a - bartending

[ It's the light that always gets to him. Not just sunlight, but also the overexposed burn of LED signage, the buzz of fluorescents, maybe the wrong kind of moonlight. But here? Here, it's tolerable. The two moons hang over the pool like someone cracked open a snow globe, the one of them just off-kilter enough to make the place feel like more of a fever dream than it already is. Benny's glad for the perpetual evening vibe, means he can relax without worrying about his skin slowly sizzling to a crisp. He’d hate to mar his pretty face, after all.

He sniffs at the air; everything smells like chlorine, fake citrus, and something faintly metallic, almost like the scent old copper pennies leave on your fingertips. He's also trying not to stare, but it's hard not to - the androids scattered around the area look like they've been dressed by someone who’s never met a human but had access to outdated JCPenney’s catalogues and a clearance rack.

It’s off, the entire thing. Makes him uneasy, but he's here anyway because it seems like the smart thing to do, meet people and make small talk, but the mannequins in lipstick? That sure wasn’t in the brochure. Seems like Felix might’ve left that little tidbit off the posters he’d put up all over the city.

He'll find himself at the bar eventually, taking a seat on a sticky stool. He tries to order something easy, whiskey neat, then staresat the glass placed in front of him. It’s half full of something turquoise, the rim salted...maybe. It might also be sugared, but he isn’t sure and he doesn’t really want to taste it. He pushes it back.

Benny learns the reason his stool is sticky fast enough; when he tries to order something else he ends up with an assortment of five different horrifically flavored margaritas and mai tai’s that taste like shit. He’s shaking his head, pushing them back one after another, until the damn bartender spills one all over his floral patterned board shorts. That's it. ]

Give me the damn bottle, [ he finally growls, getting up and shoving his way behind the bar. He'll make his own damn drink - maybe he'll make yours too, if you happen to be having a similar problem. ]

b - icebreaker

[ Benny's never been a fan of small talk, and he's even more out of practice after being in Purgatory for fifty years. He was never a cultured man, not like Andrea, and he isn't the best at keeping a conversation going unless it's about boat engines, blood, or regret - possibly all three. Probably the reason for all these icebreaker questions, people just like him. Takes the pressure off, eases some of the weight most of them seem to be under, especially when it’s asking stupid shit like what color was your rubber duck as a kid?

Yellow, obviously.

What's your favorite comfort food?

Gumbo.

What's your favorite thing you own?

My knife.

What's your biggest pet peeve?

This conversation.


The android - Thomas - doesn’t shut up. It keeps asking, keeps Benny relatively engaged, keeps him talking about the most meaningless crap. Benny will still be giving three word answers should anyone want to come up and join this extremely uninteresting party. ]

[ Now, Benny can't rightly recall the last time he's been able to actually sit down and relax. Purgatory didn’t exactly leave a guy with a lot of time to sunbathe and sip on little drinks with umbrellas in them, and before he'd died, well. That's another story. Point is, as eerie as all this is, there's a tension that's eased in his shoulders, and he's currently draped across one of the pool chairs with said little umbrella drink, clad in a black button down and a pair of violently floral board shorts he’s rather come to like.

The pool chairs on either side of him are empty, and he reclines, sunglasses in place, hat pulled low. The two moons hang heavy overhead, their reflection rippling softly across the surface of the pool. Somewhere nearby, someone laughs too loud and for the first time in fifty years, Benny Lafitte doesn't feel hunted, doesn't feel watched. There's no Leviathans, no old debts calling his name. It’s just him under a strange, strange sky with a half-decent breeze over his skin and a drink that tastes like melted candy and rum.

He'll take it. ]

(( ooc; ota of course, feel free to go for any prompt and run wild! Add your own icebreaker questions, choose your own adventure and wildcard, go nuts. I’m easy peasy and can go with the flow! if you wanna plot something specific feel free to pm me or hmu on plurk virtuously! ))