tampered | OPEN LOG

OPEN LOG

When; Friday, June 19th
Rating; Variable
Characters; OPEN
Summary; All you swinging hepcats, come and dance the blues away!
Log;

The Blue Light is it's typical hole in the wall self, except for the lights and the music, which are a little brighter and a little more upbeat, and the dance floor that's been cleared in the main room. But there are plenty of tables and chairs that have been pushed against the walls for when someone wants to take a break, and the bar is always available for anyone who may want a drink.

And Blue is passing through the crowds. Even though his staff is working tonight he seems to be doing every job; serving, bartending, playing, and even dancing a little and stopping to say hi to anyone who he may know.

He just hopes that everyone has a good time.

[ooc: Please leave a note if your thread is an open log or for whoever you want to log with!]

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Not certain of what he expected to hear or if he indeed knows Blue well enough at all to have had expectations to begin with, but there is the briefest purse of lips, the absence of a nod, and the way eyes go to one side that tell a little bit of his loss. He doesn't know what to say to it all because it's recent to him, and to Blue it is of course not at all, which doesn't mean he doesn't feel it as truly, but there sits a notable rift between perspectives here through no fault of their own. Time is strange, and they are not the least of those who can attest to that statement.

"I wonder what we'll think of it sometimes---five years down the line, ten...fifteen," he admits this much, eyes settling on the glass now framed in his hands.

Blue breathes in a long breath. He knows what lies ahead - bad music, another war, another stupid length of time where he's in Fabletown wishing that Red Riding Hood was with him, not knowing that all along Red Riding Hood isn't the one he wants, that he doesn't even know her name. That the Mundy world keeps turning and Blue falls further and further behind.

He knows that nothing gets easier for the Pevensie sitting across the bar from him, either. "We keep going," Blue says with certainty. That much, he knows. That much he doesn't have to worry about.

Unlike the Fable, Peter knows nothing of what lies ahead, but that is how it should be, how it must be, and beings beyond himself know this, know it good and well. All the same, he is at least able to find he agrees with that reply, even, that he meets it with some amount of modest acceptance, because technicalities and details of the future are never anything but vague, blurred shapes on a horizon or lightest outlines on thin paper--traces of words that get cut down and replaced. That all given, acceptance can be quite the rarity for him, so he raises his glass to his friend and employer, his stature and demeanor all that he was once in an Age of Gold, and all that he hopes he might be again, one day, be it as a practitioner of medicine or something else entirely. It isn't a conscious effort, but in the way that things that become a part of us--experiences, failures and last ditch efforts spun into success--sometimes come across without intent, so does this in unblinking eyes and straightness of shoulders.

"We keep going," another echo, but this one stronger, not only with the raising of said glass, but the almost imperceptible inclination of his head. Again it's not a conscious thing like a bow from the waist or such, but what is absent in meditation is made up for in its truth.

Blue gives Peter a nod, and takes a drink.

"Peter," he says, his thoughts meandering a bit. "I want to thank you, not just for tonight, but for generally being so reliable. I know with your family, and your responsibilities, sometimes it probably isn't very easy. But I appreciate it." He pauses. "I don't want you to think that I don't like that you don't remember things. There are things that you're probably better off not remembering, anyway. But I'm still here if you need anything. I still consider you a friend."

He takes another breath. "And I'm glad of it, even if you don't feel the same way."

He knows well enough how to keep a mask of an expression, but not feeling the need here, a frown slips through. This is difficult, because it isn't that he 'doesn't feel the same way so much as that he does not want to assume a feeling earned when he has no recollection of the earning. Is it bad, he ponders, to feel like he has to take some of the same steps over? This isn't the same as working toward thirty twice-over.

"It's the least a person could do for a job generously offered," he replies, his gaze not quite sidelong but considering in its own way. "But I said yes for more reasons than convenience and immediacy," the addition is crisp, clear, controlled and meaningful. I did not take this job because you offered first, but while it isn't the only reason, one that supports why I did take it, is because it was you who offered in the first place.

"...I appreciate that though," he says now, referring of course to that which addresses his worry most presently, of broken records and becoming one himself. "...and though I am still working to have what I suppose we did before, I wouldn't say that I do not return the sentiment of a friend and one who will respond when called to or upon."

Blue gives Peter a smile; an honest one, a rare one. "Yes. I know."

"Then I am doubly glad," he smiles a bit wider again, strengthened in itself by the one he has been given. It is perhaps too, as they say in this day and age, Hallmark a phrase, but in this case it's accurate, referencing a happiness intensified by someone else's...and if not happiness, mild contentment for however long it lasts. It is what friends or for, or however said phrase often goes.

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OPEN LOG

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