[Samson DeVires]

They say you're gifted, well I just see a scared kid. TAG: Open NOTES: idk, just to  get started c:

Friday, 6:36PM. It had been a long day for Sam. He always starts the day the same. A strong cup of coffee, brewing on an auto-timer, to give him the will to live when his alarm goes off at 2AM. By that time, he has usually been asleep for four hours, if he was lucky. Sleep was never something that came easily to the Australian, and each morning when he manages to peel himself off his sheets and into the shower, he is reminded of his perpetual exhaustion. But once he is awake, caffeine running through his veins, he is happy to be awake when the world is so silent. He exits his small little apartment, walking the desolate streets to the bakery where he makes a living. While others are sleeping, he is prepping dough and baking pastries in the stillness of the early morning. But now, as the evening entered the beginning of night, Sam found himself sluggishly walking through the restaurant district of Los Eurosia. Between work and the gym, he was more tired than usual today. He wasn't even sure why he was here, to be completely honest. On a Friday night it is usually pretty crowded at this time, and he had brought food home from work. Glancing to his bag as he maneuvered through the growing crowd, he pursed his lips. I suppose I should get some protein. I can't live on carbs, as much as I want to. Glancing to the neon lights of various restaurant signs, Sam found himself indecisive, and ultimately regretting his choice to come out this way at this time of day. Even more so when a little spot of red dripped from his nose, catching his attention as it hit his hand. It was only one little spec at first, but suddenly more dripped, Sam groaning as he reached up to his new bloody nose. "Aye, not now," he muttered to himself, as he faded to black. Friday. 7:15PM. It had been 39 minutes since Samson had a vision, which meant there were 39 minutes of him not knowing what he was doing or where he was going. He came back to himself with a large gasp, his chest rising and lowering in a state of panic. His blurred eyes struggled to take in his surroundings, Sam reaching up to his chest and placing his hand palm down and rubbing it along his collarbone, in an effort to calm himself down. At first he noticed nothing different, struggling to gain his bearings again after a vision decided now was a great time to happen. Fortunately, no one took notice of him having what appeared to be a panic attack in the middle of a busy street. A blaring car horn drew him back to the present. With a deep sigh, Sam wiped his nose out of instinct, the dry blood under his nose scratching as he attempted to wipe it away. "That's not a good sign. I must of been out for a while," he muttered to himself, his eyes glancing down to the ground. He furrowed his brow in frustration. "Ah hell, where are my shoes?" Sam, who was just now noticing he took off his shoes somewhere in the last couple minutes, wiggled his dirty toes against the concrete. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. Checking the time, he did the math to see how long he had been having his out of body experience. "The average, I reckon," he said, pocketing his phone again before looking around. Time to figure out where he was. Looking around, he could tell he was no longer in the restaurant district, but rather, he ventured further away form his apartment and to the night life. Looking less than pleased, he picked out the nearest less busy bar, and entered. Immediately he was hit with the smell of vape pens and sweat, which made walking barefoot into this establishment a special kind of torture. Still, Samson pressed on until he reached the bar. "Excuse me - " "Hey, you can't be in here with no shoes on." "Do you think I want to be in here with no shoes on?" Sam said in response, his annoyance of being cut off apparent. The bar tender, a girl no older than 22, popped her hip at his attitude. "You can't use the bathroom either." Sam groaned. "Listen love, can't you see I'm in distress?" He said, gesturing to his bloody face. "Can you at least give me a wet towel to wash my face off? That's all I want." The bar tender paused, her eyes looking him up and down before a customer called to get her attention. "Fine, but you'll have to wait a minute. I have customers and I work for tips." Sam nodded, and much to his displeasure, took a seat at the bar as he patiently waited for a wet napkin.

[Ezra 'Ez' Donnovan]

Ezra didn't often drink, but when he did he drank at his own bar. Between the familiar people, the music preferences (he got to pick a third of the time), the drinks, the smell of the bar top and, most importantly, the available apartment above the bar to crash in when he didn't want to get himself home. It wasn't a common sight however, as after the first time he had gotten a little too carried away, he realized he needed to be more responsible. For the safety of himself and of his siblings. He didn't put a hard line on drinking, but...he didn't do much more than taste things these days.

Of course, when Cale, their cute new server, had asked him to check out a few bars with him, Ezra had agreed without hesitation. Considering he didn't drink, this was a bit awkward. Still, the night on the town with the other man was fun and he enjoyed trying a few new cocktails, snacks, and simply having an evening where he didn't have to police a bar. It was almost strange. Bonus: Cale either didn't notice or didn't care that of the three bars they stopped at, Ezra didn't come close to finishing any of his drinks.

Cale had to work the next morning at his other part time job though, so he parted ways, leaving Ez admiring his backside at the bar, his arms crossed on the bar top, leather jacker bunched up around his shoulders as he rested his chin on his arms.

It was the comment about 'no shoes' that pulled his attention from his imaginations about the other man. The bouncer looked over his shoulder, curious, but not invested. This wasn't his bar, he wasn't working, and if some barefoot and probably drunk stranger wanted to start a problem, it wasn't his place to intervene. But he was more than happy to people watch.

Not that this particular barefoot sober stranger looked like he was that sort of trouble. From his messy, wind-swept hair, to his sad blue yes, to his five o'clock shadow to the caked blood under his nose, all the way down to his bare - not just no shoes, but no socks either, that was a choice - feet, and everything in between. The jeans, worn though they might be, looked particularly good on the man. He couldn't decide if he was familiar or not.

The exchange between the stranger and the bartender when about as well as Ezra would have expected, polite as the guy was. The bartender hadn't been particularly nice, but she made good drinks and had a packed building with probably no manager around, so she was used to having to stand up for herself. Still, her attitude made Ezra winced internally. And then the guy called her 'love' and he winced externally. Still, he did look like he was in need of a hand, what with the bloody nose and the missing footwear.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world..." he breathed the Casablanca quote with a grin as the man sat down at the bar next to him. "Paper towels seem like just the starting point," he commented with an amused but sympathetic smile, not at all ashamed to make it obvious he had heard the exchange. "Save my seat," he ordered, hopping up and sauntering over to the men's room. He played slots with the paper towel dispenser, pulling off two large sections and folding them up, wetting one in the sink, and then returned to the bar to offer both to the man, all before the bartender had even started making a drink for the customer that had flagged her down. "You alright, guy?"