Not that Ruben assumed Jake was some kind of club kid perpetually on poppers — don’t ask him how he knows what those are — but admittedly, hearing that he didn’t have any experience with these sorts of venues came as something of a surprise. Then again, it’s not like he even considered getting involved with another man until Jason came along.
He’d never admit it, but Ruben always felt slightly jealous toward Jake’s relationship with Jason; it must’ve been nice, finding somebody to settle down with. Ruben convinced himself early on that he’d never be as lucky, so why even bother trying? If he was lucky, he’d find occasional sex partners, as empty and unfulfilling as that sounded. Between working full hours and trying to be a good father to Jimmy, there wasn’t much time to be clubbing and hooking up. Oh well.
Ruben shook his head, finding himself strangely alright with the place. “It’s definitely a lot to take in,” he said, watching as younger guys in tight clothing danced with one another on the floor. “I feel old as fuck, though. And really out of shape, compared to these kids…” Ruben never felt older than when he referred to twentysomethings as kids.
Why are you even so cynical, dude? It was a good question. Ruben wished he had a rational answer to that question, when really, it came down to deep-rooted homophobia and self-loathing. He wondered how differently his life would have panned out, had he come out sooner and not gotten Vanessa pregnant. He probably would’ve been much happier at this point in his life. And much less aggressive.
"I dunno, man. Maybe I just wish I had the confidence these twinks seem to have. What kind of word is twink, though? It just makes me think of Twinkies…” Ruben mused, reminding himself of how flabby he was for even bringing those goddamn cakes into discussion. None of those twinks ate Twinkies, that much Ruben was sure of.
Ruben doubted that he’d be this open about himself on a normal basis; the drinks were definitely helping to loosen him up a little. “When did this turn into a fuckin’ intervention about my problems? Goddamn,” he chuckled softly.
Jacob smirked. “You’re not that out of shape.” That wasn’t outright a compliment, but it wasn’t quite an insult, either. It sat comfortably in the middle, fitting their relationship’s dynamic. ”But you are quite old. I do agree with you, though,” his eyes widened at the increasingly suggestive dancing happening in front of him for a second, “maybe this isn’t for us and that’s okay. There’s a bar near the station we can always go to when we need a drink.”
"And I may have googled why they are called twinks, you don’t wanna know…" He honestly felt a bit ignorant. Sure he’d known gay people existed before realizing he liked men himself, but not more than what was needed to just think of them as alright folk. He didn’t come from a bigoted family, thankfully; in fact, everybody judged his Republican uncle. He also had a lot of LGTB family members and the like, perhaps more than the average individual. However, many slang and terms flew right past his head. Imagine his surprise when he learned about bathhouses. He was impressed and yet, at the same time, he wasn’t. There were also just topics and things in general he didn’t know, but was willing to try out. Hence he found himself right there at a gay nightclub, with all the colorful life and atmosphere linked to them.
When Ruben acknowledged his words, Jacob just shrugged. They weren’t the kind of people that would talk very deeply about their issues (mostly because Ruben wouldn’t, unless, as one might have noticed, he were under an influence of some kind; Jacob kept to himself for Ruben’s sake), but perhaps they could be eased into it eventually. Or perhaps this was a one time thing. It didn’t matter either way for him. “This isn’t an intervention. It’s just sharing. Sharing stuff. Completely natural part of interpersonal relationships. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody any of this.” Jason didn’t count in that statement. “Nobody oughta know you’ve got a bit of a soul hidden somewhere, yeah? Another beer?” He was already making a gesture at the bartender.
Hanging out like this with a friend (it’d been entablished he considered Ruben this) was probably the most he’d gotten out of the whole outing. Even if they’d just go back to insulting each other by the end of the night.
MIDDLE NAME Robert / NICKNAME(S) Seb, Bastian / DOB June 2nd / HOMETOWN Friday Harbor, Washington / NATIONALITY American / OCCUPATION Drifter and Traveler / RELIGION Agnostic Theist / SEXUALITY Questioning / JUNG ESFP / ENNEAGRAM Type 7w8 SP/SX / MORAL ALIGNMENT Neutral Good / PERSONAL DNA Free-wheeling Experiencer / ELEMENT Fire / SIN Impatience / VIRTUE Kindness / FAMILIAR Otter / EYE COLOR Blue / HAIR COLOR Dark Brown / HEIGHT six feet one inch / WEIGHT 178 pounds / FACECLAIM Brant Daugherty
Friday Harbor, Washington is a tiny town, and for someone like Sebastian, it’s a drop of water when he yearns for the ocean. Your selected nomad has spent the last six years of his life wandering about the country ever since leaving his foster home, in which he lived after ending up an orphan when he was eight. He grew up surrounded by girls he grew to call sisters, which ended up practically raising him. He absolutely loves being the center of attention and meeting new people, which he obtains through any means, be it flirting, singing, or performing some crazy activity you’ve probably seen in some Youtube video already. He’s energetic, enthusiastic, hot-blooded, and not afraid to speak and say even the weirdest of things. Sebastian lives in the now and doesn’t worry too much about his future or his past, believing what he lacks in formal education he’ll make up with his ever-so-reliable wit and bold attitude when doing new things. If Sebastian had to describe himself using either thinker or doer, the latter would be an understatement.
+ cheerful, positive, street-smart
- self-neglecting, distracted, lazy
TAGS AND TRACKERS
As cocky as it was to say, Rose was used to people approaching her after performances. With great stretches of time between hers and the next one, patrons to the circus had nothing else to do but wander off to find poor food (corn dogs and cotton candy and other delicious, yet fattening meals) or mill around hoping to catch a performer afterward. Usually, Thorn—brother and security despite how unthreatening he looked leaning his weight on a cane—made a pretty good job of scaring them off and keeping her to herself. But he had slipped away and instead, a handsome stranger stood before her. While on stage, Rose couldn’t see anyone in the audience. The lights were always on her and obscured any faces. His however, was a face she wouldn’t have minded seeing before and certainly didn’t mind seeing now.
“Seb?” She repeated, pulling her long hair from the tight bun she wore. Still clad in the shimmery, skin tight leotard she wore during her contortionist routine, she felt sweaty and in need of a shower and not at all prepared to be approached by a handsome man. She loved the attention, though, so she didn’t shy away. “It’s not so hard when you’ve been doing it since you were five,” she said, hands on her hips. “I appreciate all my lovely audience members, though, especially the cute ones that come see me after.”
Sebastian blinked, breathed in, and breathed back out. Shit. Scratch the “pretty”. This girl was beyond just pretty; she was beautiful. There was a difference between looking at her from a distance, in his seat, and right there, even with all the lightning provided in the former. It was not only her, well, performance outfit (was that a thing?), in fact, put her in everyday clothing and she’d look just as good, and those eyes, God—nevermind. There had to be a better word for it, something greater and like, obscure, but certainly Seb wouldn’t be smart enough to know it. He’d never cared that much for reading, and aside from words he caught from people he spoke to, he was limited.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t clever, though, and when faced with unexpected situations, he could think fast; at least, fast enough to crack a joke about it. It was best he put that cleverness to use. Surely it’d been the mixture of nerves and the girl that’d gotten the best of him.
He breathed back in, drew his hands out of his pockets, and with that, a small, worn-looking notepad, stepping closer. “Yup, makes sense. Practice makes perfect, and you’ve had plenty of time to do it. I’d probably pull or break something and die.” Even despite his sufficiently-built body there was no way he could compete with her in terms of flexibility. It didn’t take a genius to see that. “Thanks for calling me cute, but, again, I’m kinda getting upstaged there too, by someone whose name is best to keep aside,” he dramatically rolled his eyes, landing on hers, and shrugged a bit. “You probably get this a lot, I mean, how can you not. I’d like your autograph for this little thing,” he said, showing the pad and fumbling with his pocket to take out a pen, too, finally meeting her gaze correctly and smiling.
"Ah - yes, at least there’s free food. But I feel like there isn’t much to do. I don’t even like the music they’re playing here."
"But I mean, it’s better than staying home and doing nothing."
"The fact I can easily be lured with free food should tell you enough."
"Maybe if you get bored by yourself you might not be all that interesting on your own. But that’s just something I’ve seen."
"Oh, you know…” Parson smirked, straddling Ivan’s waist giddily. “Anything that’s bad. Bad news, bad movies, bad people,” he continued, dancing his fingers on Ivan’s waist. “Is that why you’ve been sticking around? Are we kindred souls, boss?”
"I’d argue that, maybe,” Ivan said as his hands hooked around Parson’s waist, “we could be somewhere close to it.” His voice was lazy albeit still crystal clear. “Would you be against it, sweetheart?”
"I mean, with the tattoos and cool hair…"
"Do you like them?"
"I’m just saying that if you gays can have parades for being gay, then straight people should be able to, also.”
"So you are this stupid, that’s what you’re saying.”
Lucas wasn’t used to sarcasm. He doesn’t appreciate sarcasm — well, unless it came from him. Usually, people know that he is the last person that they could sass with and he took comfort in that since it meant that one growl would make them run for the hills and leave him alone. Not this this guy. Either he was some kind of person with a death wish — or a bruise wish, just really disgusting nice, or new. Or basically all of the above.
Now on his feet, Lucas sized up the man before him, only to find with his hands raised up slightly. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. Still stern. If he wasn’t hurt, he would’ve rammed his way through the alley, but alas, he let his back lean against the wall with a slight thud. “What, are you lost or something?… you should know better than approach random people in here…”
Sebastian looked at the man, making notes (Thick. Muscled. Could kill him.) with curious eyes and a tilted head. He stayed in his own spot, steps away, as to provide field. “I don’t know anything about here. But I do know,” he bounced on his inner ankles, “ya don’t seem to have any guns on you, don’t seem the knife-throwing type either, and I think I could outrun ya if you tried somethin’.” That said, he absolutely didn’t want to find out if this guy turned out to be a cheetah with the built of a lion and he was about to pounce on him for running his mouth like that.
Anyhow. He shruged, making a gesture back at the store. Sebastian Nerves-of-Steel-Until-You-Get-Almost-Killed-Then-Cry Derane. “I was on my way to buy a couple things, and your bruise could use ice.”
"I wish I could judge her for it, but you know…”
"Yeah, but in comparison you could be a saint. Totally different thing."