Cristian and Allison had been an unlikely couple from the start. He couldn't help but think that they wouldn't work out anyway. Still, he never thought it would end so poorly and sudden and with this kind of air of strange.

He paused in front of the neon lit sign of the bar, the black toe of his designer boots scuffing on the gravel. It wasn't yet dark out, barely evening really. He'd expected it to take him longer to walk to the other side of the city, but being unable to enjoy the act of walking made the distance short. He couldn't wallow in his misfortunes near his home though when his neighbors whispered and stared and the seats all around him all remained empty. It was like he had the plague rather than the rumor of murdering his wife attached to him. It wasn't like there was a body, and the police said there were no signs of foul play. She probably ran away because Cristian was having an affair. Thought he hadn't been at the time. That was the view of him though. People liked to talk. Until now, he never saw the harm of a little gossip and now he couldn't sleep through a whole night.

Pushing open the bar door, he finally entered. He sat down on a stool stiffly, trying to ignore his image reflected in the many bottles behind the bar. He knew his brown hair was still neat and partially tied back and his clothes were fashionable without being rich, even if dark circles ringed his eyes. He had become the sort of respectable looking man because of Allison but the rebellious twenty-five year old still lay beneath the careful exterior.

"Scotch on the rocks," he called to the bartender in a hoarse voice.

Hirondelle:

Sometimes, Francisco thought that he was more of a barroom therapist than a bartender, and that he wasn't paid nearly enough for his job. Such a time once more made itself known to him as yet another lost soul wailed his plight to him, the poor man apparently having turned from a game addiction to an alcohol one, it seemed, as the unwashed wretch slurred expletives about having lost everything he had to the local casino.

Nodding his head sympathetically and humming in agreement in all the good place, the barman internally sighed, wishing that he would be back to his small apartment, sleeping off his latest binge instead of being here, having his ears talked off by some stranger. But that was not to be, and, in his inner misery, he nearly missed the new patron that arrived, the latest drunkard to be looking even more morose that all of the others combined, if that was possible.

'Great, just my luck... another maudlin to take care of!' Francisco thought sarcastically as he polished what seemed to be the thousandth wet glass of the evening. As the newcomer ordered his chosen poison, the barman once more sighed silently, knowing what he had to do.

Quickly pouring the maudlin man's drink with an expert hand, Francisco asked the unavoidable question:

“Had a bad day, sir?”

Cristian sipped his drink silently for almost a minute before he decided to speak. He had come here to get drunk not to talk, so it took some effort to get himself into a talking state of mind. "A bad couple weeks actually," he clarified. "Well, it's only common sense that things that are impossibly good will break apart in the end." He turned his attention back to his drink and tried to ignore the atmosphere of the bar. He disliked the kind of place where people publicly got drunk, but he'd already emptied the stock he had at home in previous nights and he was beginning to feel that it wasn't safe for him to drink alone anymore. There was always the idea lurking in his head that he would do something stupid.

Quickly he finished his drink, enjoying the burn. It would probably be better to get drunk off of a cheaper and more tasteless drink, but he couldn't bring himself to stoop that low. "Another one please," he called out, pushing up his red framed glasses which had started to slip to the tip of his nose.