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Caritas | Sunday

The bar was like a ghost town. Uh, if Tino was a ghost. Maybe Tino had done something to make it so eerily quiet. Or maybe it was that there was no bartender to save customers from Tino's insanity.

No matter, Caritas was open.

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>:O

After a day spent attempting to put together his cast, Genesis had been more than willing to get out of his theatre and head to the bar.

There were some things, truly, only a drink could help.

He got a stiff drink from Tino and watched the band. That, he was still dubious about. It seemed like a poor idea, having dead people be your band.

Edited 2011-01-31 01:36 (UTC)

Reno had been on his way here for a much-needed drink after a long day of being thoughtful, an' shit.

And, okay, for the weekend, which had been more than a little bit draining. And just because, damn it, it had been a few days.

But there Genesis was, already here, and there Reno was, making faces as he found his way to his usual spot, because like hell he was going to let this guy ruin that much for him even if it was just a couple of stools down, and ordering... whatever the cheapest swill he could get from this place tonight was.

No, really.

"Tino, my man? Gimmie the cheapest swill you got, tonight."

Good stuff.

Horrible stuff.

Genesis took a sip of his drink--now that was the good stuff--and drawled. "Surely you've not killed all your taste buds?"

"Nope," Reno replied, drumming his fingers on the bar and narrowing his eyes a little, "but I'm workin' in it. I got two or three left that I think I can get rid of tonight, yo."

Tino set the glass on the bar, and then went to fill it, and Reno reached forward to grab his hand.

"Bottle, Tino. Bottle."

It was a bottle night. He could tell already.

"The night before class?" Genesis sounded--vastly amused, actually. "It will amaze me if you can stand for tomorrow."

Reno gave Genesis a sidelong look, and then picked up the bottle and took a swig.

Yep. This shit was cheap.

"I'm fulla surprises," he replied, after swallowing. "I'm a Turk, zoto. I don't know what SOLDIER does to get their heads on again after a mission, but we spend our time socializin', yo."

Read: Getting drunk together in whatever bar they were closest to at the time. Possibly in the slums, because those ones were cheaper.

"No," he mused, "you spend the time getting drunk. Too much guilt to handle sober?"

... Genesis had never pretended to be a nice man.

Reno wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. Not immediately. There was a long, long silence there. One that was punctuated by a long pull from the bottle. And then Reno reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold Gil coin, and flicked it across the counter at Tino.

"Trade that in for the gold, that'll be three bottles worth of this shit," he said, to the bartender. "I'll grab the other two before I go. I'll pay American next time."

Another swig.

"Turks don't do guilt," he said, finally. "That ain't part of the friggin' job."

"You're not doing the job right now," murmured Genesis, smirking. "Not so much of a Turk at all."

It was funny, wasn't it, how it actually was possible for someone to grind his teeth loudly enough to be heard, even inside a bar, over the musical stylings of a zombie band?

"Said the SOLDIER who directs bad art for a livin'."

"That's merely a diversion of mine," he replied, not rising to the jibe about his theatre. "My mission has little to do with the theatre."

Unlike yours, his tone implied.

"What makes you think I ain't here on Turk business, myself?"

... He wasn't, anymore. But it wasn't like Genesis needed to know that.

Reno took another mouthful.

"You're domesticated," Genesis pointed out with a snort. "Setting up house with a girlfriend. Openly."

No real Turk would do that.

Too dangerous.

"Yeah. An' Tseng threw a shitfit when he found out about that," Reno countered, scowling at his bottle anyhow.

Domesticated.

Another mouthful, still. An inhale that turned into a hostile sort of sniff, and then he set the bottle down on the bar and scowled at nothing in particular.

"Nearly called me back just to prove a point, once."

"Shocking," he replied, almost absently. "I cannot see why he'd be pleased with you in any aspect."

Drunk, settling down, getting more attached to the students than the Turks...

"His own fault," Reno snapped, turning to glower at Genesis with his lip curled back in what was nearly a snarl. "He's the one that sent me here in the first place. On the President's orders, zoto."

Back when they gave a shit about the President's orders.

And not the President that Genesis probably had in mind. Ah, timelines.

(_|_)

Boobman will save us.

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Caritas | Sunday

Stage

Bar

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Lounge

Back Room

OOC | Caritas