One Night in Berlin
1931. Berlin.
Arthur Kirkland sat in a corner of the cramped, smoky pub, removed from the revelry of the other patrons as he nursed a glass of whiskey alone. His green eyes roved around the pub, flicking from couple to couple tied in public displays of lust; kissing, necking, bodies pressing together, faces smiling. Every so often he glanced curiously over at a shout or an eruption of laughter, and looked away whenever he caught anyone's eyes.
He was about to drain the last of his drink and take his leave when a man, breaking off from one of the more raucous groups, came over and slammed a glass of beer on his table.
"Hi," he said with just a hint of an accent. "You look English."
"I – I do?" Arthur started, a little taken aback. The man made quite an alarming sight. His hair was a shock of platinum white, his skin just as pale, and his irises burned red. Combined with the grin twisting his lips, he looked quite manic.
"No, they told me you were English," the man said with a bob of his head to indicate a line of people pressed against the wall. Arthur looked at them and flushed; nearly every one of them had approached him at some point or other in the evening. He turned back to find the man had extended a hand towards him.
"Name's Gilbert," he said by way of introduction.
Arthur took his hand and felt the strength of his grasp. "Arthur, Arthur Kirkland," he returned. "Your English is very good."
"And your German is terrible." Gilbert grinned as Arthur quelled at that. "S'alright. You new in Berlin?"
Arthur nodded.
"What brings you here?"
Arthur looked Gilbert in the eyes, then flicked them over at some of the patrons locked in passionate embrace. Gilbert's grin widened. He leaned in and dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper as he said, "Would you like to, uh… how do you English say it…?"
"Private?" it came out in a croak. Arthur tried again. "Take it somewhere more, uhm, private?"
There was a wicked gleam in Gilbert's eyes. They never left Arthur's as he finished the last half pint of his beer, set the glass back down, and turned to walk out of the pub. Arthur stared after his receding figure. He gulped down what was left of his whiskey and hastily made to follow him.
Entry for Day 1 of the 30 Days Of Writing A Drabble A Day Challenge.
Just a warning that my entries are not going to be posted on consecutive days orz
