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Caritas, Sunday

It was Atton's first day on the job. So far, it wasn't too hard.

Admittedly, half the reason he wasn't doing too badly was that he'd yelled "FIX IT YOURSELF" at the zombie band the first three times someone had lost a digit, and after that, they'd left him alone. He was left eyeing the bottles, contemplating what kind of bartender he wanted to be.

Doing flashy tricks seemed like a great way to never get to laze out during any bar shift, ever. So that was out.

Maybe he'd do 'broody in the corner'? He'd just have to kick Tino out of it first.

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Cara's ability to show up for her own shifts had been remarkably absent of late, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to show up for Atton's first.

Because friends mocked friends.

"Having fun?"

"I've got control over an enormous amount of alcohol and the zombies are leaving me alone," Atton said. He scratched the back of his neck. "For a first night, this isn't so bad."

Cara leant back with her elbows on the bar. "Tino behaving?"

"Might've locked him in the broom closet," Atton admitted.

That got a small, genuine laugh out of her.

"I'l admit I've never done that." At least in part because she'd be tempted not to let him out again.

"I figure if I get to him early, he'll learn his lesson and not give me any poodoo," Atton said, shrugging. "We'll see how long it lasts."

Knowing his luck...

"What can I get you?"

"It's Tino." His inability to learn was astonishing.

"I'll live dangerously," Cara said. "Surprise me."

"All right, but it's your funeral," said Atton.

He had no intention of making her anything terrible. In fact, he was getting the bottle of real juma juice he'd found at the back of the stock.

"So you already found out how we get new members for the band," Cara joked.

"Hey, if this job involves murdering people with drinks, I at least want a raise," Atton said, pulling up a longball glass and filling it up for her. "My rates used to be much higher than what Kitty's paying me."

"At least you got paid for it," Cara said without batting an eyelid. "Some of us had to be content with the glory an honour of serving."

"You should've stabbed whoever your boss was and walked away from it," Atton decided, pushing the glass her way. "Even Revan paid his assassins."

Cara picked up the glass and sipped it warily. Not because she distrusted Atton, but to see how strong it was.

"Should have, but I believed it at the time." And one day she'd get all the way to realising just how deeply fucked up that was. "Though technically, we did more torture than assassinations."

Specificity was important.

Atton pulled up a smaller glass to pour one of his own, and totally not so he wasn't looking at Cara when he said, "It was more or less 50-50 for me."

Cara took another sip as she considered that.

"You are less conspicuous." She could do stealthy if she had to, but the leathers were meant to be noticed.

"That would've been my job description," Atton said. "When your job is taking out Force users, you have to get creative if you don't have powers of your own."

He took a sip of the juma. Yep-- a good bottle.

"You cheat, basically." That wasn't judgemental. "Practical."

"You can call it cheating, or you can call it working with what you've got," Atton said. "I don't think there's any rules when you're dealing with people who can read your mind and deflect blaster bolts."

"I said it was practical," Cara pointed out, lifting her glass again. "But there's always someone arguing against practicality."

Usually named Richard or Kahlan.

"Idiots who die before their time?" Atton volunteered.

"Serve them right if I let them," Cara muttered.

She'd never do that, but Atton would understand the feeling.

"Oh," Atton recognized. "You've got friends like those."

"Yes." Aw, look, she had no hesitation calling them that, she'd grown as a person.

"Yeah, most of mine wound up dead," Atton said. Idly.

"I still don't know how they haven't." Permanently at least.

Possibly it was because they weren't quite as incompetent as you assumed, Cara?

"They're really, really lucky?" Atton suggested. "...Then again, so was one of mine."

And then she died.

But he was over that.

Really.

Totally.

"It's the only explanation that makes sense."

No, it wasn't.

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Caritas, Sunday

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Bar

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Lounge

Back Room

OOC