I understand that this place originally billed itself as some kind of classy singles bar. Ha! 'A place to make connections.' Technically true, if by 'connection' you mean 'drunk anonymous hook-up with one or more random strangers, also drunk and quite probably diseased'. 'Meet the people you deserve.' Again, technically true. In oh-so-many ways. 'A high-class bar for high-class people.' Now *that* was a blatant lie of the most outrageous proportions. Never mind its delusions of anything approaching class: The S X Factor didn't even manage 'singles bar'. *That* phrase at least implied the possibility of some kind of civilised social intercourse. At least, it suggested something a little more refined than the crass displays of frenzied mating behaviour occurring before my eyes. Everywhere I looked, it seemed I saw people - and I used the term loosely - plumbing whole new depths of human idiocy. All in the name of deluding any potential 'connection' (and possibly themselves) that they might actually be adequate. How perfectly *lovely*. Credits to their race, the lot of them.
If it wasn't already obvious, this place was a meat market of the absolute worst sort, a niche it didn't so much fill as infest. (Speaking of which: I really, *really* hoped those were just dropped potato chips crunching under my boots. Oh well. I could always burn them afterwards - it's not like they were my favourite pair.) Frankly, the only time this snake-pit even came within sniffing distance of high-class was when I chose to grace it with my august presence; hardly a common occurrence. Even in my current reduced circumstances I wouldn't normally be caught *dead* in a place like this. I certainly wasn't here for the ambience, and there was no way I would *ever* be desperate to actually trawl its depths for myself. Quite frankly, being single was a step up in my estimation. But I didn't want to think about my own relationships tonight.
No, it was really quite simple. I've found that when you're feeling down, there are few better things to do than go and watch people who are even worse off. Disgustingly expensive drink in hand, I could look down on the crowd, making pithy comments and feeding off the schadenfreude. It was really quite therapeutic.
God, I just *loved* being an utter bitch sometimes.
Time passed more or less satisfactorily. My mood generally improved, aside from the odd bout of irritation when a particularly dense *human* actually dared to approach me. You'd think that if my aura of 'I'm not interested, I'll never be interested, begone lowly worm!' attitude didn't discourage them, then my 'Plain Jane dresses down' outfit would put them right off. I mean, I was wearing jeans with a T-shirt and cardigan. And flats! Don't get me wrong: they were skinny jeans, of course, in classic blue. And it was a scoop-neck plain white stretch shirt under a soft pink angora shrug. Oh, and the flats were actually black suede ankle boots. Decent enough for flats, but hardly fuck-me pumps. *Nothing* about my outfit said: 'look at me, I'm on the pull'. That was why I chose it. Unfortunately, there was always someone who didn't get the message. Speak of the devil...
I rolled my eyes a little as yet another hopeful suitor approached Fortress Frost. Doubtless he was drawn by my irresistible good looks. Or it was the fact that I had two X chromosomes. The men here did not seem to be at all picky. (Nor did the women, but at least they were leaving me alone.) I really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone I didn't absolutely have to tonight, but an icy glare failed to dissuade him from sitting himself down beside me. He smiled greasily in my direction.
"Good night, gorgeous? Well it is now," he said with all sincerity, slicking back his hair.
I stared at him with disbelief. Did that line ever actually work? I decided that I really didn't want to know. He smirked back at me, clearly thinking that his 'charm' was working.
"Funny," I replied. "There I was thinking that it had just gone distinctly downhill." I turned away from him, hoping that he'd get the hint. No such luck. Maybe I should have brought a book. I made a mental note for next time.
"Don't be like that," he said, moving back around in front of me.
He was certainly one of the more persistent of the men who had been bothering me this evening. That was not a point in his favour. Why couldn't he just splash around in the shallow end of the gene pool with his peers? In the right mood I might have indulged him just enough to utterly crush him. Instead I just gave him a mental push to sod off and a compulsion to wet himself whenever he bothered another woman for the rest of the night. I was fairly sure that I was doing the world a service.
My eye was caught by a brunette undergoing what seemed like a similar ordeal. A man who had probably rendered himself sterile through steroid abuse was attempting to monopolise her attention, waving his meaty hands about animatedly as he barely let her get a word in edgeways. I wasn't close enough to catch what was being said, but, judging from her body language, she was going through the usual stages. I'd heard this script so many times; I could practically hear her give him a polite dismissal which probably went straight over his head. Next came the bored please-just-leave-me-alone body language, which also bounced straight off his armour of invincible optimism. I idly wondered if she'd have to resort to hitting him over the head with a bar stool when he suddenly jerked in response to something she said before staggering off dazedly as though his manhood had just been crushed.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I read his mind then laughed out loud at what she'd said. I decided to revise my 'no talking to humans tonight' rule and started to make my way over to her. Anyone who could come up with that on the spur of the moment was worth getting to know. Besides, I was new to the area, and suddenly the idea of potentially making a friend tonight, even someone I had met *here*, didn't seem so bad. She gave me a not quite casual glance as I approached, then relaxed a little. Like me, she was dressed down by the standards of the rest of the crowd. Her mind felt prickly and sharp and she was giving out a distinctly standoffish air rather than the please-look-at-me that most of the other women had.
"Don't worry," I told her with a smile. "I'm not yet another of the marauding barely washed crowd."
She raised an eyebrow. "So I see."
"Then there's obviously not enough hours in the day?" I said, laughing as I repeated her parting words to the spawn of muscle. "I have to say that I approve. Can I buy you a drink in the name of women everywhere?"
The thorns of her mind retracted, leaving a sensation like silk over steel. She laughed; a rich, melodious sound that seemed to resonate through me in interesting ways. I found my gaze drawn to her lips - lush and full - and then up to her eyes. Ah! Those eyes. This woman was... far more striking than I'd initially thought. "When you put it like that," she said, "how can I refuse? I'm Emily Prentiss, by the way."
"Emma Winthrop," I lied. "So what brings you to a place like this? I'm guessing it's not the wares."
She shuddered a little. "Please. A friend wanted to come here and her usual crowd cancelled at the last minute." She shrugged. "I didn't want her to be by herself." She smiled wryly. "Though, when last seen, that's not going to be a problem for the rest of the night." She looked at me appraisingly. "You don't seem to be here for the nightlife either. So what's your story?"
"Reminding myself that being single is far from the worst fate that could happen to me. That and people watching."
"People watching?"
Well, moron watching really, but she had a friend out there. I can be tactful when I want to be. "While it may be too loud to actually hear what impending couples are saying to each other, I don't let that stop me putting words in their mouths. It's usually wittier and more articulate that way too."
"I see." Her expression was sceptical, but I could see her eyes twinkling.
"Look at those two over there." I pointed out a likely looking pair.
"'Might I have the honour of this dance?'" I said in my best deep voice as the man practically humped the woman's leg.
"'Why, yes, kind sir,'" I replied in a higher voice as the girl knocked the rest of her drink back, then practically fell on him. "'And may I compliment you on your *fine* head of hair and *manly* facial features?'
'Only if I can mention that utterly *fabulous* dress that you are wearing. Why, my wife has one just like that.'
'Oh,'" I waved a hand in the air. "'You do say positively the *sweetest* of things, Daddy. You don't mind if I call you Daddy, do you?'
'It would be my pleasure. You are classmates with my daughter, after all.'"
I looked back towards Emily, who was covering her mouth whilst laughing, glancing around as if to make sure that no one could see. "That's not very charitable," she said, composing herself.
"But so very amusing," I grinned at her. "Why don't you have a go?"
She indicated another couple. "'Look at all my shiny gewgaws. Am I not a worthy mate?'", she declaimed dryly.
"'I'm almost drunk enough to make that seem like a good idea, despite your dancing possessing all the grace of an epileptic elephant.'
'Here, let me get you another drink to fix that problem.'
'Ah, that's better. You look much more attractive through the bottom of a glass.'
'I'll need another one myself to wash all thought of possible STDs out of my mind. Conveniently, it should also act as a makeshift contraceptive. Let's retire so that we can rut under the moonlight,'" she finished, smiling, as the couple made their way to the door. "How did I do?"
"You're obviously a romantic. I'd never have guessed."
She stuck her finger up at me.
"But I'm afraid that I'm going to have mark you down for a shocking lack of funny voices."
"I guess I'll just have to try better next round."
And we continued bantering like that. A few men ignored the warning signs to try and bother us, but Emily managed to quite nicely cut them up into bite sized pieces before they retreated. Some time 'people watching', and a few drinks, passed until Emily glanced across the room and then looked guilty.
"Ah. Celia seems to have lost her partner and looks about ready to go."
"Thank you for the pleasure of your charming company." I'd forgotten how much fun having a like minded companion could be on these visits. On a whim, I pulled out my cell phone and pressed a few buttons, proffering it with a smile. "If you ever want to meet up again, here's my number."
Emily gave me an appraising look. She'd had enough drinks that I barely needed to be a telepath to get *that* message. As if to make sure, she reached out and cupped my hand with one of hers. The gentle pressure of her fingers held my phone steady as she tapped my number into hers with a dextrous thumb. "There we go," she murmured as she saved the entry. "Now I have you."
"Bold, aren't you?" I said automatically. One of my eyebrows tugged up without me consciously doing anything about it.
"You know what they say about who fortune favours..." she said looking deep into my eyes.
"Personally, I've always found fortune a fickle bitch," I murmured, pulling back my hand, skittery spiders of unease shattering the effect. "At best." I really wasn't sure that I was quite ready for, well, anything at the moment. But I couldn't think too hard about that.
Straightening, she moved slightly away from me. Her expression became a little more cautious, but still friendly. "I might take you up on that next time I'm in the area," she said, conversationally. "But only if we can avoid this plague pit." She gave an exaggerated shudder, her expression one of mock horror.
"Maybe you can suggest somewhere better," I said. I realised that I was flirting again without meaning to and cursed inwardly. Apparently old habits really did die hard.
"I know a few suitable places. Depending." Her smile turned up a notch, reigniting my unease.
I smiled back at her, anyway. What the hell. "Depending."
She gave me a slight nod, then briefly touched her hands to my shoulders and was away into the crowd. With her departure, the room was again just full of sweaty desperation, yet somehow it failed to lift my mood. I sighed. Time to go home.
When I opened my eyes in the morning, it was to a room without decoration. A room without character. A room which didn't look like it even had a living occupant. What a bloody marvellous sight to wake up to. It took me a second to remember that this was indeed where I had gone to sleep the night before. Now there was a depressing thought.
I checked the alarm clock. It was approaching one o'clock in the afternoon. Ah, a civilised hour of the day. I contemplated closing my eyes again, but the stark horror of my bedroom drove me out into the wilds beyond. Not that the rest of the apartment was any better, but some things really needed coffee to make them feel survivable.
I contemplated the world over my second cup. Blank walls and rooms furnished only by a few - occasionally opened - boxes and bags scattered around. It was still far too early to look upon this with a sober mind, but I decided that it was useless to sit around here and mope. What I needed was retail therapy, to go out and buy some things to liven the place up. It wasn't as though I had much else on my schedule at the moment.
A few hours later found me happily touring various shops. I'd made a few selective purchases (a delightfully soft throw rug, a gorgeous mahogany roll-top desk, a carved crystal chess set and a wonderfully comfy armchair, among other things), but in general I was determined to wait for things that spoke to me. Why bother settling for anything less? There was also the fact that my funds at present weren't precisely unlimited, and a certain amount of frugality might not be a bad idea. To distract myself from that unutterably depressing thought, I focussed on building up ideas for a colour scheme for the various rooms. Whomever the previous occupants had been, some of their choices had been absolutely atrocious. I had come to the conclusion that this had been an attempt at a form of cheap burglary defence. Or possibly a cry for help from the midget that they had evidently imprisoned to do their decorating.
A sense of dull pain and hunger washed over me from a side alley. That was nothing new; just another part of living in the big city. Like the sound of traffic, or the ever-present odour of stupidity. I was about to dismiss it when I noticed that it was coming from a teenager I tentatively identified as a girl huddled in some garbage. A teenager. In pain. Suddenly my feet wouldn't move anymore. I felt cold, no, hot, hot as if exposed to a blaze. The stench of rot became something else. Something richer. Something I didn't want to acknowledge. Not here. The world started swaying. This was... This was... No. Swallowing the ashes in my throat, I focused my formidable will and concentrated. I was Emma Bloody Frost and I would be *damned* if the sight of some grubby urchin would be able to pull my strings. The world straightened on its axis. The smell of rotting vegetables reasserted itself in all its putrescent glory. And this was merely another cool day. My feet kicked into action, carrying me away. The last thing I saw of her was a pair of fearful green eyes. It was for the best, anyway, I thought harshly, mocking myself, twisting the knife.
Shopping had suddenly lost its attraction. I knew that there would be some people who would laugh themselves silly if they ever knew anything could that to me. Then again I had never liked them anyway.
The apartment was just like I left it. Not that I was expecting anything else. Clean walls. Empty rooms. A new life. Just what I needed. I put the chain on the door then collapsed into a chair, my legs unable to support me any longer.
Oh god.
Suddenly I could see the blaze again, hear the screams of the dying. Smell the stench of burning hair and burning flesh. Feel the charred bodies as they were pulled from the wreckage.
Again and again.
It would be for the best. It was all my fault.
And this was completely pointless. I wrenched my mind into the present, noting absently that the sun had apparently set and I was now sitting in darkness.
I had things to do. I could invent them if necessary.
First order of business was dinner. I'd feel better with some food in my stomach. I didn't feel much like going out to eat tonight, and I certainly didn't want to cook, so I settled for the indignity of takeaway. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I retrieved my phone from my purse and glared at my hands until they stopped shaking. I then searched the web until I found what the reviews swore was a passable Indian and made my selection.
Dinner and the day's purchases were duly brought to my doorstep. (In the right order, fortunately, so I could actually eat my dinner sitting in a chair, like a civilised person.) I was halfway through my madras when my phone beeped. It was Emily, asking if I'd like to meet up for a coffee on Friday. A smile on my lips, I texted her back with an acceptance. Excellent. At least something had gone right on this miserable day. Another beep and she texted me with a time and place. I looked at the name of the coffee shop sceptically. Was this really the best she could find? Apropos of nothing, I found myself remembering the way her eyes sparkled when she unleashed her wit on some hapless soul. Maybe I would give her the benefit of the doubt.
That still left me with the evening to fill. I retrieved the book I was currently reading, and relaxed in my new armchair. After having read the same page twelve times, I put the book down again. Apparently my mind wasn't into being suitably broadened tonight. Never mind, there was still all the many boxes and bags scattered around that I had failed to unpack so far. That could serve as a suitable focus for my energy.
I think it was about three in the morning before I felt suitably exhausted and collapsed into bed. It didn't help.
There are benefits to living alone. No one hears you when you wake screaming.