Close my eyes for a while [OPEN]

[GABRIEL BLAZEK]

Gabriel had never been to a fight club before.

In fact, he had never really done anything this adventurous, not in his entire life. Gabriel didn't drink, he didn't do drugs, he didn't even smoke. Chemicals that affected his brain did not add up well with schizophrenia in the first place, letting alone the havoc they could wreak mixed with his antipsychotic medication. That aside, the last time he had gotten into a fight had been in the back alleys of Prague, and in the time between his miraculous recovery from his metamorphosis and his departure for the states, he had learned how to defend himself.

When you're fighting for your life, you fight dirty. You have to.

Gabriel was small. He was five feet, six inches tall, a size that was painfully diminutive amongst the towering, muscled giants that filled the club. They all gave him strange looks as he slipped inside, his big blue eyes scanning the room with a childish innocence. Someone laughed at him. He flinched.

Gregor was there. The enormous insect was hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly, his head tipped back, staring at Gabriel. The young man cringed. "Not now," he mumbled under his breath, but the bug did not move. It snapped its jaws at him as if to say, "Go home, this isn't the place for you. You don't need this."

Gabriel ignored him.

He wanted, no, he needed to feel alive. Trapped in his little apartment with his own mind was torture. Crunching numbers and learning English was torture. He hated this place and he hated himself and fuck, fuck, he wanted to feel something. Just for tonight.

He took off his winter peacoat and hung it up somewhere where he knew he would probably forget it. The wifebeater he wore beneath it exposed more of his skin than he would have liked -- he had too many scars on his sturdy little arms, and it made him look like some sort of ex-con, minus the tattoos. Still, he forced himself to overcome his self-confidence and drifted to the edges of the club, watching the fights and ignoring Gregor even when the great cockroach snapped his jaws right next to Gabriel's head.

"You can't stop me," he whispered. Gregor hissed.

"Hey, little man. What are you doing here?"

Some tall, wiry prick had swaggered up to him, shirtless, already bearing a few bruises. The men around Gabriel seemed to clear, leaving the poor young man alone to face his assailant.

"Vhat ev'rybody else is doink here, I tink," Gabriel mumbled, his tone soft and non-confrontational, thick with his Czech accent.

"You're a bit far from home, aren't you, boy?"

"Yes," he replied simply. The man stared at him. Gabriel averted his eyes, unable to hold his gaze.

"Y'know that if it's your first night here, you have to fight. Not afraid of breakin' any bones or that pretty little face, are you, kid?"

"I know d'at," Gabriel said quietly.

"Well," said the man, taking another step towards him. Gabriel fidgeted. "Then why don't we fight, right here, right now? Let's see what you're really made of." His breath reeked of cigarettes and alcohol and Gabriel didn't like it, but he nodded, finally raising his eyes once more.

"Yes," he said.

And before he knew it, they were in a ring of bodies, every one of them with their eyes fixed on Gabriel. He was a whole head shorter than his opponent, and he must have weighed fifty pounds less at least, but somehow, he was not afraid. Gregor, sulking, had resigned himself to the corner as if refusing to watch.

The fight began. The man came towards him, and suddenly, Gabriel's survival instincts went click, and he was gone.

He was behind the man, then to his side, landing a blow on his obliques. His opponent gasped, swung at him, but he was out of the way again, landing quick stings, ducking and weaving and God, this felt so good, this felt so--

Crack.

A fist collided with the side of his face, and reality exploded. Gabriel staggered backward, shaking his head madly, trying to get things to stop spinning, and the man was advancing, and he had to do something--

Remembering how he had learned to take a man's legs out from under him in the streets, Gabriel dodged to the side and struck out with his foot at the back of his enemy's leg right at the joint, sending him to his knees. The crowd cheered, their cries deafening in his ears.

In the end, he lost the fight.

He hadn't expected to win, of course, but he had held out for nearly twenty minutes, a feat that seemed to have gained him some respect. A guy offered him a towel for his bleeding nose. Someone else clapped him on the shoulder.

They all seemed very impressed.

Gabriel didn't really care. What concerned him was the wonderful roaring sound in his head, a sound that deafened all the other little voices teasing at the corners of his brain.

This was better than Thorazine.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

Forgive her, she's not use to fangirling.

Angel Dihanie was rather use to coming into the Fight Club on nights that proved to be too quiet for her restless soul. She had been coming here for sometime, but had only fought once. Angel was, for all intensive purposes, a lover and not a fighter. Sure, she could play a round of fistycuffs if one of those swatchdogs at school got a little too big for their push up bras- if one of them spoke ill of her precious babies or if they called Weston 'The Columbine Kid'. Those were triggers, battles worth fighting for. This was just entertainment, and for once Angel was content to be the entertained as oppose to the entertainer.

So she sat in the club, just a month shy of sixteen, drinking her 'Sonic Screwdriver'- a drink invented by the owner, which was a regular screwdriver (vodka and o.j.) with tangy lime, mango, pineapple, and a chaser of jager ((ooc: drink invented by Molly, tm)). But she wasn't looking to get drunk, honestly, and sipped her beverage with a delicacy her father would be proud of. The shot of jager was given to one of the fine patrons of this establishment, who sucked it down greedily. No one questioned the youthful girl, though tonight it would seem she was the youngest in the bar.

Despite January's bitter grasp over New York City, she wore her usual shirtdress. Her usual collection of earrings hung from her ears, and a loose leather jacket hung from her narrow shoulders. Her striped socks vaguely matched her dress shirt, though most of it was hidden by her time worn boots. The make up only surrounded her chocolate brown eyes, and was black and thick to match the night. It was apparent she had unapologetically dressed her age, and might as well have been doing a song and dance for all intensive purposes.

Still, no one bothered her. And why would they? She was here to watch the fights, and to place her bets. Not to cause trouble.

Angel watched with interest as she watched a delicate looking man, who's face look constantly forlorn, and probably would even if he chanced a smile, get the beat down. He held his own, for as long as he could anyway. And as he became fist fodder, Angel had to admire the way he did so with dignity. When it was all said and done, in fact, he looked sort of...

Relieved.

Angel watched him curiously, as he ambled away from the center stage. It wasn't like watching a person, though that was ridiculous as he was quite obviously a person. It was like... It was like watching her bugs. The way they strolled around in their little habitats, nomming their specially made meals that Angel made with a careful hand, and wiggled their antennae all investigatory like. He looked at people like how Lottie looked at Angel. Curious, trying to understand. Or, at least that's how she always imagined her little darling was thinking in her arachnid brain.

Alright, that was that. Angel had to meet him! There was just something in his eyes. She couldn't help herself. It was like magic. There she was, carrying her bright orange drink and clunky boots over to him, face almost nervous he'd shoo her away. She, Angel French Toasting Dihanie, was standing before a stranger and feeling unusually nervous as to what she was about to say. "I'm Angel." SHAKESPEARE! "If you pinch the meat between your pointer and thumb, it's suppose to relieve head aches." Pushing her thick, dark brown hair behind her ear, Angel offered a shy smile. "Though, I wouldn't quote me on it. I just heard it from a friend who's Mom's friend's cousin's boyfriend is an acupuncturist. So... You know how that goes. Stuff gets lost in translati- You want something to drink or something. they make these cool orange thingies..." Mother. Fluffin. Shakespeare.

[GABRIEL BLAZEK]

Honestly, Gabriel had never been good with people. He kept to himself. He was socially awkward, and he knew it, and he avoided all instances in which it would show, such as now, when a young teenage girl wearing too many earrings came strolling up to him.

Gabriel had never even spoken to a teenage girl apart from his sister in any remarkable depth. In fact, he had spoken to very few females in his entire life in any remarkable depth. Women, especially, made him feel crushingly inept. He had never been good around them, which probably explained why he was still a virgin at the age of 23.

"I'm Angel."

He was confused for a moment. Did she mean she was an angel, or that her name was Angel?

His brow furrowed for a moment in thought until he decided it was a statement of her name, and then allowed his eyes to refocus on her.

She was...skinny. She wore a leather jacket and had a remarkably dark complexion. In all, she looked like she was developing into an attractive young woman, though Gabriel - unlike some men, perhaps - interpreted that as a completely objective fact.

"If you pinch the meat between your pointer and thumb, it's suppose to relieve head aches." What did that have to do with anything? Gabriel's expressive blue eyes were confused. "Though, I wouldn't quote me on it. I just heard it from a friend who's Mom's friend's cousin's boyfriend is an acupuncturist. So... You know how that goes. Stuff gets lost in translati- You want something to drink or something. they make these cool orange thingies..."

The sudden interruption in her train of thought took him by surprise, and he seemed to reel for a moment as he tried to get a grasp on what she was saying. He could understand English better than he could speak it, but all of its intricacies still came slowly to him rather than quickly.

"Um..." Drink. That could mean alcoholic, couldn't it? "I do not drink alcohol...not good for me," he said, his voice soft and unassuming as it always was. He looked down at his feet, then back up at her, and he rubbed his arm nervously with one hand. "My name is Gabriel," he managed after a moment.

It took him by surprise that he had given his name so quickly. He wasn't usually so relaxed around strangers - and indeed, for Gabriel, this was relaxed. But the fighting had calmed him. He felt very...centered. Very real.

He liked it.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

There was something very chill about him right now. Angel was not sure if that was because he was a chill person, or if- like many of the men who fought here- was relaxed by the fight. Whatever it was, at that moment he was fascinating. The way he blinked at her, as if he had never seen another human being in his whole long life... She wanted to sponge all of the information from his brain. All of the memories and facts and nonsequitors. How did he take his coffee, did he drink coffee, what sort of soap did he use, what was his favorite food, what sort of car did he drive, has he ever worn a bow tie. He looked like the bow tie sort.

The accent was what stuck out to Angel initially. Instantly, she was reminded of her Father, and a little homesickness churned in her belly like milk on a hot day. Pushing it away as quickly as she could, she processed his words. No alcohol. Instantly she became more intrigued, given where he was. He had taken that beating sober? "Straight edge? Legit man! Most guys have to soak up as much booze as they can to go in the ring, and you did yours foggy free!" Never one to hide anything she was feeling, EVER, she beamed with an impressed smile.

"I'm not really down with the whole peer pressure deal, so- like- I can totes get you a soda, bro. You gotta be hella thirsty after that scrap." Nodding slowly, she felt like when she was a child, waiting in line to see Santa. Always having been a mischievous for of younging, she was plagued with the constant fear of being put on the naughty list when yule time came round. Would this fellow scorn her, tell her to go away, to quit bothering him.

Oh God! Was she bothering him?

What did Jack always tell her? She needed to empathize with people before jumping in head first. Empathy, empathy. Honestly, it wasn't her strong suit. True, she was a caring girl. She loved people, and had always been considered quite the social little roach- she'd hardly call herself a butterfly, after all. But getting on the same level with another person was hard and confusing, and frankly she was rarely right. Her aim was always off.

Still, trying never hurt. "Your accent! You're Easto-Euro! So is my Dad." That was kinda a start. "He's Romanian... Your accent reminds me of his, but it's a little different. Still, have you ever had Ciorbă de cartofi?" Given that she was Californian in almost all aspects- especially speech- it might come as a surprise to anyone with a trained ear to hear her pronounce Romanian with a nearly perfect accent. "It's fantastic. Like... a your favorite blanket, but for your mouth and stomach and junk. NOT JUNK!" She blushed, filled with a sudden urge to face-palm. "Like, you know, stuff. all the in between between your mouth and gut." Nest time she saw Wes, she was going to kick him for his awful empathy advice. "So, how about that soda?"

[GABRIEL BLAZEK]

Gabriel wasn't entirely sure what this girl was talking about. She was small and thin and she wore very funny clothes and she was clearly not a legal adult, so why was she here? Not that he had any right to tell her to go home -- the last thing Gabriel was was condescending. The man was downright unassuming, if anything, and he would never have felt qualified enough to judge someone else, regardless of race.

She was speaking to him about...something. 'Straight-edge'? What did that mean?

"Straight edge? Legit man! Most guys have to soak up as much booze as they can to go in the ring, and you did yours foggy free!"

"Straight...edge?" he asked, the English words awkward in his mouth. "I do not know what d'is means..." Booze...that was alcohol. Slang for alcohol. He had heard the American men at the office discussing it; it was one of the few words he knew, having been smart enough to interpret it.

Still, she appeared to be complimenting him, and it would be polite to thank her. "Děkuju," he said softly, before realizing he had spoken in Czech and revising himself. "Ehm...d'at is, tank you..." It was a compliment, right? He had never been very good with reading inflection. The thought of misspeaking made him look down at his bare feet and shuffle a little bit. He should probably put his shoes back on. The floor was dirty.

Gregor snapped his jaws. Gabriel winced.

Shut up.

Wait, the girl was still talking. He let his wide blue eyes trail back up to her, though he did not make eye contact. He rarely did.

"I'm not really down with the whole peer pressure deal, so- like- I can totes get you a soda, bro. You gotta be hella thirsty after that scrap."

What was she even saying? He didn't understand her American language at all.

His brow furrowed as he tried his best to decipher. she was asking him if he wanted a drink...or something. "Ehm..." he mumbled, wetting his lips nervously. "Oh, you...don't heff to get me anytink, I..." People doing things for him made him nervous. People in general made him nervous. And when was the last time anyone had seemed this...engaged with him? He didn't know if even his mother had ever been this concerned about him.

The thought of his mother made him sigh a little sadly, though not at Angel. He missed his family. He missed Horovice. He missed the Czech Republic.

And at the same time, he didn't miss his family, and he didn't miss Prague, and he didn't miss his job. He yearned for everything and nothing from his old life at the same time.

Gregor hissed at him, as if warning him that he should leave this girl alone.

"Your accent! You're Easto-Euro! So is my Dad."

Easto-Euro...East...Euro...Eastern European? Yes, that was...that was where the Czech Republic was. Sort of. Right? He was not good with English directions yet.

"He's Romanian... Your accent reminds me of his, but it's a little different. Still, have you ever had Ciorbă de cartofi?"

Romania. Oh. Romania. He had once had a school friend from Romania -- one of the few friends he had. He recognized the accent into which she seemed to transition so easily. The name of the dish seemed familiar. "I d'ink so..." he said softly. "It has...potatoes in it...yes?" He liked potatoes. They were simple, easy to cook, easy to eat.

"Yes, is potato soup," he said almost to himself. "I had friend from Romania..." His voice was still exceptionally quiet, as if holding an underlying concern that Angel would not care or would not even listen.

"It's fantastic. Like... a your favorite blanket, but for your mouth and stomach and junk. NOT JUNK! Like, you know, stuff. all the in between between your mouth and gut."

He wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about, but it sounded funny, and he couldn't help but smile just a little bit, just for a moment. He glanced over at Gregor, who could not physically raise his eyebrow but seemed to cast Gabriel a reminiscent expression with his buggy face.

"So, how about that soda?"

His attention snapped back to the girl again, and he blinked a few times, rapidly. "Um," he whispered. "Um, I can...pay..." The idea of someone else paying for him horrified him.

[ANGEL DIHANIE]

What a fascinating specimen this one was! The way his blue eyes watched her, he was obviously confused by her jibber-jabber, yet he looked quite attentive and polite. What on earth was he doing in such a place!? She loved the peculararity of it all! He waited for her to finish the first of her blathering, before interjecting. Oh! Duh, Angel! He wouldn't know slang- which was a bit of a pinch, as Angel was mos'def fond of using her little phrases. He was Exported goods, just like her Daddy. "Oh, my bad, I forgot. But uh, straight edge. Like... no drugs, no alcohol. A soda water a day keeps the foggies away. Cuz, you know, alcohol makes you see and think all foggy, you know how is all heavy and warm when it's foggy-" Someone from Eastern Europe would certainly know foggy. "-and cause soda water is what a lot of Straight Edge guys- like you- drink. Usually with lime or lemon, though I think they should just go with sprite or a sierra mist or something." Angel Dihanie was a lot of things, but shy was not on that list of vocabulary. She spoke to this man, who watched her just as curiously as she watched him, as if they had known each other for years and years.

She was also a tender soul. Oh, yes, Angel loved to rebel and to cause a good old fashioned ruckus. But she was not one for a fight, or to hurt someone verbally. Unless, like, they deserved it by being a doucher. Like that Emilie Simone priss who talked imperiously to the world, or her suave 'nephew', or Freddie Foster and his populites, or Angel's arch nemesis Victoria Romenz. Oh yeah, Angel megaloathed that thunder twat. Still, she was never violent to them, and wouldn't lash out least provoked. So this person, who she already felt a soft spot growing for, speaking ot her in his native tongue and shuffling his feet so shyly made her smile kindly. "Gracias, Merci, Mulţumesc- my personal favorite-, Gratias, and now Děkuju. I can say thank you in five languages now. So... Děkuju." Her smile was bright and wide at him, trying to melt his shyness away with her warmth.

She was pleased that he recognized her favorite home meal. True, at school, she was partial to dino shaped chicken nuggets and monster energy drinks. Because that's how she did. But when she was at home, and her Daddy was cooking, she could comport herself human wise at the idea of him making ciorbă de cartof. But her greatest success, at least in her eyes, was when she saw him smile. He had one of those faces consumed by a smile, even if it was a small one. "Well, just so you know, I make it like a boss- that means really good. I dunno why you'd need to know that, but now you do." Would he be her friend? She wasn't sure, as he hadn't introduced himself. It could be because he's shy, though his shyness could very well be preventing him from telling her to buzz off.

"Well, I'm Angel. So, if you want me to get lost- uh, go away- just say 'Go away Angel, you're bugging- bothering- me!' See, cause it's hard as a penny to hurt my feelings, so you don't have to worry about that. I just thought you looked- well yeh know- like unique. And I really like unique. But unique doesn't always like me. You know? So I'm use to being shooed off, and it honestly doesn't really get me down. Uh, make me sad. So, just a 'for your information', okay?" She informed with a cheerful tune, leading him to the bar. Yeah, she'd relax enough to let him buy his own drink. Mostly because he looked like he might faint if she pushed the issue too much, but all the same she'd consent to it.

[GABRIEL BLAZEK]

Honestly, the energy that seemed prevalent in this girl was almost too much for Gabriel. How old was she? Maybe seventeen at the most? And yet she was jumping around and chattering on...well...she was nothing like his sister.

But somehow, he found that comforting. More than comforting.

Gabriel nodded a little bit, considering what she had said and turning it over quietly in his mind. No drugs, no alcohol. Yes, that was him, but more because he didn’t have a taste for it. Although he had considered taking up smoking a few times. It was said to calm the nerves, something Gabriel certainly had.

The idea of ‘fog’ translated over well to Gabriel, and he immediately understood the sort of feeling she was talking about—she had assumed correctly that he would know a lot about fog, having lived in Eastern Europe. “Soda water...” he said softly. “Oh, I see. I...ehm not good vith drinks d’at have lots of d’e fizz. D’ey make me not comfortable.” He pursed his pale pink lips for a moment, then bit the lower one, an expression that seemed surprisingly innocent for such a young man. “I drink...vater...and milk.” He liked milk. Milk was good.

"Gracias, Merci, Mulţumesc- my personal favorite-, Gratias, and now Děkuju. I can say thank you in five languages now. So... Děkuju."

He blinked at her, practically blinded by her smile. “Oh...eh...you are velcome...” A tiny smile pulled at the corners of his lips, but the expression was so unassuming that it still seemed a little bit forced. It had become Gabriel’s custom to force expressions he didn’t feel after the five years he had spent wholly supporting his family, pretending he was happy to be doing so when really, every day, he cracked just a little bit more...

The memory caused a stab of pain in his head, and he winced, clutching it for a moment. Voices echoed in his head—the voices of his parents, himself, voices he didn’t recognize, circulating in his head in angry Czech.

Stupid, stupid boy. You’re not working hard enough. What are you doing here? Go home. You don’t belong here. She hates you. Look at her face. Hates you. Look. Everyone hates you.

He felt Gregor brush against his leg. The bug had drawn near him, as if sensing his distress.

Refocusing on the girl, he remembered that they were talking about potato soup. “Potatoes very...ehm...very good. Many ways to make...” He shuffled slightly, a bit awkward and embarrassed by his bad English. “I am sorry, my English is no good...English and Czech...very different languages...” He cleared his throat quietly. “But is good d’at you make soup. I ehm not good at food making.”

"Well, I'm Angel. So, if you want me to get lost- uh, go away- just say 'Go away Angel, you're bugging- bothering- me!' See, cause it's hard as a penny to hurt my feelings, so you don't have to worry about that. I just thought you looked- well yeh know- like unique. And I really like unique. But unique doesn't always like me. You know? So I'm use to being shooed off, and it honestly doesn't really get me down. Uh, make me sad. So, just a 'for your information', okay?"

She was talking so fast, and so much, and it was very hard for him to keep up. He only really caught about 80% of what she was saying, but it was enough to get a basic understanding. “Anděl,” he said, pronouncing her name in Czech like ‘Andyel.’ “D’at is...very good name...good...pretty.” He nodded as they headed towards the bar, still working his way through her speech in his head. He didn’t know what a penny was. Wait. No. It was American currency. “Ehm...yes, ah...yes. Unique. D’at is like...original, yes?” He looked at her questioningly before pausing for a moment and adding, “You are not bozhering me, Anděl.” Then, realizing he had not responded with his own name, he added, “My name is Gabriel...”