at all costs /mars & alex

"Yo, Lex, done counting yet?" yells Mars as he dumps dirty mop water down the drain in the broom closet behind the bar.

It's near four but he only kicked their last patron out about twenty minutes back once he was certain that the poor sod wouldn't wind up face down in a canal. Bast had always been pretty firm with him, had told Mars that they should leave things up to fate as fate had a way of making things go her way anyway, but Mars has never subscribed to that thinking.

Also, how's the Styx supposed to go on running if she keeps losing her patrons to the sea?

"Come on babe, just waiting on you!"

He kicks the mop bucket upside down into the closet to drain the water out and then kicks the door shut too. Everyone else has gone home except for Lennon, the Styx' head of security, but she basically lives out of her office anyway.

He walks through the tables to make sure he hasn't missed a spill while he waits and that's when he sees it, a shot glass full to the brim with amber liquid. The table's still wet from where he wiped it down only moments ago though. 

"Fuck," he mutters and he picks it up and drinks it back. It burns going down and Mars can't help but wrinkle his nose and stick his tongue out as if that will help the taste leave him. He isn't much of a drinker, not now at least, his mind already holds enough secrets without alcohol.

Mars drops himself heavily onto a barstool, head slightly heavy from the shots Alex had been pouring him through their shift. It's a stupid game, hide the shot in plain sight and if your bar mate sees it, they have to drink it. Alex is pretty good at it but Mars isn't bad either. If he's feeling it then she has to be too, so Mars'll walk her home this morning becuase he couldn't bear it if something happened to her.

Connections feel so fragile when you have so few of them.

The light is still on in the office, Mars can see it leaking out from the backroom, so he rests his chin in his hands and shuts his eyes for just a moment. He's been waking up through the day lately, sleep interrupted by a thought he can't hold on to. Trying to remember his dreams is like chasing smoke but he feels like there's a clue in there.

Once awake, he lays there for a long while, sunlight pushing through the gap where his curtains don't fully cover the window and he listens to the sound of the ocean until he falls back asleep. Sometimes he doesn't, like yesterday. He got up and made a grilled cheese instead and took it out onto the beach to eat it.

The gulls wouldn't leave him alone.

Mars regrets it now as his head sinks down to rest on the bar top that he wiped down about half an hour ago. It takes a good scrub to get the night's drinks off of it. It smells slightly of lemon now, Vin switched cleaning suppliers last month for the better price.

"Leeeex," he calls out, "C'mon I can finish things up tomorrow night."

He's probably tending alone anyway, Tuesdays tend to be their slowest night. As he waits, he reaches over the bar top to grab a shot glass and then pulls a mickey of vodka out from where he always stows it beneath the edge of the counter. Maybe it's a little cruel to leave the shot on the counter directly in front of the door to the back, but it's her own fault for making him wait and payback is payback.