Sciocco [Open]

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

Company. I need company. I'm here to get away from everyone but the guy at the bar is making me nervous. He's spooking the bartender and for a moment there I actually thought he'd disappeared. I don't think I've drunk too much. Perhaps the opposite. I need to drink more. I need to numb myself further and go home. Quickly. Only I just ordered another drink.
I'm all set to return to my table when I decide to take a slight detour. The drunk has my hackles up and I don't want to sit alone. I don't want to talk either, but talking isn't necessary. I hope. I could sit with someone and sit in silence. I'm not very good at small talk. I'm not very good at interacting on any level. I'm not stupid. I've just always been this way. I can talk to Tayden more than most, but then that's to be expected. Tay and I don't even need to talk to understand each other at times.
I walk past 'my' table and sit myself opposite the guy that had previously sat at the bar. He's enjoying his meal and I don't want to disturb him. He's the perfect choice for a companion in this situation. Firstly, he's alone, so he might actually like having some one sit with him, for appearances sake. Don't most people like to sit with others? Aren't we supposed to be sociable creatures? It's how the world survives. That need to make connections is ingrained in us all. The instinct is stronger in some than others. I'm exhibit A of that fact. I have all the connections I need. I'm good.
I place my drink on the table in front of me and tip my chin at the guy opposite by way of greeting.
"Hey. Do you mind?"
I glance over to the guy I'm trying to avoid and then back to the shaggy haired blonde. He's probably wondering what I'm doing. He likely thinks I'm trying to hit on him. If he's smart and caught the direction in which I looked, he'll know why I'm here.
I slump down in my seat and rake my hair forward so it frames my face. I like my pink curtain. It keeps people out. Keeps me in. Makes me feel safe. It's a joke of course. There's no security to be had behind such a flimsy system but I've learned to take what I can get, where I can get it.

[Otis (DELETED 7571)]

It was easy, too easy to wear out a welcome. Otis knew. He knew and felt and understood when it happened. It was easy to tell when he’d made too much trouble of thinks. Thoughts changed, and in them he became more prominent. More recognized. Tension, emotions wound like a taut string. Eyes, resting on his back, crawling like insects over his appearance. He was making too much of things again. He should have left already. Usually he did. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet, only that something was here. Something that needed help. Something that needed him.

Whether they needed help or not, though, there was a limit. His limit was being reached. He could feel it in the way she looked at him, in the way they created space and turned away. Like they were hoping he would vanish again and never re-appear. Once, these sort of thoughts might have hurt his feelings. Might have depressed him. There wasn’t enough of him left to linger on such emotions. Too much had been scooped away, leaving room for the flood that swept him along. There just wasn’t enough left of him to be a him anymore.

It was a little more abrupt than he meant it to be. The way he stood from his seat, leaving extra money on the counter. As sharp as the motion was, though, it was silent. Even though his steps were sluggish, almost drunk, he never walked into anything. Never fell. Never made much in the way of noise save for his mumbling. If one weren’t cautious, they might have mistaken him for a ghost. A remnant. In some cultures that was exactly what he was. A piece of the past meant to disappear, still clinging to the shreds of existence. Still here, for one reason or another, stealing the life of others for their just purpose. Or for the purpose of avoiding what exists after. In that respect, every one of them was the same. They were all just ghosts.

He stopped only for a second by their table. Pink hair had taken to cower in the shadow of blonde. What was left of Otis felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry for scaring you, really. I tried to help, but the words weren’t the ones you needed to hear.” He spoke without thinking. He never thought, never needed to. Never could. There was no room for his own thoughts when too many others took that place. He rocked in place. It wasn’t really certain if he were speaking to the female or male of the pair. His words never followed his gaze; the quiet pale gray that was only visible for a moment. Then he turned without another word, and exited the bar. There was no need to say more, and if he lingered he’d only make it worse somehow. They didn’t need anymore from him. He’d failed, most likely. Anymore might leave damage that couldn’t be repaired.

For all that he was, he only wanted to help.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

The sound of the feminine voice had Cosimo glancing up, his chewing slowed as she went through the motions of asking permission to sit. The girl had all the makings of a melancholic, emo teenager. But, was she a teenager? Older, Cosimo mused. Maybe she never grew out of it. There was something about the way she wore her hood, the particulars of her clothing. Could an emo have bright pink hair?

No, he told himself. Scolded himself. People didn’t fit neatly into little squares. Stereotypes were created by a small-minded society. Some people fit the mold, others not so much.

To the contrary, Cosimo did not think that the pink-haired female was hitting on him. He hadn’t enough ego to think such a thing. At first, he was confused, until she glanced toward the bar. The drunk. The one who talked nonsense; the one who mumbled to himself. Or, was it to himself? Cosimo shook his head, gestured to the chair opposite him. He hadn’t entirely come here to be alone. Had he? His own opinion shifted and changed. The company was not unwelcome, even if he did wonder what Athena would do, if she were here. She wouldn’t like Cosimo making friends with other women. But Athena wasn’t here. And Cosimo told himself that her jealousies were ludicrous, and he shouldn’t be hindered from making new acquaintances because of it.

Rather than speak with food in his mouth (his mother had taught him some manners) Cosimo chewed the rest of his mouthful before swallowing. Before he could utter a single thing to the pink-haired girl, the drunk had made his way over. He apologized for… trying to help? He stumbled away, and Cosimo’s perplexed gaze fell on the girl opposite him.

They were strangers, but they had shared an odd experience. This drunk had, in his own odd way, introduced them. Though Cosimo wasn’t distracted by the nuances; he remained confused.

”Do you know what it is he was talking about? Did he… did he help you?” Cosimo asked, wondering if the two had conversed while the girl was at the bar. Truthfully, Cosimo hadn’t been paying the most attention.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

Blondie doesn't say anything, so I assume I'm good to stay where I am. The only problem is, the drunk guy follows me. I don't know why. I makes no sense to me. Why would he do that? I don't know him. I'm nothing to him. He shouldn't have noticed me. I may need to consider dying my hair.
To my surprise the drunk guy suddenly makes sense. He apologised. Though I'm not sure who to. I glanced up at him as he spoke and shook my head as he walked away. He was sorry. He said his words weren't what we needed to hear. He's right, but wrong. I didn't need to hear his words, but that wasn't what I objected to. Words are just that. It was the attention upon me that I didn't like. The wrong kind of attention. If he made more sense I might have replied. But to reply, one needs to understand and I didn't understand him. I feel a little guilty as he walks out. He might have needed a friend.
"No idea."
I tell the blond this once we're alone. Great company we are. The drunk spoke too much, and I speak too little. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to introduce myself now. I probably should, but the reason I'm sitting here just left. I should move. He doesn't know me. I don't know him. Is this awkward. Yes. Yes it is.
I force myself to answer his question more fully.
"Didn't really understand him."
I look to the door of the pub. I don't want to feel guilty but I do. I may not have needed his words, but maybe he needed to say them, to be heard. I shrink down in my seat a little. I'm a bad person I always suspected as much but right now I really feel it. What if he wasn't drunk? What if he was mentally ill? What if he's off his meds and someone, somewhere is looking for him.
I sigh and shake my head before raising my right hand and begin twirling a section of my safety curtain around my finger.
"He help you?"
It's entirely possible that the guy was sensitive to other, clairvoyant perhaps. Was he giving us a warning? I should have listened better. I should have paid more attention. I won't make that mistake again. I tell myself that but it's the kind of promise you make yourself. The kind you make but couldn't possibly keep. Hopefully I'll behave better next time, but I probably won't. I'm not good around drunk people. Or people that seem it.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

Cosimo slowly shook his head, trying to remember exactly what the man had said but failed to put any of his words in the right order. He recalled bits and pieces but they were fragmented. But then, the guy’s whole speech pattern was fragmented. The only bit that had made sense, which could kind of allude to Cosimo, was the mention of food.

The very same food that was not churning uncomfortably in the Italian’s gut, or what was left of his gut. Why was it that vampires couldn’t eat? Perhaps because all the important internal organs had shut down and were, for all intents and purposes, dead. They did not work. So of course any food consumed was going to be rejected by the body, if the body did not have the ability to digest. His head bowed, a frown creasing his brow as his fingers rested uselessly over his stomach.

”I do not think so. I could not understand either…” he said.

But he knew this was going to happen, didn’t he? He had bought the food, and he had eaten it knowing that he was going to throw it up. It hadn’t seemed such a big deal at the time. A whimsy, a fantasy that he followed through on, ignoring the obvious consequences. Now, he wished he hadn’t ignored the consequences. Now, it was as if he had swallowed knives instead of deep fried rice balls.

Cosimo had not thought ahead. He thought that if he threw up the food, it might be later. An hour, maybe. And if not, he thought that he’d have time to make it to a bathroom. It turned out, he was wrong on both counts. His body jerked as his hand slammed over his mouth. He moved as if to get out of the booth, to run to the toilet, but the slight movement only exacerbated the problem. A wave of cold washed over his body until everything he had eaten came spewing from his mouth, splattering to the wooden floor beside the booth, sloppy and wet. Rice. Lots of rice, laced with red. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d think he had an internal bleed. He could at least say it was the wine.

”Dio mio,” he rasped, fingers curled around the wooden edge of the table.

”I am s--” he started to apologise, but the word was cut off by another rush of sloppy, wet vomit.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

I’m about to take a sip of my drink when the guy I’m sitting with leans over and pukes up the contents of his stomach. It’s kind of disgusting. Actually. It’s more than that. It’s completely disgusting. He’d just got through telling me that he didn’t understand the other guy either. I have to wonder if we should have both paid more attention. I’m still stone cold sober. I’m not sure what the other guy’s issue is. I wouldn’t say much of what he ate or drank was digested. It looks more like it was put through a blender and poured all over the floor.
I turn my eyes back to the table. I’m not sure where to look. Do I look at him? Is he embarrassed? I’d be embarrassed. I might have already left by now if our roles were reversed. A better soul might offer to help him. Me? I don’t know how. I don’t know the guy. I don’t owe him anything, so I just sit here. I sit here, staring at my drink. Staring at the cider and trying to ignore the smell of vomit. Even if it doesn’t quite smell right.
I rub at my nose with the back of my index finger and glance up to see if the guy’s finished. He was about to apologise when he started in on a second wave. I look over to the bar and the bartender is shaking his head. Then he disappears. I assume he’s gone to get a mop and bucket. Was it me? Did I cause this? No. I don’t think so. I don’t look that bad. Do I?
It’s strange the thoughts that go through a person’s mind. I know none of this is my fault and yet a part of me seeks to blame me for it regardless. I really do have such low self-esteem, don’t I?
It is strange though. If he was Tayden, I wouldn’t hesitate in my actions. I would have been on my feet rubbing his back. I’d be trying to comfort him. Getting him water. I’d be doing something. For this guy though. Nothing. I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m beginning to suspect there are more things wrong with me than I thought.
“You okay?”
It takes me a while to ask. I had to force myself to say it but I’m glad I did. I have. It’s the human thing to do after all, and I am human; even if I don’t feel it most days. Even if I don’t feel it right now.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

Even now, in this moment of regret and embarrassment, Cosimo was searching for the silver linings. Even as one of the waitresses came out with clothes, a bucket, a mop, and a disgusted look on her face, Cosimo had to smile. He’d been able to taste the thing that he’d so craved, and now he was throwing it up. Most would think that the taste that he had satisfied would be ruined by the upchuck, but it felt so human to be sick. It felt so utterly human, even if he was deprived of the fever that usually accompanies such sickness.

He was in a room of strangers, whom he might never see again. This brief embarrassment would pass, and it would be something he would only laugh about in future. Whatever the cause, he had learned his lesson. Do not eat. Not not ever try again. Now that he had tried and failed, now that he had tried and gained nothing from it, he could move on. No - he had gained something. He had gained a lesson.

”Si, si, I am fine,” he replied to the girl with the pink hair, straightening when he was sure there was nothing left for him to throw up. The waitress had bustled over and was entirely unwilling to clean up the mess. Cosimo, guilty, reached out to take the cloth from her; to take the bucket. To clean up his own mess. The waitress was more than willing to give them up to him. She muttered something about going to get some hot water, and Cosimo just nodded.

”As I was trying to say. I am sorry,” he said, able this time to get all the words out without interruption. ”I will not be offended if you go find another table, now,” he said. He’d used the towel he’d been given to mop the mess up into a pile, which he tried to pick up and toss into the bucket as best he could. It was hardly a good first impression.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

"S'aright."
I'm not sure what's really alright. I should move. I should get away from this guy. The drunk is gone, so I have no reason to sit here now. I'm in one of those catch-22 situations. I'm not exactly sure where that expression comes from, I think it has something to do with guns or bombs or something. That's not important though. What's important is the here and now. I'm here now. I'm here but I should go. I sat with this man for protection. I can't believe I was that stupid. I sat with a man for protection. That's not like me. That's like choosing door number two, because door one was painted red. You don't know what's behind either door and choosing either is illogical.
I start to panic, internally; I don't let it show. I try not to let it show. I do however begin to play with a strand of my hair while I consider my options. The pink silk twirling round my fingers as I lean my elbow on the table and look at the wood grain. I have to try not to stare at the grain too much or I'll start tracing patterns and become lost within my own mind. I can't do that. I'm talking. It would be rude.
What are the pros for staying? Company? Since when do I want company? Since never. Especially not of the male variety. Company is not a pro. It does however allow me to blend in. To look like I belong. It will keep me safe from others. From other unknown factors. I hope. So maybe company is a pro? Walking away now would be rude. That's a con. Though do I care? The chances are I'll never see this guy again. I probably wouldn't even recognise him if I passed him on the street. I don't even know his name. Though I'm not sure he's all that forgettable. Not after throwing up everywhere. I won't forget the other guy either I don't think. Even if I'd like nothing more. I hope he doesn't haunt my dreams tonight.
I decide to stay. For now. He may only be being polite. He might want me gone but I'm not moving. If I move again I draw more attention to myself. Right now he's the focus of the bar though. That doesn't help me hide. Not when I'm with him. Still. I'll stay, for now. I have to learn to face my fears. I'm stronger than I think I am. I'm a survivor.
"I'm good where I am. Unless you want to be alone?"
I give him an out. It's the polite thing to do. If he wants to be alone I'll move. I'll have no choice. You can't stay where you aren't welcome. Well you can. But I won't. I won't disturb him if he needs peace.
I try not to watch what he's doing. It's disgusting. Luckily for him I'm good with disgusting. It's unlucky for me though. Some people say they wouldn't change their lives, or else they wouldn't be who they are. I'd change everything. Everything except Tayden. I wish my past were just a bad dream. I wish I could undo the damage that's been done to me, but there's no going back. Only forward. Always forward, whether you like it or not. Perhaps I should like it. Every day forward is a day away from what I've left behind. From what I ran from. From what we ran from.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

Unless you want to be alone, she had said, and Cosimo laughed. In that one suggestion, he remembered why he was here. It wasn’t only for the food. He hadn’t admitted to himself that he was lonely – he’d come for the company, but you couldn’t come into a pub and sit there without buying anything. That wasn’t kosher. In any café or restaurant, they would never let you just sit in their premises for free, not when your chair could go to someone else willing to pay.

Not that there were too many people in the pub. Cosimo wouldn’t be taking up precious room. At least the staff were going to be paid for cleaning up his vomit; at least he had contributed something. The waitress came back to take away the bucket and replace it with another one, this one full of steaming hot water.

”Please, do tell the chef his food was delizioso. It is not his food. It is me,” he said with a dimpled smile. The waitress could only manage a weak smile in response as she carried away the bucket of sick, and Cosimo had to bow his head in shame. With the mop now in hand, he may as well have been someone who worked there; some sad tourist who couldn’t get a job anywhere else. One who enjoyed talking to the strangers who visited. The other misfits, just like him. At least he knew what he was doing. He was a man who was no stranger to how mops worked. It had been one of his chores, as a child – to mop his mother’s kitchen after she’d cooked a feast for the family and the neighbours.

”I do not want to be alone,” he admitted as he slopped the hot water on the ground, as he scrubbed. He only raised his eyes once to the pink-haired girl. So far she had been quiet. Awkward. She looked almost uncomfortable. But she hadn’t taken the opportunity to leave, so Cosimo told her the truth.

”I do not like being alone. I think that I came here so that I would not be alone,” he said. ”But I have made a mess instead,” he said with a laugh. Always, with the laughter. The smiling. He couldn’t help it. It was ingrained into his personality; it could not be shifted.

[Teagan (DELETED 7350)]

He laughs and I'm not sure if he's laughing at me or not. My finger curls around the strand I'm still working and stills. I wait to see if I should be offended, so I can see if I should leave. His posture doesn't give much away but then he's still working on cleaning up the mess he's made. The waitress doesn't look impressed with the mess he made but even so I'm sure she checked him out the moment his back was turned. It must be that smile of his. He's charming. Naturally so. He has that air about him I always wish I had. I don't do charming. I don't do pretty. I can barely pass for human and in a city of monsters that really is shameful. I lower my head a little further, my hands falling into my lap.
He's talking to me again. Mr charming. I'm sure he has a name. Mr sickly. I'm not sure I believed him when he said the food was delicious. People don't go throwing up food they like unless something is wrong with them. They either have to be ill or they have to have some sort of eating disorder. He doesn't appear to be either, though he's a little pale. Maybe he is ill. Maybe I should have chosen a different table after all. I don't want to be ill. Being sick is disgusting and I'll be even more miserable than I usually am. Tay would be forced to look after me and I hate that that job always falls on him. He shouldn't always be looking after me. I need to start looking after him better.
"Name's Teagan."
I offer him my name. I need to know what to call him. This story won't be nearly as amusing without being able to name the guy that I sat with, the guy that threw -up all over the floor shortly after I sat down. I hope it wasn't my doing. Is it possible that the sight of me was enough to make him physically sick? I didn't do anything wrong, besides sit down uninvited. Maybe it's stress? Stress can make people ill. Perhaps the drunk stressed him out too. He did move from the bar after all. I'm tempted to ask but I don't. It wouldn't be right.
He said he came here for company and yet he was seated alone, as I was. I don't think much about that though as he was eating. People don't socialise when eating. Not when they come to a place like this alone that is. His plans changed though, or at least he thinks they did. If he came to make friends, I think the waitress might be off the menu. The barman seemed nice though. Maybe he'd lend him an ear. Though that might be a false interaction, a forced interaction. It's a barman's duty to listen and seem interested; if they want tips at any rate.
In an effort to make conversation I focus on what he said last. I try to make him feel better. I'm not good at this sort of thing but I can try. I want to try.
"Life's messy."
I shrug as I say it. I think that says everything I wanted to convey but it probably didn't. Life is messy, and I was trying to make him feel better by stating as much. You can't let the messes slow you down, you have to go through them, move past them. I'm not so good at that last part myself but then my messes are bigger than most. My messes weren't really mine. Other people messed with me.
I shiver in my seat and rub my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to chase off the cold that is bone deep. This isn't a chill that can be warmed away, unfortunately.