start of something small [open]

[calireed]

Cali sat in her hipster jeans and black vest top at the bar as she drank from the cocktail glass in front of her, Margaritas were the only cocktail she'd drink usually. She had her jacket resting on the seat next to her, no one would sit there if they knew what was good for them, the day had been long and grooling. Cali looked through her journal, taking notes, tapping her foot along with the catchy song as she held the frozen drink to her lips which left a red lip stain. Cali ran her fingers through her hair as she thought about how to start out her life in a new city.

Cali glanced around the bar, it was a nice place, seemed popular, relaxed, that's always a good thing. the large drapes and paintings were a little odd, but whatever. She saw a few people come through the door, it wasn't late, about 7pm. Cali had came here after trying to contact Mary joy's brother again, but he was in meetings or something... what kind of meetings did a Vatican member have? It wasn't like he was a priest. Cali sipped her drink and closed over her journal and listened to the music.

As her drink finished, she ordered another with a smile to the barman and heard the door opened again, but she wasn't really interested, it would be no one she cared about.

[rumor]

Will shouldered through the door, a sneer on his face as he took in the bar and it's inhabitants. He wasn't in the best of moods, and what he saw did nothing to improve it: a popular, lively bar more suited to young people, a place that hosted bands, DJs, and worst of all: karaoke nights.

He scowled. Not the place a man looking for a quiet drink and some time to think would favour. Still, it was pissing rain outside, and a quick look at the taps mounted on the counter told him that they did serve his favourite cider.

He found himself a seat at the bar, a comfortable stool nestled right at the corner, in the shadows. "Bulmers," he grunted at the barman, eyes roaming the room as he tugged a packet of cigarettes from the front pocket of his shirt.

Not half as bad as I thought. As long as no-one starts singing. Not half-bad at all.