maskormenacelogs | [open] I took a light, and I made a fire

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[open] I took a light, and I made a fire

WHO: Roy Mustang and anyone!
WHERE: Il Fiammeggiante Ragazzo Bar in Heropa
WHEN: Basically any time throughout April, starting the 4th
WHAT: Free drinks! Friendly chatter!
WARNINGS: Alcohol mostly. Some mentioned nudity.

[Il Fiammeggiante Ragazzo has a modest downtown pseudo-brick storefront. Not in the best part of town, but not quite in the bad part, the looping cursive of its well-maintained orange and blue lighted sign manages to not look out of place. The interior, like the interior of most clubs, is dark enough to conceal most of the stains on the floor, but the brown brick interior makes it intimate rather than dingy. The lighting is all bright, cobalt blue, gold, orange, magenta and violet, strikingly bright and pretty for how little it cuts through the overall dimness. There’s a pool table on the right, a couple of small tables, and a modest dance floor towards the back which, depending on what time you come, may or may not be populated by a disproportionate amount of young, attractive men, thugh there are plenty of ladies, too. Beyond the dance floor lies a staircase and an entrance onto the outdoor patio. Every one in a while a young man wearing nothing but a very nice pair of underwear and sneakers with good sole support may wander down the staircase and head over to the bar, leaning over it to chat with the bartenders.

The bar itself is off to the left of the entrance and Roy is immediately identifiable as the only bartender wearing a shirt--tight and black with the club’s logo emblazoned across the front. The sleeves are short enough to show the bottom edges of the wide bruises ringing his upper arm, finally starting to yellow. In the poor lighting, you might not even notice they’re there. Also notable may be the fact that Roy’s wearing a pair of white cloth gloves.

The first couple of nights, you may find Roy in the middle of getting sauced as his fellow bartender (a very attractive, very shirtless young man) and the various patrons cajole him into trying various liquors and cocktails in the name of educating him.

Or you may walk into an odd scene: Roy facing the shelves of liquor behind him, carefully moving a gloved hand along the bottles. After a moment, his co-bartender glances over his shoulder and says “Almost, honey. Two to the left.” Roy offers a sheepish thanks and grabs the bottle, uncapping it and surreptitiously sniffing it before turning around to pour out a drink for a waiting patron.

Or something else may be going on with Il Fiamme’s new blind bartender, idk hit me up at

praecipitanter if you have an idea!!]

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[ Sure enough, Miles finds his way down to the bar after his network conversation with Roy. He hadn't been kidding about really wanting that drink, given the past week and a half. Not only is he tired - his past self ran him ragged, dear god - but suddenly all tangled up in all kinds of complications that his child self had been happy to set loose and then skip away from. Gregor ... Gregor he hopes to avoid for a little while, at least on that topic. At least for Lucifer he already has a plan in motion. He's just bumping up the timeline considerably.

He's so full of his own thoughts that he doesn't quite realize what sort of bar he's in until he's up at the counter, idly scoping it out as he looks for Roy. Lots of very attractive young men, not unusual. Young men wearing nothing but underwear, though ... Miles blinks at the first one that goes by, then finds himself taking a good hard look at the bar in general after the second. Oh. Oh. Such a place wouldn't be the slightest bit uncommon on Beta Colony, but he hadn't exactly visited any. Still too Barrayaran at that point. He's feeling a bit Barrayaran right now, in fact, as he goggles a bit at his surroundings. Boy, he must look terribly out of place. If he'd come in here while he was taller ...

No sense in mourning that now. He does, however, really need that drink. Grateful to finally spot Roy behind the bar, he awkwardly hitches himself up onto a stool and taps his side of the bar to get the man's attention. ]

Colonel? I think I'd like that drink now.

[ Speaking of people feeling too Barrayaran for the establishment they find themselves in, Gregor stops in the day after Miles does, and abruptly halts once he steps in. It's the startled stillness of a man currently wrestling with feelings for another man, and in fierce denial about them.

He's suddenly wondering if he'd have been able to handle that increasingly customary year on Beta to sexually discover himself as a teenager. He's not actually sure he can handle it now.

But he's just here to get a drink, and he's not the only unglittered man in the establishment by far. His plain blue jeans and dove grey t-shirt are remarkably unexciting, and he likes it that way. Gregor employs a little of his well-practiced air of personal space to deter anyone from trying to talking to him as he heads directly for the bar. He's morbidly curious how Mustang is making out as a blind bartender.

Gregor seats himself at said bar and opens with, ] I heard you were offering a free drink to first time visits, and I have to say that was a very well-timed offer, Colonel.

Naismith? [Roy turns toward, as fruitless a gesture as that is, and smiles easily.] No need to be so formal. I'll have it for you in a moment.

[At that, he turns around to start carefully pulling bottles off the shelf. He'd been planning for this, both for Miles's sake--who did seem like he desperately needed a strong drink--and for a test of his own skills. It's slower going then he'd like; the gloves make it a little harder to feel out the bottles but his hands still look too much of a mess to go without bandages.

Roy looks, perhaps surprisingly, perfectly at ease. To anyone who knew him, even as just a first impression, the environment would certainly seem at odds with his character, but few people knew that he'd essentially grown up in a place not unlike this. A place that served different clientele, certainly, but at it's core, much was the same. He'd done his fair share of bar-tending for Madame Christmas when he was old enough; it was his foster mother in the first place who trained him to have an ear for intel.

So after the chaos of the last few weeks, it was almost... peaceful to be doing something so normal. Peaceful to be busy with the mundane task of learning drinks and navigating the narrow confines of the bar. And comforting to be positioned so conveniently to re-build his information infrastructure.

Roy's surprisingly skillful at pouring for a blind man. There had been plenty of incidents his first couple of nights, but eventually he'd discovered that holding the cup in one hand and pouring with the other gave him a good enough feeling for the volume of liquid he was dispensing. After at least six bottles have been pulled and re-shelved and pour into a cup, Roy carefully places the drink in front of Miles.]

I'm told this is called a Long Island Iced Tea. We really don't have anything like it back home; I'd advise drinking it slowly.

[Gregor might catch Roy's fellow bartending glancing at Roy with an archly raised eyebrow at the word "Colonel"; Roy makes his way over to Greg with the corner of his mouth quirked. It would be useful if it caught on as a nickname here; officers we're always more willing to talk shop with other officers. Most of Il Fiamme's downstair clientele was on the younger side but the proprietor had noted that the upstairs bar tended to see an older age group.]

I've been hearing that quite a bit. Greg. [His tone is just mild enough to imply that he may have possibly seen a certain 8 year old blow Gregor's cover wide upon.] What can I do for you?

[ The best way to ensure someone can't use something against you is to give it to them first. ]

Gregor now, I think, [ he says smoothly. If he hasn't seen it, he'll inevitably find out soon enough, and Gregor won't pretend he's going to perpetuate the lie. He does hope that by candidly moving past it, it won't arise as a major topic of discussion. He likes not having to be Emperor. ]

Anything sweet. We don't often mix sugar and alcohol at home; I'm enjoying taking advantage of it here.

[Gregor and Miles really did have his sympathy. The slip-up had been a highly informative insight into some potential allies, but Roy's own slip-up was still too fresh in his mind for him to gloat. He drops the topic smoothly.]

Ah, we're the same back home. But it seems to be the popular choice, here. [So Roy had been getting plenty of practice. He turns, confidently grabbing a couple bottles off the shelf and cream from the small fridge below the bar. He is not quick, needing to feel things out by memory, but he manages to pour without overflowing the glass by holding the cup to get a feel for its fullness. He sets it down in front of Gregor before he starts putting things back.]

A White Russian. Though it seems there's been some lobbying to rename it.

[ The man seems at ease in this place, Miles notes. Surprisingly so? Surprising to him, anyway. He wonders what the story behind that might be. Perhaps he'll even find out, if he asks the right questions. If nothing else ... well, he can appreciate the need to do something normal with one's life compared to everything else going on. He's seen much the same reaction in his father and Gregor.

Miles watches, slightly awed, as Roy seemingly arranges a bewildering array of bottles. That seems rather a lot to go into just one drink. He lets out a low whistle, taking a moment just to appreciate the skill involved here. ]

Slowly, eh. I suspect if I drank it quickly I'd end up flat on my ass. You seem to have settled in quite well already.

[ The cover had been starting to fall apart to shambles anyway. His reluctance to dismantle it voluntarily had been how useful it'd already been with Lucifer, but that shelf life was wearing out, too. Gregor isn't going to bemoan its lack, in any case; life continues.

He's impressed that he can manage at all, to be quite honest, and certainly isn't about to feel impatient. Gregor's a patient sort to start with. ] I think this is the part where I say not all Russians are horrible, [ he says in his ostentatiously Russian accent.

Gregor curiously picks up the glass, examines it for a moment, and then sips. He's pleasantly surprised. ] Is this coffee? This is delicious.

I don't have much of an opinion on the Russians at present, though I imagine that will change soon enough.

[Gregor's accent hadn't escaped his notice. Roy had heard plenty of propaganda mocking the Russians while he combing though broadcasts to fill his time with, enough to hear the similarity to Gregor's voice. He'd gotten a bit more information about the Russian occupation as well. The behavior on both sides of the conflict had left a grim impression, one that Roy kept to himself. His own anxieties about the 'Flame Alchemist' being so close to this kind of conflict were too close to the surface.

He grins readily enough, actually pleased with his work here. He snags the bottle back from the shelf to let Gregor get a look.]

The variety they have is really astounding. It's going to take me months to learn it all.

You suspect correctly.

[Roy forgoes the more grimmer observation that there wasn't much choice for an easy shrug and a smile.]

I did a little bartending when I was younger. It didn't involve near this level of mixing, though, it's dizzying.

[It was strange being able to slip that little bit of personal information in so casually. Back home it simply would have been too risky, if someone had started asking around, what bars and when...

Here, it was of little consequence except as a factoid to explain something about Roy that might otherwise invite speculation. ]

I've a considerable amount of personal experience with them if you'd like any inside info.

[ Which Gregor offers casually and with no apparent regard for the idea that this should be sensitive, carefully distributed information. He's not ImpSec-- he does what he likes with his own information, and saves his paranoia for other things.

He accepts the bottle of Kahlua and gives it an intrigued look. ] I can see that. I've been working as a barista for a couple weeks now. Unsurprisingly, I'm getting a new appreciation for coffee. [ And alcoholic coffee, needless to say. This is the day Gregor discovers Irish coffee, no doubt, on Google later. After a moment of consideration, he gives the bottle back by setting it down on the counter with an audible clink, and nudges it toward Roy's hand. ]

I'd love some. [Roy says immediately, and just as enthusiastically:] Over coffee, if possible. I could do with some, five cups at least.

[He'd had some earlier tonight out of the machine in the staff room. It had not been good coffee, which was fine with Roy, but it had been far too little. He hadn't slept much since he arrived; There was too much information to card through on the network.

Roy's hand finds the bottle again, mouth curling wryly as he nods his thanks.]

Edited 2016-04-05 17:22 (UTC)

[ Not that Miles is an unfriendly party. Not by a long shot. His interest is purely friendly (and perhaps professional), no more sinister than the possibility of making a new friend. ]

Really? Before your military career then?

[ He takes a thoughtful sip of the drink. Strong ... and tasty. He could get used to this. ]

[ A short laugh, more of a soft trickle of humor than anything. ] Been having trouble sleeping?

I have to say, I take an inordinate amount of pleasure out of doing nothing more complicated or morally nuanced with my day than tap out espresso. I'd be happy to make you coffee.

[After the Miles's unfortunate slip, Roy was almost prepared to believe that. A man who knew the value of keeping a secret, who went up against monsters... They might have quite a bit in common. But he wouldn't rush into making allies with someone he wasn't absolutely certain he could count on, not if he didn't have to. He wouldn't slip up again, not when the first time was so disastrous.]

That's right. For a couple of years. It's been quite a while, but it seems I haven't lost my touch.

It's very easy to get distracted with the communicator; between that and work I've been fairly occupied.

[Which he says with a casual shrug, followed up by a weak laugh.] That does sound... nice.

[It did sound nice--and so incredibly far away as a possibility. There was so much work that needed to be done in order for him to ensure he could get Ed home safely, his mind was buzzing with it.]

Reading up on the network logs? [ he guesses easily. ] I did much the same when I first arrived, but I ended up making connections with someone who'd been here much longer than me, so it became more expedient to simply ask her.

[ It's unspeakably nice, this whole mundane job thing. Gregor isn't nearly so concerned about getting home. He's just going to end up back in his endless daily grind of ruling, to forever consume his life, and he'll barely see the Vorkosigans, not to mention have zero time or safety to do things like casually walk into bars and chat with the interesting blind officer who works there.

This is all like a dangerous, complicated vacation to him still. He also, fatalistically, just assumes there's no way for him to evade Barrayar wholesale, and no matter what he does will end up back there in the end anyway. Not much to concern himself over. ]

Mm. It's about the only thing I can entertain myself with easily.

[It was a good thing there was so much of it. It kept Roy from spending all his spare time grinding his teeth down. Being pulled away from Amestris just as he was poised to begin the real work of changing Amestris into a country for its people was incredibly frustrating. He had never wanted to do anything but serve his country, even before the war... and after ending so many lives, he made the only decision he could in order to keep moving forward: to use his life for the sole purpose of ending Amestris's bloody history.

Being away from that left him restless, aimless... Ascertaining the political situation here so he could better protect Fullmetal gave him focus. A familiar task he was good at.]

Perhaps I could meet her sometime. I have to admit, the archives are largely tedious to go through.

[ He takes another sip, letting the alcohol settle in his stomach. He'll be buzzed soon enough here. ]

A good skill to keep, I say. I never really learned - Barrayar doesn't care much for these mixed concoctions.

Gregor was telling me a little bit about Barrayar when we first met: I wouldn't mind hearing more. He mentioned it was a feudal-style government.

Tedious and often unhelpful, [ he agrees ruefully. ] Social chatter is not altogether informative. I'm sure she'd be happy to meet you. Her name is Kitty Jones.

[ Gregor should probably say that they're dating here, but he honestly doesn't think of it. He's so used to keeping his personal feelings tucked away and inaccessible to the public. ]

In the meantime, I don't suppose you're already familiar with audiobooks?

No, I haven't come across them yet. I can guess what they are from the name... How's the selection?

Limited but not horrible. There's a local public library-- I'm more familiar with the one in De Chima, but I'm sure the librarians would help you establish an account.

[Damn. That likely meant there wouldn't be much in the way of specialized scientific texts, but perhaps he'd get lucky with history.]

That is helpful to know, thank you.

Edited 2016-04-06 15:30 (UTC)

[ Gregor is astonishingly well-educated but not inclined toward scientific texts outside of necessity, so he hasn't thought of this. His primary concerns were history and, once he'd gotten sick of that, literature. ]

You're welcome. I imagined myself trawling the network for hours on end with nothing else to keep busy with and was suitably horrified.

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[open] I took a light, and I made a fire

4/6, evening

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