project vessel (twenty one pilots)

six- tag youre it (pt 2)

The average consumption of a single glass of water depends on the person. There are those who linger, tracing the edge of the glass and examining the contents as though questioning its identity as water. There are drinkers who down the whole thing in a gulp or two, and then firmly set the glass down and demand another as though it were a shot and not just a glass of simple water. Some may meander from the original drink and perhaps take it with diced fruit or even add in a little something with a kick. There are several unfortunates who must take it with pills. The water simply dulls the bitter taste of their capsules and powders, but minimal flavor of theirs still lingers on the lips long after being taken. Those at bars have a tendency to rest their dominant hand on the glass, their outside two fingers on the edge, middle on the top, thumb elevated, and index lightly tapping the rim. It makes for an easier lift to the lips, allowing for the occasional sip, alcoholic or not. Those more interested in just quenching their parched throats generally grab the glass with two hands, bringing it to their mouths hastily and gulping the water as though it contains the very essence of their life.

Just through the way a man may lift his glass, drink, and set it down, the most common of observers can deduce several details about the victim of his sharp stare. Perhaps if he spills some and the water dribbles over his chin, he is nervous. Perhaps he is meeting someone, a date? No, he's meeting a relative... There's someone else lifting her glass. She brings it to her lips hesitantly. Her eyes flit down to the water and she shallows hard. Just by the way she crosses her legs and sets the glass down firmly, glancing to the side and up immediately after, one on the more perceptive side could detect she's having an affair. She's anticipating the arrival of her lover but is deeply concerned by the unlikely, but still horrifying, idea that her husband might walk in any moment and catch her. There is the scholar's numerous but small sips; he rubs his thumb over the rim of the glass before reading whatever he is reading, bringing the glass to his lips without even stopping to glance at it. Occasionally, out of mere mistake, he will spill some and quickly dab at it with a napkin or his sleeve, too focused on his reading material to mind much anyway. A mother generally drinks in hurried gulps, constantly being rushed by the little children tugging on her sleeves. It is in these moments, as she almost chokes on cold liquid as her son suddenly screams in her ear about how he's been dying to use the restroom for the past hour, she bitterly regrets not using protection three and a half  years ago in a hotel on her honeymoon and sets the glass down, half finished, to drag her little boy to the loo. Of course, that is the precise moment the little girl breaks into hysterical bawling and says she's hungry despite having just had lunch, and that she's tired and wants to go home and take a nap. She is never able to finish that glass and must accept her thirst until she is able to return home and she drowns the dull throb in her skull with a glass of water and an aspirin.

When the doors to Lilo's opened to reveal Tyler, a sudden heavy silence screamed within the gathered collection of lowlives and pleibians. It seized the dimly lit room with a black fist and suffocated it until it struggled, kicking back with feet heavier than lead and fists as useless as bicycles to fish. It twisted their wrists until they were pinned to their seats and even the wandering whores seemed to travel slowly to and from customer, tiny little ankles drowning in their obnoxiously oversized platforms, stilettos and other ridiculous forms of footwear. He, however, seemed unfazed by this deadly still silence, and sat down. The moment he settled onto the stool, the fist shook the room, shaking them with panic. Several had the courage to up and leave, which amused him the point the silhouette of a smirk lingered on his face as he ordered a simple glass of water. The silent chaos rippled further into the room, whose volume slowly rose to many low murmurs. The silence allowed for orchestration and choruses to play in Tyler's mind, to the point he was subconsciously tapping a beat on the wood that had nothing to do with the wobbling bass blasting through the cheap speakers, causing the barkeep to give him a cursory look over and a slight disapproving nod as he scrubbed a glass with a damp cloth and poured water into it.