Adrian released a deep, contemplative exhale, the tendrils of smoke from his cigarette mingling with the dim ambiance of the establishment. The air was tinged with the aroma of Valerionsky as Artemia, the bartender, poured another glass, its contents dancing in the light. His fingers traced a circular path along the glass's rim, each movement measured, deliberate, before finally lifting the glass to his lips for a thoughtful sip.
"It's on the house, officer," Artemia's voice carried a mix of curiosity and caution as she observed him closely.
A subtle smile graced Adrian's lips as he lowered the glass, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you, sister," he acknowledged, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth as he emptied the glass in a smooth, practiced motion.
Her response was a mirrored smile. "No problem, brother," Artemia's voice held a touch of camaraderie. She leaned on the counter, eyes studying him as if seeking to uncover the layers beneath his worn facade. "So, what truly brings you to these parts?"
Adrian's gaze lingered on his now-empty glass, a moment of silence stretching between them like an unspoken question. Finally, he looked up, meeting Artemia's gaze head-on. "Desperation, sadness, loneliness," he uttered, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and resilience. His eyes remained locked on her, as if searching for answers, trying to decipher the story etched onto her features.
Her eyes held his, a momentary connection forged between two souls who had traversed different paths but found common ground in this rundown establishment. "Do you work here alone?" he asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and genuine interest.
Artemia's smile held a touch of mystery, her words draped in playful ambiguity. "Are you asking me as a police officer or just as a customer?"
A wry grin tugged at Adrian's lips, a hint of mischief in his gaze. From the pocket of his tattered attire, he produced a crumpled banknote, placing it on the bar's worn surface. "Why not both?"
Her brows furrowed slightly as her eyes shifted between the note and Adrian. "You know, not everyone in this city is as corrupt as policemen," she remarked, her voice carrying an edge of both challenge and amusement. A pause followed, heavy with unspoken thoughts, as if their exchange held deeper implications than met the eye.
Adrian's gaze held steady, unwavering. "This is for the beer," he clarified, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Artemia's chuckle danced like a melody, genuine and unexpected. She moved to the old refrigerator, retrieving a cold bottle of beer with practiced ease. Placing it before Adrian, she offered a casual question, "Need a new glass or will this one do?"
The label on the beer bore the name "Unity Star," a contrast to the gritty surroundings. Adrian's lips curved into a half-smile. "I'll drink from the bottle," he decided, his voice carrying an undertone of shared understanding.
Her smirk was a mixture of amusement and recognition. "Like a true proletarian," she quipped, a glint of camaraderie in her eyes.
Adrian's brows furrowed slightly, his expression one of intrigued surprise. "You know, not all policemen come from the West side of the city," he commented, his voice carrying a touch of earnestness.
Artemia's response held a hint of melancholy, her gaze momentarily distant. "That I know," she replied, her voice a whispered acknowledgment of a shared reality.
His curiosity unabated, Adrian continued, his gaze capturing hers once more. "So, why did you help me?" he inquired, the question hanging in the air between them. "You put yourself in danger by protecting me, especially when they realized I was an officer."
Her demeanor shifted, a glimpse of a steel mask replacing the previous warmth. "It wasn't hard to guess, officer," she remarked, her eyes scanning his attire and demeanor. "Dressed like a caricature of poverty, yet ordering Valerionsky with such casual elegance—a stark contradiction."
Adrian's surprise was evident, his bemusement coloring his expression. He took a swig of the beer, allowing the bitterness to briefly distract him. "Maybe you should join the department" he quipped, his tone lighthearted. "You've figured out more than you let on."
Artemia's eyes held an enigmatic quality, her voice holding a note of nonchalance. "Why did you come here?" she asked, redirecting the conversation with a directness that matched his own.
His gaze met hers with an intensity that revealed the weight of his thoughts. "I didn't come here for any specific reason," he admitted, his eyes scanning the entrance as if expecting some lurking danger. "But I've noticed you have a viper problem."
Artemia's demeanor transformed into a mask of stoicism, emotions hidden beneath the surface. "I don't have problems," she replied, her voice steady, revealing nothing.
Adrian leaned back, retrieving a tattered pack of cigarettes from his pocket. As he crushed a cigarette between his fingers, his gaze never left Artemia's face. "Interesting choice of words," he mused, his voice trailing off for a moment before he continued, "Irina Cliffnail seemed pretty confident in her forces before the 'Fat Beaver' attack and the assault on her establishments."
The weight of her silence spoke volumes, and Adrian leaned into the conversational lull. "We've never had such problems across the Tamal River," she responded, her eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.
Adrian's exhale was wreathed in smoke as he took a contemplative drag from his cigarette. "Do you think the Alderian Labor League wouldn't reach you here?" he questioned, a plume of blue smoke accompanying his words. "There are whispers that Jeremy Alder himself might be hiding in your slums."
Artemia's laughter danced like a melody, her amusement palpable. "He's a bit too posh for our way of life."
Adrian's expression turned pensive, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. "Just rumors, then," he conceded, his tone carrying a touch of disappointment.
A moment of tension stretched between them, words unspoken but hanging in the air. "Are you finished here?" Artemia's voice broke the silence, her eyes casting a glance toward the entrance. "Clients will start arriving soon, and I doubt you want them discovering your true profession, officer."
A rueful smile played at Adrian's lips as he collected his thoughts. "I'm a detective," he corrected, a glint of pride in his tone.
She arched an eyebrow, a sardonic smirk forming. "Same thing."
With a practiced motion, Adrian plucked a pen from the counter and jotted down two numbers on the back of a coaster. He slid the coaster toward Artemia, its message a promise concealed within its scribbled lines. "Take this," he urged, the coaster containing both his office and home numbers. "Just in case."
Artemia's eyes locked onto the coaster, a hint of skepticism in her gaze. "And what might 'just in case' entail?" she questioned, her voice cautious.
Adrian rose from his seat, his holed flatcap pulled low over his eyes. He offered a half-smile, a touch of gratitude in his eyes. "I owe you one," he stated before turning and making his way toward the exit, leaving the bar and its mysteries behind.
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