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Post by Craig Laurent on Mar 22, 2009 22:40:55 GMT -5
craig laurent ?!
for of sugar and ice i am made !
---------------------- Poor little Craig had not known what he had been signing up for when he applied for a job on this god forsaken ship, but what he got was not it. He didn't even know what kind of job he had until he got on the ship and it was really too late to say no...damn him for not reading the fine print when he has said they could place him wherever they wanted. Because he had ended up a janitor, poor lad. This trip had gone from something he thought would be enjoyable into a little miniature version of hell.
After a long day of learning the basics (it was cleaning up after people. how fucking hard could the basics be? very hard was the answer), Craig decided to finally get some enjoyment out of his horrible situation that he had somehow landed himself into. If only he had someone to warn him that working wasn't ever any fun...but Craig had never had to work. Even though his family was poor, he never had to really work. That was also sad, but many things about Craig were. He had more issues in his head than you have bones in your body...which isn't that easy to accomplish if you are, in fact, a worm, but that's besides the point.
After changing into something more suitable he walked to where he knew the night club type thing was...he had to clean the bathrooms there the next day. Of course he knew where it was. Once he got there he walked over to the bar, not even bothering to scope the area. He didn't give a fuck who was there, he just wanted to get drunk. Of course if he found someone fuckable that would be good, too...but he wasn't really in the mood, so it wouldn't be quite as enjoyable as usual. Not quite.
He looked at the bar tender with a bored expression. Why couldn't he had gotten this persons job? It looks so much easier...much less messy, much more Craig, much more fun. "Just give me something strong, and get it to me quick," He said, sounding tired, as he refrained from rubbing his eyes. He didn't really want to mess up his make-up...yes, make-up.
Once his drink arrived, he took it, and gulped it down, hardly even tasting it, or wondering why the tender hadn't carded him. Sure, he was legal, but it was still odd. He could tell the drink was strong, even if he wasn't caring enough to ask what the fuck was in it. It was alcohol. It was good. All he needed was some type of drug and he'd be the happiest man alive. It was sad how easy it was to make Craig happy...well, usually it also took someone else in his bed by the end of the night, but not at this night. For once he wasn't in the mood...although he did find himself scoping the room, even though he knew he wouldn't find anyone interesting to him, probably not even just to talk to. This was a place full of rich people, surely, and even though they were usually decent in bed they were no good to talk to. They tended to only talk about themselves, he found. And that annoyed him.
count: 577
lyrics; love like winter - AFI
outfit; click
notes; not my best I must admit, but post and I'll love you.
tags; o to the pen, open bruh.
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Post by Vaida Jo Prince on Mar 22, 2009 23:28:53 GMT -5
Vaida was excited for her first night of work at the bar in the night club. It had taken some finagling, and she'd mixed drinks until she was blue in the face - why they didn't believe a little English girl could mix drinks well when she said she could was beyond her - but it was going to be a good night. Already, she'd had the limits of her skills tested. People that came here were wealthy, and almost seemed to be trying to remind her of the fact by ordering the most complicated thing they could think of. Their loss, she supposed, though she substituted the less expensive liquors when there wouldn't be any difference in taste that they would notice.
After the first few hours of the night, it was refreshing when a man slithered in and demanded alchohol, pure and simple. Vaida smirked at his lack of selection, and mixed up something fun, anyway, a Long Island Iced Tea. There were drinks with more liquors but you'd be hard pressed to find one that went down smooth, and it didn't take a long-time bartender to tell when someone just wanted to get drunk. Chalk it up to nationalism, but she figured she'd give him a hand. She watched from the corner of her eye as he downed the drink, making sure no one was looking as she slipped her long-sleeved shirt off to reveal a spaghetti-strapped little black number that was modest enough to be professional, but kept her cool in the rapidly warming club.
After a few moments, she walked back over to the man, ice water in hand, and set the glass in front of him with a smile.
"Can I get you anything else? We have sandwiches now, chicken salad," she added. It wasn't her place to pull the "you should eat with that" card, but the guy looked worn out, and there was nothing worse to follow a crappy night than a crappy, hungover morning.
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Post by Craig Laurent on Mar 23, 2009 11:21:00 GMT -5
craig laurent ?!
for of sugar and ice i am made !
---------------------- Craig finished his drink, and set it down. It was good...and he had needed it. He hadn't had a good drink in days...or, well, day. And he could already feel it hitting him, it made him feel so much better. Lighter, warmer, his toes were pretty much tingling. He wanted another..but right as he was about to ask the woman who had given him the drink in the first place set a glass of water down in front of him. It was a nice gesture, he admitted, and so he decided to drink it, and be nice. He really was a nice guy...well, most of the time. Even if he didn't exactly come off as that way.
"Thank you." He said, picking up the glass of water, and taking a sip of it. Drinking water just seemed so weak next to the drink he had just had. He was kind of hungry, as well, and so he decided to take her up on the offer of a sandwich. It truly was a nice gesture, and even if he wasn't one to return nice gestures he wasn't one to turn them down, either. "Chicken salad would be great." He said, picking the glass up once more, and taking a larger drink this time. He would ask her for another of whatever he had drunk before the water, once he was done eating. And then maybe he would call it a night...that would be a first. He was good at holding his liquor, so he probably wouldn't even be drunk yet. Buzzed, definitely, a little tipsy, probably. But getting completely trashed on a boat didn't exactly sound like the smartest thing to do. How easy it would be for him to get depressed, and jump off. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to die. But if he drank enough he knew he would feel as though he wanted to die...that was how drinking too much made him. So he knew his limits...even if he didn't always obey them.
couunt: 355
lyrics; love like winter - AFI
outfit; click
notes; not my best I must admit, but post and I'll love you.
tags; o to the pen, open bruh.
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Post by Vaida Jo Prince on Mar 23, 2009 17:16:46 GMT -5
The man thanked her, and she nodded, acknowledging him.
"You're welcome. That'll be right up," she added in reference to the sandwich. She made one quick sweep of the bar, mixing a pair of Manhattans and a White Russian before she could head back to the kitchen and make the sandwich, Grade A chicken with mayo, sweet pickles, celery, and a bit of this and that on thick slices of fresh wheat bread. Her hands were quick and efficient as she served up the sandwich, sliced it in half to make two triangles, and poked hors d'oeuvre toothpicks in each half, plunking them on a heavy, attractive, sand-coloured plate. It was too fancy for a sandwich, really, but it was all part of the job.
The gap between taking the order and filling it was a touch longer than she would have liked, and she set the sandwich in front of him with an apologetic smile.
"Sorry for the delay, sir. May I get you anything else?" she asked politely, refilling his water glass with a pitcher from the back side of the counter before leaning comfortably against it.
"So, are you on the boat on business or pleasure? I couldn't help but notice that you're also from the UK. London?" she guessed at what she'd heard of his accent. It was a tone she'd heard a million times from the end of a stage or the front side of a curtain, not as refined as her father or grandfather's ridiculously educated speech patterns, but pleasant nonetheless.
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Post by Craig Laurent on Mar 23, 2009 20:43:20 GMT -5
craig laurent ?!
for of sugar and ice i am made !
---------------------- Craig watched her walk into the kitchen with a blank look on his face, as he picked up his glass of water and took a drink, once more. He definitely needed just one more drink before the night was over. Just something to keep him going the next day, when he was stuck washing toilets, or whatever he was being forced to do. Then again, he had kind of signed up for it...just not knowing what he was signing up for, exactly. Oh, he definitely needed another drink...as long as he didn't get a hang over. That would just be a horrible way to start out his first day of work.
"Another one of those drinks would be superb," He said, looking over the sandwich. It looked as though some kind of artist had made it, or something...not that he was complaining. It was beautiful, and he was sure it would taste good. Nothing that looked so nice could be gross tasting. He picked up the sandwich and took a small bite, placing it back down. Yes, it was good, and he wanted to eat more, but he also had to answer her question.
"Yes, London." He agreed, with a nod of his head. "I grew up there...actually, the first time I left was for this trip. Which is business, by the way, to answer your first question.It was obviously a mistake though...I had been hoping that working here might be a bit pleasurable...but I've sadly got the worst job there can be said to have on this god foresaken boat." He wasn't even exagerating. He truly thought there could be nothing worse...than cleaning up after other people. But that was what you get when you just sign yourself up for something without reading the fine print, he supposed.
count: 310
lyrics; love like winter - AFI
outfit; click
tags; Vaida
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Post by Vaida Jo Prince on Mar 23, 2009 21:02:20 GMT -5
Vaida raised an eyebrow at the request, not surprised, but not exactly approving, either. Not that he cared. Still, she thought he should know what he was in for, so she narrated as she prepared the drink.
"Sure. You're looking for a Long Island Iced Tea. One part vodka, one part tequila, one part rum, one part gin, one part triple sec, one and a half parts sweet and sour mix, and a splash of Coca-Cola," she explained as she poured it all into the shaker of ice, gave it a little shake, then transferred it into a glass and garnished it with a bit of lemon.
"Ta-da," she said drily, dropping a little black umbrella onto the side of the cup. She was joking with him a bit, but not too much - after all, he worked there, too.
"Same here. Growing up in London and not leaving, I mean, though we went to Howth on holiday a couple of times. But this is my first time out for any length of time," she explained, slipping away for a moment to refill someone's whiskey sour.
"So, worst job on the boat, hmm?" she repeated as she returned. "You must work in the nursery, watching the spoiled rich little monsters and changing diapers and cleaning up after them," she guessed. She actually didn't think that was what he did - parents would have a fit if a man wearing makeup watched their children - but she couldn't imagine anything worse than being trapped with bored, hot, fussy children all day.
"What's the plan for making it better, then? Song and dance routine, running away the next time we port?" she inquired, half-joking.
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