09-27-2013, 07:46 AM
Tony downed the shot in one practised motion. The fire that burned his throat was a little dimmer than he remembered and the effect was not entirely pleasant. It left him with a bitter taste of disappointment laced with the comfort of the familiar.
Except...it was no longer familiar, not as it had been. He understood why Michael did not drink for the first time. Compared to the fire and life of the power...
"Tony."
Jensen's dour American accent set him at ease. He had not asked for a name - most out at this time wanted to remain anonymous - but he felt obliged to return the sentiment. He doubted the American knew anything about the Soloyov family.
He was a strange man, this Jensen. He had the same dejected hopelessness in his eyes that Tony had so recently possessed, yet he did not drink, although it was obvious he wanted to drown himself and his sorrows in the potent liquid fire that was vodka.
"Staring at it won't help,"
he added as Jensen did just that. Perhaps this man reminded him of himself, and hit so close to home, but Tony had a desire to help him.
Looks like undermining the fucking CCD isn't enough to clear my conscience.
Tony had not been oblivious to the look that Jensen had given him, the awkward eye-contact. It had been so long that he didn't even mind that it was a man, although he certainly would have preferred a willing young woman.
The thought made him smile. Story of my fucking life.
"Drinking that shit is only going to make things worse when you wake up, friend. Or perhaps you don't want to wake up, eh?"
It wasn't really a question, just idle conversation. He ordered two more shots. "But if you insist on torturing yourself, let me show you how it's done."
He downed his second shot, but felt nothing. He grimaced at the waste, and irritation rose in the hollow of his gut aimed at Jensen. It was not entirely fair, but the wounds were too raw in Tony's mind for rationalization.
Let's see how much the man really hates himself.
He pressed the second shot glass towards the man, pushing away the cheap shit for the barman to take away. "Drink,
" he demanded, although his heart was not truly in it. "Drink and be done with it, man, or else go home. You don't belong in a place like this."
Edited by Tony Soloyov, Sep 27 2013, 07:46 AM.
Except...it was no longer familiar, not as it had been. He understood why Michael did not drink for the first time. Compared to the fire and life of the power...
"Tony."
Jensen's dour American accent set him at ease. He had not asked for a name - most out at this time wanted to remain anonymous - but he felt obliged to return the sentiment. He doubted the American knew anything about the Soloyov family.
He was a strange man, this Jensen. He had the same dejected hopelessness in his eyes that Tony had so recently possessed, yet he did not drink, although it was obvious he wanted to drown himself and his sorrows in the potent liquid fire that was vodka.
"Staring at it won't help,"
he added as Jensen did just that. Perhaps this man reminded him of himself, and hit so close to home, but Tony had a desire to help him.
Looks like undermining the fucking CCD isn't enough to clear my conscience.
Tony had not been oblivious to the look that Jensen had given him, the awkward eye-contact. It had been so long that he didn't even mind that it was a man, although he certainly would have preferred a willing young woman.
The thought made him smile. Story of my fucking life.
"Drinking that shit is only going to make things worse when you wake up, friend. Or perhaps you don't want to wake up, eh?"
It wasn't really a question, just idle conversation. He ordered two more shots. "But if you insist on torturing yourself, let me show you how it's done."
He downed his second shot, but felt nothing. He grimaced at the waste, and irritation rose in the hollow of his gut aimed at Jensen. It was not entirely fair, but the wounds were too raw in Tony's mind for rationalization.
Let's see how much the man really hates himself.
He pressed the second shot glass towards the man, pushing away the cheap shit for the barman to take away. "Drink,
" he demanded, although his heart was not truly in it. "Drink and be done with it, man, or else go home. You don't belong in a place like this."
Edited by Tony Soloyov, Sep 27 2013, 07:46 AM.