tequila shots // [Aya]

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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 1:02:47 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Dec 30, 2015 1:02:47 GMT -5

She didn't drink for any particular reason except to get drunk.

It was a ritual, see; every Friday night she'd take up all the money she'd stolen over the past week and trek over to the dingy bar on the outskirts of District Two, and every time she went she wouldn't recognize the faces of the people inside.

Save for the bartenders, mind you.

Leaning up against the bar in a shadowed corner where nobody was likely to both her, Spoke took four shots of tequila and wiped her mouth with her ragged sleeve, staring around at the strange idiot faces crowded around the bar's cheap wooden tables.

Last Edit: Dec 30, 2015 1:04:21 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 1:27:42 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Dec 30, 2015 1:27:42 GMT -5

Bruce prefers whiskey. For the pain, he'd been told, once upon a time.

He's sure she didn't mean for the one-off invitation to raid her father's paltry liquor cabinet to become an invitation to drink himself numb three, four, five nights a week — but he's sure that she didn't mean to take an axe to the face, either.

This dive isn't his usual haunt, but Bruce's daily commute had taken a detour past the old shack where he'd gotten his first sip of the stuff however many years ago, had taken him through the fence and around the crooked branches of the old scarred tree, and all the way back to the seedier side of District Two.

He doesn't expect to recognize anyone, and yet here he is. He never was any good with names, but Bruce Johnwayne does not forget faces and this one — this one's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite —

He saunters over to the corner, chest puffed and senseless with scotch (or whatever ashy water they tried to pass for the stuff) and oblivious to the two-eyed fuck off she may as well be shouting at him.

"You... I've seen you around," he slurs, fist curled around his short glass. "You're... who the hell are you?"

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Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 1:51:52 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Dec 30, 2015 1:51:52 GMT -5

A burly nobody sauntered over to her corner, but her mind had a sting from the booze and it made her all numb, so she didn't react as immediately as she should have.

She shouldda turned her back before he could open his chimpanzee mouth.

"You... I've seen you around," he said with little conviction. "You're... who the hell are you?"

He looked like an asshole, but that wasn't saying much from a girl who thought pretty much everyone was an asshole. Her eyes glazed over out of annoyance as she motioned at the bartender for another shot, and it wasn't until she was about to speak that she actually took the liberty to acknowledge him.

"Hollow," she replied, staring him up and down without recognition. "The fuck you want?"

(She took her fifth shot.)

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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 2:23:06 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Dec 30, 2015 2:23:06 GMT -5

"Hollow."

He sure as shit feels that way. But that's why he's got that glass in his left, to fill the empty space in his chest with fire until he can figure out why it's there at all.

"The fuck you want?"

Never in his life has Bruce Johnwayne been able to answer that question. The fuck you want, Bruce?

Far as his hazy mind can tell, two things:

1. To figure out why he knows Hollow
2. To stop feeling so fucking useless

He drains his glass.

3. More whiskey.

"Feel hollow," he slurs, a confession she never asked for. "I'd like to..."

like to maybe not do that, he thinks, but can't quite figure out how to articulate.

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
Retired Staff

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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 2:42:15 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Dec 30, 2015 2:42:15 GMT -5

His voice slurs like he's just been hit in the head by a mallet, but it's just the booze working its way through his system. It's this kind of sloppy no-good recklessness that reminds Spoke to slow down, so she pushes her shot glass out of reach and stares at his as he empties it and makes a move to order another.

Spoke Hollow and basic human decency don't generally go together in the same sentence, but she points a meaningful look at the bartender and tries to orient herself between the chimpanzee boy and the bar.

"Feel hollow? The whiskey can do that. Burns a hole right through ya," she nods, hoping that he gets the picture. "You know what they say about a glass half full.." She grabs a glass of water from the bartender. "Here, have one."

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tequila shots // [Aya] Dec 30, 2015 3:10:14 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Dec 30, 2015 3:10:14 GMT -5

He trades his empty tumbler for the glass that Hollow hands him a taller glass, which he suspects is water, despite its lack of clarity. Graciously, he accepts.

"Right through ya," he agrees into the glass, the words echoing around and right back at him. "Burns worse with nothin' to burn through." It's coherent in his mind if nowhere else.

Drunk as all fuck, and still his first reaction is to ask the scariest girl in the room to fix his problems. The instinct falls somewhere between utter lack of common sense and familiarity.

"Swear I've seen you b'fore," he mutters, curiosity getting the better of him. "Can't place it. Round here maybe? 'm here a lot, used to be. Brother lives around here, visited more 'fore his kids—" he draws a hand across his throat in simple gesture, then reconsiders a brings a hand to his forehead, cleaving it in two with the side if his thumb.

No one cares, Bruce. He shakes his head. Stop being a little bitch.

"...not that you asked. Sorry."