what are you doing here?

tristan belmont

Isolde was being dumped today.

For the past few weeks she had been seeing a man named Roger. He was sweet, soft spoken, incredibly intelligent, and knew exactly what he wanted. He was working his way through the ranks and even though he was a few ranks below her, had seemed incredibly competent and hard working. The strong work ethic had intrigued her and the flowers and notes left on her desk had attracted her. Of course, the flowers hadn't lasted very long, but it had been the thought that had counted. He'd seemed upset when she'd told him they had wilted by the same afternoon, but he had been thoughtful about it. Roger had put notes in her mailbox or had some sent to her office and they were sweet, so when he'd asked her for a date, she'd said yes.

They had a lot in common, maybe a little too much in common, but she had over looked it. Surely they weren't too much alike. He was very involved with his work to the point where that was most of the dinner conversation, but they were in the same field, she understood the need to vent. A few dates had led to physical affection, nothing too serious, but she had hoped that maybe they could do more than ice breaker dinner conversation and get to serious things, like hopes, goals, dreams, and lose the dinner jacket. Unfortunately, that's not what had happened and her evening was cut ridiculously short, and with a sharp edge.

The loud rock music blasting through speakers greeted her when she walked through the door. Their last conversation had been an icy one. She was 'too focused on work', and it would never work between them. She was 'too polished' and 'knew it all'. He didn't feel like he could 'relax' around her. Isolde felt anger churn in her gut along with the bitter sting of rejection as she scanned the bar briefly. He could never introduce her to his friends because they liked the bar scene and 'she liked fine dining'. Bullshit. He listed why they weren't compatible, almost methodically like he had rehearsed it, before sighing heavily. It would never have worked between them, he'd said, almost regretfully, before leaving her at her doorstep an hour earlier. Once she'd gotten over the shock, she'd felt the anger bubble up in her chest. Fine. She could handle rejection. But she'd be damned if she'd let some man walk away thinking she was too boring to be a companion.

After throwing out the flowers and the notes she'd kept, she'd taken the trolley to the outskirts of the outter ring and she'd walked down uneven pavement until she'd hit Montmartre. The rock music had attracted her along with the loudness and the lights, so she'd decided hell, why not. She pushed her way through the crowd of people to make her way towards the bar. "Bartender," she pushed between two people, not realizing that barely three seats away was another coworker. She shot him her best smile and slid a bill across the counter. "I want two double bourbons on the rocks please. Thank you." She took the first glass and drank it quick, feeling the fire burn and hiss down her throat before she slid it back to the bartender, tapping it with her finger. She was going to get drunk, she was going to dance with a faceless stranger, and prove to him (and to herself) that she wasn't boring. (Granted it was a stupid idea at the time, but it was easing her wounded pride and that's all that mattered).

Isolde had the distinct feeling she looked out of place. Everyone around her was casually dressed, like they had just left work guarding Paris's walls from monsters, or had closed the bakery for the night - where she looked pristine for a night at the opera.

She was reaching for the second drink when she heard a very familiar voice. Isolde tensed a little bit, waiting for the gloating. She had denials waiting on the back of her tongue but instead of saying anything or jeering, Tristan merely ordered her a drink. No gloating? Isolde straightened on the bar stool a little bit as the bar tender put the other Bourbon in front of her. Isolde had planned on getting someone to buy a drink for her (just to prove to herself that she could even do such a thing) but Tristan had already beaten her to the punch. The bourbon was warm as she took the second bourbon. To hell with being ladylike, she decided. As the fire slid down her throat, she heard him say he didn't see her as the 'type' to be here. Isolde snorted a little to herself as she licked her lips of the left over bourbon and put the second tumbler down.

"You know, you are the second man to tell me that this evening." The liquid was warm on her empty stomach and she felt some of her tense muscles relax a little bit. She turned in the bar stool to face Tristan, leaning one elbow on the counter. Her eyes drifted over his casual attire before leading back up to his face. "Tell me something Tristan, am I boring?" She crossed her legs, very nearly accidentally hitting him in the knee before she caught herself. She felt a little uncoordinated but chalked it up to the rickety bar stool and not the fact that she felt tingling in her arms and fingers now. "Do I ever just... bore you? Like my personality is so meek and quiet that men see me as a lamb that can't be any fun?"

tristan belmont

It had been weeks since their little hickey incident, over a month actually. They had quipped at each other, but then Roger and.... and she'd sort of lost track of a few things. Isolde leaned an elbow against the counter top and made herself as comfortable as she could. Really and truly, she did feel out of place. She wished she had a men's t-shirt and some jeans, and maybe even old sneakers or lace up shoes. "Funny you should mention that, I just so happen to have two tickets to the opera that started about an hour ago in my purse." She fished them out, ripped them in half, and then stuck them in the empty bourbon glass as she played with her third glass. "Whoops~"

Warmth was circulating through her now, and she could feel the pulse of the music in her blood and through the old bar stool as she absently bopped her foot along with it. She had come in here looking for a stranger, but now they all seemed incredibly boring or flat. She much preferred Tristan's company. Maybe she always had, and that's why she was relaxing so much right now. She knew that if she asked Tristan a question, he wouldn't lie, or dodge, he would be honest about it. Maybe that's why she respected him so much. "I think this drink is making me reflect a little too much." She looked at the melting ice and threw it back, letting out a hiss before she put the glass back on the bar behind her.

"See, Tristan, you're too pretty to blow up, and I'd get fired. I just bluffed on that one. Powder's expensive and your djinn's would tear me a new one if your hair got singed." She grinned at him. "But thank you. I just needed to hear it from someone who was honest. Now!" She pulled out a few more bills and slid them across the counter, leaning forward against the old wood to flag the bartender. "Two more please~ One for him, one for me." Isolde looked to Tristan again, trying to subdue a hiccup that accidentally slipped through. She faked a rather unconvincing cough - no need to advertise that her tolerance was that of a new born.

"I'm not nursing a broken heart, if that's what you're wondering... more so wounded pride. That skank." She pushed some of her hair from her face and in a move of impatience started taking it down, laying out her purse and pins on the bar. Curls started falling haphazardly. "Apparently I'm so boring that I'm unfit to date. You see these shoes?" She lifted her leg and pointed to the white high heeled shoes strapped to her leg. "I look amazing in these shoes, and they hurt like hell, but I wear them for one purpose. These are 'I want sex tonight' shoes. Actually these are my white pair, I have a black pair." She twisted her foot this way and that before resting it again on the bar stool. Wow, that bourbon really loosened her lips. "I only wear these shoes for, well the obvious reasons." The bartender slid over the two drinks and this time she sipped at the drink. "Sucks to be him.... I'm sorry, what were we talking about? Hi Tristan~" She gave him a little half wave. Yep, she was well on her way to accomplishing one out of two of her earlier goals - get drunk.

tristan belmont