fandomtownies | Caritas | Sunday Evening

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Caritas | Sunday Evening

Fandom was a big change after spending a summer in Europe. Kind of a boring change. Oh well, one couldn't spend all of their lives sleeping with a different European guy whose name you couldn't really remember every night.

Well, you could, but that wouldn't help Wallace's argument with himself right now.

Screw it, he was just gonna get drunk.

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It really doesn't feel like Sunday.

It had been quite a while since Ronan had been to Caritas; with the new term about to start -- even if he, himself, wasn't quite governed by it anymore -- it seemed a good time to come by and see the differences, if any, since the last time.

"Got anything interesting on tap?" Ronan asked, taking a seat at the bar.

It really doesn't. I kept thinking yesterday was Tuesday.

"That depends. Do you find anything particularly interesting about beer?" he asked.

I'm reaching the part of unemployment where I don't realize what day it is until, like, noon. If I'm lucky.

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the beer," he pointed out. "Guinness is my usual poison, but I'd be willing to try just about anything other than what supposedly passes for beer in the States."

"A scotch, if you have it." If they no longer had scotch in 2011, Howard just might cry.

"I'm Canadian so I'm not the one to push domestic brands anyway," he said. "But maybe we should stick with the Guinness because I don't want to put up with remarks against my homeland if you don't like Canadian beer."

"Of course we have scotch." It was a bar and, not only that, a bar owned by Chuck Bass. "Can you afford the good stuff my boss drinks or am I gonna have to give you the stuff from the bottle with the dumb cartoon of the Scottish guy on it?"

Ronan chuckled a bit. "Probably safer," he agreed, grinning. "Guinness me, Barkeep!"

Thank god for that. "If you give me something with a cartoon on it, I'll have to find another bar," Howard informed him seriously.

Wallace grabbed a pint glass and wandered over towards the tap. "I can't make clover shapes in the foam but I don't think that affects the flavor any."

"All right then, the good stuff," Wallace said with a serious nod. "Just had to make sure. I hate when people who don't know what they're doing waste good scotch."

"People who don't know what good scotch is shouldn't order it," Howard replied. He was also the person who had a wet bar in his convertible. Next to the built in machine gun that was in case of cigarette girls' boyfriends taking offense to him stealing their girls.

"I think I'll survive." Ronan toyed with a coaster as the Guinness was poured. "I tend to find the clovers a bit trite, anyway."

Wallace's shoulders slumped a little in disappointment. God damn you, Howard's heterosexual narrative. He could have bagged him a rich one.

"This is true, but some people don't know any better," Wallace said after pouring the guy's drink and sliding it over. "It's like people who wear jeggings. It's not for everybody no matter how fashionable it might be."

Well, maybe if you were a musclebound super soldier with blond hair and dreamy blue eyes, Wallace...

"Jeggings?" Howard asked, taking a sip. It was decent enough.

"There's a bartender in Germany that can draw parts of the human anatomy in the foam," Wallace shared as he slid over Ronan's beer. "It's really impressive when he does boobs."

It took some skill to get nipples on there.

"Really, really tight jeans," Wallace explained, sounding a little distracted for a moment. No, no, he'd look terrible as a blonde. "Makes most people look like whales. Not a good look."

Ronan took a swallow of the Guinness, smiling broadly. "Ta, thanks," he said. "Does he limit himself to female anatomy, or is he..." He smirked. "Equal opportunity?"

Now that was a mental image. "Why would a man wear that?"

Because, of course, only in factories were where a dame wore pants.

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Caritas | Sunday Evening

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Back Room

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