International Affairs [Invite]

[Charlie]

“Mononucleosis,” she replied for the nth time tonight, flashing the patron a practiced smile. Charlie took pleasure in finding out she’d been missed—by complete strangers no less; but after being questioned about her absence over a dozen times in the course of a few hours she couldn’t do much else that force her lips taut and offer a succinct reply. Lies were harder to maintain the more one built them up, so she passed up any follow up questions with empty reassurances that she was all better now and it was not really worth bringing up.

Sending the man off with two filled chalices, she proceeded to wipe down the countertop he’d spilled half of the foam on. Watching him go, she made a mental note not to serve him again. Charlie didn’t need enhanced senses to tell he was on the verge of insobriety; years of working the bar had taught her to read all the telltale signs. Quietly blowing a raspberry, she tossed the wet cloth into the sink and glanced about the counter at her remaining patrons.

Chuckling at the sight of him still buried in his little black book, Charlie wiped her hands down the front of her jeans and approached the far-end of the countertop.

“Ye don’t fancy me choice, do ye?”

[Kaspar]

Words were evading him, the right one always on the tip of his tongue but as he tried to form it the word just wouldn't come. Planning his schedule had a strangle hold on his creativity. Not like he really needed to be writing, not when the album was selling well and he had touring to worry about. The man was going between his small black notebook and his phone, answering queries, adding to his calendar and sharing it to bandmates. Louis was taking on most of the planning, along with the tour manager they'd hired, leaving Kaspar more time for his other responsibilities and yet he felt as if there was never enough. What he really needed was someone to step up in the business, to leave him to step back and look at the bigger picture. Not that that was his style, Kas loved to be involved on every level and really shape the world he was building for himself.

He'd come to Serpentine to get out, and because he had an appointment to get another tattoo. Most of his represented some part of his life, some event or passing of time that was important to him. Hel figured the album deserved a piece of skin, but the design had been eluding him. When Charlie, the bartender whose name he'd tried to remember, came over to chat to him he realised he'd been so stuck in his head he'd taken only one initial sip of the beer she'd chosen and placed in front of him. It was good, he'd simply forgotten it. "Nein, ****, no. Sorry. It is good. Thank you, Charlie." Though his tone was gruff, distracted, he proved the point by lifting it to take a sip. It was still cool enough to be enjoyable, and a nice change from his regularly ordered whiskey, good enough that he took another sip before staring back at his notes. It reminded him of bars back home with his friends, when they were probably too young to be loitering there. Going to some rough looking hole in the wall places in Berlin, guitar in his lap as they made up stupid songs and talked nonsense into the night. They still made time to do it when he went back, though he'd not been in just over a year, not since the month before his turning when he'd taken his infant son.

The memory made him smile, briefly abandoning his task to truly indulge in the drink he'd ordered.

[Charlie]

The first time she’d laid eyes on Kaspar Grube, she found him to have had a strangely familiar face. She couldn’t quite place it, and didn’t until many parlour visits later. Her interest had been peaked when she’d found out he’d be playing at Serpentine, and she’d done a little research to discover what exactly it was he did. He was a celebrity amongst their midst, it seemed. After coming across his music, she found herself not quite in awe, but sufficiently impressed to make an effort. Now a regular, both at parlour and bar, he wasn’t immune to her teasing just because he was a paying customer.

Charlie chuckled at his expense. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder to assure herself no one needed her attention, she folded her arms across her chest and watched him sip at the beer twice before setting it back down. She watched as a smile fleeted past his handsome features, his gaze unfocused. Leaning her hip against the drying rack, her attention never completely wavering from her surroundings, she lifted her chin at him.

“Was are du schreibst-ing?”

The allurist’s mouth twisted into an impish grin as she put her limited knowledge of German to the test, pronunciation atrocious and near incomprehensible with the heavily Glaswegian lilt. Raising her eyebrows at him, she waited for a reply.

Code: Select all

[GR] Was schreibst du?
[EN] What are you writing?

[Kaspar]

It wasn't the first time he'd heard his native language butchered by an uneducated tongue, or one who bore such a heavy accent of their own it was near impossible to correctly shape the words. The smile he'd worn so fleetingly tightened, the expression becoming less pleasant as he studied her, the left corner of his mouth lifting so that it much closer resembled a dismissive smirk. "I will tell you what it is not; a glowing review for the nosey fraulein. Perhaps it is a reminder to the owner that he should get the wiring checked, as I believe that is the only explanation for your hairstyle. Better yet, perhaps I am writing an ode to Einstein's forgotten daughter, a true fan of the hair crimping tool and teasing comb." His tone was almost convincingly conversational and cheery, were it not for that sharp edge of sarcasm, a dagger dragging along his words to make them ready to cut.

For now he was teasing, just as he had implied she'd done to her hair on too numerous an occasion. It was banter, even with the subtle promise that Kaspar wasn't always such a nice boy. The rockstar lifted his drink towards her in salute, almost purring the word "Prost" before the amber liquid parted his lips.

[Charlie]

Charlie’s grin simply widened as he spoke. Eventually she had no choice other than to bite down on her lip to repress the laughter ballooning in her chest. Her eyebrows were arched high, incredulity painted across her features as she regarded him with ill-contained amusement. Pushing off the drying rack, she uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to the countertop. Kaspar didn’t get a moment’s respite from her studious gaze, which hardened the longer she watched him.

“I don’t remember pissing in that— Why are you being such a sour Kraut?”
She lowered her eyes to the glass pressed against his lips.
A wicked grin stretched slowly across her mouth.

[Kaspar]

Kaspar broke at that, giving a sharp bark of laughter, his head shaking as he stared at his beer feigning surprise. The man smacked his lips, making a little sound to imply it was delicious. Ah, such a shame. I'm sure your piss is as delicious as your conversational skills are delightful, ja?" He chuckled, knocking back another draw from the glass before lowering it to the bar, arms folding it atop as he leaned forward, showing that he was now engaged.

"I see what you did there, your parents must be so proud of your cunning linguistic skills." While he far preferred his native tongue, and often fell back into it out of habit, Kaspar had been speaking English to a satisfactory level most of his life and he'd certainly gotten a firm enough grasp to appreciate wordplay and give as good as he got.

[Charlie]

The wicked grin remained as he indulged her in their little chat. It brighten her spirits to make others laugh, even when it was at her own expense. Admittedly, games like these were dangerous, even when played by those who knew her best, for there was no telling when an inch overstepped could flare her Scottish temper. Where, exactly, did her humility end and pride begin had never been—and might never be—clearcut. Charlie was almost sad she didn’t make him spit of his drink.

“Mm,” she hummed in response to the double zinger, propping her chin up atop the heel of her palm as she came to lean across from him along the bar. “Proud nae the best word to describe them really... But since ye here you can help me improve, eh? Next one's on the house if you do. Practice makes perfect they sae.”

[Kaspar]

Kaspar tried hard to smother his laughter, the sound instead coming out as a low chuckle, pressed into the back of a hand that swiped casually across his lips. "Mmm, I would say it was tempting, Charlie, but for one you could not afford my lessons. As for two, well... That might get us both into a world of trouble. I will continue to pay for my drinks." The blonde was smirking, looking her over as if he'd not really noticed her before, though that wasn't entirely true she'd definitely become more noticeable.

It hadn't taken him too long to pick up the vibe, just something about her that had made him glance a little longer when she'd asked for his order. It was a new vitality, or perhaps the lack of vitality, that had a strange sensation of tingling start at the base of his spine, creeping up until it became a full-blown shiver as he recognised what it was. She'd been turned. Kas was a hellion when he was in the mood, but he figured it would be rude to out her, to ask her how it had happened and who did it. It wasn't exactly a difficult guess, taking a blind stab in the dark he'd no doubt find the dagger sticking straight out of Jesse's ***. "Not that you aren't DEAD charming, as my dearest friend Louis would say." The line was delivered in a sarcastic drawl, his accent having thickened only enhanced the deliberately deadpan dropping of the word "dead".

[Charlie]

While Kaspar sure exceeded her bantering expectations, there was an undeniable lack of je ne sais quoi that was painfully apparent in his rhetoric. Charlie straightened her spine, pushing off the countertop to regard him with a steady expression. There was a thin line between banter and mockery, and the German was toeing it too much for her liking. The smile on her face hardened.

Crossing her arms across her chest, she shifted her weight.

“Do I know this Louis of yours?”

What exactly was Kaspar getting at?

[Kaspar]

The man shrugged, not oblivious to her shift in posture, the way her smile tightened at the edges and slender arms crossed her chest. It was guarded, though not openly so the intricacies of those slight movements were a sign of withdrawal. Had he pissed her off or perhaps she'd gotten the message? No, there was no alarm, no fear or awkwardness at being "found out" as it were. Her question wasn't the one he'd expected, but he smiled and shook his head, doubting it. "Louis? I do not think so. He is... Around. He gets around? You might have met him, he has been here with me once. He's my assistant. Adorable shorter man, curly dark hair, bouncy with a British accent. He looks like is causing trouble, most of the time. You call it "cheeky"."

There was a playful fondness used when referring to Louis' cheekier side, the man always up for a joke, that was until he got serious. Kaspar almost found it more hilarious when he got philosophical, spouting his world views with that intent little face, eyes sparkling with the possibilities of the world around him and the danger they were in of tearing it apart. "Something about your recent makeover, it makes me think that you too will get an assistant soon. I could be wrong." She was certainly more interesting to him now, like someone had changed the lighting around her and given her a new shine.