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Caritas, Sunday Evening

The Olympics were over which meant there would be no more slacking off in the back room. Until football season started in earnest, that is.

Look, Guy was big into his football, okay?

This would probably end with Tino wearing a soccer jersey just to piss him off on those days. Tino was a terrible person like that.

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Where the band might have been playing 'The Final Countdown' all damn night.

Demetrius Dorian Devdan Jones was not nearly done singing. After his triumph at the open mike, he went over to Caritas for a covers set. His interpretations of Bowie, Morrissey, and T. Rex were subtle, nuanced, and stunningly performed. He'd play until someone told him to shut up.

Or until the stench of the zombies got too much to bear.

Where Guy was nursing a beer and reading what appeared to be the Daily Planet.

"A beer in celebration of the Olympics ending?"

That was actually a request, not a question about his beverage.

Also, a hello.

Why can't it be both?

Guy glanced up from the paper, taking a contemplative sip of his beer. "Yep. Now I can stop pretending to care about water polo."

"No one cares about water polo." She snapped her fingers, then patted the bar in front of her. Because just telling him to give her a beer would be too easy. "Closing ceremonies weren't shit, though, I guess."

Spoken like someone pretending she hadn't maybe grooved a bit to that weird version of Blur's Parklife.

"Yeah, I can see you being a big fan of the Spice Girls." Oh, he went there.

He also poured her a beer. Because he was a nice boyfriend like that.

Sarah would have argued against two separate words in that sentence.

But she was busy reaching for the beer and bitchfacing at him. Also, she couldn't read narrative. "Ew."

"Girl power," Guy teased. "What was that team you were in...?"

"Watch it," Sarah groused, "or I'll give you lady trouble to worry about."

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Jonothon could have watched the Olympic closing ceremonies tonight. He could have at least attempted to find a stream of it online somewhere after he'd managed to chase all of the Open Mic patrons out of his theatre. Except for how he'd had to chase all of the bloody Open Mic patrons out of his theatre. Funny how that worked.

"I need something stiff," he managed through grit teeth. "Something very, very stiff."

"My apartment just exploded stiff, or I dinged my car stiff?"

"I'm a former would-be professional musician robbed of my ability to perform for the better part of a decade, made to sit back and witness a veritable procession of self-righteous no-effort talent that would make all of the greats through history feel self-conscious to the point of considering retirement... stiff."

About that stiff.

The parade of perfect people today made Jono really, really want to punch things.

"..." Guy shrugged, grabbing the man a bottle of whiskey and placing it down. No glass needed. "Try not to pass out on the bar. I don't know where to send the rickshaw."

Jonothon and his flair for the dramatic had no plans to pass out on the bar, Guy!

... Of course, best laid plans and all.

Either way, he nodded and reached for the bottle, taking a long pull from it before slouching forward a bit with a sigh.

"Please tell me I'm not the only one who's been plagued by princesses and rockstars and... princess rockstars, this weekend?"

"...can't say I've noticed any." Because you haven't left your house, Guy.

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"Where's the girl who was here last night?" Demetrius asked, once he'd given up on the singing. "April? I liked her."

Not that tonight's eye candy was much worse, so Guy got a quick grin anyhow.

Guy eyed the kid right on back. He hung out with Kyle Rayner and didn't go gay. Keep on walkin', kid.

"At home, I assume."

"Oh." Guy didn't seem inclined to elaborate or even to flirt back, which put Demetrius into a quiet sulk that didn't at all compliment his leopard-print chiffon pirate shirt and ironic skinny jeans. "Can I have a Jim Beam anyhow, straight up?"

BECAUSE DUDE LOOKED LIKE A LADY. BUT WAS STILL A DUDE.

Guy rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle to pour the kid a glass. "I'll tell you what I told the last guy: I'm not dragging your ass out of here if you pass out on the bar."

"I don't pass out on bars," Demetrius said, rolling his eyes. "I'm a rock star and half-vampire. It's genetically impossible."

"...riiiight. How's that workin' for you?"

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Where you could sit back and relax.

Where the television was not on for a change.

Downstairs neighbors are making curry. So hungry now.

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