Tiny Dancer. (Open.)

He was home.

Sitting in yet another strange bar, a common occurrence the past couple weeks, stained clothes covered in grime, hair matted and sticking at every strange angle imaginable, Mat brought the cool glass brim of the glass he was nursing, and took a long drink of that bitter amber nectar. Not as good as the stuff back home, of course, but crap beer was better than no beer. And after all the drama of the Mansion with Agnes and Kealey, Mat was finding that his appetite for hops and barley had increased dramatically. Still, as he sat, he couldn't help but smile. He looked like a hobo. He looked like a street rat. His filth was a badge of honour. A badge of freedom.

He was back on the streets. He was home.

His time at the Mansion had softened him up, somewhat, and the initial transition had been a touch rough, but old habits died hard, and Mat found himself settling back into his old nomadic existence. It felt great, to be free once more. The incident that had prompted his return to the alleys and squats had cleansed him of many illusions he had held. He had forgotten a vital lesson, one that had been drilled into him by the streets. One that, if he was honest with himself, the commune had made him forget.

Look out for only yourself.

With that fresh new outlook in mind, Mat had found that his financial situation had vastly improved since returning to the streets, as had his accommodation. Golems, he had begun to remember, served well as both a distraction and a force of intimidation. Lucky too, because selling sculptures wouldn't be enough to support his rediscovered drinking enthusiasm.

And so he sat, at a strange bar, making small talk with another strange barman, waiting for something interesting to happen.

Or someone interesting.

Looking over his shoulder, Mat spied someone who fitted that description like a glove. A very pretty someone who he would consider interesting.

After all, what sort of self respecting artist wasn't interested in beautiful things?

And had Mat not currently been locked into a debate with the barman, he might have approached the woman. After all, who didn't like making new friends? Though, that said, he really wasn't in the mood to try for anything further tonight. And it seemed that she already had company. A man had approached her, no doubt with seduction in mind. Mat gave a small laugh and bid the man a silent good luck. Then he turned his attention back to the barman.

“You're telling me that you're not a bum, you're a hobo?” The barman stared at Mat with an incredulous look on his face.

“That's exactly what I'm telling you, mate. Listen, there's three hierarchies of vagrancy, right? Hobos, tramps, and bums. Hobos travel, but they work while they do so. Tramps, they travel but they try and avoid work if possible. And bums, well bums don't work and they don't travel. That's why they're bums. So yes, I am telling you that I'm not a bum. If anything, I'm a cross between a hobo and a tramp.” Mat took another long swig of beer, emptying the glass, and sitting it in front of the barman to be refilled.

“A 'trobo'...”

The barman stared at Mat a while, the gears of his mind grinding away. Then he let out a loud, bellowing guffaw and refilled Mat's glass. “You're an idiot, y'know that?”

Mat raised his glass, sculled the contents, belched, then handed it back for yet another refill. “I'll drink to that,” he smirked.


((Hope no one minds if I join in? If anyone objects, let me know and I'll delete this. Aurum snuck in while I was writing this post...))

"My name's Aurum." She looked a little freaked. "And no. Talking definitely doesn't hurt. Unless it's painful." The joke came out deadpan, an attempt to ease the awkward that had quickly settled in over the conversation. "What's your name?"

And... suddenly he noticed it... what was that smell? Aurum snuck a peek at a guy somewhere down the bar. He needed clean clothes. He needed a bath. Aurum didn't spend more than a second looking at him before hauling his attention back to the girl.

Come to think of it, up close she looked a bit younger than she had far away. Still gorgeous, though... but nervous. "Is this your first time in New York?" he asked.

Bentley smiled. Her straight, white teeth showing, proof that the smile was genuine. She had turned her gaze back down to the countertop, where her hands where fidgeting. She was picking at her nails again; realizing this she pulled them back down and into her lap. Her hazel eyes turned back to the man at her side, back to Aurum. ‘What a peculiar name,’ she thought to herself as her eyes took in his appearance. “My name is Bentley. Or Mae. Whichever is fine.”

She felt the blush creep up on her again when he asked if it was her first time in the city. Was it that obvious? She nodded before turning her head back to him. “Yes. I only just arrived. I came to attend Julliard.” When she was reminded of her acceptance into the school she always smiled. She suddenly wished that she were dressed more appealing. Jeans and a jacket weren’t exactly flattering. “Is it obvious? I mean, that it is my first time being here, in the city?”

Suddenly, the bartender arrived in front of them. “There’s a man down there,” he gestured to the man Bentley had noticed only minutes before, “He offered to pay for everyone’s drinks at the bar. And well, you two are at the bar.”

Bentley’s head turned as she looked back over to the stranger down the bar. She smiled and waved to him, hoping to catch his eye. The man looked to her and she mouthed a sincere thanks. She was somewhat surprised at his generosity.

The bartender shuffled down the bar, looking as bored moving as he did standing still. He approached the couple several stools away and let them know that their next drinks were taken care of. The woman turned, smiled and waved to Mat, allowing him a perfect view of her beautiful face. Then she mouthed her thanks. The man looked from Mat, to the bartender, and back again, as though he couldn't believe that a man in Mat's shabby condition could afford to shout a few drinks. He gave a curt nod, and that was the end of it. Mat raised his own glass to the couple, sparing a smile of his own for the woman.

'You're welcome,' he mouthed back to her.

Chuckling to himself, Mat imagined how amusing it would be to try and steal the bloke's woman away from him. After all, what could be more embarrassing than losing your girl to a hobo?

Tilting his head back, he poured the remaining contents of his glass down his throat. His hands and face had begun to take on that pleasant numbness that let him know he was getting nicely drunk. His muscles were relaxed, and his problems were melting away with his sobriety. Mat was so relaxed, and not to mention distracted by the cute girl down the bar, that he failed to realise that when he leaned back on his stool to finish his drink, he had forgotten to straighten back up.

The room began to fall away.

“Oh shi--”

THUMP

Luckily for Mat, the floor broke his fall. Fully aware of how drunk he actually was, Mat let out a small groan and did the only thing one can do when falling arse-backwards off of a bar stool.

He laid there and started laughing. Hard.

After all, if you couldn't laugh at yourself, what could you laugh at?

It was the moment before drinking, and all through the bar... chatter. Then there was a clatter. Bentley turned towards the sound's source to see what was the matter. It was the drunk. He'd fallen on his duff. It was the sort of thing one did to receive a lot of guff. Bentley didn't give him any guff, though. She got up to help him. Then, he started laughing like a crazy person.

Aurum stared.

She invited him over.

Oh great...

He kinda looked down on disorderly drunks. Just a bit. Still, it wasn't in his character to leave some poor guy defenseless on the floor or in a bar weighed down by judging stares. The look on his face softened and he made room, waving em over.

Ugh... Sometimes, he was too nice.