Set Yourself On Fire :: (Ursula + Nino + Caly)
Jan 18, 2015 12:19:51 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Jan 18, 2015 12:19:51 GMT -5
Everything hangs on the edge of a bottle cap — his dignity, his hopes, his future happiness. With a deep, careful breath he holds tight to the piece of metal between his fingers. It will save him; this time it has to save him. He's not sure he can handle another loss like the last one and so he sets his sights oh-so-very carefully, determined not to make the same mistakes again. He can do this. He can definitely do this.
There's a dull sound of collision as the bottle cap bounces off the wood-top bar before pinging against the side of a glass, but these things are hard to hear over his anguished wailing. "Noooooooooooooooo! I want a do-over. Mulligan! I'm calling a Mulligan!" Nino Ripley has had at least half a dozen Mulligans since these high-stakes games began and the look on Calypso's face clearly says she's not giving in this time. It's his game; it's not her fault he sucks at it.
Other than the pair at the bar, the club is completely empty. During these off-hours, the more integral employees of Bastille Styx's establishment are at home, sleeping away the profitless boredom of daylight. Uma left Nino in charge — mostly with the mindset that the cleaning could be accomplished while he didn't have to be around to listen to Ripley's endless yammering — and the only evidence of the dancers is the un-swept glitter clinging to the floorboards of the stage. Somewhere in a back room there might be an accountant, counting and filing and numbers, numbers, numbers, but this past weekend was busy enough to keep her preoccupied with actual work... unlike someone else.
"Okay, okay, okay," he says, glancing at the bottle caps already scattered at his feet with grimacing defeat, "here goes: When I was nine, Noah was going through this phase where he thought it was hi-larrrr-ious to pants us. He never really grew out of that, but — the point is — we were in one of those school holiday plays together." For the longest time, the fallen Ripley brothers were something of a taboo subject to anyone other than Jude, but more than one wound has been busy healing over the course of the past year and so there's an extra hitch in the corner of Nino's reminiscing smile right now. "I probably would have won an award for my amazing performance as Snowflake Number Four, but BAM!" A hand smacks against the counter top for dramatic effect. "One moment I'm dancing with this snowman — who, I'll have you know, was actually the cutest snowgirl in my class — and the next thing I know my pants are at my ankles and the whole auditorium knows about how our mom accidentally washed a red sock with the whites the last time she did laundry."
The rules of this game are simple:
1) Be the first person to bounce three bottle caps into an empty glass and victory is yours!
2) Losers must reward the winner with an embarrassing story.
3)
This is already Nino's fourth loss today, but he'd rather recount every pantsing of his life than confront the embarrassment that's about to walk through the front door. However, when the bell rings he's too concerned with swapping all the bottle caps he's been tossing around for Caly's pieces to notice, insistent that this will remedy his terrible luck. ("Are you rigging this somehow? It's illegal to dose your bottle caps with steroids. C'mon, c'mon — I told you about my pink underwear! Is it really so much to ask for you to tell me about yours?") Laughter and the scuffling sounds of Nino backing up before he can get smacked upside the head echo throughout the vacant club and then, suddenly, Ursula Libertine is there and his bad luck and embarrassment have something to blame other than a game.
The last time the ex-lovers saw each other, the world didn't end. Mountains didn't crumble. The sky didn't fall. Water didn't catch fire and burn until all of existence had been carried away by the flames. Instead it was the surreal encounter of two ghosts who had once lived together, but forgot such a simple fact after having crossed into the afterlife. It was normal, even, enough so that some might argue that Nino's face shouldn't flinch like this over the sight of those familiar eyes attempting to blink away the sunlight as she steps into the sheltered darkness of the club. Still, he can't help feeling as blinded as she is, turning to Calypso with panic muddling up his face.
The cursing that crosses his lips may be a breathless whisper, but everything else is all too clear. "Caly, she's here. I don't —" and his head ticks back and forth, looking for the closest exit, "— she's just —" but everything seems so far away and so he's looking at the ceiling, wondering if he can climb up and escape like a monkey swinging from beam to beam, "— why would she —" then he's looking down, wondering how convincingly he could drop to the floor and play dead. Except he can't move, not an inch, so he just stares at the girl walking through the door with the horror of helplessness written all over his face. "What do I do?"
He wants to ask for another Mulligan, but he knows he doesn't have any left. Not for the bottle caps. Not for Ursula Libertine. History knows his aim has always been this terrible and that's his problem, not hers. She's the victor in their game and as the loser he owes her this.
