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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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.

Church is fortunate she's not looking to start a bar fight while she's out with her brother. Punching out the bartender is a fast track to having to head home and make her own drinks.

"Make two. I'm going to need a light buzz if this means anything for the rest of the night."

"A therapist, for mercenaries? No wonder you want such good tips," he jokes. Most of his friends tend to be level-headed, but he can see the need. He watches the bartender make the drinks, curious to see what a tequila sunrise entails (beyond the obvious tequila).

See? Kid knows how to lighten the mood. Some kinda counterpoint to Tex's high-fucking-strung attitude. If he took off his helmet right now, he's be grinning. (It would also be a mostly fake grin, but nobody would have to know about that since he's not taking his helmet off.) He'll throw two together, flipping the jigger around his fingers fancily. Not many ingredients, easy and smooth, as requested.

"Maybe I'll shut my face and let the kid help you work out your short fuse anger issues." Out of habit, he pops a little umbrella in each, and he mentally curses himself because he wasn't going to fucking touch the fucking umbrellas but that's part of the drink it's tropical it gets umbrellas fuck you Washington.

"Pretty shitty therapist," she grumbles. But hey, she now has a drink in front of her with her favorite tequila mixed into it. So things aren't nearly as bad as they were a moment ago. Small perks.

"You talk this way to all the mercenaries that come in?"

"Hope not. It's probably not a good way to keep people from getting angry," he says. "Though the umbrella is a nice touch."

This drink is even sweeter than the last one. Not bad, though he wishes he knew the flavor of the syrup. Isn't tequila Tex's favorite?

"Hey, my head's still attached to my neck, isn't it? I'd say I do pretty well navigating mercs." He's even liked by some of them, so there!

"Could do without the added frou frou," she says and sets her umbrella in Sigma's drink. Kid could use a second one and who did she look like? Wash? "Keep them as souvenirs."

"Thanks?" He isn't sure what he'll do with them, but they do look nice. He lets them be for now. Later on, he'll pocket them, but they aren't in the way yet.

"So is this place local mercs only, or do you get a lot of tourists who have to learn the rules?" he asks.

Okay whatever so kid isn't a wacko fan of umbrellas, good to know. "Dude, if this place was mercs only, I would not be working here. A lot of them just happen to filter through here. I guess it means we're just that good of a watering hole."

"Something like that," she says with a shake of her head. "Don't give yourself too much credit. You don't charge out the ass for drinks and are easy to ignore when you start asking too many questions."

"You do that to everyone," he says. Well, except for the twins, because nobody would ever ignore them. "Don't take it personally."

"Eh, I never do. Trust me, kid, I'm used to being ignored." Insert dramatic sigh here. "Woe is me."

"He sticks around me too long to take it be taking personally." Yet, he never hits on her. She's not sure what his deal is.

"At least you're good at the job you do?" he says, finishing his drink. "Both the serving and dealing with people ignoring you?"

"You got your rowdy customers, you got your drunkards, those you learn to handle. Then you got the mercs. I dunno how long you've been around them, but you tend to learn how to keep your head on. Or down. Sometimes down is better."

The look under his helmet would be pointed if Sigma could see it. Learn when to duck; it's important.

But he beams with a little pride. "I am good at my job, though. How are you handling the drink? Fill'er up? How about you, Tin Soldier, or are you ignoring me now? Still working on that name."

"Yeah, you better keep working on it." Tin Soldier? Really? "And I'm fine. He's the one you need to worry about keeping filled up."

She's sipping at this drink. If she's getting him home safely after this she wants to make sure she's still in her right mind.

Sigma is learning when to duck, actually. It comes of training with mercenaries.

"'s good," he says. "A little sweet, though? I liked the vodka cranberry better. Do you have anything else with that kind of sour kick?"

He's feeling relaxed but not quite lightheaded. While he doesn't want to overdo it, one more drink should be good, right?"

"Come on, you know you love me." Enough to not kick his ass! Yet.

"Sour, huh? Lessie...simple and sour means we take some gin," like so, "and lemon juice, a liiittle sugar, and some fizz to kick it up." Quick and easy, just the way he likes them. Um, to make them. The drinks. "Badda bing badda bang, gin fizz. Lemon-y and bubbly."

She rolls her eyes at that. Love him like hell she does.

"And a glass of water for him," she says and has another drink. "Last thing you want to do is encourage a hangover."

The banter makes him grin into his drink. This one has a good sour kick to it, just what he asked for. He would rather not have a hangover, though, he'll defer to Texas on how to stay hydrated.

"Whatever the lady prefers," he says with an exaggerated bow. "Your wish is my command!" No but really water is good, and he'll slide over a bowl of pretzel bits to boot. "Food's also good to help prevent the hangovers, dude. We'll see if you're a lightweight or if you'll be drinking the Black Parade here under the table."

"Black Parade?" She snorts at that. Not only is the nickname stupid, but Sigma drinking her under the table? Never going to happen. "You're making me sound like a plague cloud coming into town."

Sigma sets aside his gin fizz and drinks his water as instructed. The pretzel bits sounds really good too, actually.

He doubts he'll be drinking his sister under the table. Even if alcohol tolerance is genetic, he might not have the same genes, and he certainly doesn't have her experience. "Wouldn't I know by now if I were a lightweight?" he asks.

"I dunno, Texas. It depends who asks."

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