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]

"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."

[toooldforlosing]

He laughs at that. "I'll bear that in mind. I'd have to catch you, though. Ruin the whole effect, otherwise."

[gotbottle]

"Yeah, no kidding." She's genuinely amused by that. "Especially if I fell in the damn mud puddle."

The bartender makes his way back over, and Rachel gestures again, at both glasses.

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, I figure with the hat, I may as well go down the whole cowboy road, you know?" He's joking. Sort of.

[gotbottle]

"I suppose you gotta, yeah." She smiles, soft and warm. "I do like the hat. It suits you."

[toooldforlosing]

"Thanks - fond of it myself. Got it stolen, once, but that was my own damn fault."

[gotbottle]

Her eyes widen a bit at that. "Stolen? How'd that happen?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Picked a fight I was too drunk to win," he says, with a grimace. "Assholes beat me up and took my hat for good measure." Not his finest moment.

[gotbottle]

She makes a face as she swallows, shaking her head. "Now that's just uncalled for. But you got it back?" She gestures at his hat, with the hand holding her drink. "Or did you have to get a replacement?"