ankle where the Las Gardunas ensigna lay. He inched closer as the angry man stood close enough for Georgette to taste his rank breath. She nodded to the man in the corner. She didn’t know his name, but she trusted him with her life. Discreetly, he moved from table to table, making his slow and careful way towards them.
The angry man brushed Georgette too hard as he squeezed between them, toppling over her lime and glass. “Hey!” Georgette said as her garnish fell to the ground. “Don’t touch me!”
|
|
