Ghosts of Yesterday's Regrets [Francis&Arthur]

Ghosts of Yesterday's Regrets [Francis&Arthur] Dec 7, 2014 22:07:51 GMT -8

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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Dec 7, 2014 22:07:51 GMT -8

There was something about the bitter chill of the coming winter that warranted a drink, preferably at a nicer location over the seedier establishments. Not that Arthur minded either way—he could be a patron to both sorts. Today, he craved the white garden squares and the wide streets of Bloomsbury, a draw for the intellects, artists, and wealthy patrons. Or, of course, it was simply a place to admire the imposing structures and quiet beauty of the trendy residential areas. Central London was out of his way, but he didn’t mind the walk for tonight. The weather was predictably miserable, a certain mugginess in the air giving way for the chance of light rain and the clouds hanging low in the sky, pregnant with the possibility. Arthur had pulled his wool coat close, hands snugly in the pockets and the collar pulled up to protect the tender back of his neck from the sharp cold, threatening to steal away whatever warmth he’d managed to grasp. His hair half hung limply across his forehead, moisture from the now drizzling rain clinging to it just as he made his way into the lounge. He could taste the rainwater on his lip. Fresh, clean--everything he wasn’t.

The lounge itself was an upscale one, though rather quirky with its furnishing. From the intricately carved wood of the bar table, to the burgundy drapery, to the delicate light fixtures of coloured, shaped glass. It gave an intriguing impression. And that’s perhaps what Arthur needed that night—a distraction from the murky reality beneath the safety of the glamour of the city.

As he removed his coat, he glanced over at the expectant barman. ”Gin and tonic,” his voice was low and a touch gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time, or it was just worn from the day. ”—on second thought, hold the tonic,” he responded nearly as quickly, as he found a place for his somewhat dampened coat. Beneath he wore his work clothes, also worn from the day, though he loosened his sleeves, folding them to his elbows and loosening the tight grip that his shirt collar had about his throat. Every day, working as a way to pay off his debt to society felt like a noose was slowly choking the life from him. And yet he continued forward, he persevered.

The barman set the liquor before him and Arthur indulged in the familiar burn down his throat. Arthur was able to become comfortable for the first time that day in his seat with the gin slowly sinking into his body. It was a pleasant feeling and he felt like he could breathe again. His fingers briefly pushed the somewhat wet hair from his forehead, probably only musing it further. The only lively and noticeable thing about him in that dull moment were his eyes, always in bright thought and always surveying his surroundings with the briefest of glances.

The lounge was usually filled with groups, not as loud as a backwater pub closer to his home, but loud enough to drown out the silence. Couples lingered in the private corners of the lounge, their drinks close and their wandering hands closer. He tried to avoid catching eyes with anyone in particular; he wasn’t in the mood to make plans with strangers or put more effort into this evening than it was giving him at the moment. Just for now, he was going to enjoy the gin and the atmosphere of the lounge—the clinking of glass, the tender murmuring of warm words, laughter, and the rustling of clothes as coats and hats were removed. Just to forget for a moment who he was and what he was still doing here in this city.

The rain was coming in a bit heavier as the evening drew closer, embracing the dull city with its dull people. The constant, soft tap against the glass along with the voices and the warmth of the lounge was all a small comfort. It was familiar. When the barman lingered, asking if he could get him another drink, it took Arthur a sluggish moment to pull himself from his thoughts, half connected with work, half muddled with extravagant fantasy of escape, and back onto the waiting barman. ”Please,” he responded, quickly and shortly before his eyes were once more drawn to the other patrons and other seemingly unimportant details of the area—those who have been there long before him and those who were just arriving, hiding away from the unforgiving London chill.