Flipside [Tarsus/Open to All]

[Rook]

The bar itself was extremely packed, pregnant and almost to the bursting point, similar to the fat white moon hanging above it, barely visible in a vague round shape amidst the huge valleys of purple night clouds.

There were swarms of flashing lights from the glow-dancers, twirling magnetic batons that popped out like a measuring tape in a loose vine of light, twirled in sinuous snake like cords around the dancer, fur and scales dilluted by mutli-colored flashes of brilliance and then snapped back into their hands along to the beat.

The music was almost toneless, but the waves could be felt beneath the floorboards, and the scores of dancers never skipped a beat. The nightlife inside Angelo's danced mindlessly beneath a full moon, as if to summon demons on hallows eve, that day more than a year away, but relived here at Angelo's every Friday night when the freaks came out.

Rook hadn't been here since he was a kid. He felt just as restless tonight as a beam of green light illuminated his gray fur as it passed, he sipped something hard and dry, relishing the tasteless quality of it after several more in abundance.

The older furre's brow twitched at the noise, but he remained silent and stared off out of the open skylight, looking up at the hoverboard above where a vicious fight of Pack was taking place.

He wasn't here to observe violence, or stop it, even if his interjection had been remotely wanted however. He was here to forget.

He could still see the uncertainty in Zarek's eyes

I'd like not to see you anymore. Zarek, uncharacteristically nervous, uncomfortable and cold, staring through a cracked door.

Without his best friend, Rook had never realized how truly alone he was.

How that had hurt, hurt like a blow to the balls, and worse, like a blow to the heart. He hadn't meant it, Rook knew the tiger had loved him, or tried his best to at least. But in the end- it had been too hard.

Zarek had forced him out of his shell and abandoned him while he was vulnerable.
Rook hated him for it, and hated him bitterly for making him live with thoughts and desires he had worked so long to bury, and dissolving his self worth to less than a particle.

He diddn't even know what he was anymore-before he had been confident that he liked women, even if he couldn't bring himself to go near them--but now?

What was he, a fag? He took another long sip.

He stared at the depths of clear, transucent liquid. It was like an eraser, if he kept going...who knows what he'd manage to supress by 3:00 am.

It never hurt to try.

[wastelandwheelman]

Someone took a seat next to Rook. He was rather tall, but was wearing so much clothing that it washard to guess is weight. A narrow black muzzle (definitely canine) was all that could be seen in the void of the figure's hood. He motioned to the bartender, who gave a nod in response. The figure removed his hood, revealing a rather handsome fox-like furre. His upper lip had a nasty gash. A lavender eye glanced over at Rook, and the figure gave a polite nod.

The bartender returned with a light blue drink, an 'Adios, Motherfucker,' and a card. The furre quickly pocketed the card and took a leisurely sip from his drink.

[sinatra]

A quite feminine figure walked down the streets, tail in motion and bobbing to the beat that was coming from their headphones. The orange and white muzzle opened and closed, and if you could hear the song that was playing, you'd notice that it was mouthing the words to the song. As they started to walk past a rather gruff bear, the taller furre called out, "Hey sexy, bet you'd like to get it on with meh, eh?!" It took a moment to realize to the quite apparent fox, that the bear was talking about them. "Well," the figure spoke, a sly look in their eye. "If you wouldn't mind a penis in your face, then sure!" Sinatra giggled, relishing in the defeated, disgusted, and horrored face of the drunkard bear. The gay fox loved to toy with straight people. It had almost become a sport to him, and it was one of his favourite past times. A friend had told him about a particular place, a bar named Angelo's. It wasn't very different from the Lucky Fox. In the way that there wasn't girating male strippers devoted to your every whim. The nineteen year-old fox soon arrived at the destinated location, and pocketed the slim music player in the pocket of his very short demin cut-offs. He wore a pink short that said 'Foxes Get All the Meat' across his chest.

The bouncer had given him a strange look when he gave him his license, but he was soon gained entry. He smiled at the inside, realizing that it was kind of like The Lucky Fox! He smiled and headed towards the bar, gently grinding against a couple dancers and giggling as one tried to grope him. Ah, the life of a stripper. It could be a breeze and a hassle at the same time. He eventually made his way to the stools, and Sinatra managed to sit down next to a rather... interesting character. And older wolverine it looked like, but there was some genetic traits of something else. There was also a figure on the furre's other side, but was hidden from view by a hood and excessive clothing. The barkeep came to him and asked what he would like. "Uhm," he looked up and down the bar, entranced by all of the liquor. "Just a soda please, no rum or anything." He smiled shyly, and looked to the counter. He had always been given strange looks from that. A stripper who works in a bar, who's never had a sip of alcohol. He was brought back to the real world by a glass being set in front of him, and the fox took a couple sips. His eyes flickering to the wolverine mix. His feminine side kicked in, and he noticed that the older guy looked down a little. Okay, scratch a little. He looked like he was hurting.

Approaching somebody in a situation like this always took a Plan A and Plan B, also an explanation, and within a few moments, he had prepared himself. Just ask why he looks so depressed is Plan A. Plan B I'll buy a few drinks and maybe help him home. Explanation? I'm a good guy, looking for somebody to hang out with... The fox thought it through, but decided it would work for now. Coughing into a paw, he slowly scooted closer on the stool, smiling to the wolverine. "Uh, hey. My name's Sinatra..." He smiling and looked into his eyes, fiddling with his drink shortly. "I uh, couldn't help but notice that you look a little down. If you don't mind, I could maybe buy you a few drinks, and you could tell me? Maybe walk you home or something afterwards...?" He left it open for suggestion, like he always did. He only hoped that it didn't sound like he wanted to rape the poor guy.

[Rook]

Rook looked forward, only acknowledging Sinatra by his voice, not moving a single hair. After a few moments, his grip tightened around his glass. The bartender could sense something was brewing, he lingered near the back, ears laid back. Waiting.

A month before Rook had never particularly had something against homosexuals. Sure- because of his upbringing he was wary of them- wary of being called one more than anything to tell you the truth. After nights as a kid spent in the dark living room- given light only by the small television set (the old flat screen kind, they stopped making them long ago), and then cringing as he listened to his father rant about the three main problems in the world. The sacrament that his sons lived by, and the heated subjects that most of anything else could get his father to talk.

The Kia Republicans, The economy...the fags.

These were the boogiemen of his childhood- but despite this, despite the constant nagging, the constant snide remarks and full out rages at the television screen-- Rook had grown up without a particular hatred for any sexual preference or breed. Most of his hate had been directed at his peers, and then his father.

And yet he had maintained that fear, which had only grew worse after the loss of his wife. The fear of becoming a fag, that most hated and vile of all things. He had done fine too- unable to look at women anymore-- not even thinking of having anything to do with men.

Until of course, the realm of what he thought was right and wrong was thrown out of balance, and his best friend had admitted his feelings for him. Rook had crumbled, turning his whole world upside down, questioning is beliefs, his morality and who he was in general for the sake of being with the tiger.

He had put his heart on the line, his dignity, and his sanity for the one person he loved most dearly and thought he could trust- besides his own daughter.

And where had this landed him? ..Hadn't the tiger left him because he wasn't ready to fuck him yet? Hadn't that been the deciding factor in this DEEP LOVING RELATIONSHIP?

Hadn't that happened just a week ago?

Hadn't the fact that he had been unready to have gay sex lost him one of his only true friends?

One ear flattened, the next one followed suit, he didn't turn around however. He could feel the wires in his claws grow hot, but he refrained from letting them glow. Not even the bartender knew he was an Arc Angel, and he came here often. Rook supposed he could have said so at one point,made the kid go away, but he could not speak. Not rationally.

At this moment, Rook abandoned reason. He hated gay men right now, hated them so much at the moment that it surpassed what he thought was his ability to hate. He was disgusted and chilled by Sinatra's gentle advances, and desire to help him.

The fox had chosen out innocent enough reasons to be nice at the exact wrong place at the wrong time.

Rook's voice was low, cold as the ice cracking on the windows.

"Get the fuck out of my face, or I'll kill you".

[wastelandwheelman]

Shavo had been secretly listening to the conversation next to him. The fox on the other side of the hulking figure next to him had good intentions, and it was surely an offer HE would have taken. Although he wasn't gay, Shavo wasn't homophobic or anything. Hell, he had a few male "friends" in the past, and this newcomer... certainly met his criteria...

It was at the words of the wolverine that really got his attention.

'Get the fuck out of my face, or I'll kill you.'

Seriously, what the hell was this guy's problem?! Shavo dropped back his hood, revealing his sleek, jackal-like face, and looked out the corner of his eye.
"Why don't you give the kid a break?" he said nonchalantly, taking a leisurely drink from his glass. "He just offered you a drink."

Now normally, Shavo wouldn't run his mouth off (...often), especially to someone much larger than he was, but he would be damned if he was gonna stand by and let this old guy threaten this kid.

[sinatra]

Sinatra could see the signs on the Wolverine. The tightening paws and the flattening ears gave off the signs that the fox would be told off, but not in the way that he had thought. No, here the young fox was expecting a rebuttal along the lines of 'Go the hell away' or 'Leave me alone'. 'Mind your own business' even? But oh no, the comment that made Sin want to cry was of course the just about the harshest of the harsh.

"Get the fuck out of my face, or I'll kill you".

The comment made the fox jerk his head back, realizing that the tough furre probably meant it. His mouth opened and tried to form words, but none came out, and he could feel his bottom lip quivering slightly. The gay fox always was an easy one to cry, especially from living on the streets. "O-... Okay... I get it, I-I'll back off..." He sniffled slightly, and heard the guy on the other side try to back him up. He tried to utter a 'Thank you', but those words didn't even come. He stared down into his soda, and wondered if he should add alcohol to it. His friends told him that it numbed their minds, didn't make them feel as bad as they would without it. He was about to raise his paw for it when a tear fell into the drink, and he changed his mind. He'd gotten through tougher times without anything to numb his feelings. "Maybe I shouldn't have come here..." he said to himself, tracing a circle on the countertop with a claw. Not even the excessive music and lights could get his mood back up.

[ooc: Sorry for crappyness, no muse at this hour ><]

[wastelandwheelman]

Shavo would have gone off on the guy some more, but he really wasn't in the mood for a fight, especially after getting beat down four out of the six rounds of Pack he just finished. He let out a frustrated growl, moving from his stool to the otherside of the (who he assumed was) drunk furre, touching the fox on the shoulder.
Wow, he really upset this kid...
"You okay?" he asked, trying to be supportive. He hated to see anyone cry. It just... really gets to him. Maybe he could help this kid feel better. No trip to Angelo's should be left in a sorry mood.

[dargan]

Dargan's ears went flat as he entered the door, lifting his hand to wipe the blood from his chin. He was in a complete mess, from his torn jeans, ripped jacket, to the shatter over his left eye and deep ring gash over the bridge of his nose. His hand pads were scratched and bleeding, and a deep chip was taken from his right ear. He pulled his jacket closed, covering up the blood on his shirt as he stepped inside, walking over to a seat at the bar and flopping down in it, allowing huddling in a corner as if he were freezing.

The tender at the bar gave a concerned look before placing a few wet paper towels in front of him, and a glass of ice. Dar gave an appreciative nod before requesting a drink, and handing a wad of crinkled bills to the bartender, who paused, and reluctantly turned, and disappeared into the back of the bar.

Dar picked up one of the paper towels, dabbing at the cut over his swollen eye, wincing at the sting.

He hadn't even noticed his friend Rook sitting a few seats away as he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

His ear twitched and tilted slightly, listening to the conversations a few seats down.

"Uh, hey. My name's Sinatra..."

"I uh, couldn't help but notice that you look a little down. If you don't mind, I could maybe buy you a few drinks, and you could tell me? Maybe walk you home or something afterwards...?"

"Get the fuck out of my face, or I'll kill you".

That last voice.. wasn't that.... Dar lifted his head from the wall and opened his eyes, scanning the people at the bar. His eyes locked onto Rook. It was him...

That didn't sound like something the old man would say, why would he do that? Dar sat up again, taking the cup of ice and the few wet paper towels and slowly standing up, continuing to listen to the conversation.

After a seat beside Rook became empty, he moved closer, leaning against the seat beside rook and placing the cup on the bar, lifting the wet towel to his eye again. He turned to face Rook, balancing himself again and wincing. "Look.. I don't know what you're problem is..." He paused, placing a hand on Rook's shoulder comfortingly. "But you really do need to calm down.."

[Rook]

Rook did not move from his position as he saw Sinatra throw himself from his view, he could hear the huffed breathes that meant he must be crying before he dissipated into the glowing cacophony of the bar.

Rook could have tracked him with his claw sensors, fully awake now, but he did not. This person meant nothing to him- Rook did not resent him, and nor did he care about the pain he had caused him. He was robbed of energy by his truly hateful and inappropriate outburst.

But he didn't regret it-- it simply didn't stay in his head.

After his obstruction had gone away, his rage dwindled, but the coldness it left him did not. Usually alert, he was suprised he had not noticed Dar's scent...

The Bartender was staring at him, one hand on the gun he kept in his left pocket, but the Hybrid gave him no further reason, he was just about to sat down again, almost as though he had been deflated when he felt Dar's hand on his shoulder.

His voice was cold, and had none of the ironic humor that made him who he was. "What happened to you? Your bleeding. I can smell it".

[Raron]

"I was born... a six gun in my hand..."
As Tarsus walked down the street towards his destination his voice rose and fell as he sand. It was a gruff voice, not the voice of a singer but the deep tones seemed to fit the song well and that was what he liked about it. It was one of the few songs he could actually sing well. One of the few songs he could see without someone looking at him like he was raping their eardrums with a spoon. It turned out that while he could do many things... carrying a tune most of the time was not one of them. He was okay with that though. He still liked to sing from time to time. But tonight wasn't about singing. Tonight was a minor celebration. He had completed a job in good time, kept a stupid slummer from getting wasted, and his last meeting with a certain bookstore owner had gone pretty well. She was getting less and less nervous of him and he liked that. He liked talking to her about books, and the events of the day (but not about his work. That was not brought up much). He had had a good day and wanted to go to Angelo's, knock back a few, and maybe play some darts. He did not know why he enjoyed the act of throwing sharp objects while mildly intoxicated by he did... except for the time he had lodged a dart in the back of his own head... he was still trying to figure that one out.
He mused upon this as he walked to the entrance and nodded at the bouncer. He waved at Tarsus. The bouncer tended to card people he did not remember and a huge saurian with a mechanical tail was fairly hard to forget.... though he highly doubted he could pass for under drinking age even in the darkest and dimmest of lights. He shrugged that thought of and walked from the ever cold and into the warmth. As he did so his eyes took in the situation at the bar in a glance. He noticed furre's he knew. Some looked happy to see him, some looked unhappy about his presense, and a couple dived under their tables. Normally he would do something about this but it was far too nice a day so he powered through it and started his approach to the bar. As he did so he saw a few things that were not an everyday thing. One was the fox in a bright pink shirt. He raised an eyeridge as he determined this was not a vixen. This was unusual but not unheard of. It took all kinds in this crazy world and Tarsus had long ago figured out the whole stigma against different kinds of love seemed pretty stupid... besides in his youth he figured that it meant more ladies for himself... he had been pretty arrogant back then.
The pink clad fox was sitting next to a furre Tarsus remembered from a talk on the gates. He remembered him in a wave of memories and was suprised at how... down the furre looked. He saw the furre on the other side seemed irrated, the fox seemed depressed and scared, and ...Rook yes that was his name... seemed angry and depressed. There was a concerned looking furre with his hand on Rook's shoulder. It all seemed to be a situation quickly going to a point marked "critical". Tarsus was in far too good a mood to have to break up a point so he sauntered over to the bar and leaned over a stool while next to the fox and nodded at the bartender.
"Hey Joe. Give me a Green Demon Drowning in A Spittoon and add a Car Bomb to his load."
The bartender looked at Tarsus for a while and blinked a few times before he raised an eyebrow.
"You just made that up didn't you."
"Yes. Yes I did. But why don't you see if you can make one anyways we will see how it goes. If it works you can add it to the menu no charge."
The bartender looked at him dryly.
"Thanks... I so appreciate that."
Tarsus waved his hand in the air, once, twice, three times. On the third his hand contained a hand rolled cigarette. After the quick slight of hand he inserted the end in his mouth and and pulled out a lighter shaped like a dragoness lifting her head to the heavens while curled sensually around what looked like a barrel. He flicked the lever on it and her mouth opened and out poured a blue flame. Applying it quickly to the end of his cigarette he secreted the lighter once more and then took a deep puff and let the smoke pour out his nostrils. The scent of tobacco and sea salt rolled forth. His face took on a more relaxed air and he looked and the four assembled furres. He looked at the bleeding 'brid, the scared fox, the indigent jackal, and the angel he knew as Rook. he looked at them and took another puff on the cigarette. The gray ashes hanging from the end, perched and ready to fall at any moment. He gazed at them with the utmost seriousness and then broke into a grin. The tips of his dagger like teeth just visible.
"Damn people. Lighten up. This is a bar not a funeral."

[sinatra]

The red fox let loose a couple more tears, starting to wonder why, or how he had let his friends make him go to this stupid bar. He felt a paw touch his shoulder, and when he looked, he realized it was the furre that was trying to support him, an apparent Jackel. The guy asked him if Sin was alright, and he was about to nod a yes, when he changed his mind. Shaking his head, he sniffled his nose and wiped at an eye with the back of a paw. "N-no..." he muttered, clenching a paw into a fist. He glanced behind him, looking to an empty booth seated table. Grabbing the jackel's drink, he left his own and dragged the other male with him to the table. "I'm sorry, I just... Need to get away from people who get angry with me. I'll pay for your drink too, if you haven't already..." He glanced at the table for a few seconds, before looking back up, his tears starting to stop. "Thank you for stand up for me, though. It's real kind of you. If you ever need repayment of anykind, just let me know." He smiled weakly and ran his claws over the tabletop, coughing akwardly.

[ooc:Sorry for crappyness, tired and hot. ><]

[wastelandwheelman]

Shavo smiled a bit, glad to see the fox was feeling a little better. He lloked back to the bar, eyeing the three furres. The old guy smoking didn't seem that big a threat, the strangely familiar hybrid before him looked in too bad of shape, but the first guy... why did he linger in his mind? Years on and off the street gave him a sort of sixth sense about people, and for some reason, the wolverine gave off the air of a cop...
Meh, he wouldn't worry about it.

"Naw, don't worry about it," he said, pulling his eyes away from the bar. "Noboby deserves to be talked to like that." He touched the gash on his upper lip, then dabbed it with a napkin, cleaning it with his drink. It stung, but at least it wouldnt get infected.

He couldn't remember the first time he tried Pack... or the last time, but for some reason, Shavo loved it. He loved the rush he got from it, but figured one day Death would meet him in the ring, and he'd pay for his addiction...

"...Um, my name's Shavo," he said, his eyes studying the fox across from him.

[sinatra]

Smiling softly, he wiped at his wet cheek fur, he green striped hair covering his left eye. "Thanks again," he spoke, a little more louder now. This furre was starting to make him feel more comfortable, which was something new. Was the red fox getting a crush on this male, who was most likely straight? Surely not, it had only been five minutes. The fox assumed it to him being horny, and looked as the jackal scratched his scar. He was about to ask how the man had acquired it, but he instead introduced himself as Shavo. "Well hello, Shavo. I guess you already know I'm Sinatra, if you were paying attention." He watching his paw again, and sighed, standing up. "I don't want to feel along right now. C'mon, you can come to my house." He grabbed Shavo's paw, and started to leave, but not before heading back to the bar and paying for their food. He glared one last time at the Wolverine and his "friend", and left with the jackal.