2019-10-13 - Drinking and Conversational Dancing

Over the last while, Dante has gone back and reevaluated things a bit. He may have forgotten a few of the weirder incidents he experienced because of the Veil and its forgetful properties. However, he is a copious note-taker, and the reevaluation of said notes brought up a few other incidents that have unnerved him.

He initially came to the Firefly Club just to recharge around people and have a couple of drinks. But then the drinks just kept coming, until the room started getting a bit fuzzy around the edges. He's at the bar in a hunter green suit with mustard pocket square and shiny black shoes. But there's a bit of sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his normally neat hair is a bit mussed and turning from straight to curled. He pokes at his phone idly.

Elias had come to the Firefly Club to dance, because there aren't a lot of places to dance in the area, and so this is where he is. He'd been dancing for a while, with one person, and then another, or by himself, not seeming to have the slightest bit of shyness when it came to getting his groove on in public. He wears black jeans that seem painted onto his slim frame, and black boots, with a dark red tank top on. His hair is loose and wild, and there's a bit of sweat at his temples from moving among the crowd. He's just taken up a lean against a wall to take a breather when his phone buzzes and he pulls it out, tapping out a quick message, a curious little smile pulling at his lips.

Dante is not a dancer, so he has had his back to the dance floor for most of the evening. But when he does turn around to watch someone in a colourful outfit go by, he thinks he spots someone familiar in the crowd. He cranes his neck, but can't quite spot whoever it was. So instead he turns back to his phone.

Elias, from where he stands, answers another message or two, though his expression goes from that little bemused smile into something a little more curious, both brows raising as he suddenly looks up and around the room, across the dance floor of moving bodies, and along the walls where people linger, talking and drinking. The next message pops up and he glances down again, then laughs. Shoving the phone in his pocket, he makes his way through the crowd toward the dance floor until he spots the man he was looking for. "Gin is terrible," he opines as he leans up against the bar next to Dante and motions to the bartender. "Rum and coke," he orders, and then lets his attention shift back to the man in the suit. "So, you drinking to remember, or to forget?"

"Little of column A, little of column B," says Dante with the loose smile of someone in his cups. He lifts his glass of clear liquid and ice to his lips and tilts a good bit of it back. His eyes flick a bit over Elias, then looks to the dance floor. "Having fun? I didn't take you away from something, did I?" His nose wrinkles a little at the drink order. "Far too sweet for me. I prefer my drinks bitter and/or strong."

Elias chuckles at the answer and leans back against the bar, pushing his hands through his hair then wiping them off on his jeans, looking out onto the dance floor for a moment, and then back to Dante. He shakes his head, "Just out blowing off a little steam. Too much energy. Needed to let the music carry me for a bit." He closes his eyes and sways a little bit to the beat before opening them again. "I like strong, and there's nothing wrong with bitter. But I just can't stomach gin."

"Fair enough. More for me," says Dante as he takes in another mouthful of the gin and tonic. He glances to the dance floor. "For all my love of attention, I don't like dancing. Partially because I would get said attention for all the wrong reasons." He adjusts his position on the bar and sways a little, a testament to how many drinks he's actually had.

Elias reaches out a hand instinctively toward Dante's shoulder when he sways, but when the man doesn't tip, draws it back again with a bit of a chuckle. "Oh? Why's that?" he asks curiously. He nods to the bartender in thanks when his drink arrives and picks up the glass, taking a sip from it. "Don't tell me that you can't dance," he says, as though finding that hard to believe.

"Everyone can. Just like everyone can take a step or lift a cup. It's the degree of success doing same that counts." Dante chuckles, then glances over his shoulder at the dance floor. "I am properly English, which means my rhythm and grace leaves something to be desired. I wouldn't even come to a place like this if this town had a decent cocktail bar."

"So if you're properly English, shouldn't that mean that you can ballroom dance, all fancy and graceful-like? All in proper form and perfect step?" Elias teases just a little bit as he finally slips into the seat next to Dante, swiveled around so that he leans back against the bar and can people-watch from where he sits, his own drink sipped periodically.

Dante scoffs softly. "Passably, when required. And not in a number of years." He watches the dance floor, the pulse of bodies and the flashes of light. Even in the darkness, his facial muscles looks tense, despite his outwardly cheerful demeanor - and despite the excess of drink. "Even if I did have the courage and the rhythm, this sort of dancing is all a bit young for me."

"Oh yes, I forgot how dreadfully old you are," Elias says as he takes another sip of his drink, that little smile hovering around his lips. "Well, then I won't try and drag you out onto the dance floor with me. I'll just keep you company here over at the bar where it is safe from all that .. youth."

"Dreadfully," Dante drawls as he finishes his drink. He sets the glass on the bar and motions for another. He smiles a bit sloppily. "Please, don't let me keep you from your steam blowing. I'm just slowly numbing myself with essence of tree sap. I bet you move beautifully."

"I was actually taking a break from the dancing when you saw me, so your timing was excellent even if your dancing skills are rusty," Elias says as he takes another swallow from his drink. "Though, if you'd rather drink alone, I suppose I could always go back to the floor and you could see how I move."

"There are precious few occasions when I'd rather be alone," says Dante. "Sometimes I recognize the utility of solitude, but that doesn't mean that I like it." Even slurring his speech a bit, he still manages to string together a good selection of words. Hard to tell if that's the writer in him or the Englishman. He tugs his newest drink towards him when it arrives. "No comment on dancing as a spectator sport."

"Then I suppose I'll keep you company until you tell me that it's one of those rare occasions when you'd rather be left alone," Elias says as he finishes off the remainder of his drink and sets it down on the bar, motioning for another. He's had a couple, but he seems to be far less inebriated than Dante, only a bit of a flush to him, which could also just be from the dancing earlier.

Dante reaches up and undoes the topmost button on his shirt, then the next. It's warm in the club, though not warm enough for him to shrug out of the jacket or waistcoat. Better to be uncomfortable than underdressed in his world. "I fear I might not be my usual sparkling company. Slightly numb round the edges as I am."

"That's alright," Elias says, genuinely not seeming to mind. "But if you're trying to forget, you could probably use someone around who can remember when you can't." He watches some of the dancers on the floor, letting his eyes drift over their movements, taking in the atmosphere of the place from where he sits, though he makes no move to rejoining them, at least not now. Instead, he says to Dante, "I like the energy of the dance floor, that radiates off of everyone, the excitement, the heart pounding, the blood pumping, the rhythm that you can feel shaking right into your bones."

"I feel that way about jazz music. Not so much..." Dante spreads his fingers and looks up into the air as the bass pulses. He flexes his fingers in time with the sound. "Trying to dance to this kind of music just makes me feel slow and awkward. Gangly, even. I feel like I'm pretending to feel it in my gut instead of actually feeling it." He exhales a chuckle. "...that doesn't make much bloody sense, does it?" He takes a swallow from his drink.

"You strike me more as the sort that would be seated in a dark leather chair in a fine suit in a smokey jazz club, with the band on stage playing something low and smooth, and the sound of conversation would be dull and low, a murmur punctuated with the light clinking of glasses, the tic of icecubes against one another, immersed in the sound as it just washed over you, surrounded you, and tickled at your senses with its layers and nuance," Elias muses as he studies Dante's features, his eyes, mostly as he muses. "Dark hues and sumptuous scents, luxurious fabrics surrounded by those dressed to impress." He takes up his second drink when it arrives, and takes another small sip before setting it down.

"Mhmm, very nice evocation of atmosphere including sensory details. No wonder your sales are so good." There's winking good humour in Dante's eyes despite the troubled reason he drowns himself in gin. "And you in a place like this, but in a big city. With a live band, or one of those celebrity DJs. With impressive sound system and all sorts of flashing lights. The air full of sweat and Red Bull and weed." He flashes a smile. "With beautiful young things in vibrant colours crashing off one another."

Elias lifts his glass to Dante and laughs softly, "Well, there is a reason they pay me, I suppose." He then lifts it to his lips and holds it there, smiling a little against the rim as Dante reflects on his own image of where he might picture Elias. "And yet here we are, at the Firefly club in little Gray Harbor. It's not so bad, really. Though, perhaps sometime we should go into Seattle and I can show you a couple of places I think you'd like better."

"Everbody keeps telling me to go to Seattle. It's almost as if you're trying to get rid of me," says Dante with a sloppy smile. He shifts again, though stops himself from losing balanace this time. "But..." he purses his lips, "...will I not just forget all I've learned if I leave? A memory wipe the town plays on me if I go beyond its city limits?" He huffs softly. "Quite the trick this place has played. You can know the truth but only as long as you stay put."

"I'm pretty sure what I said was that /we/ should go, and no, you won't forget all that you've learned during one night out on the town, Dante. I wouldn't share everything that I did with you just to take you somewhere to have it all slip from your mind like a sieve," Elias points out. "It's a gradual fading, that would only happen with time. You would have to stay out of town for a while before you'd start to forget. I've gone many times for an evening or a weekend and come back none the worse off for it."

"Mhmmm, I meant the collective 'we' of this town," says Dante with a bit of a grin. He looks back at his glass, then looks to the bartender, "Can I have some water, please?" Which is a good sign, really. If he's looking to reduce his buzz rather than increase it. But then, that might just be so he can go longer before passing out. He tries to focus on Elias, but his eyes are certainly a little glassy. "I'd drag you into suit shops and something tells me you'd find that dreadfully dull. No second skin pants in those shops." He doesn't seem to mean that as an insult, at least judging by the way his eyes flick down for a moment and the wry grin that appears.

"What I meant was, that while I can't speak for everyone, I'm certainly not trying to get rid of you," Elias says as he dips his fingertip into his drink, poking at one of the icecubes and bobbing it in the mix of alcohol and soda within. He laughs a little then and says, "Oh, I don't know about that. I can certainly appreciate the way that a well fitting suit looks. I might find it truly fascinating." He glances down at his own outfit and says, "Well, the outfit should fit the occasion.. unless of course, the point is for the outfit not to fit the occasion."

"I enjoy the effect suits have on any sort of occasion, appropriate or not. They make me stand out, for one. And I like doing that." Dante leans forward a little, still keeping his balance for the moment. His water arrives, but he doesn't immediately reach for it. "Perhaps that makes me egotistical. My ex often called me a peacock, and not in a complimentary way."

"You definitely stand out," Elias says as he looks over Dante's current suit, which definitely is above the couture of everyone else in the club, that's for certain. "How long were you with her, your ex?" He seems to assume Dante is talking about the ex-wife he'd mentioned before. "Do you know that some places uses peacocks as an alarm system? Because they'll get used to and be quiet around the people who live in a house, but if a stranger comes in they'll set up such a clatter it's like having an alarm?"

"Ah, that might explain why there's country homes in England that have the creatures wandering the property. And they do make a dreadful sound. Which is partially why my ex calling me one was an insult," Dante chuckles a little bitterly and reaches for his drink instead of the water. "Married for three years. Together around five in total."

"Probably," Elias agrees, as to why they might be kept. He lifts his glass to his lips and says, "That's a while." He muses a little bit to himself then, perhaps getting lost in his own thoughts while he sips his drink, and lets his gaze drift around the club, not really looking at anything in particular while he does so.

"Not especially long as marriages go," says Dante. He draws in a breath, "I'm not going to become the cliche of a man who bitches about his ex. I'm certainly not an easy person to live with. And once my books started selling, my work became bouts of travel punctuated between bouts of me putting my head down and working. She's an ER doctor, so her hours were neither flexible nor regular either." He looks at the sweating ice in his glass, then over at Elias. "But do you really want to hear about my ex-wife, or are you just being polite?"

"No, I suppose not, but longer than some marriages go," Elias says, giving one of those tilts of his head to one side and the other, as though indicating it's neither really here nor there. His lips twitch into a bit of a smile though and he says, "I want to hear about you, and you've mentioned her a couple of times now, and she's not the strangeness in this town, which is what I thought we were trying to forget for tonight. So yes, if you feel like talking about her. Or, if you don't, then choose something else." He traces the rim of the glass lightly with one fingertip. "I rarely do anything just to be polite."

"The short version of the whole sordid tale is that I thought I wanted the life that being with Bethany gave me, but that turned out not to be the case. And after I saw that...creature in the bed and breakfast after that fight, things weren't quite the same. I got some wicked inspiration for my writing, for one." Dante starts to raise his glass to his lips, looks into it, then sets it down in favour of the water. "It also shook me out of my reverie and made me realize that I had been kidding myself."

Elias listens as Dante gives the short version of the story, just toying a bit with his glass rather than drinking from it. He doesn't seem in a hurry to get truly drunk, just maintaining the buzz that he has going on. "And now? Do you feel like the life that you have now is more the one that you wanted?" He finally lifts the glass to take another sip, just a small one, before setting it down again.

Dante laughs a bit haltingly. "Alone, struggling to get my next book out. In a small town, thousands of miles from home and family? Recently learning that my reality is a lie? Not particularly. But, perhaps the one I deserve." He salutes with the water and tips some of it back. It's a change from the charming and confident optimist to say something like that.

"And if you could have the life that you wanted, what would it be?" Elias asks, undaunted by the less than optimistic view of his current situation. To Elias, each of these scenarios matters -- the one that he was in and left behind, where he finds himself now, and what he desires. Each thing speaks of its own importance, of its own truth, and that seems to be what he is interested in, as he continues to study the man next to him. The dancers on the floor, even the club itself doesn't seem to hold his attention.

"After what you told me the other day? I don't bloody know. I had ambitons before, but they seem a bit small compared to all that. You know, career success. Happiness. A home. All the things just about everyone wants, yes?" Dante runs his fingers through the sides of his hair, which he rarely does. It's so carefully coiffed that such a gesture is counter to the image he wants to portray. A few strands are curling up in the humidity of the club.

"Why shouldn't you still want a career success, happiness, and a home?" Elias says with an arched brow. "Just because there are strange things in this world, strange things that will sometimes throw our plans and lives for a loop when we least expect them, doesn't mean that we shouldn't still want things for ourselves, and have lives that exist within and outside of that strangeness. Your life doesn't end because you find out that the world is larger than you thought it was. It just.. expands in scope."

"There aren't just strange things in the world. The world has been redefined. And it's going to take me some time to sort out what that means for me. And that's all without not having seen any of the strange things you've mentioned, except out of the corner of my eye and some vague anecdote I wrote in a journal." Dante reaches for his drink and swallows most of it in one go. Then, he motions to the bartender for his bill. "I should go before they kick me out for drunkenness, which would be most embarrassing."

"True enough," Elias concedes on the fact that reality had been redefined for the man. Sometimes, he forgets that not everyone grows up already knowing what he himself was brought up with, and that finding out about it for the first time can be a bit more overwhelming than he gives it credit for. When Dante motions for his bill, Elias settles back into his seat and takes up his drink once more, taking his sip. "Of course," he says, not trying to hold the man back if he wants to leave. "Though I doubt they would kick you out."

"Why, because I'm a polite drunk in a nice suit?" says Dante, eyes slightly wide, grin that sharkish way that he doesn't really intend to let loose. He pays for his drinks, with a good tip, then slides his wallet back away again. "Don't worry, I didn't drive here."

Elias's lips twitch a little at the edges and he nods, "Precisely." Then he finishes off the remainder of his drink and he sets it down. "Good, because you shouldn't be driving. Neither should I, to be honest." He's not drunk, but he's definitely still a bit buzzed, as he slips off of his stool and stands once more, his own cash for his drinks tucked onto the bar surface with a tip.

"Are you going to be my chaperone, Elias?" says Dante wryly. "Take me by the arm and lead me home? Please don't end your evening early on my account." He slides off the stool and wobbles, but manages to stay upright. He does have to grip the edge of the bar.

Elias seems to consider for a moment and then says, "Yes, I think I am going to make sure that you get home in one piece." He glances around the club and shrugs his shoulders, "I've done all the dancing that I aim to do tonight. So you can either let me see you home, or you can tell me to fuck off. That's up to you."

Instead, Dante starts to...well, dance would be a generous word. Instead he sort of shimmies along to the vague beat. It looks rather ridiculous, because of the suit, but also because he's drunk enough that his already unremarkable rhythm is made worse. He stops after a moment and chuckles from deep in his chest. "See? That's what you were missing." Then, "I don't tend to use foul language if I can help it. My mother hated it. Said it lacked creativity."

Elias grins when Dante does his little shuffling shimmy, apparently delighted by it for some reason, and says, "You're right. You should probably stick to looking dashing in a suit." His tone is teasing and light though. One brow raises a little thn and says, "Well then I'm going to interpret that to mean that you don't mind me seeing you home. Or you'll find some other very polite and creative way to tell me otherwise on the way." He then falls into step next to Dante, as he makes his way toward the exite.

Dante lifts his brows. "And now you understand why it would destroy my reputation in this town if I made my way to the dance floor." He winks, then starts towards the exit, though weaving around a person turns into a stumble. He exchanges looks with a bouncer and makes a motion to indicate he's leaving. "Sorry you find me in such a state. I really should do my overdrinking in private."

Elias reaches out and does catch Dante's arm this time whe he stumbles, wrapping his fingers around the man's bicep and steadying him just a little bit. He nods to the bouncer as well, indicating that they're leaving and nothing need be done about the situation, as they make their way for the door and he opens it up to let Dante head out first into the bracing October air. "Don't apologize," Elias says with a shake of his head. "You've not yet seen me drunk, and I'm sure at some point I'll allow you to return the favor."

Dante may cut a slim figure but the arm is a bit more tightly muscled than one might expect. A lungful of cool air clears his head a little, but it's not exactly turning him stone cold sober. That, and the alcohol he just chugged is still making its way through his system. "At least I didn't go for cigarettes this time. I tend to when I've been drinking."

"Well you couldn't have smoked inside the club anyway, so that you would have had to do at home," Elias chuckles just a little bit. "You do smell better than you would if you'd been smoking," he observes as they get out into the parking lot, his hand still on Dante's arm, though his grip loosening, and slipping a little lower toward his elbow, more hovering than holding on at this point. He draws in a deep breath of the cooler air and lets it out in a rush, giving a faint shiver. The remaining sweat on his skin drying in the chill of the air. He'd forgotten he was only wearing a tank top because of the heat of the club.

"I haven't read my lease carefully, but I'd imagine the building has a strict no-smoking policy anyway," says Dante as he moves forward in the night's chill. He then realizes that Elias is underdressed for the evening. "You're going to catch bloody pneumonia. Here..." he shrugs off his suit jacket and tries to drape it around the young man's shoulders. "Are you one of those fools who tries to save two dollars at coat check and freezes themselves instead?"

"That's what the balcony is for," Elias says with a chuckle. "Chloe and I used to smoke out on her balcony, pot though, not cigarettes." Elias looks a little bit surprised when Dante drapes the jacket over his shoulders, but he doesn't refuse it. It's a little big on his leaner, shorter frame, and it does cut a bit of the chill. "No, I kind of expected I'd be going home with someone when I got dropped off. Hadn't planned on walking, so didn't figure I needed it," he admits.

"Well, technically you are going home with someone, though probably not the someone you wanted or in the scenario you expected," drawls Dante. He looks pleased when the jacket isn't refused. His waistcoat and shirt keep him passably warm. At least they're more equally cold now. It's a very nice jacket, quite obviously, with a silk lining and a certain weight to the fabric. "Who's Chloe? If she's important, you might want to tell me when I'm sober."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that the someone is unwanted at all," Elias says with a little smile as they walk along, watching where they're going, and for obstacles, as the designated less-drunk person. "Even if the scenario is a little different than I'd imagined when I arrived. I'm certainly not complaining." It is a very nice jacket, and he's careful with it, making sure not to bump into anything in it, or to rumple it overly much as they walk. "Just a friend who used to live in your buliding but who left town again."

"I see, I see," drawls Dante. He stops, weaves a bit, then gives Elias a once-over. He waggles his finger. "This...is working for you. I wouldn't do exactly this tone on you, and I think you'd do better with a jacket that's deliberately oversized. But, it's certainly a look." And then, he reaches out, like he's about to tuck hair behind the young man's ear. He stops just short of doing so and folds long fingers under. "Ah, apologies. I'm not as good with my personal space when I've had a few."

Elias pauses when Dante comes to a stop, checking to make sure he isn't going to tip over. His hand reaches out but nope, he remains upright, and so he slips it back into the pocket of the jacket again. Glancing down at the jacket, and then back up, he says, "That's kind of you to say, rather than just -- that doesn't fit you, because you're short, and too skinny, which is what I'm used to getting." Not that he's actually short, just several inches shorter than Dante. He doesn't shy away from the reach toward his hair, and he dips his head just a little bit, "Nothing to apologize for." He then continues moving, one foot after the other in the direction of Bayside. "I think something deliberately oversized would just make me look like I was swimming in it, maybe," he considers.

Dante slides his hands into his pockets, lest he be tempted to do any other on-the-fly hairstyling. "Mhmm, not if done correctly. And on the contrary, you have an ideal figure for most high fashion. I stick to classic suits because that's what I can pull off. Man in a suit, classy. Man my age and with my build being too fashion-forward? Mid-life crisis." Never mind he's too young for one of those. He's weaving a little, but more or less manages to stay on track.

"You're not old enough for a mid-life crisis," Elias opines as he walks along next to the man, what little buzz that he had gradually wearing off in the cool night air as they walk along. He keeps an eye on his companion. "But I will yield to your superior suit knowledge. Perhaps when you drag me to the suit shop you can show me how it's done correctly." He smiles though, "I don't foresee many catwalks in my future, though. So the high fashion can be for others with more bold aspirations."

"Probably for the best," Dante leans in conspiratorially, but not too close. "...they like to tell you what you can eat. And what fun is that? Do a dashing photoshoot instead. Someone who knows how to capture those cheekbones." There's amusement dancing in his glassy eyes as he returns to the business of putting one foot in front of the other.

Elias smiles in amusement and leans in toward that conspiratorial lean, one quizzical brow raising, and then he laughs. "What fun is that, indeed. No, I think I would probably horrify them with the things that I eat." He then says, "I suppose a photo shoot, I could do. If I knew anyone who actually took photos." He then asks Dante, "Do you?"

"Ahh, no, just mobile phone photos. I take horrid selfies," Dante murmurs. "All you see is..." he taps his nose. He looks up ahead at the looming shape of Bayside. "You don't have to be a gentleman and walk me to my door, you know. I think I'd be quite all right from here. Can I call you a taxi to get you home safe and warm?"

Elias chuckles, "I don't even take selfies, so.. you're one step ahead of me." Though, when Dante says he'll be alright from there, Elias slows to a stop, glancing toward the building and then back to Dante. They can see the guard house at the entrance to Bayside from where they are standing. And so he nods, then, and says, "Okay." He then shrugs the jacket from his shoulders, and gently hands it back over to Dante, "Thank you, for that, and for the company tonight."

Dante pushes back the hand that passes over the jacket. "Just bring it into your shop and I'll pop by to pick it up." If he does put it back on, he'll reach out to do it up, then reaches down to cuff the sleeves. "Better." His smile is warm and a little sloppy.

Elias slides the jacket back on, then, not arguing. It is cold, and he still does have a little ways to walk before the night is through. He smiles in amusement as Dante starts to button it up, and his eyes drift up to watch his face as he does so, studying his eyes. "Alright. I'll bring it in to the shop, then. And no, I don't need a cab. My friend Frankie's place is over on the boardwalk." He nods in that direction. "I'll just invade her couch for the night and go home in the morning." He does reach out then, for just a moment, with long fingers to lightly smooth the collar of Dante's shirt, a little smile on his lips. "Get home safe, Dante. I'll see you soon."

"I bet my couch is more comfortable," says Dante without even realizing that he's spoken. "Ah, heh," it's dark, but there might be a blush. "I managed to be both inappropriate and snobbish at the same time. Apologies again. Go see your friend." He rocks a step back, trips, recovers, bows. "Told you I can't dance."

Elias's brows raise a little and he looks surprised, but smiles at those words spoken aloud. Though when Dante rocks and trips and bows, Elias steps closer to him once more and catches his arm. "Stop apologizing," he says softly, "As for dancing, we've been dancing quite well all night. Though, I'd like to find out if you'd still dance if you were sober." He gives the man's arm a little squeeze then, and then turns, sliding his hands into the pockets of the jacket and wandering off down the street in the direction of the boardwalk, pulling out his phone to see a text message on the screen from Frankie: "You alive?" He responds: "Last I checked?" and off he goes.