Much later, 11:40 PM
Nat's afternoon for herself ended up being as lackluster as she expected. It was better than suffering through lunch with her father, sure, but she wished now that she had just returned home and spent the rest of the day writing or killing time. Well, she had killed time either way. When she kept herself from writing, things became a matter of killing time, always. Writing her story was her purpose, after all, any time she kept herself from doing that for some reason just dragged on and on and this afternoon was no different. She had gone to the park, spent a while meandering in Shine Junction, returned to the park, went to another park and unceremoniously buried her alarm clock after the morning's incident, had dinner alone in some expensive bistro which she really did find too expensive for what it served, even went to see a movie. She couldn't recall which movie it was for the life of her, though, her mind was blank the entire time and the projection just became moving images and colors.
Still, she didn't want to go back on her word to Bridge, that she'd get some fresh air and think things over. So far, she accomplished one of those goals and that goal did not involve choosing an artist. After her movie, she had exited the cinema, returned home and had debated with herself between drinking herself to sleep with a nicotine patch and going out again. What brought her to decision, ultimately, was her stock of booze. Lots of vodka, a few bottles of fancy wines -- which she really just drank for nostalgia purposes, being the most popular drink of the Land of Fenoglio where she had once lived --, some cocktail bases and a total lack of beer. An excuse to go to a bar, it seemed.
Always excuses. she thought to herself. She never did anything without an excuse that told her to do so, nothing had a real point, after all. She had done it all before, it was different, but the same. Nothing really thrilled her, but at least it gave her something to do when she wasn't writing. If she finished writing all of her twenty years too soon, she'd have nothing left to live for and she was undeniably young. Giving herself that fate so early on would be the worst thing imaginable. She wouldn't pad things down by writing about the simple days just to take more time in accomplishing her purpose, as well.
Within twenty minutes, she had stripped, showered, clothed herself in a simple set of clothes fit for a warm summer's night, consisting of a blue knee-length skirt, brown stockings, a simple white blouse and a light sweater over that. The ensemble was complete with some white gloves.
It was 11:40 when she arrived at the nearest bar her GPS showed her, roaring up to a free spot across the street in her Audi. Leaving the supercar, a warm breeze had her instinctively check her hair for the flowers. Sure enough, they were there, woven in well enough not to fly away from the breeze, save for the occasional petal. They were, in fact, real, delivered every morning and evening to her apartment by a favored florist of hers'. White roses, with exceptionally thin stems and the thorns cut off by the florist before delivery. She usually wove new ones in every morning, but evening excursions had her replace them.
"The Cornerstone, huh." She sighed.
The name isn't bad, almost feels like something from Soma.. Nat crossed the road now and entered the bar and she was sort of shocked at how many people were inside. Sunday nights typically weren't the most popular nights, but sure enough, a fairly unique crowd of folk were making themselves comfortable. To Nat, though, they were still all colorless. Unique among the monochrome, but monochrome nonetheless. She sat at the bar, gesturing to the bartender to come over as she sat down. "Surprise me. No cocktails. Thank you." She flatly asked and as the bartender looked her down with a somewhat confused expression, she glanced over at the beers and shrugged. "European, then."
The bartender took his turn to sigh before pouring her a glass of something Bavarian. "Times?" she inquired.
"We close at 1:30 PM." His response was flat, like her own question.
Fair enough. Golden rule, treat others the way you want to be treated. I don't care how I'm treated. "Thanks." she opened her bag and pulled out her passport, showing the age. Nat had yet to get herself a local ID. "If anyone needs a round, here, for the trouble.", she told the honestly confused bartender, replacing her passport on the counter with some cash.
"What trouble...?" The bartender murmured as he took the cash. Nat finished her drink and was onto her second. Alcohol was a good partner in crime when it came to killing time.
