gunsforhire | log: bar post #something

Wash raises his own glass and gingerly taps it against Delta's. "To spending time outside the house."

"That too," Delta chuckles, shaking his head. He smiles to himself and takes a sip of his drink. There, that's washed the taste of Wash's out of his mouth.

"I expect work has you busy lately. Lots of places have people desperate for a good time, or eager for supplies, stuff like that. I don't think I've worked so hard in a long time. Anyone who was out for even a fraction of a moment in the weird rain is practically begging us to completely clean their helmets.

He hums in agreement. He hadn't had any jobs while he'd been stuck inside thankfully. "I think I picked up some extra shifts since the rain just so people can go and get their stuff cleaned," he says easily. "That stuff was weird. I'm not surprised they want their helmets cleaned up. I'd be worried about it getting into the filters.

"Yeah, well most people got inside fast enough that it didn't. And the way the filters are angled, it's not really that much of a risk. But we clean them out anyway, because that's the job."

He shrugs. Life is never fun, and while he loves his work, sometimes people are pretty clueless about stuff.

"It keeps you guys in business, although I imagine there's rarely a shortage of that considering everything about this planet." Someone was making a lot of money here.

"We keep in good business ourselves," Delta chuckles, shaking his head. "We spent a lot of time on standard repairs and stuff. But I like the work. I help people in a lot of ways. I just... with it was as good as it used to be."

"Used to be?" he asks curiously. Have things been getting worse here somehow?

"If I was an artist you would say I lost my inspiration," Delta shrugs.

"Maybe you need a hobby," Wash suggests. "That's what people have been telling me I need anyway."

"This sort of is my hobby," Delta counters. Other than this he's got reading. Sure. Whatever. He's not happy often anymore, and that's on him. "I'm too busy for a real hobby."

"Seems like a reasonable hobby. Plenty of people socialise as a hobby." He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. "I run. And train. But apparently they're not actually hobbies for me."

"I imagine," Delta shrugs. "They are work. Like helmets are for me..."

He sighs, running his finger around the rim of his cup. He's... drained. The smile he's been putting on fades a bit. "What's it like, moving to a new place? Meeting new people and doing new things and..."

Escaping the past.

It's so much more than that and he can't even explain. He sighs, shoulders slumping a little.

"Hard," he says. "When I first enlisted, it was the first time I'd ever been away from home honestly. Hated the place, but I missed it like crazy at first. Like a- an ache I couldn't shake. And it's tiring. Even just buying food is more difficult because you don't know where to go. You have to throw yourself into the unknown just to find a cup of coffee."

"Oh," Delta sighs, shaking his head. "So you wouldn't recommend it."

Not that Delta would actually do it. But sometimes... he wants to dream about something different.

"I didn't say that. I was glad to get away from that pit of a colony. And being here... It's exhausting, sure. But I get to find new places. Decide where I want to go without worrying about anyone else."

Delta sighs at that one. It's... almost wistful. What would it be like, out there, on his own, no one relying on him but himself?

"I wish I could taste that. Having to worry only about me. No burdens on me but my own life. No expectations of me."

He both hates and longs for it. And hates himself for longing for it.

"I think I need another drink."

"It's on me," Wash says. "Same again?" he asks, gesturing to the drink.

"The trouble is, you find out you have expectations of yourself."

"Something fruity," Delta decides, but he's not certain what.

Expectations of himself? Delta can't help but chuckle and shake his head. "Survival. My certification. Those would be my expectations. Not be someone people shaped the life of. They... I've made a decision for myself once. And was forced back out of it. Sure, it gave me my job, but that's all."

His other decisions, he's made two other... Dating Maine. Breaking Maine's heart. And isn't that what his life keeps coming back to.

"It's not just survival though. It's how you survive. That's... harder than it should be sometimes." His desire to survive was strong and he'd thought it was at any cost but now? He's not so sure.

Fruity is good. And considering who the bartender is, he's sure they can figure something out. He gestures for Church. "Any suggestions for something fruity for my friend?" he asks.

He hasn't been eavesdropping. Too much. Guy's got clients to take care of, here, c'mon, he's not here to listen in on everything. Church wanders on over. "I have no end to fruity concoctions. Seriously. Thought he wanted choco-coffee booze?"

"How you survive?" Delta asks, quite confused. "I'm not sure I understand the distinction."

But now Church is here so Delta sighs and straightens up in his seat as best he can. "I had that. Drank it. Almost gone, see? So now I need something else. No tequila please."

Well jeez, Delta, don't look so overjoyed to see him or anything. "Yeah, I do actually have eyes under here, so I do see. Do you want me to mentally spin the wheel of fruity fortune?"

"Is it 'survive at all costs'? Is it... survive out of hope or out of spite or because you don't know how to do anything else?" He definitely hadn't survived out of hope of something better. He was just too stubborn and angry and bitter to lie down and die.

"Oh, I'll do that!" Wash says when it's offered. New drinks to try is something he's totally up for.

"What about survive because it's the only thing I know how to do?" Delta suggests to Wash before returning his attention to his older brother.

"Spin the wheel please. For both of us."

Are they just...are they just ignoring the sarcasm or trying to make his life harder? Or both? No reason it can't be both. "Wheel of fruit cocktails, turn turn turn," he grumbles, slinging together the first things he can think of that are fruit and also not tequila.

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