His lips curved up into a smirk when her gaze turned to something that wasn’t him. But it returned to a flat expression when her eyes lifted. Charlie was such a little shit about Cordae.
"Sorry, I-I need to get some air. I’ll have one of the other bartenders come in," she mumbled, moving towards the door as her resolve began to crumble. Strangers shouldn’t have to deal with her dissolving.
"Ya dont have ta." He said, resisting the urge to reach out to her as she backed away.Glancing down at his drink them at the bar. For a place in the middle of nowhere it had a home-y feel to it. He canted his head looking for the ring on her necklace to the sunflowers in the vases.
"Got a thing for sunflowers?" He asked avoiding the talk of similarities and all the remorse bull.
She shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself, one hand covering the ring absently. The last thing the demon needed or wanted to do was have a breakdown in front of a stranger.
"No…Charlie did," she whispered, lowering her gaze,
"It was worth a try," he said his eyes softened as he watched her.
"It’s somethin’ but it’s alright it ya don’t wanna talk about it, Cord." He said rolling the glass between his hands before taking a drink.
"I’ll ask Grayson, one of my bartenders, later. He might."
Her fingers twisted together and she shrugged, leaning against the back counter. “Something in your energy just feels like someone I used to know,” she confessed quietly, closing her eyes and trying to center herself.
"Rum and coke, possibly a blunt." He rambled off rubbing the back of his neck, as he noticed her fiddling with the ring onher necklace.
"Ya okay, there?"
"Rum and coke I can get you. The blunt…not so much." She turned away from him and grabbed a bottle off of the back shelf and a clean glass.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry. There’s just..it’s nothing," she sighed, turning and sliding the drink to him. "I’m Cord."
He was going to look at it as a positive, she didn’t remember him. Though his feelings about it were easy to read upon his features.
”- Nah, sugar.” He said as he took a seat at the bar.
The frown deepened, fingers reaching up to fidget with the ring hung from the chain on her neck. There was something in his energy that she knew, but it was clouded, hard to read properly.
"Can I help you with something?" She stepped behind the bar, confused and conflicted.
Charlie stood outside the old bar, mauling over what to say— if there was anything that he really could say. His hands fell to his sides as he shook the worry off. He popped his knuckles and pushed the doors open simultaneously.
"Honey, ‘m home~" He bellowed out as he walked in.
Cordae craned her head around the corner, frown creasing her brow at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t been expecting anyone and all of the living occupants of the place were already home.
And yet..there was something familiar about the strange man standing in her bar. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
[text] Um Clark…?
[text] Please, PLEASE tell me you pressed a wrong button?
[text] I really did not need/want to see your junk…
[text]: point taken wow you are too morally sound to be a demon
[text]: not that im complainin
[text]: what do i do that’s annoying tho. I have to kno you’ve wounded me man wounded
[text] Probably because I work for God and not Hell?
[text] Long story that ends in the bar becoming a sanctuary
[text] After 350 years, everything annoys me a little. Its not really you.
[text] I’m just a grump ass.
Oddly enough, he believes her, even if the phrase my pet is a twist of the knife. He lived his life under strong, commanding women; women who knew how to garner respect from their fleet. It was only fitting, really, that he spent fragments of eternity with a bastardization of the archetype he’d admired so much in life. Lucius’ jaw sets, short fuse burning, but he adds, “Yeah. That’ll help me sleep soundly at night. Your friend Cordae know what kinda folk y’keep for company?”
"Do not forget, Lucius, I am the only reason you made it off of this property alive," she pointed out, hand dropping to her side. Dorian knew she had been hard on the man over the years, but there had always been a reason behind it. To make him stronger, keep him alive, to make sure he could stand on his own. Even if she didn’t think he realized that. "Now, when did I ever call Cordae my friend? My loyalties lie with hell, not this bar. I am here because I was assigned to be. Because Cordae wrote my contract and has a blind spot for those he damned."
Dori knew how to push his buttons and, maybe, that’s what he hated most. That she got under his skin so easily. That he was so obvious about it. The second her arms draped over him, he tensed, his shoulder’s squaring off. He wished he could at least refuse to give her that satisfaction, but his body language betrayed him, going rigid. “No,” he said, simply, peeling her off of him, stepping back. Putting some space there. “‘M not lookin’ for a fight. I’m just—” What was he doing here? Except to see it. The place where it all went down. Maybe find some closure. He shuffled his feet a little, fumbling for words, and came out with, “—leavin’. I’ll get outta your hair.”
She couldn’t help the mock pout at his desire to distance himself from her. The woman was well and truly used to it, but it always gave her a sense of satisfaction. No matter what went down, she still had power over him. “It’s not me I’m concerned over,” she purred, stepping just close enough to place two fingers under his chin, forcing eye contact. “You may despise the very essence of my existence, but I do not hate you, my pet. Keep that in mind.”