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]

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?"

[toooldforlosing]

"No, no. Went back sober and retrieved it." It had taken a bit of trouble, but he liked this hat. "Besides, it looked stupid on the guy who took it. Didn't fit."

[gotbottle]

"Well, good. He shouldn't have had it in the first place. It wasn't his to take or try to wear." She's a bit impressed by all of this, the going back despite the earlier beating.

[toooldforlosing]

"Yeah, well. I shouldn't go picking fights when I'm drunk, either, but you can't always do what you should."

[gotbottle]

"Mmm. Well, no, you can't." She grins. "Especially not when you're drunk. That's rarely the time when you can manage it. I've been there. I mean, no actual fights but most of the less-than-stellar decisions of my life have happened when I was drunk."

[toooldforlosing]

"And yet neither of us have stopped drinking," he pointed out, "which suggests the bad decisions can happen sober, too."

[gotbottle]

"Well, now, wait," Rachel protested, laughing, lifting her index finger away from her glass in the universal gesture for hold up a minute, "not always. Like, unless either of us rolled in here with the intent of drinking too much and making bad decisions, then no. We probably decided to come and have some drinks. If we decide to make any bad decisions after that, we can't say it happened entirely sober, right?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, true, but if we wanted to be sure we didn't make stupid decisions, it'd make more sense not to start drinking at all, wouldn't it?" he asks, amused.

[gotbottle]

Rachel blinks at him a few times.

"Oh... hush," she says, with obviously feigned annoyance, "have another drink, and stop making so much sense. God."

[toooldforlosing]

"Yes, ma'am," he says, with a troublemaking grin. "Just trying to point out the facts."

[gotbottle]

"Shhhh," she says, trying to go for more of that fake admonishment but it's entirely undone because she's laughing. "Raylan, this is a bar, you don't bring facts to a bar, seriously."

[toooldforlosing]

"My sincere apologies," he laughs. "I will keep that in mind."

[gotbottle]

"Well." She's still laughing, her cheeks a bit more pink from it (and maybe the alcohol, too, a bit), as she rests her chin on her hand again. "I can let that go, this time. But now you know better, right?"

[toooldforlosing]

"First strike. Noted." He's relaxed, but seems together enough. "Hopefully I'm not killing your buzz too much with my logic."

[gotbottle]

"No! No, that's not a strike, I don't--" She takes her chin off her hand long enough to make a vague little wave with it, and then back it goes. "Do that. I don't hold things against people. It's fine. As is my buzz, thank you for asking."

[toooldforlosing]

"And it's very becoming on you," he says with a grin.

[gotbottle]

That just makes the color in her face warm a few more degrees; there's a wide-eyed instant of surprise before she starts laughing again, a little flustered.

"I-- thank you. That's kind of you to say."

[toooldforlosing]

He smiles and drinks a bit more. "Not to sound too much like a cop," he adds, after a moment, "but you got someone to make sure you get home okay?"

[gotbottle]

...She'd been planning to just wing that portion of the evening. Look, it wouldn't be her first time navigating a train ride home while not fully sober. But he seems concerned so she decides not to admit to that.

"No." She shakes her head with a sad little smile. "I figured maybe I'd just wait it out--cut myself off a while before I plan on heading out. Or if worse came to worse, hike up the hill to the inn and get a room for the night."

[toooldforlosing]

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself and all. Just, well." He leans back a little. "What with people disappearing and all... if you want me to see you home, just ask, alright?"

[gotbottle]

Her gaze drops and her expression softens into a touched smile. She's usually so fast to take care of everyone else around her, it's rare someone else gets the chance to offer.

"Thank you. I really appreciate that. It's not far, a straight shot on the train, but if I decide I can't do it on my own I promise I'll let you know."

[toooldforlosing]

"You think I'm ridiculous," he said, lightly. "But I had to offer."

[gotbottle]

Rachel sat up straighter on her stool, letting her hand drop so it rested on the bar. "That's the last thing I think of you," she countered, still smiling, still warm, but there was perhaps a tiny bit of actual vehemence behind her words this time, "and, honestly, if it wasn't making you go so far out of your way when you could just walk home from here, I'd take you up on that offer even if I didn't actually need it, just to have more of your company."

God bless the tipsy, for sometimes they don't realize they've lost the filter between their brains and their mouths.