It's like paradise, spread out with a butter knife :: [OPEN]

[bonhomme7h.livejournal.com]

Who: EVERYONE
What: Réjean has decided that more people ought to celebrate and help raise a bit of dosh for one of his favourite bars. See: flyer.
Where: The Apache.
When: Misdi night and into the wee hours of the morning.
Warnings: Discussion of Pickman's manky feet.

The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Tonight, the bar is packed with people from all across the city, different cantons and cohorts, all out to celebrate surviving the fungal plague. Patrons are encouraged to buy tickets for a door prize with the proceeds going to repair the damage tunnelling ants made to the cellar.

Comments

[gotbottle]

"To survival," she echoes, tapping her glass against his. And then, after a moment's thought: "...And to our continued good health and all that."

She plucks the stirring stick out of her glass and sets it on the counter, taking a drink. "So, have you found a place to live yet? Outside the inn?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah - I mean, sort of. It's a boarding house, still nothing permanent." He's allergic to admitting he's not going home any day now, though. "But I decided to get a little farther from the first place the militia goes in a crisis."

[gotbottle]

"Good." She pauses to take a sip of her drink. "Especially since they kinda know you after their last round there. I think it's best to stay out of their way. And best to be somewhere where you have a little more expectation of privacy. So where's the boarding house?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Not too far from here." Mog Hill had seemed medium enough, for the time being. "I'm going to need to start earning some money, though, I want to stay in good standing." He deeply did not want to get a job, but he didn't want to live in the Spatters either.

[gotbottle]

"That's good. This seems like a good area. Safe and clean and all that."

She frowned slightly, thinking. "Well, there's always the employment offices if you can't find anything on your own," she said. "People sometimes post job notices on the boards at the tea house, too--if you want I can keep an eye on those and call you if I see anything promising?"

[toooldforlosing]

He sighs. "Yeah. I mean, I've got a sort of specific skill set, I'm just not thrilled about throwing my lot in with the guys running the place." Maybe he'd go see the sheriff; it seemed separate from the militia, if not separate from whoever was running the place.

[gotbottle]

"Yeah. I can't say I have faith that'd turn out well for you." She can't see it working out at all; either he'd be too close to the powers that be for comfort, or he'd have to carry on as they did. It wouldn't end well, no matter which way it went.

She signals to the bartender, holding up her almost-empty glass and gesturing at Raylan's as well; another round. "Well, if you wind up needing help finding something, let me know."

[toooldforlosing]

He smiles at her move to get them refills, but says, "Sure. Maybe I'll find a new and exciting career."

If he threw his lot in with the sheriff, though, maybe he'd at least get a new weapon. He'd used to think they'd let him keep his gun because they didn't find it a threat. After the ants, though, he's realizing they probably let him keep it because there was no good way to get more ammo. If you've only got two clips, what do you save them for?

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, maybe," she says with a smile.

Rachel glances down at the bartender, hard at work; it'll be a minute or two before those drinks come, she thinks. She looks over at Raylan.

"Did you always want to be in law enforcement?"

Why yes, now begins the I'm determined not to continue talking shop tonight, and also, I'm nosy and want to know more about you portion of the evening, why?

[toooldforlosing]

He raises his eyebrows at her, but says, "Not always. Long enough. You decide to be a reporter cause you already liked asking questions, or was it the other way around?" He's not annoyed, though, the response almost a light tease more than a criticism.

[gotbottle]

Rachel laughs at that, an okay, fine, you got me look on her face. "I wasn't a reporter yet," she says. "I was hoping I would be someday, but not yet. And, no, since you asked--I wanted to tell stories. The kind that don't get attention when really dumb or awful stuff does."

[toooldforlosing]

"I had my suspicions about you being a hopeless optimist." He smiles a bit. "There are worse things to do."

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, well. It's not the first time I've been accused of that, and I'm sure it won't be the last," she allows, laughing. "But thank you. Dunno if I ever would've gotten there, but it seemed like a good thing to aim for. The right thing to do."

[toooldforlosing]

"Kidding aside - it's good. Enough awful in the world, folks'll forget about the rest if you let 'em." Raylan himself might be a case in point.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's smiling again as she sets down her glass, but this one is softer, maybe a bit wistful--not the amused ones from earlier.

"Thank you," she murmurs, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear. "I guess that's the whole point, with me. I can't let all that awful win or dwell on it or anything. I feel like I have to keep trying, that I can't give up."

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs, quieter as he empties his drink. "On me, that's just stubbornness."

[gotbottle]

"You know what? Stubbornness is pretty underrated, sometimes, as an outlook." She unwinds a little, elbow on the bar, hand balled into a loose fist with her cheek resting against it, her belly pleasantly full of alcohol. "Rolling over and just giving up at the first sign of resistance never suited me. I don't mind people who can stick things out."

[toooldforlosing]

"I've always been told, though, there's a point at which you should just let things go." Not that he'd been good at it.

[gotbottle]

"It is helpful. When you can."

And maybe her tone implies that she can't, not always. Sometimes.

"Stuff can start to eat at you from the inside if you hold on to it too long. But people always say you should let things go like that's some easy shit to do. If it was--you would've."

[toooldforlosing]

Wryly, he says, "I think that sentiment calls for another drink, myself."

[gotbottle]

Rachel grins. "Sounds good to me." The night's for celebrating; another drink is definitely in order. "You want another of the same?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Wouldn't say no." He gestures to the bartender. His tolerance might be a little worryingly high, in truth.

[gotbottle]

Rachel's own tolerance wasn't shabby; she'd be able to keep up for a little bit, yet. "Thank you," she murmurs, in response to him getting the bartender's attention.

[toooldforlosing]

"My pleasure. Chivalry ain't quite dead everywhere, after all. Sometimes, I even hold doors open."

[gotbottle]

Rachel laughed softly. "Gosh," she said, a note of good-natured teasing in her tone, "if you tell me you cover puddles with your overcoat I might swoon."