Polar Opposites [Ivan]

[Kyle Kirkland]

There was something to be said for not accepting dares. Something that Kyle had probably been asleep or otherwise distracted when it was said. Because why else would he be sitting by himself at a quintessential ‘ye olde’ English gay bar by himself with a bucket on his head? And he wasn't just wearing it on top of his head, oh no, he had gone to considerable lengths to create an eye slit to see out of (his soldering iron would probably never recover) because the bucket was meant to literally be "on" his head. Kyle sipped his beer through a straw (he wasn't allow to take the bucket off until he left the pub) and grumbled silently to himself.

It was all Westley’s fault. If he hadn't accepted the kid’s bet on the outcome of the Wallabies vs All Blacks rugby match, then he wouldn't have betted on the Wallabies (patriotic pride and all that crap). Then, when the Wallabies had inevitably lost, he wouldn't have had to go through with his cousin’s stupid dare, going to bar dressed as Ned Kelly. And to be Ned Kelly you needed bucket on your head. In hindsight he could see that he had been set up, but that didn't stop the Australian from blaming his Kiwi relative. Kyle was never very good at being fair when he lost a game, and even less so when he’d lost a bet along with it.

So here he was. Sulking in a pub with his bucket and his koala until he had enough face (and alcohol intake) to go home and greet his triumphant cousin, who was undoubtedly radiating smugness at this very moment while he shared a victorious cup of apple mint tea with his Ovine boyfriend. Actually, that was probably the one and only good thing about being in the pub right now. Kyle did not want to be present once those two started getting intimate.

“Ah, such is life.” Kyle quoted Kelly’s last words to himself as he sucked up the last of his beer. The words echoed in his ears with a strange tinny quality to them, it made him sound like a robot or possibly an alien, a metallic alien, with an Aussie accent.

[Ivan Petrovich Braginsky]

Ivan was not a regular sight at a bar - gay or otherwise - when alone. When he drank, he usually preferred to do it with friends, so most of the time he was accompanied by at least one of his underlings to make sure he wouldn't need to be spend time with nothing but alcohol to keep him company; heaven knew that was not a good thing. That, and for all his influence and charisma, he could be very... shy at talking to people he didn't know, especially in crowded places like bars and nightclubs. Even when he was looking for romantic company, he always made sure to have someone sit somewhere near for encouragement.

Really, as far as Ivan Braginsky was concerned, talking business with cutthroats, acquiring new connections, blackmailing people and in general interacting with London's most feared were all relatively easy tasks - starting a mundane conversation with someone in a bar was not. It was scary. He always feared people would regard him as weird from the get-go and hardly offer him a chance to prove them wrong.

Which was most likely why he now found himself inching ever closer to the only one in the bar that was, decidedly, far more peculiar than him; a man with a bucket hiding his head, a simple straw enabling him to even touch his drink. It was fascinating and somewhat... mesmerizing how calm the person appeared to be despite the curious, glances and heated whispers around him. It sounded like a bad pun, but the man must have had the nerves of steel - either that, or he was very, very drunk. Either way, Ivan didn't feel quite as intimidated by him as he did with most of the bar's customers, so it didn't take long for him to find himself sitting next to the bucket-man with his own drink in hand. Vodka lemon. He'd already downed a few, but he didn't really feel it yet.

"May... May I sit here?" He asked in almost a whisper, eyes downcast as he tried to keep himself from sneaking unnecessary glances at the other. He'd been to his particular bar a few times before and while he had seen colorful folk before, this was definitely a new height and it would have been a lie to say he wasn't the slightest bit curious to know the man's reasons.

He wanted to continue his sentence somehow, say something to start a proper conversation, but he feared that if he opened his mouth again, the only thing blurting out would be the inevitable question of 'why are you wearing that', and he felt it rather rude. So, instead, he settled to just smiling.

[Kyle Kirkland]

Kyle guessed that’d he’d been in the bar for about half an hour and sitting here stewing his thoughts was starting to grow tiresome. However he was still not yet placated enough to return home for the night. For the time being he was hovering between the two actions and he needed to occupy his time in the meanwhile.

Almost on reflex his thoughts turned to how his cousin, actually it was brother now, was looking health wise. Right now Wes was going through one of his “sickly” stages. Sickly here being sicker than usual. He was having trouble with his breathing and that cough that he always carried around was a little more persistent than usual. Moreover he’d fallen asleep several times in places where sleeping was very uncommon, such as in the dryer. While Wes himself insisted (in that forceful way that only teenagers do) that he was fine, Kyle was mentally preparing himself for a trip to hellgates and back, or at least to the hospital and back, multiple times.

Still Wes had the incentive to trick him into this rather obvious dare, so he clearly wasn’t completely unwell… They probably had a few weeks at least before the storm set in.

But back to the present. He was still in the bar and had little to do. Since when had he not known what to do with his free time? Kyle was an expert at occupying his leisure time with fun and exciting things. A single hour was never wasted. So why was he finding himself at a loose end?

‘Get a hold of yourself Kyle. You’re not some lifeless workaholic that doesn’t know how to use his vacation time, not yet anyhow. Just find something to do for the next half hour and then head home, easy.’

“What would you do?” Kyle asked his koala. As usual she said nothing but instead climbed onto the bar counter to get a better view of her surroundings. Her gaze was directed to Kyle’s left and he found himself turning that way to see what she was looking at (the bucket didn’t allow him to look at things sidewards). A tall pale looking man was standing there pale and slightly hunched, as if their present surroundings made him nervous.

"May... May I sit here?” the stranger’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Go ahead, I’m not here with anyone” Kyle gestured to the empty seat. “Well I am here with Matilda, but she doesn’t do chairs, worried that someone will sit on her I think.” Kyle patted the top of the Koala’s fluffy head fondly. “I’m Kyle” he offered his hand to the stranger “Your scarf’s nice”.

Why had Kyle offered that compliment to someone he’d never met before? Well compliments were a good way to start a conversation, and if nothing else Kyle wouldn’t mind a friendly chat before he made his way home for the night.