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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 10:27:54 GMT -5
The only time Alice ever let loose was when she was drinking.
Now was one such time. Dressed for clubbing, she'd left a note telling her roommate she'd be out, and skipped off to go party in red stilettos.
Seeing as it was a weekend night, the place was pretty packed, but that was okay. Normally, the lack of personal space would have deeply bothered her, but...the taletell faint blush in her cheeks said she wasn't her normal self tonight. After dancing tipsily for a while, she managed to squeeze her way out of the crowd, and collapsed into a chair at the bar, tittering at nothing in particular.
After her fourth or fifth beer, she'd begun to sing ABBA songs loudly, leaning on the people (or was it just one person?) next to her, possibly slopping some alcohol on their shirt in drunken obliviousness. In Swedish, she gave them a cheerful apology and encouraged them to join her in singing.
((Herp, who wants a beer-stained shirt? WHAT ARE PARTIES.))
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 10:50:14 GMT -5
((SO tempted to crash this with Moldova and his bucket o' wine XDD))
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 11:09:02 GMT -5
((lmao, do it! XDDDD))
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 11:47:16 GMT -5
If it had been any other person, the stain would have been a big deal.
Then again, his tin bucket of wine was down halfway. And alot of that was already on his shirt.
Moldovans made the best wine. Using one suitcase entirely for that would have been frowned upon... If his whole family wouldn't have done the same. He was pretty sure one of his mother's suitcases was for the same purpose.
She had leaned on the man she had thrown a lamp at, the same man who was there now waiting to be some poor girl's biggest life regret.
"why hello, miss bork bork~" He slurred. He hadn't recognized her yet, and if the aura of alcohol smell coming off him, he probably never would.
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 12:34:38 GMT -5
Had she been in any other condition, he would have gotten an icy glare for a response.
As it was, she was feeling friendly. (Though, by Swedish standards, she normally was considered friendly.) "Hallå där," she giggled, "Talar du svenska? Speak Swedish, do you?" This was actually closer to how she really felt on the inside than what her regular demeanor would have one think. The only thing that betrayed her inner cheeriness was her speech pattern in her native tongue; something non-Swedes would never pick up on.
Smiling blissfully, red lipstick slightly smudged and faded from an evening of drinking, it took a moment to realize that he seemed vaguely familiar.
"Do I know you? What's your name?"
((Here's to hoping I'm not making any egregious errors in my Swedish; it's been a good year or so since I studied svenska. XD))
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 12:58:01 GMT -5
She was not bad looking, he noted with a smirk (although, he saw like, 4 of her. His vision wasn't great.) "I don't speak Swedish, no." He tapped the ask from hiscigarette into an empty glass. "Ai vorbesc limba română?" The ladies loved it when he used Romanian on them. Real Romanian, not the odd mix of that and Russian he usually spoke. "Romanian is a beautiful language. For instance..." He made his voice the suavest it could be over the noise of the club. "Cred ca m-as bucura cu adevărat având relaţii sexuale cu tine." If only she knew what he just said.
Taking a fresh drag on the cigarette, he replied, "I'm Dimitrie. And you?"
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 14:22:30 GMT -5
So...a gypsy? Funny, she wouldn't have pegged him as one. Must have been the hair. Although, compared to her own white-blonde hair, she, like many Swedes, would have considered his to be more brown-ish.
"Hee hee, jag gillar den. I like it," she replied, though she hadn't a clue what he said. In fairness, in this state, she would have said she liked any language.
She would have added that Swedish was also nice, but...even drunk, the Jante Law still applied. Don't think you're anything special or that you can teach us anything. Rules one and ten, with 'us' being the rest of the world. Jantelagen was deeply rooted in her mind, despite how she hated it...not that she let it show.
"I'm Alice," she grinned coyly, "From Wonderland."
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 14:33:54 GMT -5
If she had told him she thought he was a gypsy... He would be less offended than the rest of his family. Where he was from, there was no reason to hate the Roma. Everyone was in the same position. Moldova's population was also as diverse as the day is long, and would have no notion of her 'us vs. Them' view on the world. There were too many 'them's, and he was a part of all of them.
"Alice, eh?" He'd heard of Alice in wonderland, but never read it, and only knew one or two famous lines. But it was a fairytale, right? "Well, you found the prince. You havent been to wonderland until you meet me," He raised an eyebrow with a grin and took her wrist the same way one might look at a watch. "And you're late for that very important date."
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 16:17:32 GMT -5
"Silly~" Her grin turned into one of mischeviousness, "There's no 'prince' in Wonderland," twisting her wrist away from him with more neatness than one might suspect of a drunkard, she picked up her nearly-empty bottle, "You seem more like the Knave, anyways," she raised an eyebrow teasingly, "Stealing tarts and whatnot."
She knew what he was up to, and, though she believed a relationship (not that she necessarily wanted to be in one with this fellow) didn't truly start until after drunken sex, she wasn't about to give in that easily. Tonight, she'd come looking for a different sort of 'good time', so he'd have to try a bit harder than that.
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 16:36:54 GMT -5
What the hell was a knave? "Aw, come on~" He laughed. "What kind of fairy tale doesn't have a prince? Where's the happy ending?"
How was he supposed to pick up women, again? They knew their place where he lived. He was also quite the charmer where he lived. Raising a hand to the bartender, he put his other hand around her shoulder. "Gimme your best wine for this beautiful angel, eh?" He didnt intend to pay for it. It was easy to not pay for drinks in a crowded bar.
He wasn't going to have to appease her for long. The bag of pills in his pocket continued to feel heavier and heavier. He accepted the glass for her and told the bartender to leave the bottle. "Here you are, my drăga Alicia."
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 17:09:43 GMT -5
Thankfully for her, Gothenburgers were known not only for their cheer, but also for their wit. Though, it didn't take great wit to know to be careful accepting drinks in a bar. And she'd been in her fair share of bars.
"Oh, tack så mycket," she thanked him, but stopped the bartender, keeping her gaze trained on the Romanian (or whatever he was), "Another glass, please."
Letting him keep the glass he'd ordered for her, she accepted the empty one and filled it herself. "In Sweden, we...ah, what is it in English...'go Dutch'. I'll split the price on this with you," she took a sip and smiled, "If you don't mind."
And it would be split. To the exact penny.
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 17:25:02 GMT -5
A frown crossed his face when she didn't accept the drink. There was nothing in it yet, didn't this girl know how to have fun? He drained it to make her feel at ease, but looked alarmed when she offered to pay at all.
"In Moldova, we treat women like queens." he lied, pouring himself a new glass. "You're not paying for any."
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 17:41:12 GMT -5
Moldova, eh? She almost laughed. Even copious amounts of alcohol could not make her forget where the worst country in Europe was. He'd made a big mistake in divulging his homeland to her.
Laughing, she challanged him, "I'd rather it not be paid for at all." A total lie, since not paying would be a crime. She sat back and sipped the wine, smiling and feeling victorious; there was no way anyone would just not pay for something.
...Right?
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Post by babby on Jan 1, 2011 17:53:14 GMT -5
"I'd rather it not be paid for at all."
Done. "Okay." He shrugged. He was going to do that anyways. Did she like bad boys or something?
Once the bartender left, he explained, "We drink it all, then disappear into the crowd. We wait there for a while, and then leave through the back. And don't have to pay 200 dollars."
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Post by Professor Plum on Jan 1, 2011 18:24:59 GMT -5
She was shocked, to say the least.
"Vad...!? You're serious?" No way, they'd be breaking the law. ...Then again, she was already breaking the law just by being in there; she wasn't of legal drinking age in this country. And she wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of paying a hundred dollars (or worse, two hundred, if he didn't plan on paying) for something she personally hadn't ordered in the first place.
And, the buzz in her head told her it could be exciting (but failed to mention that they could be caught).
"Well..." she drained her glass, and refilled it, grinning, "Alright."
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