Strangers - Part 1
It is September 11th, 2031. 8:30 pm is the time; at least it appears to be that time, not that that isn’t what it says, but the way that it looks. It is not town square, but it is pretty damn close, nearby more specifically. So dark all around, so dim, it actually looks green; not completely, as there are some too few glowing lights of yellow and red in some areas. While multiple cars (and other types of vehicles) are on the streets, bystanders are, of course, on the sidewalks.
There are numerous places open: restaurants, electronic centers, even cafes. But out of all of those, the one that has never (surely not even in the history of mankind) closed at any early time, is the bar — correction, a bar. The door is not electric, nor is it mechanical, not even artificial; it looks and still acts the same as it did through all the past decades. The inside of said place hasn’t changed that much either; besides little to some additional furniture, it still looks like every other bar that had ever been built.
Getting right to the point, the usual number of persons was present inside the bar; not a whole lot, nor a minimum, just a specific number of them. One sitting at the main counter is a bald-headed man: he has on what appears to be a white collared shirt with a black jacket on over it; he might possibly be Caucasian, but because of the black light inside of the whole place, his ethnicity is quite ambiguous. He faces the back of the counter (and possibly the slightly overweight bartender himself) with his arms folded among said counter.
The slightly overweight bartender, however, does not ask him the obvious question ‘What’ll it be?’ And from what I can tell, the bald-headed man seems to have already had a drink. The slightly overweight bartender does, on the other hand, ask him a simpler question, “Can I get you a second round?”
With no clear expression (except, seemingly, all seriousness), the bald-headed man pushes the empty martini glass forward with the middle and index finger of his hand. “Hell yes.”
The slightly overweight bartender then grabs the martini glass. As soon as he carries it over to the booze dispensers (yeah, they appear to have those now), he then pauses, right before turning to face the bald-headed man. “What did you have again?”
The bald-headed man gawks, “You’re shitting me, right?”
“I’m asking you a simple question,” the slightly overweight bartender speaks out, “I just forgot.”
Struggling to get out a response, the bald-headed man chuckles in irony. “I told you what I wanted, you served it to me.”
Sitting next to him from left-hand side, another man gawks as he listens to the bald-headed man rant; unlike said person, he has a full head of hair (seemingly dark, along with facial) and appears to have on regular looking clothes.
“A reminder of what it was,” the slightly overweight bartender quickly speaks out, “that’s all I’m asking.”
“Whiskey!” the bald-headed man finally answers.
The slightly overweight bartender raises his hand. “Alright — I’m on it.”
As the slightly overweight bartender prepares to serve him another martini glass, the bald-headed man rests his head among the knuckles of his right hand. “Fuckhead.”
The dark-haired man grabs the martini glass he has and takes the last gulp out of it, right before sliding off of his seat.
The bald-headed man notices, of course, just before he turns around right-hand side with his rear still on his seat. “Where the hell are you going?”
The dark-haired man freezes, right before turning around for a mil-second, only to look at the bald-headed man in a glare, “None of your business, asshole!”
The dark-haired man then flees the spot, leading the bald-headed man to — well — continue gawking at him, only while turning his seat back in its regular position. Less to his knowledge, there is someone looking at him; staring, to be exact.
What this someone happens to specifically be is a young woman — and What’re the odds of that? She is sitting on what appears to be a couch of some sort and just so happens to be wearing what appears to be a black dress (though, it might be another dark color); a skimpy one, most likely, as she pretty much seems to be showing a lot of thigh.
As of course, the bald-headed man is downright oblivious to this. There is no real reason for it, though, unless he has — something delicate in his pocket; after all, he does try reaching for it from his right.
This does, in fact, catch the woman’s attention. The fact that she is sitting only 3-4 feet away from him, she can still spot every move he makes. Tilting her head to right-hand-side (having the front parts of her hair hang down on her forehead, while most of it is kept tied up in a large knot), the woman sees the bald-headed man’s hand pull itself away from the pocket, only to set itself back directly onto the counter.
That, however, does not seem to be his first intention. From the look of it, the bald-headed man appears to be ordering another drink, yet he also appears as to be fidgeting — squirming, more likely.
The woman can well tell that few words are coming from the bald-headed man’s mouth. Despite not hearing these words, and for the obvious reasons, she can very well read his lip movements — as well as body language. Just by looking at him, she can sense him asking ‘What the hell time is it?’ To which, she finally, loudly so, speaks out, “What does it say on your phone?”
The bald-headed man, however, immediately begins gawking at her, “What the hell do you mean?”
The woman, on the other hand, starts gawking herself, “Well, what do you think I mean? I’m wondering what time it is. And from where you’re sitting, it seems to me like you’re wondering the same.”
The bald-headed man quickly pulls whatever device he has right out from his right pants-pocket, right before turning his seat all the way around to face her. “This just so happens to be an RPD,” he says right to her while raising it at the front-right side of his face, “in case you hadn’t already known that — by now.”
How the woman reacts (or would have) to that is in no way far from obvious. She does, in fact, think about saying something reasonable to him. Unfortunately, though, she just — chooses not to. “Alright, fine, what does it say on your — mobile device.”
Tapping it on, the bald-headed man looks and checks. From the expression on his face, however, he appears to be having some technical (pun intended) difficulties.
“What does it say?” the woman asks him yet again.
This leads the bald-headed man hesitant to answer, “I really can’t tell.”
The woman, on that note, leans in forward while still on her seat, “You unlocked it, didn’t you?”
The bald-headed man shrugs, “Well, yeah, of course.” This then leads her to rise up off from her seat and, without any hesitation, go right up to him.
“What do you think I am,” the bald-headed man quickly adds, “a goddamn moron?”
The woman, on that note, walks right up beside him (specifically his left side) as she looks directly at the device as the bald-headed man continues holding it up — with no act or form of hesitation. From the look of it, at least from where she’s standing (no pun intended), there appears to be more notification on the device than necessarily needed: for instance, there is a specific time for, what I can assume, his hometown that is likely visible; another that also is (again, what I can assume) is for his workplace. “What does it say for here?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s too many clocks his what I mean.” Without hesitating, the woman quickly grabs a hold of the device.
“Hey,” the bald-headed man speaks out, without even letting go of the device, “Hands off.”
“Hey,” she says right back to him, “no need to get all defensive — I’m just searching for the specific time.”
Pulling it directly away from the woman, the bald-headed man quickly, and loudly, thinks, “You know what ...?” And instead of finishing that sentence, he taps his right thumb right on the device — once again. Ironic enough, the device does, in fact, seem to have a mind of its own, appearing with a text asking ‘What may I help you with?’ The bald-headed man taps on the front of it yet again. “What is the time?”
Immediately so, the device response with a shorter text, blatantly reading ‘Here is the time’; 8:45 PM is what it specifically says.
In a somewhat relieved manner, the bald-headed man takes a (not too deep) breath, “Well then.”
The woman takes a step forth sideways to her left. “Well then what?”
The bald-headed man leans back a bit, looking and acting as though he has no answer. “What the hell am I doing?”
“What the hell do you mean?” the woman asks him facetiously.
“I mean that I’m being a total jackass,” he outright admits.
“Really?” the woman asks, supposedly in an ironic manner.
“Yes really,” the bald-headed man adds, “Let’s start this over, alright?” He then holds out his left hand, “I’m Felix.”
The woman grabs a hold of it with hers. “I’m Van.”
He leans in, “What?”
“Van,” the woman repeats, “It’s short for Vanessa.”
The bald-headed man reacts as if he is in complete understanding.
“Just thought I’d spell that out.”
He then gawks.
“Do you wanna go outside?”
Suddenly, the bald-headed man’s gawk changes to wonder. “Well, now that you asked, I suppose this would be a decent time to get fresh air ...” While shrugging, he then ironically adds, “Maybe we could — each get a smoke, you and I.”
“Thank you, but no.”
The woman quickly shrugs, “I don’t smoke.”
He then does so himself, “Alright then, we could each get a drink.”
“Didn’t you already have one?”
The bald-headed man turns right back around on his seat. What he discovers is that the martini glass he had drank out of and had waited for a refill on it had — already reached that point — like a minute or two ago.
The woman, however, glances at it. “Apparently not.”
The bald-headed man looks at her firmly, “I had a drink or two, actually.” He then looks at it, “I don’t know how long this has been here.”
“Oh, really?” The woman facetiously asks him. The bald-headed man shrugs, “Okay, maybe there’s a possibility ... that it was ... brought to the counter ... during our chat.” The woman then shrugs, “Well, what’re the odds?”
“You can have it if you want.”
“What is it?” The bald-headed man looks at her funny as he shrugs, “It’s a drink.
The woman flexes her hand in a shrugging-type manner. “What kind though.”
At that moment, the bald-headed man reacts as though he is (or perhaps beginning to) drawing a blank. On top of that, he quickly waves his right hand. “Gimme a minute.” He then turns his attention directly over to the back of the counter. “Hey.”
The man working there, on the other hand (the slightly overweight one, the one who’d been working there), appears to be, somewhat, just too busy to even get to him. This is right up until the bald-headed man, having no struggle, whistles.
That, luckily, gets the slightly overweight bartender’s attention, as he swoops right over. “What now?”
Facing the slightly overweight bartender, with only his head turned, the bald-headed man puts the tip of his finger directly against the martini glass. “What kinda drink is this?”
The slightly overweight bartender gawks, “You’re shitting me, right?”
The bald-headed man then rolls his eyes. “I’m not shitting you, dumbfuck. This fine lady wants to know.”
The slightly overweight bartender rolls his eyes, “Jesus Christ.”
“You know what,” the woman immediately speaks out, right before reaching out for the martini glass, “Why don’t I just take a quick sip and find out for myself.” The slightly overweight bartender shrugs, “By all means.”
As she grabs the waist of the martini glass with three of her fingers, the woman holds it right up to her mouth as she takes a quick sip. That, however, doesn’t quite seem to be enough. She then takes another one, filling more of the liquid into her mouth. That, on the other hand, does seem to be quite enough, leaving a stronger, yet less satisfying, taste among her tongue; water after being boiled (at least an hour and a half ago) is what it tastes like. She does not tell this to the slightly overweight bartender, or the bald-headed man, at least not directly.
Based on her reaction, said bartender can practically tell that the woman is thinking about what she had just drank. “It’s whiskey.”
The woman leans in, “Whiskey?”
The slightly overweight bartender nods, “Correct.” He looks right at the bald-headed man. “Lucky for you, I remembered.”
By that point, said person gawks, right before elevating his left fist — and (much to said person’s oblivion) flipping the bird right at the slightly overweight bartender.
“What do you think?” the slightly overweight bartender asks. Instead of giving him a direct response, the woman sets the martini glass right back down onto the counter.
To which, the slightly overweight bartender looks at her curiously, “Not a fan?” The woman shrugs, “Guess not.” He begins gawking at her, “Do you drink alcohol — at all?”
“What the hell do you even care?” the bald-headed man belches out.
This leads the slightly overweight bartender to turn his gawk towards him. “It’s funny you should ask that.”
The bald-headed man begins to do so himself. “How so?”
“Do you really need me to answer that?”
“Yeah — how in the hell is it funny?”
“Hey,” the woman calmly speaks out, grabbing the bald-headed man by the shoulder, “cut him some slack.”
“Yeah,” the slightly overweight bartender ads, “I highly recommend listening to the lady.”
“She has a name, Dipshit.”
“I think you get my point, jackass.”
“No more name-calling,” the woman immediately adds, looking at both of them, “alright?”
Just as the slightly overweight bartender leaves the scene yet again, the bald-headed man begins looking at her in a know-it-all manner, “I’m truly sorry, mom, I promise you, I (or we) — will behave.”
The woman jokingly shrugs, “Who the hell’s we?”
A second-and-a-half later, the bald-headed man turns his seat and quickly realizes that the slightly overweight bartender has, quite obviously, left the spot. After which, he slowly tilts his head back and rolls his eyes, murmuring. “’fuck sake.”
“A little absent minded, are we?” the woman adds.
On top of that, the bald-headed man immediately slides right off from his seat; the woman, to which, begins gawking, “Lighten up why don’t you.” Firmly, the bald-headed man looks at her, “I would.” The woman shrugs, “But ...?”
“But I have the obvious feeling that all the whiskey I drink has already gone to my large insistent — or bladder, or wherever.”
‘That shouldn’t surprise me,’ the woman thought.
“You’re welcome to join,” the bald-headed man adds.
Right as he finally leaves the spot, the woman (on the other hand) appears to be caught slightly off-guard, ‘What in the actual fuck does he mean by that’. She watches as the bald-headed man walks directly over to the restroom, backwards, facing her; in addition, he does it — quite slowly.
In about 1-4 minutes, the bald-headed man is right through that door and into the room.
Seconds pass as the woman begins having a weird feeling between her heart and stomach; might it be because of that sip of whiskey she took? Maybe, if that is even possible. Ten seconds or more pass, just before she makes a decision. Sliding her rear off of her seat, only to tidy her dress up a moments later, she then, quickly, scurries over to the restroom.
As soon as she enters through the door herself, the woman immediately spots something by 4-5 feet away; there, standing right in front of the sink, is, in fact, the bald-headed man, as he appears to be washing his hands. It is unclear whether he is oblivious to her presence, or if he is just pretending not to notice her. It is quite clear, though, as he begins facing her through the mirror. That’s not all though: the minute she had walked in, it seemed as if he’d been waiting. And not only that, he had actually (and quickly so) speaks out, “Well, look who finally decided to join.” The woman slowly gawks, “Pardon?”
For a mil-second, the bald-headed man freezes, speaking in a curious tone, “What?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean?” From the look of it, the woman cannot seem to get another word out, as she blatantly appears to be choking on it. 2-3 seconds later, the bald-headed man pulls his hands out from the sink hose before turning back around to face her, “No need to be shy.”
The woman is not, though; at least, that is what she is trying to convince him — at the moment. She quickly shrugs, “Okay.”
Finally, the sink automatically switches its water off.
The bald-headed man, however (whom had, obviously, been using it), does not dry either of his hands off, nor does he appear to make any attempt to.
The woman glances at both him and said hands. “Aren’t you gonna dry off?
The bald-headed man attempts to respond. But while (if not, instead of) doing so, he looks up, blatantly at the ceiling. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”
As she continues to glance, the woman, non-visible, shrugs, “And, what would that be?”
Instead of giving her a direct answer (or one at all), the bald-headed man, very slowly, walks up forth to her.
In which, the woman wonders, loudly so, “What’re you doing?”
To which, the bald-headed, finally, answers, “What — do you think — I’m doing?” With each pause from that, he does (or begins doing) something, well, quite virtually unspeakable. With it (slightly) still moist, he puts his left hand right between the woman’s legs, and sticks it directly underneath her dress.
Now, does the woman have a reaction you might wonder? I’d be lying if I said that is in no way the case. Surely though, you are wondering how exactly she reacts, I mean, to a sudden moment like that.
“Holy sh —” the woman spurts out.
“Well, what do you know,” the bald-headed man murmurs.
“Oh, my — Oh, god.”
“Nothing under there.” As he fondles her vulva, the bald-headed man then begins digging his middle finger (if not, one of them) deep into the woman’s clitoris. “Not only that,” he adds, “It doesn’t even feel like there’s — anything — going on down there.”
Breathing heavily, the woman murmurs to him, “Maybe.”
The bald-headed man briefly gawks, “What do you mean maybe?”
The woman does not answer him (directly). Instead, she grabs his hand and pushes it away from her nether regions.
“What the hell’re you doing?”
The woman lightly shrugs, “What do you mean what the hell am I doing?”
The bald-headed man begins squinted his eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like that.”
Once again, the woman lightly shrugs, “I’m not one to lie.”
Lightly as well, the bald-headed man shrugs himself, “Is that a yes?”
Instead of giving him an answer (a direct one, at least), the woman stares at the bald-headed man for about 4-6 seconds, turning herself back around, leaning over the sink, quickly (at the same time, slowly) lifting up her black dress, immediately before responding. “How’bout you find out.”
Within less than five seconds, the bald-headed man, slowly, shrugs again, quickly (and loudly) thinking, “I will take it as such.”
You would think that they would be alone during all those minutes. Surprisingly enough, they are not.
In one of the stalls (the far right-hand second one), there is someone inside; someone, while not visible, familiar. It is the dark-haired man from earlier, who appears to be sitting (no surprise there) directly on the can. While doing his (there I say) business, he appears to be, in fact, doing something else. Within the palm of his left hand — is the device; and yes, it the same exact one the bald-headed man is carrying. What he is doing on said device is — well — entirely oblivious.
For all I know, he could be watching some online videos; old ones or new ones, I really don’t know. The one thing I do know is that he is entirely oblivious to what is going on outside of the stalls.
What’s going on does catch his ears sooner or later; about seven seconds later, most likely.
“Oh, god,” a female voice (quite obviously the woman’s) yells out.
The dark-haired man starts to gawk, quietly wondering, ‘The hell?’
Suddenly, about a second or two later, the female voice belches out, “Oh, fuck.”
With no clue of what’s going on, the dark-haired man rises up off from his seat; what had been doing in there for the past few minutes is beyond me. Right after pulling his drars up, he does the same with his trousers (in which, appearing to be blue jeans), immediately zipping them. Taking slow steps forth, he walks straight over to the door. He refuses to open said door, however, in order to avoid being detected. As instead, he peeks each eye of his through the crack. Unfortunately, he cannot get a decent glimpse: this is either because what is going on specifically is happening far away from the naked eye, or it’s because he is looking at a mildly dim area that he just so happens to be standing near; after all, the lights in there are far from perfect. With no other option, he, slowly and steadily, turns the door unlocked.
Oh, and on top of that, he also avoids flushing. Yeah, not a wise decision of any kind. Although, maybe it is worth it. After all, he is trying his best to avoid making any form noise; luckily for him, the toilet does not flush automatically.
After finally making it out, 2-3 seconds later, he cannot (actually, he can, barely) believe his eyes, nor his ears.