(no subject)

[hungover]

Date & Time: Saturday night!
Location: The Cascade Lounge
Characters: Haymitch and [open]
Summary: What are we doing tonight, Brain? The same thing we do every night.
Warnings: ...trying to take over the world? No, nothing actually. Haymitch being himself is warning enough.

[No matter where he was, there was one thing he could rely on (other than himself) -- alcohol. Sure, he spent most of his nights drinking at home alone ... but he'd started to think that he needed more information about this place, and the easiest way to get that would just be to sit around and wait for people to come to him.

A lonely drunk at the bar is the perfect potential conversation partner, right?

Right. At least he's been quiet and hasn't started any fights with anyone ... yet..]

Comments

[bearswitness]

[ Ugh not appreciating that implication, guy. He draws back a little, loosing the glare in favor of a quick widening of his eyes — followed by an exasperated roll. He turns away, scrawls out something on a small note with a pen hidden in a pocket, and crumples it up to toss it over at Haymitch.

Should he chose to uncrumble and read it: ] Don't flatter yourself.

[hungover]

[Where Haymitch came from, people who didn't speak generally didn't have tongues. He picks up the note and reads it with a snort.]

You should stare less, in that case. Or is that just because you can't hold a conversation?

[..no, literally.]

[bearswitness]

[ He climbs to his feet, slinks a few chairs nearer, and takes a seat again. Right next to Haymitch. Eye contact? Unbroken. There's no note this time, but that squint aimed at Haymitch should be a pretty clear answer to what the Witness thinks of being told to stare less. ]

[hungover]

If you're going to stare, at least buy a round of drinks.

[Seriously, bro, it's only fair.]

[bearswitness]

[ There's another scrawled note with that, carelessly written and shoved hard across the bar. ]

Oh, quit rubbing it in, would you. Buying you a drink is the last thing I would do.

[hungover]

[Welp, this is going to go somewhere awkward.]

I'm sorry, did someone cut out your tongue?

[bearswitness]

[ What gosh what a ridiculous and unfounded assumption!! Still glaring, he jerks the scarf down from his chin with a finger.

See. This is way more reasonable. ]

[hungover]

[He's trying really hard to remember something someone told him...]

That some sort of magic thing? You piss someone off?

[bearswitness]

[ He's still glaring when he pulls it back up again (sometimes that gets him run out of bars, and he's enjoying this seat), and it shifts down to the paper when he writes again. ]

What? No. It tends to be the other way around.

[hungover]

Then what did you do to get rid of your mouth?

[...yeah, Haymitch is a little slow on this. He'll just blame the alcohol and the completely unfamiliar feature of someone having no lips, okay.]