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Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2013 19:27:03 GMT -6
As the twenty-seven year old pulls a black tee shirt over his torso he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, "fuck" is his first reaction to his appearance. Realizing he looks like shit, a sigh fills his lungs. his face is haggard, he looks like a lesser kept Joaquin Phoenix. Cheekbones are sunken due to chaotic neglect and a habit of drinking his feelings, his hair unruly with brown stands sticking every which way, Ethan's beard is beyond maintenance and nothing short of barbaric. His emotional state had taken its tole physically, and it's obvious to even the average stranger, the only thing keeping people from thinking he was homeless was his clean clothes and the woody smell of cologne.. he thanked he maid Mrs. Iglaisias for that. Even if the woman did call him a bear and woke him up with the vacuum at noon. The man wets his hands under the bathroom sink, and runs them through his thick hair, attempting to look somewhat presentable. Though no matter which way he pulls at it his brown mop seems to go the opposite, and he stares up at his reflection, he sees his stark eyes staring back underneath black circles. Grunting, Ethan rakes his hands through the mess once more before switching off the bathroom light and walking away in frustration.
"You've got to be fucking me." He states bluntly, blue eyes strung out as they stare at the steering wheel of the volvo. His forehead is crinkled, lips pressed tight as his fingers turn the keys in the ignition for the tenth time. The engine coughs sickly, the radio clicks on and Led Zepplin's 'When the Levee Breaks' blares on the local rock station. The classic car coughs and splutters, Ethan kneads it on sticking his tough out in concentration. No good; it figures the one time he decides not to be anti-social, the car won't start.. for a moment he thinks it's fate telling him he shouldn't go out. There's a voice in his head telling him that he should watch Gordon Ramsey's 'Kitchen Nightmares' instead, the voice is saying 'you could invite your friends Jameson and Heineken over.' Tempting. Really... "Jesus Christ fuck yourself," taking the keys, he steps out and slams the door of his once beloved car. As he slips his iphone from his pocket, his finger hovers above his conversation with this girl, seriously contemplating bailing on her but with a scrape of his beard he decides to call a cab instead.
It's well past the time he was to meet her, but that fact doesn't stop Ethan from lighting up a cigarette before entering the bar. Women are always late anyway, and if she wasn't, she hardly seemed like the type to wait around. Inhaling the cigarette, he fixes the black yankees cap on his head, it seemed to disguise the fact that he hadn't had a haircut in months. There's a vibration in his pocket, and when he looks at his phone there's a message that reads, 'I'm late.' He smiles slightly, somewhat glad he hadn't held her up and planning to milk the fact that she left him hanging. Taking a final drag, his sneaker grinds the butt into the pavement and he heads into the bar. He has to remind himself that most people are employed and in bed at 11pm on a Wednesday, not many people are crowded in the bar.. more than you would think, but not the pool that would fill the room on a weekend. He nods at the bartender, who in return leans her tits against the bar and asks what he wants. Ethan raises two fingers, "tequila". She thinks it's for her, you can tell by the pleased look on her pretty rosy face. He watches her line up the shot glasses, cut up a lime and slid the salt over as she pours the alcohol. As she opens her mouth to name the price, the front door swings open and a svelte brunette makes her appearance. The way she jaunts up to him, it's like she's walking the catwalk. He doesn't allow himself to be phased, but leans his head on his palm, glancing at the clock above the bar, "Did it take you an hour to show up like that? I accept this, only because I'm impressed." Ethan grabs his wallet, and avoids the look of disappointment on the girls face by tipping her graciously. Licking his wrist, sprinkling the salt, licking his skin once more, taking the shot, and wincing as he chomped down on the lime, he looks at Margo. "Your turn."
TAGGED: olivia warren
WEARING: not a bowtie.
NOTES: susan's code.
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