ice cold vodka

beloved

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As Pan entered the Winter Den, the frigid air felt refreshing against their skin. They had heard of the bar from a few of their neighbors and had been curious to see the bar of ice for themselves. Well, it definitely lived up to the expectations.

They took a moment to look around, taking in the scene. It was quite beautiful. There were only a few other people around and it was very nice. Pan was still getting use to going out again and so it was nice to find a place to get a drink that was packed with really drunk stupid people.

They moved to the bar and took a seat. Glancing at the drinks available. Mostly vodka. That was more than okay for the demon.



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Horus

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However did the day turn out so badly?

Well, it wasn't horrid by any definition. Nobody he knew well had died and nothing had burned down. But the weather was quite warm when Pasha preferred below freezing, and a gaggle of people had come in just as he opened, just to leave the place a mess when they left.

Okay, so not quite so bad. Just minor inconvenience that he'd prefer not to have.

So Pasha spent the majority of it cleaning up, thankful for the quiet that afforded him to go at a leisurely pace until the later evening hours rolled around and he was left spinning glass cups. The bottles in the back had been packaged and settled, the boxes had been taken out, deliveries had been made and, if he wanted to, he could close up early.

Of course, that needed to be quickly broken by the squealing of that old, rusty metal door coming open and closed. He sighed.

"Добро пожаловать в зимний ден." Came his usual greeting, barely bothering to glance up until a moment later.
 

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Pan smiled lightly at the bar tenders words. It had been quite some time since they had heard any Russian and it was kind of refreshing to hear the language again. It brought back many memories.

"Спа-aсибо." They responded with a small nod, tripping over the word slightly. "You will have to pardon me, my Russian is a bit rusty." They said with a small chuckle, their voice in a soft tenor range just between a chest voice and a head voice. It suited the appearance of a mix of masculine and feminine traits. Their strong, tall frame verse their soft eyes and lips. Although, the golden skin and strange markings didn't really fit in either category. They were probably Pan's favorite things about themselves.


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Not counting Anastasia, it had been a long time since he'd conversed with anyone in Russian and was actually a bit surprised when the person at the bar thanked him in his native tongue. Huh, okay, so maybe today wouldn't be horrid.

He sat the glass he was spinning down on the ice countertop with a small click. The whole thing seemed to blend in considering they were both made of the exact same material. The person sitting at the bar was androgynous at best, with literal golden skin and various markings on their face. It had to be a species thing; Manta Carlos was a haven for so many that the old man didn't bother keeping track anymore.

"What will it be?" He didn't really bother with pleasantries; the only reason Pasha was still in business was the niche factor, really.
 

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Pan scanned the shelves of alcohol, "I'd like your best vodka on the rocks please." They said with a small smile to the man. As he turned around, the scars caught the demons eyes for a moment but they didn't linger for long. They had met many people with all sorts of scars or what some may call deformities. However, Pan knew quite well that the skin never fully represented the person beneath it.

The man was quite cumbersome in size though, and that was even more striking than anything else. Usually Pan was among the tallest in the room but this man had to have been at least half a foot taller than them.

"I must say this is the most unique bar I have ever been to. I am quite glad I wore my jacket and shoes." They chuckled a bit, "Especially my shoes." Pan went without shoes whenever possible however something had told them tonight would be a good night to slip on their only pair of black boots.


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Horus

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Pasha murmured a faint 'mhm' before turning to the shelf and taking an unmarked, nondescript bottle from the top shelf, near the back. It certainly didn't look like anything you could get out of a liquor store, at least not on the islands. It actually looked downright sketchy, but then again, half the bottles on his shelf seemed to be shady one way or another.

He took a glass from underneath the counter, made of solid ice and hollowed out in the middle. He'd been doing it for so long he could twirl them in a few seconds with one finger and a blindfold; it was easiest to do it with some water nearby, like the sink, but he could draw moisture out of the air and do it without.

Simple pour. No actual ice cubes; the glass should be enough. He put it down in front of the stranger.

"Glad to hear." Short answers. Pasha had the special ability to make any question into a 'yes' or 'no' question, and it was joked that he averaged about eight words a week. He wasn't much of a conversationalist unless... Well, nevermind, he wasn't a conversationalist, period. Usually people had to do enough talking for the both of them.
 

beloved

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Eyes were Pan's favorite feature. They were unique to each person. There was a quote that said eyes were the window to the soul. Well, to Pan, they literally were.

Their gaze connected with the man's eyes and pulled the most conscious "thought" from his mind. It was sort of an instinct for Pan to do so. Especially when the person wasn't engaging much in the conversation. The thought however wasn't much more than what he was already giving them. It was more of a feeling then words but it was basically "I don't talk much except...no I don't talk much". Of course, Pan took this as a challenge.

They took a swallow of their drink, making a bit of a wincing expression followed by a smile. "Now that is what I call vodka." They chuckled, leaning back a bit and brushing their hand through their hair. It had started to get a bit long recently, the sides not as closely shaven as usual and the top would no longer stay slicked back as pieces fell to the sides and into the demon's face.


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Horus

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Pasha turned the sink back on, tuning it to a vague trickle of cool water. He moved in a very deliberate manner; everything just looked calculated down to the smallest detail with Pasha. He dipped a finger into the stream of water, then moved it away in a vague come-hither motion. The water followed and, upon coming in contact with his finger, froze solid.

That's how he was able to make all the glasses, surfaces, chairs... Everything in the bar he'd put together himself, sometimes during his off time, sometimes just nonchalantly until everything was made. He began to assemble a glass to replace the one the person was using, first flattening out the base before building up the sides, making sure to leave a dip in the middle for the hollow.

"There's better out there." He muttered vaguely. "In Russia, there was plenty." One of the many, many things he was nostalgic for. In a way, he did miss home. He definitely didn't miss how people had started to treat him, however, and he was super passionate about not being the victim of several murder attempts.

Regenerating wasn't pleasant business, after all.
 

beloved

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Pan watched the man create the ice glass. They had seen quite the array of abilities throughout their life but this one was new. They had seen a woman once who could manipulate water but she could not create ice.

"I can't say I'm too surprised to see that the one who runs a bar of ice would have such a talent." They as they took another drink from their glass, the ice melting a bit from the warmth of their fingers.

They nodded in agreement, "It was never in short supply." They chuckled softly as memories of endless nights of parties and people filled their mind. Part of them wanted to share more of their experience in Russia or asked the man to share but they didn't want to rush a conversation. That was always the worst way to approach someone who wasn't big on talking.


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Horus

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It wasn't surprising, and Pasha gave a small shrug in response. It came naturally to him, but it hadn't always been like that. He'd been handed the title of Winter, after all, and he still considered it a mixed blessing and curse. He was tentatively thinking of having Anastasia make the 'contract' with him, so his title would go to her after - and if - he died.

"Have you ever visited?" He was a bit curious now; very, very few who came in even knew the language aside from a word or two. This person seemed to know just a little about the culture, at the very least.

Sorry it's so short!
 
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