ataraxionlogs | our troubles are all the same

CHARACTERS: Wichita and YOU. well, the bartenders and bar regulars. or not-regulars!
LOCATION: Space Babylon
WARNINGS: booze?
SUMMARY: No special occasion here, just an open post for anybody that frequents the space bar. mix and mingle, friends. put up open threads for your characters, or talk to Wichita, or. whatever. anything goes!

[ it's been nearly a week since the last jump, and Wichita's still in a shit mood. which she hates to admit, but it's the truth. she misses Brendan, way way too much. no really, it's too much. she's furious with herself for letting herself get that attached to someone, because she knew, she knew this could happen and it's still chewing up her insides like something our of a dramatic chickflick. her life feels like a sad, sappy little montage from a really terrible space-romance movie right now, and it's making her feel even worse than losing him in the first place. she isn't getting trashed ( at least, she hasn't yet ) and she isn't wasting bullets at the gun range, she's just- doing nothing. at the bar. she's spending all her time at the bar like serving drinks and distracting herself with other people's problems will make hers go away.

it's failing, but whatever. it's easier to not get angry or sad over the situation if she doesn't let herself think about it too much.

so there she is, behind the bar, Jenna's iPod providing a decent mix of tunes over the speakers possibly a little too loud because she doesn't care to overhear anybody's conversations today. either that, or she's too lazy to turn down the volume. either way. she's not looking all that approachable ( at least, not as much as she usually does while she's here ), but she'll probably be the one mixing your drinks today, so. hope you're not too put-off by that. then again, if you're somebody she actually wants to talk to, she might stretch a smile across her face for your benefit. which is the closest thing to a 'no please come talk to me' you'll ever get from her. ]

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[ oh wait, now this entire exchange is kind of ringing a bell. there's a moment for his brain to catch up, and then he points an accusatory finger. ]

You're the weird bastard with the wolves, aren't you.

[ he means the awkward bestiality jokes, obviously, but oh the irony. ]

[ stiles blanches. his voice breaks on his protest. ]

What? Dude, what the hell!

[ he makes frantic flapping downwards motions, hisses, ]

Keep your freaking voice down.

[ wow okay, not the kind of enthusiasm he was expecting from a stray bestiality reference, but- ]

Jesus, calm down-

[ except hold up, there's only one conclusion to draw from such a defensive reaction, and his voice definitely does not get any quieter when he continues. in fact, it's more one of those 'eureka' exclamations than anything. ]

You're an actual wolf fucker.

Uh, what?

[ wow, that was not. what he was expecting. stiles goes from confused, to disbelieving, to deeply deprecatory. ]

Yeah, that's totally it, good job, Sherlock.

[ but at least he's pretty sure he's worked out who this asshole is. he's more irish than stiles imagined. ]

You're the dude that's into shapeshifters.

[ if you think nathan isn't suspicious as hell after that reaction, you are wrong as hell, buddy. except he blatantly just things you're actually into bestiality, so at least there's that. ]

What? No. I wouldn't say "into" so much as intrigued and eager to expand my worldly knowledge, thank you. And besides, I'm only asking the questions everyone's thinking.

[ because it's not like finding out this sort of shit exists should bring to mind more important, existential questions. screw that, he'll stick with making a mockery of it. speaking of mockery, have some shallow vitriol. ]

Do you even drink?

[ see also: you don't look like you could handle wine coolers. ]

[ sure, okay, whatever you say nathan. it's not like stiles has room to protest, because they are kind of the questions he thinks slash asks himself. ]

I'm behind the bar, aren't I?

[ stiles gives him the sarcastic wide eyes, even though that doesn't really answer the question. but he clarifies pretty quickly. ]

Yeah, I drink.

[ now i am really curious about stiles' google search history. ]

Anybody can be behind the bar. I'm usually behind it, and that certainly doesn't mean anything.

[ but he can sense a challenge where one may or may not be, so instead of arguing further, he nods towards one of the bottles near stiles. ]

Give us that one, then.

[ stiles looks at the bottle, and then back at nathan. ]

The whole bottle?

[ man, he doesn't work here, he's not even sure if he should be charging money. ]

[ instead of answering, nathan just makes an annoyed face and more or less lunges over the bar, leaning across it to grab the bottle up himself. then he digs a few shot glasses out from nearer the front of the bar before leaning back with a pleased grunt (yes that is what it is ok) and setting out the glasses.

although actually, the whole bottle sounds like a reasonably good idea. so he pops off the top, takes a swig, and then pours a shot as an afterthought - presumably for stiles. ]

If you drink, why is it you're in a free bar and not drinking? Come on, sort your life out, man.

I was really only here to see Wichita.

[ who had, actually, talking him into having a drink, so he's not running on empty, here. regardless, he takes the shot, eyes it for a second, and then gives in thoroughly to peer pressure and tosses it back. it burns like rocket fuel, and he sputters a bit. ]

Oh my god, what the hell is that.

[ it's not bourbon, that's for sure. he thinks it might be stripping his stomach lining as they speak. ]

[ nathan smiles at the reaction, giving the bottle an amused, almost fond look. ]

Yeah, there isn't much to be said for the future's taste in booze, I'll give you that.

[ but then he refills stiles' glass before taking another drink. he grimaces, but it's only very, very slightly. ]

But it gets the job done.

So uh, why are we drinking?

[ an amateur's question, obviously. ]

[ he looks genuinely confused by the question. maybe even slightly offended. ]

Why wouldn't we be? Have you got a job to get to in the morning?

[ no, because nobody works in space!! or at least nathan doesn't, so clearly nobody else does, either. ]

[ he wasn't really protesting, just curious. still at the point in his life where a reason, even a flimsy one like "it's a party" or "my friend got dumped", is necessary. ]

Yeah, I'm on Flight Crew.

[ stiles shrugs a shoulder and tosses back his shot anyway, because if he's hungover he won't be the only one, and besides. there's plenty to do that will put him away from other people. he pulls another face. ]

Oh my god, I'm drinking something else. There cannot actually be a liquid in this ship that tastes worse than that.

[ he starts going through some of the other bottles. ]

Yeah, good luck with that.

[ but he's smiling and may even sound slightly fond. because yes, drinking is the best way to bond quickly, and there's something about playing the 'big brother getting his younger brother trashed' role that nathan has a soft spot for.

and he happens to have a very intimate knowledge of all of the booze behind the bar, so assuming stiles has a preference for a certain kind of normal alcohol, he might be able to offer up a reasonable facsimile. ]

What's your poison of choice?

Jack, usually.

[ he picks up something that's blue, actually blue, and squints at it. ]

Hell yes.

[ weird coloured booze usually tastes like candy, right? that's the rule? and okay, for all he knows this is some weird blue space monster's weird blue space jizz, but he'll take that risk. he pours himself a shot. ]

Here's to living on a lawless spaceship.

[ and down the hatch it goes. it's a cold burn, and vaguely sweet, he wrinkles his nose a little, but doesn't complain. ]

our troubles are all the same

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this is awful

this is the greatest

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why do i keep trying to get your characters drunk

because you're a terrible human being who plays terrible characters

no.....

yep

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