Bentley’s bangs were soaked through with sweat as she stepped out into the cool night air. She’d been too tired to change into her normal clothing. Though, she had managed to slip on a spare pair of jeans before shoving her pointe shoes and tape into her gym bag. Instead of slipping a t-shirt on, she had thrown her jacket on over her white sports bra and zipped it up.

She wasn’t sure that she wanted to go home just yet. The apartment was just down the block but she didn’t look forward to going home to a painfully empty place. Not that a warm foot soak wouldn’t be welcome. A grimace wrinkled Bentley’s nose and made her lips pull down in the corners. The blisters on her toes didn’t feel too great against sock and tennis shoe. Even so, she had an urge to crack her toes. She bent them downwards inside the shoes and sighed with relief as the pressure was released. Ballet was killer on feet.

‘Now, where to?’ Bentley Mae pondered to herself as she shifted her gym bag from her left shoulder to her right.

The neon sign of a bar caught her eye and she made a quick cut across the street toward the glowing blue sign. She didn’t usually go to such places, but tonight she had decided to make an exception. Maybe a good drink would help her aching back muscles to relax. As she reached the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street she absentmindedly rubbed a hand across the small of her back. Delicious warmth spread from the area she massaged. A satisfied smirk pulled at her lips and she closed her eyes in a moment of ecstasy. ‘Maybe a real massage would be worth the cost.’ She made a mental note to browse the phonebook later for a good masseuse.

Coming near the front entrance of the bar, Bentley pulled her identification from her bag and prepared to show it to the bouncer. The huge guy waved it away and gestured for her to go inside. She did just that and made a beeline for the bar. She wasn’t actually old enough to order anything and she certainly wasn’t about to approach someone and ask them to buy for her. She would just have to wait…

Well, actually, it was probably best that no one approach her. She knew if anyone offered to buy her a drink she'd only refuse in embarrassment. She reprimanded herself for being so shy. Nobody had so much as glanced at her and she already felt her face warm with a blush.

"No, seriously. Ask her."

"No."

"What? Chicken?"

"No."

"Am I going to have to make clucking sounds?"

"No." Aurum shook his head.

It had been a while since he'd gone bar-hopping with the guys. Tonight, he recalled why. All three of them were notorious for their womanizing. Russel, with his dark hair, deep hazel eyes, strong chin, and fireman's build. Kurt, a cop who didn't hold back admitting it. With blue eyes, a black crew cut, and a clean-shaven baby-face, he wasn't the tallest in the group. He made up for it in spirit. And finally Vance, another law student. He looked a bit like Omar Epps. Short black hair on a nearly-shaven head, dark skin, cunning eyes. A lover-boy's goatee and jazz in his soul. He was the one nudging Aurum now, in a joking jab at humor. The girl wasn't the prettiest in the bar. Blond, thin like a Bond girl, a friendly face in a red dress. A bit desperate-looking. She was probably a nice girl, but that wasn't why he was nudging her. No. It was just another bit of bullying. Yup. The guys always gave each other a hard time and tried to top themselves when it came to dares. Aurum didn't want to ask the girl if he could buy her a drink. He wanted to leave that to one of the other guys. Nice girl (probably), but the point was, she wasn't his type. He sighed. "Vance, why don't you ask her out, if you're so set on seeing that she gets a drink tonight."

Vance glanced at the girl with a shrug. "Maybe I will."

"Besides," Kurt cut in with a laugh. "I don't think she's Aurum's type."

"What's Aurum's type again?" Russel asked, turning to scan the bar, drink-in-meaty-hand, as he listened to the guys.

"It moves." Kurt joked.

"Funny." Aurum didn't laugh.

"Fine then. You tell us," Kurt suggested. "Dark hair, blond. Brunette? Older? Younger?"

Ugh... They were really pressuring him into it. He needed to get new friends. Aurum looked around... honestly for anything. His eyes settled on a pretty girl with brown hair and hazel eyes, just short of 6 feet. There was a touch of red on her cheeks, like she was embarrassed to be there. He was a little embarrassed, too. "Her," Aurum lied. He really hadn't wanted to go out drinking tonight. The guys had kidnapped him. If he had to pick, though, her. Because she probably felt as out of place as he did. Maybe they could keep each other company... and he could escape The Guys.

An arm shoved his shoulder. "Well then," Vance smiled. "Go for it."

Aurum knocked back the rest of his drink, then moved from his bar stool. "You're covering my drink," He said over his shoulder. There was no way they could argue with that. Aurum stepped up to the bar and slid into the seat next to the girl. "Hi," He said, and made a slightly embarrassed face. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the guys. "Those guys over there forced me to come over here and buy you a drink. But I don't want to. Mainly, I'm escaping them. Need company?" He shrugged. "I don't have to buy you a drink, but I guess talking wouldn't hurt."

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...))

Bentley rubbed her neck uncomfortably. She was sat facing the bar. Her eyes shifted to the right and left. She wasn’t entirely positive that it was a smart idea to have come. She did have early morning practice the next day. The barman was off further down the bar making conversation with a strange man. She felt the tug of sympathy; it was something she was used to. The poor guy looked as if he could use a hot shower, not to mention a decent meal…or two. She felt bad that she’d only just been complaining to herself about her rough day. The man down the bar from her had certainly seen worse.

Embarrassed, Bentley jerked her eyes down to the counter. She hated when she stared. If he’d noticed her gaze it probably would have offended him or even angered him. Bentley was working on it. It was so difficult in New York, though. There were a dozen oddities around every corner. Well, odd for Bentley. Where she was from it was strange for men to grow their hair out, much less swallow swords on the sidewalk to receive money. Or, or paint yourself silver and pretend you were a statue. Bentley blushed again as the memory of her first day in the city surfaced. The street performer had been so convincing that Bentley had leaned in real close to inspect the statue’s face. When it blinked the poor girl had squealed in surprise and then scampered away in humiliation. She now avoided any and all sidewalk/subway acts.

The air beside her stirred slightly as she sensed another’s presence taking a place in the stool to her right. A deep, masculine voice scrambled her thoughts and she turned her head to see the owner. He was casting a somewhat annoyed glance over his shoulder but she was sure he was speaking to her. The words stung slightly as they fell from his lips. His hazel eyes locked with hers, “I don’t have to buy you a drink, but I guess talking wouldn’t hurt.” His tone made Bentley’s discomfort a little more obvious.

She squirmed slightly as she cleared her throat softly. “Um,” she didn’t know how to go about replying. She settled with an awkward, “Talking is nice.” The pink rose again on her cheeks. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt.” The last came out as a mumble. She despised herself for causing these immensely strange and uncomfortable moments.

Her bottom lip was becoming numb as she nibbled at it nervously. ‘I really should have just gone straight home. At least then I would be under the warm spray of the shower.’ She was tossing the idea around of excusing herself and scurrying out of the bar and down the block to her apartment. She knew that would be horridly rude though and so she remained there; fidgeting as she waited for the stranger’s next comment.

"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.

“You know, for a hobo, you sure are putting a lot of money behind the bar.”

Mat paused, holding the rim of the glass just before the lips. “What can I say, I'm a supportive patron of the drinking arts. Besides, not like I have rent to pay, right? Gotta spend my dosh on something.”

The bartender simply looked at Mat, then shrugged. “Your money.”

“That it is. The bartender's insinuation that Mat shouldn't have that much money, for he was sure that was what the man was insinuating, was somewhat insulting. Not enough for Mat to get angry, but enough to warrant a comment. “I'm homeless, mate, not broke. I told ya, I still work.” The half truth. He had been working.

Right up to the point he realised robbery was much more efficient.

As if to prove a point, Mat pulled a small wad of cash and slammed it down on the bar. Glancing to either side of him, Mat checked out how many people were sat along the length of the bar. Not too many. A couple of barflies, and that good-looking couple. “Here. Drinks for anyone sitting at the bar. Whatever they're having.” The bartender glanced down at the money, then gave another shrug.

“You're the boss,” he said before moving down the bar to take the young couple's order.

Mat finally brought the glass to his lips and drank. “Damn straight,” he smirked.

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.

Bentley, Aurum thought. What a peculiar name.

She sure was blushing a lot. Yes, that did make it obvious. She wasn't from around New York, and apparently, wasn't used to fancy bars and golden boys. He wouldn't have pegged her for Julliard, though.

"Impressive," Aurum commented. "And, yeah." He smiled. "It's hard to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. There's a first time for everything." He opened his mouth to say more, but the bartender's arrival cut Aurum short. Aurum looked at the drunk guy from earlier, then back to the bartender. Then back to the drunk guy. He followed Bentley's lead and nodded a thanks, if a bit more hesitant of one.

"So..." He shifted his focus back to her. "Apparently, we're getting drinks. And we haven't ordered a one!" His comment was joking enthusiasm at its best.

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?

The man raised his glass and mouthed back to her. She had only just returned her attention to Aurum and was going to continue their conversation. That was until there was a sudden clatter. Bentley nearly jumped from her stool in surprise. Her head whipped back around to see the gentleman from before sprawled out on the floor. “Oh.” Bentley saw no one move to help him. No, most were pointing to him and laughing. She hopped right off of her chair and moved toward him. She had almost reached his side when he began to laugh, somewhat crazily. Her hand flew to her chest, surprised again.

Even if he was taking it well, Bentley still felt it was only right to help him to his feet. ‘Poor guy.’ She could feel several pairs of eyes on the two of them as she held her hand out to him. As he lurched, a bit shakily, to his feet Bentley glanced back towards Aurum. She hoped he wouldn’t think her rude because she had left him for a short moment. She’d be sure to apologize when she returned to her seat. Her hazel eyes shifted back to the drunken man. “Are you okay, sir?” Everyone’s attention seemed to have drifted away from them again; the people now more interested in what they’d been doing before the crash. The man appeared to sway slightly as if he was in danger of falling again.

Before he could answer Bentley got an idea. She hoped Aurum wouldn’t mind. “Would you like to come sit down there,” she gestured to where she’d been sitting only seconds before, “with us?” He’d looked sort of lonely sitting alone and she hoped to change that. She couldn’t bear seeing anyone look down. Not that the currently drunk man looked unhappy, far from it actually. He just looked…alone.

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.

As he lay there, still chuckling away to himself, Mat became aware of the laughs and stares that were directed towards him. All from New York’s mindless, faceless drones, who thought that their derisive laughter allowed them to rise above everybody else, as though it made them better. Allowed them to look down their noses and mock and scorn, as though they were untouchable. As though they weren’t cast from the same mould everyone else was. Mat knew better, though. That was why he could lay there laughing, even after making an ass of himself. He knew that the rain still pissed down on them just the same, no matter how better they thought they were. Dirt stuck to their boots just as easily. So Mat could ignore the guffaws, the points, the snickers.

>>> “Are you okay, sir?”

Oh?

The girl. The cute one. Before Mat knew it, he was back on his feet, albeit unsteadily. Peering through the grog-haze in his head, Mat smiled at the girl, the only one in this establishment nice enough to actually come help him. A rare thing in New York, judged solely on Mat’s time here.

>>> “Would you like to come sit down there with us?”

Mat glanced over to where the woman indicated, where the man who had joined her was watching. He didn’t look overly happy about the situation, but wasn’t making any real attempt to stop the invitation. He even waved Mat and the good samaritan over. It was probably more directed for the woman than it was for Mat, but that was too late. With a wide smile, Mat gave his answer.

“Love to!”

Staggering to the other end of the bar, Mat perched himself two stools up from the man, leaving the middle stool for the woman. She was much more interesting, so it seemed prudent to sit next to her. Still, not wanting to be rude, Mat extended his hand to the bloke.

“How’s it goin’, mate? I’m Mat.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the eye of the bartender and grinned to the man. With a visible sigh, he made his way over. Having survived a fierce battle with gravity, Mat needed a drink.

After all, he was a survivor!

“So, what brings you kids to the watering hole this eve--HIC!--ning?”