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Derek Norse

Derek Norse is a simple man with simple tastes. All he wants in life is to spend time with his blond, smoke tons of weed, have a beer, play video games, and make his brother miserable.

Kidding. He loves his brother - the prick.

As simple as his tastes are, his work is complicated. Laws, permits, constant reviews by the IRS and DEA. Truthfully, he sometimes wonder if it is worth it to own and operate a marijuana farm in the great state of California - but when he steps foot into his conveniently located head shop in Los Angeles, all his doubts are quickly silenced.

The place is heaven.

The store is bright, the staff friendly, and his every strain of his herb is beautifully displayed for the world to see. He even does free joints on birthdays, if they smoke in house on the rooftop patio.

Derek Norse is a simple man... and a goddamn genius.

Today had been stressful. Another round of law enforcement pouring over his business, and Derek found him store closed for several hours until they were once more satisfied. If he were a man of social media, he would be cursing Trump up and down. Instead, he merely considers hitting them with harassment charges.

It's not like he'd notice. The man is getting sued left and right, and clearly, he is above the law. And thinks that he can pardon himself. What a f-cking joke.

Satisfied his shop is in working order, Derek reopens and leaves his staff to do their great service to society. He is on a mission to relieve his tensions, and that ground zero is in the form of a bar called The Library, situated a mere two blocks from his store. Stepping into the bland looking building, he is immediately struck with a scene inside.

The bar is centered around the novel The Great Gatsby, decked out in gold and back, glitz, and glam. The women wear flapper dresses and headbands. The men, suit pants and button ups with straps around the arm in true 1920s style. Bottles glitter behind them, and the selection looks endless as mirrors back them up and create an infinite illusion. The catch is the booth crawl.

Twenty booths line the walls, each rather private, and each themed. Derek would start at the first, but only after a quick judgment of the throuple and single that is sat inside. So, without much thought, he slides into one end with a handsome grin. And, now sat at a 'lite' version of a table in the dining hall of Walder Frey. It would never cease to amaze him just how sick the owners of this place are, but if you’re into this sort of thing, you really need to embrace death.

Except for the fact that songs like Rains of Castamere and Light of the Seven seem to play on repeat. That is unsettling in the dim, dingy setting.

The singular girl at the far end of the booth pays him no mind, but her two masculine friends take a particular interest in him. Uncaring of the attention, Derek gives them a cheeky wink before turning his attention to the lone wolf of a blond across from him. Large fingers tap the table, and he waits for her to look up.

He raises his eyebrows, wagging them with a c-cky grin upon his face.

Hoooooodor.”

B-tches love him.
June 09, 2018 12:37 am

Violet Adler

The year was flying by, and the scorching summer days of June were getting into swing. Even in the evening it was a parched 85 degrees in the shade. As such, you would be hard pressed to find the general population dressed in anything but bathing suits, tank tops, shorts, and sandals. Definitely no socks. Violet was no exception, and would hardly be seen without her trusty denim shorts and some color variant of a loose tank.

Violet had been in Los Angeles for about a week, visiting with some friends and just generally taking some sanity time before flying back up to Eureka. She worked full time at her family’s vineyard, and it really was a great job, but working for your parents was rough. She was due back home in two days, and had grand plans to spend as much time at the beach as possible. It’d been highly successful so far; she’d even made a new friend.

Today was a solo day for her since her friends actually did have to work during the week, and she’d spent her time lolling in the sunlight at Venice Beach. Once evening started casting its purple shadow over the sky, she’d gathered up her belongings and took off on foot to find somewhere new to grab a drink and a bite.

She hadn’t walked far when the name of a bar caught her attention: The Library. Enticed by the unusual name, she made her way inside and was entirely enchanted by the idea behind the name.

Unwittingly drawing odd glances from the sheer amount of amazed gasps she produced, she eventually decided on the Game of Thrones booth to start her journey, sliding into the already occupied nook with smiles and greetings, and took heavy amounts of advice on which drink to try first. She settled on a bright red ****tail entitled Dragon Lady, and put in an order for some good old fashioned mozzarella sticks.

It was here that she started along a downward spiral of self inflicted anxiety.

One of the flamboyant men in the booth - a rather rugged man with perfect eyebrows - heard her order the cheese sticks and mentioned in an offhand comment that a friend of a friend almost died while choking on the delicious bar food. Violet’s imagination promptly went wild, and her phone came out with a vengeance.

It was here that another stranger slid into the booth across from her to a round of openly flirtatious greetings from the men. Violet barely noticed the addition, as the sunkissed blonde was about nose deep in internet horror stories about the statistics of dying via mozzarella sticks.

She only glanced upward when a rhythmic tapping of fingers upon the tabletop drew her attention. She was met with green eyes and a sh-t-eating grin.

“Hoooooodor.”

Her lips pressed together in what was undeniably an attempt to ward off laughter. Caught entirely off guard inside her anxiety spiral, it took her a moment to regain composure.

“Hmm. You’re trying to communicate with me, aren't you.” She pursed her lips in mock thought, putting her phone down for the moment. “I think what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re big and dumb, but impressively hung?”

She grinned, obviously amused at her own humor, but piped up with an offhand question a moment later. “You wouldn’t happen you know the heimlich maneuver, would you? I ordered some cheese sticks, but I was informed that my decision could be fatal.”
June 09, 2018 06:56 pm

Derek Norse

'You're tryig to communicate with me, aren't you.'

Derek smirks, giving Violet a nod and another, much quieter, Hodor. If he could honestly pick up some chick with just a single word, he would be able to brag about it for the rest of his life. Naturally, he would never act upon it. This is merely a trophy in his mind. He has his own pretty blond waiting for him, smoking all his weed and messing up his stats on his various video games.

Honestly, they're probably an improvement to his numbers. She is far too good for someone so confused by technology.

'...you're big and dumb, and impressively hung?'

Once more his fingers rap upon the table's surface, and he tries furiously to keep a straight face. Derek squints through his self containment, deciding on how to proceed until finally, that grin returns and he raises his eyebrows as he leans forward upon the table.

"Hodor, Hodor Hodor Hodor, Hodor Hodor."

A quick glance at their tablemates, as if trying to ensure they are not listening to the ridiculous exchange, and Derek catches her eyes and lowers his voice outstandingly.

"Translation: That is entirely accurate."

A wink, and he sits back once more as he pulls the menu toward him and thumbs his way through the selection to find a menu within that is entirely comprised of themed drinks. At her question, he glances up.

"Yes, but no. I'm high as a kite, and my big, dumb self would probably break your ribs."

He's not kidding, either. He means that. Derek Norse should come with a warning.

Caution: Product is entirely useless.

When someone arrives at the table, fully dressed as Jay Gatsby himself, Derek can only blink up at them for several moments as if judging the situation. Green eyes flicker between his new, borderline distressed friend, and their attendant, and he can't help it as he whispers. "Gats."

Clearing his throat, he makes a snap decision as he turns his sights upon the menu for the first, true time. At the same time, he procures his wallet and sits it on the table, haphazardly pulling his credit card from it's resting place and pushing it toward the gentleman.

"Kingslayer, please."

With that taken care of, he looks at Violet once more. "So, since you're likely going to die by mozzo-stick... what would you like your epitaph to read? 'Nachos are the way to go'?"
June 11, 2018 12:56 am

Violet Adler

Anyone else probably would have intensified her unwarranted anxiety further with that statement, but the thought of Hodor 2.0 failing so hard at saving a potentially choking woman was morbidly amusing enough to alleviate her distress. A little.

Violet choked down the laughter that again threatened to bubble forth by lifting her drink to her lips for a hefty gulp, although she couldn’t vanish the tickled smile on her face. This guy was so weird. Weird was fun. Who wanted conventional flirtation when you could have Hodor?

A flamboyantly dressed Jay Gatsby arrived at their table to deliver a hot, steaming pile of crispy choking hazards for Violet, and to take Hodor’s drink order. Violet raised her drink in a salute at his choice before making her own request. “And I’ll take another Dragon Lady, please! Oh, and could you bring me some ketchup, mayo, and sriracha? Thank you!”

Mayo? For cheese sticks?” The other woman at the table chimed in as the waiter left, unable to control the look of mild disgust.

“No, not just mayo. Mayo, ketchup, and sriracha all mixed together. It’s like a special sauce. Goes with everything.” She paused, thoughtful, then added: “Most things.”

Her opinionated tablemate merely responded with an intensified expression of mild revulsion before continuing her date with her phone. She was obviously there with her two male friends, although it seemed like she’d rather be anywhere else at the moment, especially with the contrast of the animated conversation they were having across her.

Violet turned her attention to the cheese sticks, stomach rumbling in anticipation. “...you will not defeat me.” She breathed, picking up her fork and knife. They couldn’t choke her if they were cut into small enough pieces. Strategy.

"So, since you're likely going to die by mozzo-stick... what would you like your epitaph to read? 'Nachos are the way to go'?"

Blue eyes raised up to the friendly stranger, and a silly smile took over her expression. “No way. I give credit where credit is due. If these things manage to take me out, of course with some help from you, they’re getting a headline on my tombstone. You get an honorable mention.”

She speared a small piece of cheese stick that she’d cut and pointed her fork at him. “What do we say to the god of death?”

More than trusting him with the answer, she popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed happily, giving a little wiggle of delight. Fried food.

The waiter returned with her various requested items as she washed down her bite with the rest of her bright red drink. “Thank you!” She chirped, handing Mr. Gatsby her emptied glass and taking the fresh one, immediately removing the cherry and plucking it from the stem with her teeth.

She set about mixing her special dipping sauce like the Iron Chef, although she eyed the Kingslayer that her new friend had ordered with no small amount of curiosity. “So, uh, Hodor was it? I’m Violet, by the way. I have a proposition. If I can tie this cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, can I try your drink?”
June 13, 2018 12:20 pm

Derek Norse

"Honorable mention? That's it? I'm f-cking offended."

Sitting back, Derek crosses his arms in protest. Honestly, if he is going to assist in murder by cheese, he should get full props for such a task. There is no excuse for anything less, and he simply will not settle. Not even as he eyes his drink and stubbornly leans forward to catch the straw in his mouth, rather than uncrossing his arms and picking the glass up.

What do we say to the god of death?

"Come at me, bro."

With a dark chuckle, he takes another heft sip.

And, as she eyes his drink and makes her proposition, Derek inwardly smirks. He would have to try this on Katherine. Who knew that his inner Hodor was such a lady killer?

Who is he kidding?
Of course he is.

"...Hodor," his brows raise, voice muffled by the straw between his lips before he releases it. "If you can tie that stem with your tongue, I'll buy you one."

Sitting up, he is almost about to uncross his arms before the girl with the phone pipes up again.

"His name isn't Hodor."

Slowly, he turns his head, looking at her with a shocked expression before leaning toward the girl. "Well, don't tell her that. Don't be so jealous, Jan."

The glare he receives is enough to satisfy him and he sits up and looks at Violet with an expectant glance between the cherry in question and her.

"You may proceed."
June 16, 2018 10:25 pm

Violet Adler

I’ll buy you one.

Game. Set. Match.

Violet had always been a little competitive - not to mention a sore loser - so it was with probably too much enthusiasm to be seemly that she accepted his ante. Who was she kidding, anyway; he was cute and funny, and the ol’ cherry stem trick held connotations that were unmistakable - even for Hodor.

His name isn’t Hodor.

The cherry stem paused upon its journey to her mouth, and they both looked her way in unison, Violet’s expression managing to be nearly as ‘shocked’ as his. “It’s not?!” Violet’s free hand came down upon the table top, and she threw in a proviso. “In addition to the drink, when I tie this thing in a knot, I want to know your real name, impostor!”

Brandishing the stem dramatically, she popped it into her mouth and began working it around, her jaw moving as she manipulated the tiny thing. The two other men at the table turned into a makeshift cheer section, egging her on with thinly veiled sexual comments. It was here that the waiter again reappeared for a moment, and her cheerleaders requested some cherries for themselves, presumably to showcase their own prowess. Gatsby left, and Violet could feel that she was close. It showed on her expression; a tight-lipped smile began on her face, although it disappeared a moment later when her eyes popped wide and she started to sputter.

The dastardly little stem had slipped a little too far back, and didn’t seem to want to move. In a snap decision, mainly to keep from inhaling the damn thing, she swallowed. This, obviously, led to a small coughing fit, and she snatched her bright red drink off the table and took several deep chugs while the nearest table mate swatted her on the back.

“Oh my god… oh sh*t. I swallowed it!” She breathed deeply, clutching the edge of the table. “Everything is trying to kill me tonight..”

Mostly composed, she looked at Hodor pitifully. “...do I still at least get a taste?”
June 16, 2018 11:45 pm
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