Können Sie halten Ihr Getränk? [open]

[Edgar Schmidt-Dankevych]

This new job, he had already decided early on, was nothing remarkable and he was, frankly, less than impressed with the rest of the staff. He hadn't really met anyone, mind you, but strangers are not immune to his irrational judgement. There wasn't anyone he thought was interesting enough to start a conversation with, but he hardly ever thought anyone was interesting anyway, and contented himself with quietly doing his job and glowering at those stupid, obnoxious students that don't bother to study their German well enough to his harsh standards. German, to Edgar, and likely to any other hardcore German teacher worth a penny of anyone's otherwise worthless time, was an unutterably important subject, as much as all the other ones that those boys were studying. But it didn't matter.

Just his beer mattered, even if it was colder than the beer they would have served in Germany, but he was used to this cold, English liquor already. Beer was everything, vodka could not compare and champagne was too snobbish for his tastes--as was wine; he didn't need to drink alcoholic grape juice, who did society think he was? The reasons he was never invited to weddings and other sophisticated social gatherings were more than apparent. He could be proper but he would never be sophisticated, sophistication was not for a man like he was, for a man, he believed. Call him unfair.

But a place like this was all he ever needed out of London, a place to drink and maybe eat and a bar to lean his elbows against. He hadn't yet changed out of his work clothes, at the start of the afternoon when his last class had been over he came straight to this place. Of course his tie simply hung over his neck and his shirt was a few buttons unbuttoned (and for a few moments Edgar even considered popping his collar, but after a few drops of thought decided that was a bit too casual) because he didn't need to look so sharp in a bar. Bars were his natural habitat, and those men sitting around him--but not directly next to--with the cigarettes in their mouths and the shot glasses in their hands were his neighbors. But he didn't care about them. He didn't need to.

By himself, he lifted the glass up to his lips and took a long swig. Muttered, kaltes bier. Unangenehm.

[Vikas Limonchenko]

He had never tried it here in London yet, but he had confidence. Wanting to test out the Lucky Voice downtown, but not wanting to be stuck on the restaurant end with a kid's menu and a cup of crayons to play with, he had brought his fake ID. It wasn't anything fancy really, but it usually worked. His friend had made it for him a few months ago, and they had both been pleasantly surprised when the thing actually worked. Of course, they had been going to pretty scummy places anyway. The bartenders probably knew they were underage, but just didn't give a crap. Money was money.

But heck, how far off from 18 could he possibly look? Maybe it wouldn't be a problem. Besides, being a teenage boy, Vikas wasn't exactly great at planning ahead and had complete faith in his invincibility. Psh, he'd do fine. So the brown-haired boy swaggered into the building with confidence. He looked around the building like a predator hunting for prey. Happy family, fat ladies talking, lonely old guy...where was the bar? His eyes locked on the wonderful row of hunched over men sitting by a collection of glasses and half-empty bottles.

Vikas approached the oasis, letting the pungent aroma of stale beer fill his nostrils. There was a few empty stools next to some guy all by his lonesome, and Vikas planned on stealing one. He walked closer until he could reach out and touch the black leather seat if he wanted to, but swiftly turned away instead.

Scheisse.

He didn't know the man personally, but he had seen him around and had figured out some way or another that he was a teacher. A German teacher at that. But hey, maybe he was one of those friendly German teachers. ...yeah. It wasn't like he knew the guy personally, it was just that is mustache was unmistakable. But maybe the man wouldn't notice that Vikas was a student. He started edging back toward a free table to hide at, but there weren't any where he was. Ok..uh...look like you're doing something. Vikas stood awkwardly, looking away from the Eddingborough teacher and tried to look casual. Hopefully he'd find somewhere to shuffle off to soon.