A Night in a Year: 34. Down Below

“Just you then…” Diarmuid purrs, and his tongue slips out between his lips. It’s so over-the-top sleazy that she laughs out loud, but Orhan looks honestly mortified.

“What are you, a slobbering dog?” he asks.

Diarmuid holds his hands up in protest. “Hey, just saying! Not like I’m going to pounce on her.”

She thinks it would be unwise, at this point, to say she wouldn’t mind that at all.

“No, you certainly won’t,” Jeroen says, voice completely ironic. Diarmuid cocks his head at him, folds his arms, eyes narrowed slightly, before wagging his finger at Jeroen, but he doesn’t say anything. She detects volumes of history hidden in these interactions, but decides not to pry.

They continue along the queue this way, bantering, laughing, asking non-serious questions about each other. When they get to the door, at last, the doorman looks them over, and decides they’re all fine. She wonders if he noticed that three of the men are all wearing Converse, Xavier being the exception.
The stairs drop, sharp and sheer, space economised so tightly that she has to lean back a little to stop the feeling of falling forward. Jereon puts his hand on her shoulder, firm but not gripping her.
It makes the journey down the stairs less frightening, and she’s able to give the ticket man a genuine smile rather than a fixed grin of terror.

They pay for entry, and squeeze into the bar together. Free of the staircase, the bar opens up, a vault packed not with treasure but people. A thin aqua marine light bathes the marble walls, a soothing colour but also icy cool. Somewhere you can feel relaxed, but not cozy. It makes bare skin look even more naked, and she wonders what it would be like if they all were.

-
Next: 35. Table

Image found on flickr, by Rennett Stowe, used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.