gunsforhire | Log: apartment hunting success

Entry tags:

Log: apartment hunting success

Who: Sigma, Texas, and Church
What: grabbing drinks after a day of apartment hunting
Where: the Eagle and Asp
When: Monday night (22 June)
Warnings: alcohol, possibly language

Sigma underestimated how exhausting apartment shopping could be. He and Texas hve filled out an application for a small apartment that's almost halfway along the shuttle line between campus and home. One bedroom, one bathroom, and reasonably-well furnished, with a decent location? It's better than he expected to find. He's triumphant but exhausted.

Still, when his sister invites him out for a drink afterward, he's eager to go. It's been fun, spending time with her by himself. He sees no reason to end the day out before he has to.

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"...Well damn, newbie can take a shot without coughing it back up all over the counter." He gives said counter a smack, pleased with this outcome. "All right, kid, welcome to the big leagues. You are officially a booze drinker and a bar patron."

Church can feel the cash flowing into his pocket. Just gotta keep it up now. "Perfect. Now from here, I could either rec you some of the basic mixes, or I can start rattling off fancy cocktail names and have you pick out which ones sound the funniest. Maybe give me some flavors you like and I'll whip something together?" Hey, he doesn't hate everyone that comes in. He's kind of genuinely amused by this outing. "Worst comes to worst, I start lining up a shot of everything, but I don't want to be responsible for you puking up in the alley."

She's used to this. The burn of alcohol, the taste of whiskey as it goes through her at an incredibly fast pace. The fact that Sigma doesn't spit it back up is remarkable and she pats his back after their successful shot.

"One shot down. Tell the bartender what you're into and he can mix you up something else to try. I'll make sure you get home safely, so don't worry about how much you drink."

It's a very near thing, but he does keep it down. Coughing again, Sigma manages a smile.

"Thanks. Better figure out what I'm into, then," he says. "What other drinks should I know?"

If he's going to learn to drink, he's going to do it scientifically. The method has always served him well, after all. For now, that means figuring out the individual drinks before he starts mixing things up.

"Okay, as far as your basics go, you've got whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, brandy, tequila, and then you've got your beers and wine. There's a lot of other shit out there, like, you got absinthe and sake and mezcal and one and on and on." He motions behind him, where all the shiny labels and name brands are proudly displayed. "Different brands, different tastes, different alcohol contents. Top shelf's the smoothest, bottom shelf's for getting shitfaced on the cheap."

He gets out a few more shotglasses, shrugging. "If you wanna try as much of the base liquors as we got, I am happy to oblige before I start throwing everything in a mixer."

"You're not getting top shelf booze," she says immediately. That's not going to happen, not for an experimental night of drinking. And if Sigma isn't going to give the bartender something to work with, she will.

"Make him something sweet and easy to drink. Nothing too crazy."

"I mean, I'd be glad to try the base liquors," he says, copying the bartender's diction. "Unless that's what you recommend, Texas."

Yeah, he clearly has no idea what he's doing.

Yeaaaah, that much is pretty obvious. Perks of wearing his helmet indoors: the patrons don't get to see his eyes rolling around. "How about we cater to the lady." But he'll keep one shot out. For Tex. "Sounds like she's here to make sure you're safe and happy, and I, of course, am all for that."

Far as sweet and easy is concerned, hey, look, getting pretty much free reign to make what it wants is...pretty different. Most of the patrons know exactly what they want and how they want it. "Vodka cranberry it is," he declares, throwing together something that is sweet, easy to make, and easy to drink. "Hold the crazy."

"I would rather you not be throwing up in the bathroom later," she tells Sigma. Vodka cranberry is a good, safe choice. And if Sigma doesn't like it, she'll slide it on over for herself.

"I hope you like fruity, kid."

"I would rather not, too," he says. "Cranberry's good. I'll try it."

Cranberry's really good, actually. He's even excited.

Mkay, kid's starting to weird him out just a little, but whatever, maybe get him drunk and he'll loosen up. He nudges the drink over and lifts the bottle of whiskey back up and waggles it at the merc. "You indulging, too, cupcake, show him how to drink people under the table?"

"Call me cupcake again and the only thing garnishing my next drink will be your balls," she threatens casually as her eyes scan over the alcohol. "I'm holding off for now."

Sigma grins down at the bar. That's his sister, all right. Even if she didn't have Florida, he doubts she would put up with that kind of behavior.

"All the mercs have to have dumb nicknames. So okay, that one was too girly and generic. Maybe just bitchcakes. Pound-people-into-the-dirt-cakes is too much of a mouthful." He looks to the kid and hooks a thumb in Tex's direction. "What do you think? I mean, c'mon, it's hard to make a pun out of Soldier."

"Stick to Soldier and I won't have to find a way to take money from you instead of give it for the tip." If such a thing as a negative tip existed. She could find a way to make it happen, just for him.

And don't call her ma'am. Sigma knows that one, but he'd rather see the bartender figure that one out for himself.

Uh, ma'am is a sign of respect, so no, he never had any plans of calling a mer ma'am. "Nope. I'll find a nickname for one one of these days, just like Maine. Something other than 'big scary motherfucker'.

"Buuuuuut mercs aren't what we're here for, so how 'bout that smooth cran-vodka flavor, huh? Or maybe you're more of a rum and coke kinda guy. Or maybe you'll be sipping appletinis with Info Booth." Ugh, he feels dirty even mentioning Florida. That's like a speak of the devil situation.

"Info Booth? You mean Florida?" she asks with a raised brow. What the heck kind of nickname is that for the guy? "And yeah, you need to give that a try, kid. Otherwise how are we going to narrow down what you like?"

"I like the sound of the vodka cranberry," he says. "Let's go with that."

Though the rum and coke does sound good. Maybe some other time.

He might need a drink himself after tonight. C'moooon big tip! The drink sparkles that dark reddish and sweetly enticing. And really, who doesn't like vodka? Only crazy people don't like vodka.

As for Tex, "What? He's the Informant, so he's Info Booth. There's him, and Keys, and Rescue Ranger...I'm still working on Maine, but 'big scary motherfucker' is always appropriate, and then there's lovely lady french who needs a nickname yet because you guys keep fucking multiplying. Or you guys keep coming to my bar, anyway."

"What, you'd rather I didn't come by and shower you with my money? I could take my business elsewhere, tell the others the asshole at the bar doesn't want to deal with us anymore," she says, as if she's seriously considering it before shrugging it off. "Lucky for you, bar hunting is a pain in the ass."

"Lady French? You mean Louisiana?" He shouldn't be surprised that Louisiana came here, he supposes, but it's still a bit of a shock to hear the bartender mention her. Rescue Ranger is more obvious, as is Keys. He smiles fondly at the mention of his Thief.

He takes his drink from the counter and sips it, intrigued. It certainly tastes like cranberry juice, sweet but with the vodka giving a different kick than the usual sour flavor. It's good. Really good.

"Oh, oh yeah, 'lucky', that's exactly how I feel." There isn't any real anger or malice behind it. There's actually a lot of amusement behind it. No, he's not exactly a fan of the mercenaries, but they don't all suck all the time.

He clicks his fingers at Sigma. "Yeah, that chick. I was treating her like any other patron when Maine had to come up and let me know what was what. Talk about a shocker." Kiddo sure looks like he's enjoying himself, and Church leans his elbows on the bar. "So, kid's not a merc, so how are you two...?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she asks sharply. "You don't get paid to ask questions."

The Soldier having a family isn't exactly a connection she wants a lot of people to make and this asshole prying into that isn't helping to keep it hidden. If only she could say this was the most annoying conversation she's had with him.

Sigma's not a mercenary, but he seems to know all the mercs who are patrons at this bar. Whoops. Maybe he and Texas should have established a story earlier? He really doesn't want to give the line about him being Louisiana's rookie. That rumor doesn't need to travel any further than it already did.

"That sounds like Maine," he says instead. "He's very protective of her."

"Christ," Church yips, putting up his hands in case the Soldier is about to take a swing at him, "I'm just making fucking conversation like I've been doing this whole time. No need to get so worked the fuck up."

Means that whatever they are, they're low key. Also means this kid's important to her. Boyfriend? Family? Something along those lines. "I can keep a damn secret; we bartenders are basically like therapists." But whatever. "Who's up for a tequila sunrise? I'm up for a tequila sunrise. Let's get the kid a tequila sunrise." Yep, Church is the very best at transitioning and subject change.

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Alpha do you have super big-bro juice-remembering powers? Cranberry juice is his favorite!

...sure. let's go with that. sounds better than 'pulled from ass'

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