alcohol, your songs resound like my life never will

[moralperil]

Date & Time: 8/13/13, evening, two hours after this conversation.
Location: a bar of Jack's choosing
Characters: Mahdi (moralperil) & Jack (allucinator)
Summary: Mahdi's celebrating his one year anniversary in Exsilium. Jack promised Mahdi a drink, Mahdi bumped it up to two.
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS: PTSD episodes, discussion of sexual abuse.

[There's a lot for him to think about, out in the rain. Mahdi tries not to sulk and dwell on being called 'kid', on being treated childishly. In a year here, he's only just recently started to understand this attitude comes from people who want to look out for him. They can't know how impossible a task that is.

It sucks, in a way. He'll probably always be the one who's like a little brother, the treasured friend, the ally and angel but never more than that. These are all great things to be, things Mahdi is happy to be, but he wonders why it seems like the only way to be thought of as an adult is to act cynical and jaded. It seems to him like not letting the world change you is a form of maturity, too, but the sincerity and sweetness he treasures are not valued by all.

Normally, Mahdi doesn't get so reflective, but it has been a year and nearly two weeks since he's arrived. He's been thinking about a lot of things lately, like how it's been over two years since he's seen his family and the last real conversation he had with his sister Fayra was about how he needed to get out more, how he ought to go dancing with her, how he needed to try and have fun and get a date since it's been two years since that last guy, dang it.

(Okay, now it's been more like four.)

But Mahdi hasn't been trying like she'd want him to, even though he has more opportunity here. He rarely goes out at night. He usually stays home, maybe practices some recipes and just goes to bed early.

Maybe he actually finds this place pretty depressing. It's time he stopped, he figured. It's time he took some kind of move in his personal life.

When Mahdi turns up at the bar, he's no longer in the casual-disheveled state he had been when they chatted on the tablets. He's pulled his hair back into a loose braid, and he's wearing a nice blue sweater and trousers. He arrives a few minutes earlier than two hours, so worried he might be late or find the wrong place. He pulls off his yellow raincoat with a shiver, and searches the room for Jack. If he hasn't arrived yet, he'll find a table or something - stools are just too challenging for him.]

Comments

[allucinator]

[He looks less like a kid when he's not on-screen. Jack will admit that much, at least, though perhaps not to Mahdi himself. But he looks like he belongs here, at least, which is more than Jack expected. Not if only he doesn't open his mouth and look so shocked about cursing, maybe they'll get somewhere.

Jack throws an arm up when he sees the boy wandering around and waves him over-- he's claimed a small table for them, something a little more private toward the back, because he really hadn't been lying about the whole crowds thing.]

Oye!

[moralperil]

Hi Jack! [Mahdi smiles brightly, and heads over to their table, sitting down.]

Lovely rain tonight, as usual.

[allucinator]

I think I could live me life without ever seein' a storm again. Has it been like this since you got here?

[moralperil]

Pretty much. Rain, rain, more rain... bombings... space ship falling onto the housing... and more bombings.

[Mahdi rattles it off cheerfully as, well, a conversation about the weather.]

I guess the atmosphere or something's in a pretty sorry state, and that's why the weather's bad.

[allucinator]

I'm surprised the whole place don't flood.

[Absently he takes a swig of his beer.]

What sorta drink you want?

[moralperil]

Um, something sweet! A White Russian, maybe? Please?

[Mahdi doesn't do a lot of drinking, so his tastes aren't particularly sophisticated.]

[allucinator]

[His mouth twists in amusement, but he gestures toward the waiter. Two White Russians, he orders, and grins at him.]

Never tried one before, but I like sweet. So-- I dunno, tell me somethin' about yourself.

[moralperil]

...I don't usually let underage boys buy me drinks. [Mahdi says once the server's out of earshot, making a goofy face.]

I'm uh, pretty honest about just about everything, so if you want to know something, all you need to do is ask.


[OOC: Before I forget! Take a gander at Mahdi's permissions?]

[allucinator]

I don't let prissy boys drink with me, usually, so now we're both branchin' out. But as for questions-- uh, well, what's your last name? What d'ya like to do?

[moralperil]

Prissy?

[A real head-scratcher, that. Mahdi tries to recall when he's heard people use the term prissy and it's just bringing to mind princess tea parties and daisy nail decals and while princess tea parties and daisy nail decals seem pretty great he can't think of any reason why he'd be connected to such things?

Still, Mahdi's not aware that the term could be an insult, so he moves on.]

My last name's Clare, but please just call me Mahdi.

Mostly I like to cook! Cooking and helping people. I play with Truffle and Caramel a lot, and I train every day. What about you, Jack? You haven't been here very long, have you.

[allucinator]

Two months.

[He pushes his hand through his hair. He'd rather hear about Mahdi than talk about himself for once, so (perhaps a bit obviously):]

What sorta stuff you train with?

sorry for multiple edits!

[moralperil]

I have a flashlight that projects shields that can explode. I also do some self-defense training! I'm basically terrible at it, but, when in Roan or whatever. [Mahdi's okay with being bad at fighting. It's not really his thing, after all, and he has other defenses should he need to use them.]

What about you, what weapon did you get? And are you settling in okay?

it's all good!

[allucinator]

I-- yeah, I'm fine. I got a gun.

[He nearly flushes, which is stupid-- but he's not used to someone being so genuinely and intently interested in him.]

It's Rome, by the way. Not Roan.

[moralperil]

A gun. That makes sense, it's a pretty straightforward weapon! Lots of people here have guns. [Mahdi nods, though he remains enthusiastic, he seems a little sad, too. He dislikes violence and the way this war is forcing humans to hurt one another. But, there's nothing he can do but lend his support. He sips his drink.]

Wait... Roam? Like wandering around?

[allucinator]

No-- no, Rome. It was a country a long time ago.

[Perhaps surprisingly patiently, he drags his finger through a bit of old beer left over on the table, carefully spelling out the letters. R-O-M-E, and he gives him a little smile.]

When in Rome. Means . . . if you're in the country, act like it, so you don't stick out.

[moralperil]

Oh, I get it! Like, when you're in New York, act like a New Yorker! Disobey traffic signals!

[Mahdi laughs, completely delighted at this new discovery.] So Rome was big, right? That's why Rome wasn't built in a day?

[allucinator]

Probably. Sorry, who's been tellin' you about New York?

[moralperil]

I lived there for awhile before I came here!

[Drinking.]

It's a great place to hide, there's so many people. And no one who lives there is from there!

[allucinator]

You lived there? Why didn't you tell me!

[He beams at him, suddenly quite endeared.]

What part you from? How long'd you live there? What year?

[moralperil]

Brooklyn! I um, I lived there a little over six months. I was working at a diner, trying to keep a low profile, when I was brought here.

I liked it a lot.

[Mahdi stirs the ice in his drink with his straw, listening to the clink.]

[allucinator]

Why a low profile? I was in Manhattan, born and raised, but me parents were from Ireland.

[moralperil]

Some demons were out to kill me and my friend. [Mahdi says it as lightly as if he's talking about the weather. He blows some bubbles in his coffee-colored drink before nearly finishing it.]

Manhattan is so amazing! I always wanted to go see one of those musicals on Broadway. Did you ever go?

[allucinator]

I--

[He blinks once, twice, and tries not to focus on that. It's one thing to hear Ashraf-- a priest, a semi-imposing figure-- talk of the undead; another to hear this boy say it so casually.]

Before me time, mate. I lived in 1899. I used to live parttime in a showhouse theater, though.

[moralperil]

[Mahdi really, really isn't a boy.

Just... unusual.]

Did you get to be in the shows?

[allucinator]

Nah. Painted the scenery, that's all. The, uh, lady who owned the theater raised me, sorta.