AFTERPARTY III: Never Have I Ever Been Quite This Drunk

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[There's absolutely nothing celebratory about this drinking party. "Party" isn't even the right word, not really-- it's more like a "drink until you forget and/or black out" session for anyone who wants to participate, and even the bartender isn't immune from that much. Please forgive him if your drink isn't mixed quite right; he's trying his best under the circumstances.

There's food, too, if anyone wants to attempt to stave off a hangover tomorrow, or just get something in their stomach after the events of the day: stirfry from Makoto, vegetable soup from Nageki (mediocre, but hey, a genuine effort was made and that's what counts), and some tea for those who would rather abstain from the harder stuff. (Is that even many people tonight? Probably not.)

Come on by the bar if you're hungry or want a drink, or even if you just don't want to be alone right now. That much, at least, is something that can be guaranteed tonight.]

Comments

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You've... had too many.

[States the bartender, who has also definitely had a few more than he really should by this point and probably should not still be trying to mix drinks.]

'Course, so've I, so that makes us even.

[heroicact]

But if you can still say that, Marcus -- remember?

Then neither of us have drunk enough.

[It's completely mysterious what Marcus is supposed to be remembering, Jack picking up the thread of conversation like they've been in a dialogue all night when most likely he'd only exchanged greetings and nudges for drinks at some point.

But he manages a slightly more alert smile and perches his chin on the bar, watching Marcus at whatever mixing he's trying to do now, or if he's just bustling about doing bartender things... more or less competently.]

Take a break with me? We can... race. Maybe.

[This is yet another thing where maybe a race doesn't make sense, but. Who's counting.]

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[To his credit, the drink he's mixing right now is reasonably close to the recipe when one considers that he isn't actually measuring the proportions and is too drunk to be trying to eyeball them. Passable, certainly, if nothing else...

... now if only he could remember who he was supposed to be making this for. Where did they go? After a moment of looking around doesn't manage to jog his memory, he shrugs and... bottoms up.]

Suppose you're right. And now I've had one more.

[...]

Kinda hard to make it a race when I don't... have any idea how many you've had, though...

[heroicact]

[Muscle memory, it's all muscle memory, just like the tap-tap-tap of Jack's fingers against the counter occasionally when he remembers some snatch of melody; sometimes he hums them, sometimes he just plays them out silently and without any particular fanfare, but there's always at least a little noise coming from him when he's up here, usually.

For what a week's worth of bar-diving has established, anyway -- tonight he's remarkably quiet otherwise even if he's still engaging in conversation.

His smile tilts a little more as Marcus finishes off his drink, all spontaneous.]

More than five... less than fifteen? I was counting, but... [maybe at some point he lost track, somewhere between being maudlin and people appearing at the bar] Can start from zero. I won't tell.