|Man With The Bordeaux
Author: Eric Draven201 PM
It was a night like any other. How was I supposed to know my life would be in the hands of white haired man with taste for expensive wine? Rated for language. Oneshot.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Supernatural - Words: 2,769 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 5 - Updated: 10-19-09 - Published: 10-18-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5452908
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hey, guess what? I ain't dead yet! Work sucks (most if not a lot of us have been there before)… Been working nonstop double shifts for I don't know how long now. I NEED SLEEP!!
While I have plenty of updates qued up, I thought that I'd regale you with this little oneshot.
Remember... I don't paid for this... still as broke as ever. Please enjoy.
Man with the Bordeaux
I should have known that when I moved to Capulet that strange things would happen. My cousin warned me, but hey… What can I say? I am a little hard headed.
Call me Jay. Some time ago, I came to this city looking to finish up a degree and make a career for myself at a local advertising firm. Much to my chagrin, our little economic bubble burst. Needless to say that I have my education intact, but I am forced to work as a bartender to make ends meet.
I suppose it could be worse…
"Your earliest Cabernet Sauvignon, please," a silky voice said to me from behind. The words rolled off his tongue with such ease and fluidity of someone who had either practiced the phrase beforehand or was already fluent in French.
Whatever the case, I turned to face my first bar guest of the evening. I brought my eyes up to meet the frosty blue pair before me.
"Hello again," I politely greeted my newest repeat customer.
He nodded in recognition of my presence, never saying much; just the usual, 'hellos,' 'goodbyes' and to place his order.
He's been coming for the better part of two weeks now, always following the same routine. He normally orders a full-bodied wine. Sometimes it's a Merlot and other times a Malbec. On a few occasions he'd order a hot cup of Earl Grey or coffee. Then he'd remove his tailor made suit jacket, hang it on the back of the barstool and delve into book. Today he wore a black suit and tie, with his dress shirt matching his hypnotic irises. And today he brought a newspaper.
There, he folded it such that he could begin work on its many puzzles.
The first time I saw him, I guess that I was somewhat surprised by the striking figure sitting there. His ethereal beauty alone made him seem more like a sculpture than man. He had platinum hair neatly slicked back with the ends fashioned in subtle spikes. His skin was pale; probably from lack of sunlight… we get a lot of customers who stray away from sun as if they were vampires. More really vampires to the real world and slaves to their work. His face held regal features including his angular jaw line and perfectly sloped nose. Everything about him right down to his shoes cried, 'aristocrat.' Don't get me wrong, we get some pretty classy clientele around here; well, I mean… this is a high class lounge. But this guy was a special breed.
At first I thought maybe he was million dollar playboy. No. There was no sign of the obligatory entourage. Maybe he was just looking to blow off some steam.
From time to time, I find myself pulling my gaze back, before it becomes an uncomfortable stare. It's hard not to! His looks alone put him on a sliding scale somewhere between angel and male model. Looking at him, I sort of see why some of the guys around here say that they would go gay for him.
I replied with, "Coming right up, sir." I promptly went to work at cleaning up a wine glass and pouring the sanguine liquid. I set the glass in front of him. He gave his thanks and requested that I leave the bottle this time. I oblige, realizing that he must digging in for the long haul and didn't set out for his usual hour and a half.
Right about that time, a buxom beauty with hair that was like copper set afire, sat down a few chairs from my regular and greeted me with a, "How's it goin', Jay?"
She wore a stylish tweed jacket with only the slightest amount of cleavage showing and a matching skirt along with basic black pumps.
I struggle to grope my mind for her name. She told me once… what was it?
"Same old, same old. I can't complain. I just wish that it wasn't so slow."
Without missing a beat, she rationalized, "Well, if you were busy, you couldn't make time for me and your friend there." She pointed a thumb over her shoulder and into the direction of the white haired man. To which he only momentary glanced up from his paper, gave her a quick nod, and went back to his work.
"Well he doesn't say much," she whispered.
I responded by shaking my head, indicating a 'no.'
"What can I do you for, darling?"
"Oh… a Sex on a Beach will do."
"That, I can do, but the beach might have to come at some other time. The beach is a little far away."
She tittered out an adorable laugh at my corny joke and I set out to make her drink. It was simple enough, vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice and cranberry. Instead of pouring it over ice in a highball glass, I strained it out in a chilled martini glass, that's how she liked it… Like her men, straight up and neat.
Maybe I fantasized that part… or maybe I just reached the threshold of recognition and peered into her soul. HA! Whatever the hell that meant! I don't know how I knew, but I just did.
She sipped at it and exclaimed, "You are a lifesaver! A true artist! Thank you so much." I glanced up to see that my other patron wasn't at all distracted by the commotion caused by this petite woman. He truly had concentration of steel.
She and I engaged in some friendly conversation, first making small talk… 'How's the weather…' 'Did you happen to catch that episode of Heroes the other night?'
That was one thing that tied us together, random TV shows.
"I haven't been able to watch it as much with all of the extra hours we pull at the firm—" My mind must have let her words trail off, because I can't seem to remember what else she said. A firm… That's right. She had told me the she worked for the advertising firm that I had applied to. Was she rubbing it in my face? No. She couldn't have known.
God she was hot. I mean… Of course I noticed since she walked and not just moments ago. She started coming here about a month ago. I wanted her with such an uncontrollable desire that I could scarcely remember the little things, like how to make a Cosmo.
"—They couldn't keep Sylar down for long. I am dying for them to move this story along. Hey… Can I try one of your Cosmos?"
Oh, the way she spoke… such a alluring but commanding voice. The way she moistened her lips with her bubblegum tongue, her come-hither stare. The lines and shapes in her curves—
"A Cosmo, please."
"Oh, right. I'm sorry, must have spaced for a minute."
"I've have it for you in one sec."
See… I've been having little brain farts like that every time she came around. She has some kind of spell over me where I can't seem to make a coherent thought. She somehow leaves me thinking with my little—
Whoa, down boy.
I remove her finished glass and replacing it with a new drink.
I know she wants me. I see it in her jade eyes.
"I'm leaving," the white haired man suddenly announced in a low, even voice. I'm kind of glad that he broke me from my previous thoughts, because I don't know what I would have done to that poor woman if he hadn't.
He stepped off the stool and shrugged into his jacket.
"Lots of work to do," he uttered as he collected a long, leather cylindrical portfolio tube. Huh. Did he have that with him before? I don't remember seeing him walk in here with it. Maybe he was mulling over those sketches with wine. Did he belong to the same firm?
He had already polished off his bottle, so I guess there was no reason for him to stay. He produced a wallet and placed a crisp fifty dollar bill on the counter. He walked off to the front door.
"Sir, your change," I called after him.
"Keep it," he waved a dismissive hand as he left.
"That was odd," she commented as she sipped on her drink.
"Yeah," I concurred as I cleared the space where he once sat. That was almost and twenty-five dollar tip. He was only there for about fifteen minutes and managed to finish every puzzle the newspaper had to offer. What a waste.
She offered a twenty and then another ten.
"Another generous tip," I treaded with hopefulness lumbering in my voice.
"Hey, you earned it, hon. Walk me to my car?"
I nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. Against my better judgment, I left the bar unattended and proceeded to escort her to her car.
"You can never be too careful out here. There are so many unsavory characters in this city."
"Um-hmm," she softly hummed. She hooked an arm around mine and pressed her body to me. "You're a perfect gentleman, Jay."
She led me to the far end of the parking lot, beyond where the security lights ended. "This is me," she motioned the champagne colored Camry.
"Goodnight. Drive safe," I bided her as I turned to return to my post. Except that I couldn't; before I fully realized what she was doing, the woman was holding me into a full embrace. Stupidly thinking that she was drunk and was attempting at a hug, I awkwardly patted her on the back.
But then her hand, which was originally pressed on my chest, was now snaking downward, finding its way past my waistband. Her cool fingertips wandered and gripped my—
"Whoooa. Hey. Umm, on second thought, maybe we should call you a cab," I said as I fished her hand out of my pants.
She looked up at me with eyes of forest green, rounded with eerie bangles of crimson. "I am not intoxicated. Everything is fine." Her voice was hauntingly soothing… So reassuring. She had a hold over me, mind, body and soul. I was putty in her hands. While my id reveled in the notion, my ego was left deeply unsettled by it.
"Everything's fine," I absently repeated as my gazed deepened into her orbs. She crushed her lips against mine. Her tongue invaded my throat. I was unable to buck backwards or resist, not just because my thoughts became so convoluted, but that she was physically holding me there. She inhaled and I suddenly felt weak, paralyzed and helpless. I was already victim to the clutches of a woman of barely five feet.
She pulled back and I felt her hot, odorless breath ghosting across my neck. A moment passed before I felt the sharp prick there.
She bit me. Did this bitch really just bite me? I could scarcely believe it.
"Aria," a voice called to her calmly. Yeah… I remember now. That was her name.
Aria brought her head up revealing a pair of elongated canine teeth covered in blood. Did she get that from me?
She turned her attention to direction where the voice called. I have to admit that I looked too. I managed to crane my neck to see a figure just beyond her shoulder. I balked at who I saw.
My savior… the man with the Bordeaux.
"You," Aria hissed, "Why are you here?"
"I think you know why," he evenly returned.
"Son of the traitor, son of a whore. Fucking filthy halfling! What chance do you stand against me? Leave me to my prey." Her voice had taken on an unearthly screech.
Without another word, he began stepping closer. As he did so, he slid out of his suit jacket, opened the leather tube and produced a Japanese styled sword. He tossed aside the tube and dashed towards in a streak of blue and black. He was moving so quickly that I could have sworn that he disappeared for a split second.
All I saw was the glint of silver under the moonlight and street lamps.
And as fast as he rushed into this fight was as quickly as I found myself lying on the ground next to the beheaded corpse of Aria; face to face with her disjointed maw shaped into surprise and agony.
I tried to sit up and scurry away from my murdered customer.
"Give yourself a moment. This succubus had you under an enchantment." His voice didn't inflect at all, as if he was bored and his face was pressed into utter seriousness. "Aria was not the human you thought she was, only the bottom of the totem pole of a long line of demons. Consider yourself lucky that she was unable to use you to create an incubus and drain you of your life force."
The man picked up his sheath. He turned to leave and I called out, "Wait." He stopped and stared me down with those piercing blue eyes.
"Uh," I was at first unable to voice the words under his gaze, but managed to find them, "How do I thank you? You saved my life."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and said, "Call this number should anymore situations like this arise."
I took it and read the business name aloud, "Devil May Cry?"
"My brother's idea of a joke," he shrugged, "its best that you leave and put this matter to bed."
I nodded and high tailed it out of there. I was too traumatized to even want to remember tonight. Needless to say, I'll never see that guy again.
"Was that to your liking, little brother," the white haired man spoke to no one in particular.
The response was a set of hands clapping. "Bravo, Verge. Now was that so hard?" Vergil turned to see his red clad brother sitting Indian Styled on the roof of the Camry."Did you you enjoy that lil' workout."
"Invigorating." He flicked the blood off his blade and slid it home, leaving the gruesome scene without another word.
"Leaving so soon?"
"I am in need of some alcohol and I must find an establishment that serves a fine Bordeaux, since this place is now out."
"Alright! Paaaarty! Mind if I come with?"
Vergil shook his head saying, "I enjoy the solitude. You should try it sometime." He grabbed his suit jacket and took off into the night.
"Such a drama queen," Dante sighed as he stepped off the car.
It had been a few months since that night. I've kept my head low, never alluding to the incident or the man who saved me. Since then I've been working days and avoiding the night owls out there. Life's been great so far.
As I was opening the bar, I heard the sound of one of the barstools sliding across the floor.
"I'll be there in one second," I called over my shoulder as carried a box to the back.
"Take your time," I heard a velvety voice say.
I returned with a few bottles of bourbon and nearly dropped them at the sight I saw. My heart lurched and then began to pound wildly. There he sat, clad in red and black, his hair hung in messy fringes, hiding his eyes but perfectly framing that shit-eating grin plastered on that all too familiar face.
"Let me get a double shot of your best gin and a strawberry sundae," he said.
Outrageous claim of the day:The REAL reason why Dante would never wander into Sparda's study was not because of all the scary demons heads pinned to the walls, but that it also housed Eva's sex toys. Yeah… think about. OTL
(Thanks goes out to Shadow-of-a-wolf for letting use that phrase!)