Having fun at the Pub

[annabelle]

There is that background noise of no importance, it's there to fill the silence but is pointless. Laughter and barks, the smell of gasoline or the smell of denial, a piano out of tune and the voices of the lost. The humidity of this place is sickening, human sweat and tobacco, a place where men will relax and be their traitorous self without their wifes and kids around. Hungry looks directed towards the waitresses. They have seen and done a lot. There is too much of everything in this place.

Helen touches her mustache softly. It's sweaty and bathed in absinthe. She already had a couple of these but she didn't expect that one to get knocked out so soon. He was close, not really used of this liguid heaven.

She sits there for a while, legs proudly open, a pipe in her mouth, he was a heavy smoker, the smoke didn't have any effect on him. Next should be a younger one with lower tolerance. She needs more than that, this is not enough to numb her, not enough...need more, so much more.

One more gulp, and the liguid didn't burn anymore, it was more of a salvation. The mind was lost in the heavenly fogue, the one that blurs your vision and your heart. But it wasn't enough, it was never enough.

How many bodies? 5?6?20?

She didn't remember anymore, she forgot this but not others. What is the use of dominate if you couldn't wipe your own memories out. Useless, useless, not enough, need more, need something stronger.

With a groan she hits the table so hard she hears and feels a crack in the wrist. Pain penetrates the skin from the inside out but nobody seems to pay any attention to the drunk man.

She sits there, feeling the pain, almost enjoying it, it must be broken, otherwise it wouldn't hurt so much. This man attempted to abuse a woman outside in the ally. She wasn't a whore, she was just a maid who stayed late in her master's house. That gave him the right to put his filthy hands on her. A woman in a dark ally by herself is immediately a property of the male passengers. What a reasonable attitude. A broken wrist wouldn't be a big problem.

With a smile she bangs the other hand in the table too. Harder this time, the crack is louder. And she bangs again, and the fingers bend.

Two broken wrists, now how am I suppose to drink with these. What a drag. Good thing he won't be able to grab anything properly until his wrists are healed.


She needed to go find so many and instead of utilising her time properly and productively she chosen the apathy. What else was she suppose to do, what do you do when an excruciating pain pierces you. You go to the doctor and try to find a cure. And if there is no cure you learn to live with this, you take some remedies to relieve the pain and you accept the facts. The facts. The hard facts. She is free, released, everything she hoped for for such a long time. The mind is slowly shutting down.

She is not free, otherwise she wouldn't be there. She looks at the broken wrists of the skin. Broken or not broken, bonds will stay there regardless. And if you amputate your limbs then they will grow back, like they always do. And then what? Will there be bonds again, will they grow back like the limbs?

Childe? Whose childe?

With these foggy strange thoughts dipped in the drunkness she looses her grip and falls to the floor. She immediately leaves and starts all over again with the one close to him. A man in his 20s.

She touches softly the blond curls and takes a sip looking at nowhere. That man is too sober, need to change that.

Violet would have dealt with it better. That ventrue had the right attitude, she made smart choices and she was bringing her sobriety.

After few sips she starts shouting drunkily. The voice of the man surprisingly feminine.

"Where are you Violet, your house is burned god dammit, I searched everywhere for you. You better be alive you bloody fox."