Seraph's hand slammed down hard on the bar.

"Another."

The barkeep let out a sigh as he poured the bottle over the glass. He wanted to cut this ape off. This cretin. He thought about smashing the bottle across his face. He wanted that power. That ballsyness. That feeling of control and being the master of any and all situations. That innate self built freedom from knowing he could do what the fuck he wanted and was simply able to handle what consequences followed, no matter what they were.

But, he just poured. He filled the dirty glass as instructed. And when he wanted to stop three quarters in, he kept going. Till it was a fingers width from full. This was Seraph's fourth glass. The barman learnt his lessons after the first two. Now he knew what Seraph wanted, what had been aggressively demanded.

Nobody liked being told what to do. Especially from a lippy, inconsiderate self absorbed asshole. But what could he do? He learnt early in life to do as was told. To not rock the boat. To behave. To fit in. To appease and be civil. He was a puppet. And deep down whether he knew it or not he fuckn hated it. But, what could he do.

Seraph slurped at the rim of the glass. He was hunched over, his elbows wide and forearms completely resting on the once smooth counter. His sleeves were rolled back untidily which allowed his skin to rub against the odd spill that he'd made. His white button down shirt untucked, unbuttoned and ruffled, revealing a stained singlet underneath.

It had been three days since he'd last had a shower. And it wasn't because he felt the need to be clean. Dominick had thrown him under the running water, hoping to rinse off some of the stench. But, that was three days past and not a sober moment later. It was creeping back and the empty seats next to Seraph weren't only because he would snicker at would be company to fuck off.

The barkeep kept his opinions to himself. Inward resentment coupled with fanatic thoughts. He spotted another patron approach the bar four seats down and walked off, leaving his inner fuming world unexpressed. But, what could he do.

"He despises you, you know that?"

The words came sharp and direct, yet with somewhat of a soft tone.

"He wishes he could be like you. He hates you, but he wishes he was you. How funny, no?"

Seraph ignored the first attempt at conversation. He fiddled with his glass, his fingertips moving it side to side, an inch each way. He watched the alcohol swirl from side to side, like a wave. He imagined it to be a wave. Crashing and thrashing, spilling a little here and a little there. 

Yet on the second attempt he couldn't help but be pulled from his daze. It wasn't the words, exactly. It was the shimmering glimpse of a fiery redhead to his right. She had seated herself onto the barstool next to him and was leaning against the bar so as to be at least a little visible to whom she was speaking.

He wanted to say it. He was a miserable twat. Fuck off was his mainstay conversational input. If you'd call it that. But it wasn't specifically the words from him either that got people moving, or riled up. It was the various forms of angst that proceeded them and accompanied them. His anger shot out like a fireball. Even a simple look could be just as effective, if not more so.

But, he didn't. Which was more surprising to him at this moment. He stopped fiddling with his drink and turned his head with a mildly curious scowl.

"That's the problem though, isn't it? People seem to want to be someone else. They can't just be themselves, no matter the consequences. It's like they look into a mirror every moment of everyday. They see their own thoughts. Their dreams, their fantasies, projected out into the world. They see what they want to be through a hate filled lense. They complain about what they see. They judge and criticize. And after all is thought and felt, they forget they are but painting castles in the sky."

Her words. Her voice. Her energy. It was different. Different to anything Seraph had experienced, for a long time. He usually brought out scorn and fear in others, sometimes disgust, other times rage fueled pity. Those he had to work with use to put up with him. He was always a hard case, but there was a time his personality was endearing. The cynical sarcastic shrewd. He didn't always rub people the right way, especially at first, but some loved him. And it was that familiar scent of compassion he was once again in the midst of.

To him it felt like a lifetime ago. And to those he lost in the accident, it practically was. But, it was familiar. And so too was his heartache.

"The fuck would you know." Seraph scoffed then downed some of his drink. He kept his eyes fixed forward yet his attention was on her.

"I know enough. But more importantly, I know you, Desmond."

Seraph immediately turned his head back toward the redhead, just in time to catch her cheekily smiling. It was more playful, a subtle smirk, full of relaxed confidence. The kind of smile one would make after knowing they just won a bout of banter. 

She was looking down, her fingers intertwined, hands resting gently on the polished oak. Seraph could only see the side of her face until she ran a finger over her ear to brush her hair out of the way. As she did, she glanced up and her dark brown eyes met his.

"Who are you?" Is what immediately left his gaping mouth. He didn't recognize her. But that wasn't why he looked so surprised.

Usually he wouldn't give a damn. Someone could've got wind of him being in the bar, and with the work he was a part of and what all of that entailed, it wouldn't be too unusual for someone to know about him. That wasn't it. It was something else.

And if Seraph could disect the moment, he'd realize it was her energy. She was so calm, so comfortable, and so present that it was captivating his attention. Her warmth was softening his negativity. His hellish state of self torment had been shattered. Now he was open, and her light was shining in.

"Get the fuck out of here."

A voice boomed, accompanied by the feeling of water. Lots of water. Seraph opened his eyes. Slowly, as the morning sun was blinding. It felt like it was raining, which made sense, as a business owner was hosing down Seraph who had fallen asleep in some bushes infront of his cafe.

"Wake up and fuck off or I'll call the cops."

"You fuck off." Seraph half heartedly sneered as he eventually made his way to his feet. As he walked away rubbing his head, he looked back to catch a glimpse of the bush he had slept in. It looked as well as he currently felt.

With hose in hand, todays alarm clock stared Seraph down as the distance widened between the two. Another time and Seraph would've been less willing to move on. Usually, three drinks in. Having to wake up in the morning though was another battle entirely, and it was very much kicking his ass.

An ache filled his head. Another bender. Another hangover. Another dream with that redhead. Or was it?

Ravi wandered around the Chicago streets, with his alcohol-free liver, innocently peaking into shops and restaurants along the way. A sudden smell of booze and unhealthiness hit him, quickly followed by what seemed the dirtiest people on earth. The man even dirtier than that Jeanne chick, and god knows she was a dirty one. He decided to avoid eye contact and continue his way as if he hadn't seen anything, but as they walked past each other, their shoulders hit. 

"What the fuck bro! Tu cherche le goumet?" he yelled, pumping his torso to try and intimidate the tall man. He might be a kid, but he was a confident fucker. He was also a sensibly smart fucker, so as soon as he spotted Seraph's muscles, he backed off a bit.

Fuck. He had to find a way to redeem himself to the man, or else he'd get the beating of his life. He thought about what his grand-father used to say -- When you can't think with your brain, think with your nose -- And that's exactly what he did. 

He squeezed out his most alcohol virgin like voice and asked, "Wanna go grab a drink?"

It wasn't unusual for such interactions when Seraph floated about town. It was actually expected, and due to some deep dark inner yearning it was sought out. It was a little weird to have an invitation, though.

Seraph's angry face softened a little as he recognized the prominent Chicago worker. Even though Seraph spent most of his time drowning his soul in cheaply fermented alcohol, he heard stories of other prominent men, and the like, who moved about with a sense of purpose.

And from his constant visits to the streets, mostly as a wanderer and drunk, he got to know their faces too.

"Why the fuck not." Seraph replied. He looked The_Kid once over then figured he himself would probably be best choosing the place. A wave of the arm followed.

"I know a place." He said, rubbing his face. The pain of an aching head was all he needed to say yes. More numbing the senses would help him forget he once felt like shit, and typically it worked.

Seraph knew a spot that was usually open early, most days. It wasn't exactly the place most would go to wet their lips, but it did the job.

Ravi smiled softly, seeing the man soften up a little bit. He had successfully avoided trouble, and he was pretty happy about it. He stuck his hands down in his beige pants and looked at Seraph right in the eyes.

"So where's this place, heh?"

Seraph dug deep into his chest, a hearty cough preceding a ball of phlegm being spat onto the ground. After licking his lips he turned and began scuffling down the sidewalk. He clutched at his hip which was feeling a little worse off from the dirt mattress the night before.

"What the fuck?" came to Ravi's mind when he saw Seraph spit out a huge ball of mucus. If there was one thing Ravi didn't like, it was people spitting all over the place. Then he noticed the hobo clutch his hip in pain. This was it. His opportunity.

He immediatly dashed across the road and ran in between all the small roads, hoping to loose the weird man. He came across a pile of cardboard boxes and paused for a minute. He then quickly jumped under all of them, hoping the pursuer wouldn't notice his beige knees slightly sticking out.