in the details with the devil {{jax||opius}}

The place, in every aspect, is the same as always. It’s not a miserable place at all, sure the building itself is hanging on the edge of destruction, more so then that if a safe place to actually be in. But you don’t notice the cracks in the wall, or the fact that the sign above the door is missing three of the four letters. You notice the people inside, and even though it has that general crowd of thieves, beggars and bastards it has a few special people as well. His eyes quickly took in the room, noticing the drunken idiots, incapable of holding their liquor (he had, of course, never been so weak), of the girl in the corner with the boy, of the older man perving and the young boy hidden away from the rest.

It was that boy that he had seen enter, sitting in the corner, hidden away from everyone else. If he hadn’t been too preoccupied with an urge to drink he’d have raised a questioning eyebrow, wondering why he sulked at the back and didn’t join in. Someone would have given him a drink, in this place. He paid him little more attention as he stepped into the circle of smoke and the heavy smell of liquor and vomit, and the air of a bar swallowed him whole. He held a weird fascination with a bar life, liking the way that the smoke swirled around the depths of the shop, and the way that the volume increased tenfold as you stepped inside, he liked the muffled sound of the broken world outside, and how as soon as you opened just a crack of it, it would explode and you’d hear it all. At times, it was like its own little separate world.

It made his throat burn, but at the same time it brought him to life. Sliding on over to the bar he demanded his usual drink, the bar keep had long since stopped pestering him and forcing him to see id. He’d given up on trying to prevent Opius Holmes from consuming alcohol, one too many times Opius had come in, hand wrapped around some toxic street created substance, drunk off his face. The barkeep has simply decided that it was safer for him to drink what he was offering.

He could remember clearly why he had picked up the habit of drinking, but now it was just that, a habit. He drank because he liked it, yes it helped with his re-occurring nightmares, and the terror of his past trials, it eased his mind and numbed the pain. That was what it had been for at the start, now he smoked and drank and did all of it because it was fun, it was still there helping, but it just didn’t mean the same thing anymore. He turned; drink in hand to find that boy, who had been sitting in the corner, standing directly in front of him.

"Um, excuse me,” he spoke softly, eyes averted, "but I just noticed you come in and you seem to be around my age. Are you escaping from the cold, too?"

Smirking he shook his head, finding the question proposed to be quit unusual. Opius was a confident young boy, he was by no means popular, but at the same time he had no problem being himself, and speaking out and being very, very loud. He laughed, before clapping the boy on the shoulder with his hand, ”have a drink, if you’re that cold it’ll warm you up a bit.” He passed the drink he had been given over, already reaching towards the bar to get another.