One of Those Nights (Cecil)

[Vincent Meian]

Normally, Vincent didn't drink outside his home. He was a private person, and like anyone else, alcohol tended to loosen his restraints on decorum in addition to verbal filters. One or two drinks, even three was fine, but at a certain point even the most resilient of people started to feel the buzz.

However, there were times when going out and having a drink seemed like a good idea. Especially when the leaving was punctuated by something hitting the door on his way out.

To be very clear, the Japanese man loved his wife dearly. They were in a happy marriage with two wonderful and beautiful children. But both adults had serious tempers, and one of them needed to let it out more often than the other. Which frequently resulted in a multi-language shouting match, pointedly emphasized with objects being thrown unerringly by the female of the pair, and concluded with the taller individual leaving for an hour or more to cool his own head while his wife sorted her feelings. Tonight was a particularly bad night, so a couple hours away from home didn't seem to be a bad idea.

Meandering through downtown at a walk, the holidays seemed to be in full swing, and seeing people laughing and enjoying themselves brightened the trainer's spirits a bit. He made note of which stores had sales, and a few locations that seemed to pop up out of nowhere without his notice, then turned the corner to walk into the Club District.

Having been invited to the Holiday Bash this year as well, Vincent knew the Churchkey when he saw it, even if he hadn't been inside yet. Well, what better time to look around and familiarize himself with the location, especially if it was going to be packed with people in a week or so. And why not; he was in the mood for a drink while he waited.

Stepping into the bar, the tall man took off his jacket and found a seat at the end of the counter, unconsciously picking a stool where he could easily see the door and most of the other patrons. His back wasn't quite to the wall, but military habits died hard, even after two decades. Slipping his coat over the back of the chair, he settled easily without needing to lift himself into the seat (a benefit of having long legs), then waited for the bartender and gave a nod to show that he was both ready to order and could wait until the other customers were cared for. He had time.

[Cecil Wathen]

It was bitterly cold outside but sat on the bench under the shelter in the beer garden with the little heater on it was surprisingly snug. Cecil exhaled deeply, the menthol-scented smoke swirling up into the air as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette into the sand bucket near where he was sitting. The little shelter was a fairly new addition to the Churchkey, and even though it had cost a bit to set up and get to standard Cecil was glad he'd made the investment. It would have sucked to have been sat out here now without it.

All in all though, it had been a good day. He'd walked Mephit twice and the Kelpie was now sound asleep in the apartment upstairs. His training session with Josef had gone really well and he'd finally invested in a new pair of gloves, and Cecil was sure that he felt healthier and more mentally sound than he had felt for quite some time. He blamed it in part on the Vermont air, but he knew that it was because he was finally making some sort of forward progress. Slowly but surely, the past was becoming the past and he was learning how to move forward on dwelling on what had once been.

Now if only he could get the ground to stop pulsing, that would be a lovely touch.

In his common sense Cecil knew that the ground was not moving, that what he was seeing was not really happening. He knew it was a side-effect and would ease off in a bit, but it never stopped it from being disturbing. Granted the floor moving beneath him was one of the lesser troubling of the hallucinations he'd been faced with over the years, but it still turned his stomach to look down at it and the Welshman scrunched his eyes closed, waiting for the valium he'd taken earlier to kick in and mellow things down as he took another draw on his cigarette.

After a few minutes the cigarette was extinguished and Cecil made his way back into the bar, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on a hook behind the bar before adjusting his shirt and silently willing the wood-grain pattern on the bartop to please stop moving in waves. Please. Catching sight of a man sat at the end of the counter on his own, Cecil gave a wave to Malachi to say he had this and wandered over to the stranger with a soft smile. “Hello my friend. Feeling the chill out a bit tonight, ey? What can I get you?”

[Vincent Meian]

The accent from the second man behind the counter wasn't one that Vincent recognized, though it sounded almost British. Not quite, but almost. It was interesting. Giving a nod and a slight smile in response, he added, "It is certainly cold outside, yes." While not as chilly as some places he'd been, the weather in Pilot Ridge often reminded him of the weather in Sapporo, though the island often had more humid weather than what displayed here.

The tall man considered ordering something different for a moment, but spoke his usual tastes instead. "Whiskey, neat. A brand you recommend, please." It might have been a little strange, but he'd learned how to drink the almost spicy beverage that way many years ago and it simply stuck. Additionally, bars in the US seemed to carry things that the bartenders both liked and didn't - given that his own tastes were (apparently) very varied, asking for something Cecil would choose seemed like a reasonable option.

Glancing about, it seemed like a relaxed enough evening for conversation, even if such small talk rarely came easily to the Japanese man. "I have heard that this year's Holiday Party will be hosted here," he said, breaching the topic somewhat awkwardly. "It is quite the big event, if last year is any indication."