Night is just descending on Ireland, engulfing the emerald landscape in darkness. Pubs all over would just be warming up as the nightlife begins to filter out for a good ol' pint of Guinness to warm the belly. This is no different for the Mucky Duck, as the locals lovingly call the Black Swan Tavern.
Already, the crowd in here is beginning to get thick and the taps are flowing constantly in order to fulfill the night's orders and requests. It's not even the weekend, either.
But then again, when you're in Ireland, every night seems like part of a weekend.
The daytime 'tender is given his relief for the night as two lasses step behind the bar: Fiona, the nightime 'tender, and Una, the owner. Fiona was hired about a year ago to help with the sudden influx of visitors, as Una couldn't always be available to tend the bar. Long black hair, pale blue eyes and pale complexion proves Fiona's Irish blood and stands in stark contrast to the features of her boss.
Una is obviously Irish, but for a completely different reason: her long and curly coppery locks betray her Irish-Scandinavian heritage... blame the Vikings on the hair. Her father always did. Her father also always used to say that God gave her two emeralds for eyes, for they shine such a bright green.
Tonight, Una moves throughout the tavern, carrying drinks and other orders, her laughter echoing in those eyes of hers. Black jeans and a grey woolen jumper cover her lithe frame, merely accenting those bright locks of hers against the shades of fabric.
He's obviously not from this area, the man who steps through the door and like all obvious foreigners stops the party. Conversations trail off. Heads turn. Tankards and pints stop just short of Irish mouths. And even a couple of old heads nod. Howdy-do to you, stranger.
It's a little disconcerting being the center of attention, at least for Nicu Orozco. Though tall and not so unhandsome -- bit jagged of feature, bit rough around the edges -- he's got a quiet demeanor that sizzles like a spider on the stove when all eyes are on him. He closes the pub's door, clears his throat and starts stepping to the side with a little smile. Hello. Hello. Yes, hello. I'm just going to go over in the corner now...
He's dressed for the winter and for the damp, with a grey wool overcoat, beneath it a grey sweater, with charcoal grey trousers. His blond hair is cut short-short on sides and back, just slightly longer on the top. He's got a beard coming in, stubbled gold -- and to be sure there's a little grey in it when he lets it go, not that he does that much these days. His features are Eastern European, possibly Russian or Germanic in origin, very defined, cheekbones so high they're in his eyes. His eyes are a pale green, almost to the point of being clear. He stands just shy of six feet in height.
But you know all this. Just like you know good old Nicu. Old old Nicu. Older than Waterloo, from some old family in Romania. You felt him coming in, to be sure. How could you not? And apparently the whole tavern's full of immortal-types for he's eyeballed all the way to a chair...
Hiding behind a menu, Nicu Orozco tries to find some refuge. That's why he's come afterall. Sanctuary.
Of course she felt him coming in. Even as he was reaching for the door, Una paused momentarily as she was setting an older gentleman's pint down before him. Her gaze automatically flickered around the room. In truth, there might not be any other immortals in the tavern...he just sticks out in a crowd of dark- or red-haired folk, that's all. As soon as her eyes set on him, her smile got a little broader. She nodded to the older guy and straightened.
The smile now drops a little. Nicu? Here? Sure, immortals are prone to wanderlust, but how long has it been since she's seen him? And wouldn't he call if he were coming? Her brow creases slightly with momentary worry, then smoothes as she begins to move through the crowd.
And just as she felt you, you must have felt her. You'd know she was here, of course. And now she's moving through the crowd toward you, nodding at a few gents who hollar their orders at her goodnaturedly. Stopping briefly at the bar, she passes the orders to Fiona and apparently tells her she's taking a break, because off comes the coin apron from about her waist. This is handed to Fiona and then Una's in motion again, coming up to your table with a friendly smile. "Well, well... long time no see," comes the familiar female voice.
He's a gentleman, they'll all give him that. He rises as you approach, a smile spreading -- that's when he's handsome, really -- and he reaches out with a hand to take yours. "Too long, Una," the 'o' and 'u' is pronounced. He utters vowels like no other -- certainly like no other in earshot. "You are busy, though," he says a little quieter. "I should have called." But there wasn't time. Light green eyes warm a touch from their natural coolness, and he lets loose your hand. "I would invite you to join me for a drink. To old times and maybe to some new ones?" Blonde eyebrows quirk upward, and he smiles. "Maybe," a laugh, "... I should wait until you are off-duty..." Leaning in, he wonders quietly, "What sort of alcohol do you serve? If you have a vodka... I would be most thankful. If not... ah...hmm... your best beer, I trust your choice and tastes..."
He had forgotten how lovely you were. The first time you saw him, he was dressed in Napoleanic finery, trying to avoid a battle surgeon's knife. For, in truth, though he was bloody he had no need of a surgeon. Were you not the finest nurse in all of Europe? Certainly the loveliest. And you knew him, if not for who he was then for what he was. There was a time when you and he were inseparable. Lovers, confidantes, friends. You learned that he was from a time before Napoleon, a time when Polish kings were strong. He was the model for Fortinbras, they say -- at least the literary version.
But time is funny and it goes as it goes. Relationships come and go, and it's no one's fault. Time and distance separate, and though hearts remain fond, things change. It's been many years since you've seen him, though you have heard his voice once or twice over a telephone. He's been in Romania of late, why now the sudden change of course to far and distant Ireland?
She thought you were handsome then, and her opinion has not changed over the years. There was an instant attraction between the two of you, was there not? Even though she played coy at first, and tried to keep you at a distance, eventually she couldn't betray her own feelings on the matter any longer. But yes, time changes everything.
Perhaps human beings were not meant to remain together for so many years in a row. Even now as you stand before her, she cannot help the little rise of the old emotions threatening to flood back. Pushing it all back as you release her hand, she quirks her smile a bit and shakes her head to respond.
"No, no... don't be silly. The tavern is busy, but I am not..." She's never too busy for an old friend... for you. Why are you here, Nicu? What's going on?
Motioning back to your table, she murmurs, "I'd be delighted to join you... and do I have vodka? Pff. That's a silly question, Nicu." Turning briefly toward the bar, she does a few hand signals to Fiona, who obviously understands what she's asking for. The last signal looks like a peace sign with the index and middle finger held up together....ordering two glasses, likely.
She doesn't wait for you to sit, knowing a gentleman waits till the lady is seated. Positioning herself in the seat next to you at the table, she asks, "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you to lovely Eire? And how is Romania? Has it changed much since I was there last?" She hopes not. She loved it there.
"I would say, you should come back with me and see for yourself, but... as you can see... I am not there." He does sit after you and not before, not a moment before. As you knew it would be. A gallantry that the old women in here can appreciate. As he does, finally, he sits near you, his voice lowered. Yes, say his eyes, there is a reason I am here. But, there are many such reasons. "You look wonderful," he says quietly. "It is so good to see you," and that comes from the heart, from a regretful heart that is sorry it has taken so long. I have missed you, old friend.
"Romania is new, modern, strange, old, ancient. A mix of everything. Learning democracy, remembered of empires. It is a strange time." Very strange. Pale green eyes look around and then he physically turns toward you, closing space. "Very strange of late, my dear," he whispers. "There have been a couple of our more influential are dead. Surprising names it was to read in the headlines. To hear from the old grapevines. Eastern Europe... I do not feel it is safe at the moment. And... in my business," espionage, "...I do not wait around. So, I came to see you." To make sure you were okay. To see you. To find sanctuary. "I... expect I will stay around for a little while." More than a few days. "I could use the vacation anyway..."
The old women can appreciate it, but for now it is Una who can enjoy it. It's been a while since she's been treated like a 'lady'. Oh, people are nice and people are polite, but there's something to be said about being around a true gentleman. Especially one so handsome.
"I shall have to visit you out there sometime," she replies with a chuckle. It's been too long. You are not the only one who has allowed too much time to lapse. A warmth rises in her cheeks, adding some colour there as you compliment her. "Thank you.. I've missed you, Nicu. It's good to be seen," she replies with a genuine, warm smile. Her own, usually boisterous voice has lowered, also, keeping the conversation at the table so prying ears cannot hear.
Even as you begin to whisper, her own demeanor and tone changes to match yours. "I know... I've been catching a few snippets here or there. The first few, I don't even think I caught. But there have been prominent names...people you'd not expect to go so easily," she says very quietly. The smile has slipped from her lips as she says this. She has been concerned. She was going to call you, because some of the names of the dead have been appearing from places near to where you were.
Your presence tonight caused great relief in her, in truth. "I'm glad you came here. Do you need a place to stay?" It can be arranged very easily. "Ireland's a great place for a vacation...especially if you want to disappear for a while."
"I would like that very much." Disappearing in Ireland. "I heard it was a lovely place, and that you were back, how could it be otherwise? I've heard you have been travelling. India?" He laughs. "Such exotic places. And I... would appreciate a place to stay, but I do not want to inconvenience... there a hotel or... bed-and-breakfast nearby? I do not need much. Nor want for much," though he has money, came from money, he lives humbly.
"I am just glad you are alright. When it started... I knew I had to come see you. It is... embarrassing that it has taken such things to bring me back, us back to where we share a table, share a drink." Yes, the emotion is two-way, it is mutual, shared. Felt. But the friendship did not suffer Time, that is for certain.
His jaw sets a moment, but his eyes are quick and bright as ever. "I do not need to many hints for me to get out of a place." His mouth twists and then he laughs. "I do not need sand to be kicked in my face, I think the expression is. I am in a mood to disappear for a while. And to have the chance to ...catch up with an old friend? It is a ...priceless opportunity." I am going to think of it this way, rather than wonder why it took the deaths of those around me to get me out of my rut. "What is there to do in Ireland? You will give me the tour? I have never been here before..."
In so long a life, that may be surprising...
"Ah, India... yes, it was lovely there. I don't know if you'd like it, though. I found it quite warm. But the people and history are incredible. So much to see," Una shares for a moment, her smile returning to those rose-petal lips of hers. Her smile just seems to light her up, as you no doubt remember from so long ago.
"But, I'm digressing," she adds with a chuckle. "There is a bed and breakfast nearby, of course. But you would be welcome to stay here, also." With me. "The choice is yours and I will not pressure you into either choice."
She realizes she's staring a bit too much and looks away momentarily to hide her embarrassment. "People are generally very friendly around here and won't question you too much if you don't let them." Her eyes slowly make their way around the room and finally back to you.
"I am alright, yes." At least for now. Who knows how long it will take before the killing-machine hits western Europe and both of you might be at risk. "But, do not be embarrassed. Communication is two-way. I'm at as much fault as you...and it was you who sought me out, not the other way. Does that not make me more to blame than you?" A wink accompanied by a small, yet warm smile is offered to you.
"There is always something to do in Ireland... especially if you enjoy pubs. I would, of course, be delighted to give you a tour." It would mean more time spent with you. She would never pass that up. "There are many sites I can show you." Many which would be considered hallowed ground, also, which would be good to know.
"No one's to blame," he says with a gentle tone. "It's just the way time moves." Course, you know that better than him, being a few centuries older. Twelfth Century, isn't it, for you? For him, no earlier than the 15th. "So, neither one of us should be embarrassed then." He smiles a bit at that. "I'll go with that if you will."
He listens about India, and you're right -- he probably wouldn't like it. He prefers the snow, the clouds, the rain, crisp air, colors grey and silver. Nicu just smiles, knowing you know him so well. "I want to hear all about it... as you are right, I probably will never go there myself." And you offer a place for him to stay, with you. How could he turn that down. His eyes brighten a touch, pale green going spring-like for a moment and he smiles. "I would like that," a hushed acceptance he makes. "You can tell me the story of... what you have been doing since the 1800s. We've talked on the phone... but.. well... not since what... 1970-something? The Cold War kept me busy. The end of the Cold War kept me busier. I very much want to..." catch up, maybe even to start all over again.
"So... care to show me around the place? Is now a good time? I don't mean to rush, I am rushing," he chides himself a bit, then bites his lower lip. "I do not care, yes, I am rushing to get you alone. I want to talk to you... away from the noise. I am greedy, I am secretive." This you know. "May the vodka be sent up?" Or over or... whatever...
The lack of blame agreed upon.. the interest in hearing your stories... the desire to tell your own... the fact that you want to spend time with her... and the fact that you accepted her offer -- all of this pleases her, and it shows in her eyes, as they seem to smile a bit more brightly than even her lips do.
"Now is as good a time as any. Fiona won't mind handling things on her own--"
"Ye going to head off fer a bit, Una?" comes another woman's voice. Fiona was just walking up to the table when she heard Una's comment. She sets two glasses and a good-sized bottle of vodka between the two of you.
Una looks up and nods, "Yeah, Fiona... mind watchin' the place?" The other woman shakes her head and chuckles out a "'Course not!" and wanders off quickly, not even allowing Una time to introduce you. The bartender obviously knows when not to bother holding Una up.
Grinning, Una begins to stand, reaching for the glasses as she murmurs, "Care to grab the bottle?"
Vodka. Among the best in the world, if not the best in the world at this point, is Grey Goose, distilled and bottled in France, of all places. So far, it has been the only successful 'invasion' of Russia by France...
This is poured into two small glasses. And then he removes his grey overcoat, sets it heavily upon a chair, scarf set aside as well, and an ungloved hand reaches up rakes a hand through his hair. It stands up, partially still damp from the rain, but he doesn't mind it. In fact, it looks good that way. It suits him. Not that he gives much thought to looks so much. Never did. He is as he is and who he is. He's always been that way, too...
Nicu smiles and pale green eyes take on a slight warmth. It is the way he most usually shows his emotion, there in the eyes -- sometimes rarely spoken. "I think the last time I saw you, men were still wearing high-heel shoes and ruffles on their shirts," he begins quietly, vowels very pronounced, consonants almost neverminded. Nicu laughs, and he offers you a vodka...
Feeling at home in her private loft, Una immediately yanks off her boots and moves to take your overcoat and scarf from the chair. Her gaze lingers on you a moment as your hand moves. "I'll hang this up so it can dry," she says, already moving it into a nearby closet.
Looking over her shoulder as the closet door closes, she chuckles. Moving toward you, she murmurs, "It does seem like it was a long time, doesn't it? Aye, I guess it has been a while. We have to make sure that not so much time passes next time, hm?" The vodka is accepted, her fingers accidentally brushing against yours, causing her emerald eyes to glance up at your face.
"Please... sit and be comfortable. Do you need anything else?" Other than the vodka. Her free hand motions to a simple, but comfortable-looking sofa nearby.
"No," he says easily, softly, smiling. "I am well, all things are well." He bows a touch then raises his glass. "Salut," he says, and he knocks it back. He drinks like a Russian, or one who spent a good deal of time with them. "And no... I do not think we will have such time apart now," he turns to take the bottle, he goes with it to the sofa. Plopping down, he sets both bottle and glass on the table with a punctuating thud. And a grin to you. "Do you remember the first drinking contest... you beat me. Do you feel up to a challenge tonight? Now that you own your own bar," Nicu flashes a look to you, "I feel compelled."
There is plenty of space beside him. He bounces on it a bit. Testing out his bed, yes? For he does assume that's where he will be. "Good sofa. Is it German?" He has a certain knack for furniture...
Watching you knock back the vodka causes Una to grin... that slanting, wicked grin. Wicked, but good-natured. Good-natured, but trouble-making. If she were male, would she be called a rogue? Ah, maybe not. She still has some modesty in her. "There's more where that came from... I do have a private stock up here," she admits with a chuckle, pointing over her shoulder to a well-stocked bar. She pauses a moment, then moves over toward you on the sofa. Her eyes widen with the pleasant shock of a memory resurfacing as she recalls what you speak of. "Oh my lord, that was funny. We were both so drunk, but I still managed to keep upright longer than you, yes. I think we have my father to blame for that." A wink is given to you as she seats herself more gently than knocks back her own liquid.
The glass is then set next to yours on the table as she murmurs, "I'm always up for a challenge. You should know that." Red lashes lift as she glances up at you again, reaching for the bottle to pour the next glasses. Again, that grin shows up on her lips, and her eyelashes lower again as more vodka appears in your glass, then hers. "Yes... German. You have a good eye, you know."
"I have done a lot of sitting in my day, perhaps too much," he cracks, and his pale green eyes sparkle. He leans forward a touch, pouring another drink. The sweater, revealed now that the overcoat is off, is a mock turtleneck, heather grey number, with tight woven links to keep the cold at bay. Such as it is it overlays a soldier's build. He laughs in his throat to hear you remember that night. "You remember it better than I. I just remember passing out, waking up the next morning with a colossal hangover. But," he finishes pouring, "I've been practicing..." he teases.
He lifts the glass again and holds it up, another toast, this time he touches it to your glass. "To the renewal of friendship," Nicu whispers. "We cannot turn back time, but we can move forward through it." The glass chimes and he sips at the vodka this time, sitting back with it.
"To the renewal of friendship," Una says softly, glancing at the glasses as they touch, then back at your face as she lifts the glass to her lips. There is a moment's hesitation as she says quietly, "It really is good to see you again, Nicu." The vodka is then knocked back and her glass is set on the table for now.
Sitting sideways in her seat, she rests her elbow on the back of the sofa and faces you now. "What have you been doing all these years? And how am I so lucky that you came to me instead of someone else at this point in time? Surely there is some other lucky lady you who could have ended up with you on her doorstep, hm?" she teases you gently, winking again.
Tilting her head a bit, she allows her gaze to move over you, taking in the sweater, the very fibers, how it fits you. "You look good, Nicu. You've taken care of yourself," she comments, looking back up with a smile.
He knocks the vodka back after you, he busies himself pouring two more. The pouring allows him to lean in, to take advantage of that. "Ah, you know me," his voice is low between you, even though it doesn't need to be. "Passing information, stealing briefcases, the job hasn't changed. It's kept me busy. The two world wars, the Cold War after. Now... just a lot of little skirmishes. It's...almost like the old days. A constant state of unrest. I fought in both wars," he says of World War I and II. "I couried information along the alps on skiis." He chuckles a bit, then shrugs. "It has been work-work-work for the most part. I looked up and we were bypassing a millennial mark. As for... doorsteps," Nicu smirks, "... there have been precious few of those, I can tell you." Light eyes widen a touch and he sets the bottle back down, offers you a refreshed glass of vodka, and tinkles his glass against yours again.
"Your doorstep was always my home, you know that. Where else would I go, Una...and...thank you, I think I've preserved rather alright. Nothing like you. You look better every time I see you, and just when I doubt there could be any improvement, I see you again and ..." Well. The eyes make a point of wandering then lift back to you with a cracking smile and laugh. "I am reminded why I braved the slap on the face, the scratches on the back, and all the rest that comes from red-headed women. To red-headed beauties," he salutes in a whisper, "and the men who are helpless to do anything but love them..."
As you speak of wars and your involvement in them, she watches you with interest. She herself worked as a nurse in a few of the Allied bases, but never really got too close to the action. It's just too easy to lose one's head that way, but also being a woman, she didn't have much of a choice.
"My, you've been busy, my dear. It must be an exciting life, but you'll likely just say 'it's another day's work', hm?" she says in teasing tones, poking you quickly on the knee. "Seriously, though, it does sound like you've gotten around a bit... the alps. Now, really, there's somewhere I haven't been." Maybe she should someday.
Her glass begins to raise as you begin to speak of her doorstep being home, her good looks, and all the 'gifts' of red-headed women. This was a bit unexpected, obviously, as her cheeks flush brightly and her eyes widen a bit. A bit of an embarrassed smile is hidden by the glass as she knocks her third vodka back a bit more quickly than the first two, then sets the glass down. "Um... thank you... I think..?" she manages to say with a smirk. She's trying hard not to show that you caught her off-guard, so she adds, "Well, I just can't help but keep taking you in... there's just something about a good-looking man standing on my doorstep, looking like a drowned cat from the rain." Another wink is shot in your direction.
"I am a wretched stray," Nicu says brightly. "It is true. A plate of bacon and a roof over my head is all I desire in the world. Almost. And it was all work, just that. And a lot of it. I still keep busy. Different world though. Not so much smaller as it is more... scattered." No great empires, no great powers... but for one, really. He doesn't tease your blush, he just takes it. A smile to it -- red heads blush with real distinction, skin going all strawberries and cream -- and he knocks back another glass. A rumble as he finishes it, planting the glass hard on the table. A sign of things to come. Light green eyes sparkle and he winks. "Did I make sad dog eyes when I came in?" He laughs at the notion. Wolfhound is what he'd be...
He pours another glass for himself, looking to you, nodding at you. "Drink, drink. I'm not going to get drunk alone. And you are welcome. So... now you've heard a bit about me... what have you been doing... apart from travelling the wilds of the world, exotic places? You own this place now... you are... happy... is there... someone in your life? I guess I should have asked that earlier..."
Her freckles have always been rather light, but when you add the colouring of a blush, they stand out, making her look a bit younger than she usually looks. Forever trapped as a 20-ish-year-old. Chuckling at your comment about dog eyes, she shakes her head and replies, "No... although it would have been quite cute to see." Well, either that or absolutely ravishing, depending on what dog breed you were imitating, right?
She holds her glass out for you to pour more vodka for her as she holds up her free hand, palm toward you. "Okay, okay... I didn't mean to slow down, sheesh. This is the strong stuff... are you just trying to get me drunk quickly, or what?" Do you dare answer that one? Her smiling eyes almost seem to dare you to. She drops that to turn to your questions, leaving her dare dangling in the air.
"No, there is no one. Oh, sure, I've had casual relations... but that's all. I've been on my own for quite some time, actually." Not that the casual ones haven't been exciting, but...they weren't you, were they? "I took ownership of this place a few years ago and have made a nice little living for myself. It keeps the income flowing so I can afford to go off to exotic places. I mean, why not? It's kind of nice to just let the wanderlust take over now and then and just see what is out there. But, no matter what, I'll keep coming back to the beautiful green isle." Eire. Ireland. It's her home and where her loyalties lie. "So, when I'm not traveling, I spend my time being a bartender and bouncer in my own tavern. I've been a nurse several times over, so I thought I'd try something new this time around," she adds with a grin.
"You're a top-notch nurse," he pours you another glass, not answering your tease about him getting you drunk. There's only a smile for that. "Almost makes a man want to take a bullet." He laughs. Almost. He raises his glass to you. "Congratulations," Nicu says quietly. "You've made a nice life for yourself. I'm glad I'm here to interrupt it." Again, the glasses touch. Nicu grins. "Ready. One ... two... three..." Closing his eyes, he slams back another drink. That's 5 vodka shots, isn't it? The two of you are close to finishing your first bottle.
He puts the glass on the table, "Alright... a five minute break..." and he settles back on the sofa, left arm stretching out on the back of it, legs stretching out. "I think part of me stayed away because I couldn't bear to see you with another man," a wry look, "but... speaking as your friend... I wish you love. We all have our encounters. Hard not to in a long life. Hard not to in a short life," he teases afterwards. "Where all have you been, if not the alps? Tell me, Una," he says quietly. "That way, it will be as if I had been there..."
It feels like the last night. He never meant to say goodbye. That's how these things happen. No goodbyes, just a stretch of time. That's why it ...feels the way it does. Like it was put on pause for all that time. Around you know, the flip is switched again. It's as real as it was two-hundred years ago. "We should go on a drive tomorrow...well... if the headaches allow," Nicu laughs, light eyes dancing light, "...you can show me around your home..."
"Well, from growing up on my father's ship, I had to tend to many wounds on my own. I learned a lot about healing back then. The more modern medicinal form of healing...that's all text-book learning, really," Una replies with a chuckle. She then knocks her drink back and places her glass next to yours, leaning forward for a moment. "But thanks... and you can interrupt my life anytime. I don't mind. Sometimes it gets lonely out here." She takes a moment to fill the glasses again, emptying the bottle.
"You take your break and I'll grab another bottle. I can tell we're going to need it. Should I grab two while I'm up?" Rising from the sofa, her hand brushes your arm on the back of the sofa, since she was so close. Standing before you with her hands on her hips, she waits for your answer before moving. She really has not let herself go at all over the years...if anything, she's actually improved herself physically since you last saw her. Her heavy woolen jumper hides her defined arms, as her jeans hide the definition in her legs, but it shows in the way she holds herself. She's not a 'frail little woman'...not that she really has ever been frail, but she's stronger now. In fact, her jeans may hide the definition in her legs, but certainly not how shapely they are.
"Oh, let's see now, I've been to India... I was in Germany and Austria for a bit... Hm. Where else have I been...France very briefly. I spent some time in Russia. I forget where I've been now, the places are so many. India is so different from here, from France... from almost anywhere else I've been. Granted, every place has a certain 'feel', but India was just so unique. It's almost like a different world. There's a different lifestyle, atmosphere and view. It's busy and packed, but there's not the same fast-paced rush that there is in other places. It's mysterious." Her eyes widen a bit, as does her smile, as she attempts to fit things into words that she only finds inadequate. "But, it's hard to describe. It's truly amazing."
"Two is always better than one," comes the standard Eastern European reply. It is coupled with a smile, warm. Yes, there's affection there, genuine. He has missed you. It's clear. And it's so easy, this. It almost makes the heart sad. And believe you me, no one broods like Nicu Orozco. Well, surely you remember that. Particularly when he gets drunk, he wails, he broods, he drinks more, he recites poetry, he rumbles and then he passes out. It's a familiar thing for you. Who knows, you may get to waltz down that particular memory lane.
"Sounds wonderful," he kicks up a foot to rest on the table, his arm outstretched on the sofa... as you touch it, it moves, he takes your hand, he gives your fingers a squeeze. "Next time you go to Russia -- though, it shouldn't be anytime soon with all that is happening -- you make sure you call your old friend. I will welcome you in our palaces of snow and ice. I spent time in France as well, well... off and on. I mostly cross it on my way to other places, or just skim it at the borders of Germany. Maybe... maybe sometime we can meet in Switzerland..."
He watches you. He looks at you. You've changed. For the better, and how many can truly say that. "I will make sure you have my cell phone number. We have no excuse in this modern age, Una, if we cannot find one another. God, you look amazing, I have to say it. The vodka will run away with my tongue, is running away with it," he corrects. And he pours the final two glasses from this bottle. "Beautiful. I can't help it, but say it. You are beautiful, truly, my friend. How is it that no man has taken you... called you his own? How is it I was such a foolish man, and yet live..."
Yes, she remembers the brooding. But it never truly bothered her. It might bother others...does it? But not her. When the two of you slipped away from each other, it was not because of a lack of interest, boredom or anger. It was just out of... well, time does that. It can sometimes pull people apart. Life gets complicated. But why does it always have to be? She wishes for the old days together with you, perhaps... or that they might start again.
Just as she would step away for the other bottles, her hand is captured, as is her attention. Your words, even if you feel the vodka is doing the talking, your words capture her...ensnare her... she cannot move. She merely stands there before you, listening, blushing more, and staring in rapt silence. Her own fingers move to hold yours now, perhaps instinctively? It's likely a familiar thing...how many times have the two of you held hands? She's missed it.
Her lips move almost uselessly as she tries to find words, tries to steady her voice, which only betrays her. It trembles very slightly with emotion. Can you hear it? "Nicu... really..." Her throat is cleared and then she says more clearly, "The same could be said of you, old friend." She's always found you to be handsome, perhaps even beautiful...inside and out. And she has found herself wondering why you've not settled with someone else, either.
He remembers what this was like. You spent quite a few nights in silence, listening to the storms outside, hands interlocked. Fingers just barely moving. He was a man of standing once upon a time, he lived well for a man in the 16th Century. Up in the mountains. Upon the plains of Poland and Germany. He moved to Vienna after a while. He had to be in the middle of things.
You were older than he. You had seen the world move for centuries before he came. He remembers hearing your stories of historical personages, personalities, the movement of time. He was a bold man, a lion. The first time in fought, he wore a wolf's head. Germany was a wild place, even in the late Middle Ages. The Renaissance never really came. They went from middle ages straight to enlightenment.
Holding hands with you reminds him of dancing. The linder. The dances of the court. Fingertips clasping, and in empire finery you moved. And now, again. Like the parting move of a dance, or maybe it's the beginning, he lifts your fingers to his mouth, bending to kiss them. Nicu closes his eyes.
"You are kind. You have always been kind to me. You have that caring gift. It's the nurse in you. The caretaker in you." The wife in you. Nicu smiles. He sets your fingers free. "Two more bottles," he whispers. And he will watch you go. He will watch you come back.
Your kiss makes the blood rush to her cheeks again. She can't help it, really. All the emotions she thought had gone away were merely sleeping all this time, and are rapidly awaking. She releases a breath she didn't even realize she was holding as you release her fingers, then steps away toward the bar.
With her back to you, she tries to regain her composure, but she wonders if the vodka might only be countering her effects. Alcohol always had this kind of effect on her. When she really needed to, she could usually be very strong-willed...her control on her emotions is something she's worked hard on over the centuries. It's a survival mechanism. But the vodka... it breaks down barriers easily. She's less likely to try to hide behind the mask, when the spirits have melted it away to nearly nothing.
A moment later, she turns around, carrying two bottles just like the first. "So, do we dispense with the glasses now?" she asks, laughter in her voice. Why bother with them when there's a bottle for each of us, hm? Both bottles are placed on the table before she returns to her place on the sofa, sideways to look at you again.
His eyes go a bit wide at that, and he shifts suddenly, reverie broken. The smile widely follows after. "By the bottle? Well, when you accept a challenge, you really throw down the gauntlet. Very well, yes..." he nods, accepting the huge gauntlet.
A hand pats the sofa beside him, the hand that lifts, resting at the back of the sofa again, arm stretched out. If you sit back, you will automatically be in his arms, so to speak. "You sure it's not going to throw a wrench into the works of your life if I ...stick around for a while," Nicu says quietly, seriously. "It's a lot to ask for someone to blow into your life after not talking to you for thirty years or so... I don't want to seem like... I take you for granted, Una. You know... well, maybe you do not know so I will tell you... I don't take you for granted. Nor will I." A hand comes out for the bottle and he smiles. "I appreciate the shelter. Do you ever tire of the rain?"
He looks at you, his gaze softens. "God, this is so ... strange. Amazing... strange. Me and you... here... vodka... after all this time." Bottle in his grasp he lifts it in toast. "To the reunion of old love and old friends..."
There's nothing saying that the bottles have to be finished. "Well, I have plenty to go around... it's not like it'll go bad if we don't finish it, right?" Who knows what the night will bring? She settles back into her spot, leaning back against the cushions and tilting her head back for a moment against your arm. Her own bottle remains clasped in one hand, raised a bit.
As she lowers her bottle, she shakes her head and murmurs quietly, "No... actually, I'm glad you're here. It's comforting, in truth. With all that's going on.. with all the time that's passed.." Her head turns a bit so that she can make eye contact as she whispers, "I have missed you, Nicu." The vodka's taking off with her words, also, but it's the truth. She moves her bottle to touch it to yours, wordlessly joining you in your toast.
She whispers in a delayed response to your question, "The rain is always here... it becomes a comfort to me." Just as you could, if you stuck around long enough this time. Her eyes then move away from you as she tips the bottle back and swallows a good, long mouthful. This brings a slight wince to her expression, but this fades quickly.
"And I've missed you, Una." Not that I think I can just waltz into your life again and it'll be a piece of pie, as they say. And it's not even the vodka talking. It's me. The vodka's just the lubricant on the rusty gears. He doesn't so much as blink when he says it. He nods, he leans back for a long swallow of vodka.
This is chased by a growling exhale. "Vodka will outlive us all!" But then he smiles. His eyes are glittering, their pale green gone spring meadow-like. Even for all his constitution, he's starting to feel the effects. "Come here, little dove," he says, his accent thickening -- that's always the first sign -- and his arm extended begins to surround you, to pull you in to him. "I will be your sanctuary," he says, it's an old line. "You will be my church. We will worship," you know what he must mean, "... we will be safe," he finishes in a hush. He lifts the bottle, he takes another, quick swallow. And caught up with you, he leans in, setting the bottle down on the floor at the sofa's edge. "I think you will be fine here. We will keep our eyes open. The one who is doing this will be found, I have no doubt."
Times have changed and people have changed, but the emotions are still there. And while not many women would let a man just waltz back into their lives after so many years, she's finding it really damned easy to just let it happen. She could fight it, play hard to get, play being angry at you for the lack of contact...but she just can't. The others have been fun, sure...but it just hasn't been the same.
She manages to get another swig from her bottle before you begin pulling her in. She stretches momentarily and places her bottle on the table, then relaxes, letting her body move where you would put it. One arm instinctively hooks around your shoulders while the other rests upon your chest, her fingers playing vaguely with the neckline of your sweater. Her face is close to yours as she murmurs softly, "It's been a long time." That is all she says. That is all she needs to say.
I feel safe with you, her eyes seem to say, as her lashes lower just slightly, softening her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed from the vodka which now burns in her veins. Who said the bottles needed to be finished? They'll still be there tomorrow, afterall.
Posted by rowan at March 01, 2001 12:07 AM
