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mouthsfeel · 2 months

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i want the world overturned like a bowl of eggs, smashed at my feet.

ÁNGEL VIEIRO. TWENTY-NINE. HE & HIM. BARTENDER & LEAST FAVORITE SHIFT PARTNER, INFIERNO.

tldr; man leaves a trail of chewed up plastic straws and people in his wake.

i heard from a friend of a friend that they’re charismatic, approachable & unpredictable, secretive. it’s no wonder they’ve made it this far in the city, they’ve been here for twenty years. now that i get a good look at them they kinda’ remind me of reptilia by the strokes.

01. he wasn't always handsome. first he was cute, then pretty, then, god — beautiful. there are worse things to be than a beautiful man, even one who knows it. but what's less survivable than a man who wields it? angel lives with his knife turned outward, grip practiced; thumb on the spine, forefinger steadying on the blade's flat. it's easy from this position to render skin clean from flesh. what's worse than his face is the shapes he makes with it: angel's charming. he smiles easily, readily, open-toothed. he looks you in the eye when you talk, chin nestled over a closed fist. he keeps the hook-gaze while he works, while he tastes the drink he's going to push your way in just a second. he hangs on the serrated edge of your pleasure, cracks open when your mouth shapes around that very first — oh, it's good!

02. it's a sort of sink drain conundrum: he was always going to end up this way, sluicing down the sides, excess scraped and squeezed out for good measure. all to say — yes, angel has always been a little bit like this, charming enough to glide through the u-bend and just self-possessed enough to try in the first place. it's the right side of the wrong ingredients and just enough experimenting to find the perfect sweet-bitter edge. broken curfews and sticky-fingered smiles. dimples. change counted carefully at the bodega register, talking nonsense all the way through. a new yorker's sense for the good trouble and the bad. tipping 30%, always, even when it means no new groceries.

03. the worst part, honestly, the real rotten egg yolk in a perfect frothy white, is that most of the time it's all genuine. it's not even set dressing, because at the end of the day anyone standing behind a bar or over a hot stove knows the knife is just a tool. the smile is real. the love, sometimes, is real too. angel gets it from his father. he used to sit in his lap in the early, early hours, sky streaked hazy and his father still stinking of kitchen and beer, and trace those deep grooves of life on his face. his father would trace them back on angel before he stumbled off to bed. cesar's work gave him crow's feet and breakfast sandwiches. angel's just gave him fucking tinnitus.

04. infierno — it's a dream, man, really. no seriously, yeah, i couldn't imagine a better — yeah, yeah, yeah. it's something like the truth, when angel's squatting on the alley curb smoking his cigarette so fast it's making his head spin because he really can't be taking another break, but fuck if he's doing another ten espresso martinis without one, and a likes-to-think-he's-one-of-the-guys patron stumbles over and asks to bum an authentically back pocket crushed smoke. and it's not untrue, but it's also a job, with good days and worse ones. is it a dream job? fuck no. but yeah, sure man, he'll party after. he gets off at 4.

WANTED PLOTS

at infierno

french 75. a flirtationship for the ages. there's a low hum of chemistry beneath every interaction, and while angel isn't one to shy away from, ahem, fucking his coworkers, this one is keeping him on his toes more than he's used to.

negroni. truly the staff ride or die. their implicit trust in each other was forged through infierno's growing pains and now they're practically telepathic in each other's orbit. despite the intimacy, it's somehow little more than controlled chaos when they're both on the ticket.

sea salt martini. these are professionals, paramount in their roles. they'll play nice for the guests and no one will see the knives out under the bar. everything between them is an opportunity for competition and sabotage.

manhattan. got off on the wrong foot, and honestly, angel isn't that bothered to try and right it. it was probably his fault in the first place, but now they've gone and pissed him off so he's not going to do anything about it but dig his heels in some more.

old fashioned. someone who dislikes everything about angel and with perfectly good reason. he relies too much on his charm; he's underhanded and dismissive of workplace ethics and often decorum. but they're also the only one he'll listen to when they finally tug the leash.

at echelon

whiskey sour. fellow bartenders, for better or worse. they push each other, they antagonize each other, they rib and they joke and they share trade secrets so long as you don't tell the gm. seriously, keep your mouth fucking closed. okay but who's your supplier?

spicy margarita. potential poacher? poachee? it's all a little bit of a joke, like everything to angel before he's forced to take things seriously, and it's hard to tell where the line's drawn. is he really being asked to leave infierno? would he, for them?

dark 'n' stormy. worst person alive, mutual. they cannot stand even the sight of each other and won't tell anyone else why except to get them the fuck away. whether unexpected or not, the shared close quarters of echelon and infierno is going to be unpleasant for everyone involved.

lemon drop. hooked elbows on the way to the only bar still open after theirs. beyond anything else, they have each other to split tabs and 6-packs and cigarettes, whatever the night (or, usually, morning) calls for. angel's slept on their floor more times than he'd like to admit.

with guests

sazerac. a reviewer that angel's royally fucked it for before. he'll play as cool as usual, all easy smiles and warm charisma, elbows on the oiled bartop. but let's be real: he's sweating fucking bullets every time they show face.

vodka soda. the regulars of all shapes and sizes. there are ones angel doesn't care for but will pretend otherwise, ones he'll bend over backwards for, and definitely definitely one's he's gone home with when his electric bill wasn't paid.

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