tried to amend my carnivorous habits

[boneitis]

WHO: Garrus Vakarian calibrating and Jeff 'Joker' Moreau boneitis
WHERE: A burger joint, not far from the Jefferson Hotel
WHEN: July 17th, after the swear-in fiasco
WHAT: Garrus is hangry and Joker has a bottomless stomach.
WARNINGS: Contains Joker.

The swear-in, in Joker's most esteemed opinion, could have been charitably called a fiasco and uncharitably called a hilarious clusterfuck of bullshit and incompetence. But hey, what could he expect from a government-run banquet? Government work at its finest.

He had grabbed Vakarian after they'd been able to leave, citing that whole you promised me a date thing, and since it was nearing midnight and eating nothing but h'orderves, cocktails, and fancy-ass cuisine meant that an uncouth heathen like Joker was hungry as shit, he figured now was a good time for real food. And Garrus' blood sugar was probably hitting the negatives by this point, too, so it was a win-win.

There was a late-night burger joint not too far from the hotel, and that was how Joker ended up in a booth across from a hangry catbirdman, waiting on a prodigious order of unhealthy levo food and, presumably, equally unhealthy dextro food.

Just two inappropriately well-dressed dudes, sitting in a diner in the middle of the night. Nothing to see here.

"So," he said, poking at the whipped cream on the milkshake in front of him-- because screw you, he liked milkshakes and he was in a burger joint, don't judge, "how 'bout that magical propaganda show."

Comments

[calibrating]

Too bad the only thing Garrus could stick a finger in was a big ol' glass of water standing in front of him, beading with condensation even as the turian tilted it back and forth with a single claw. He barely paid attention to Joker's words, catching just enough to give a muttered and only slightly interested response.

"Yeah. How 'bout that." Garrus gave a distracted shrug.

The rumble that came from his stomach didn't help much, either.

[boneitis]

"For fuck's sake, Vakarian," he said, fishing the cherry out of the mountain of whipped cream on his milkshake, "I get it, you're hangry. It sucks, but try to put on your big boy pants for a minute, okay?"

He punctuates that sentence by eating said cherry, because no one ever said that Joker's not an asshole.

"Give me your assessment, Space Batman. Try to give at least half a shit about the kind of shady government that's trying to recruit you."

[calibrating]

Joker's tiny snack doesn't escape Garrus' notice for a second, and his eyes narrow in response. If nothing else, he can trust this particular asshole to do whatever it takes to piss off everyone around him.

Garrus huffs, probably with a bit more exaggeration than necessary, before throwing his focus into the conversation at hand.

"It can go a couple of different ways. Either the local government is incompetent and needs all the help it can get, or it's trying to keep all of us scared so we stay under its wing."

He takes a sip of his water, and gives it another glance before placing it back on the table.

"No matter what, I'm not getting involved outside of taking care of the little guys that're getting caught up in this mess. And even that's a long shot at this point."

Somebody's bitter.

[boneitis]

He doesn't try to piss off everyone around him, just the people that would be the most funny. So, mostly Garrus.

But he does bring up good points; it could be that the government is really as incompetent as they seem, or it could be that it's all just a smokescreen. Hard to tell at this point, when they didn't have much information.

"Going from that awesome slideshow, I'm leaning towards 'fearmongering'."

He takes an obnoxiously long drink from the shake and gives zero fucks about the whipped cream in his beard.

"But, hey, at least you've got the option of telling these guys to go screw themselves."

Not everyone has that luxury, and no, Joker's not bitter at all about it.

[calibrating]

"Fair enough, but what about you? What's keeping you under their thumb?"

And that whipped cream is so not going unnoticed. Garrus gives Joker a few moments to wipe it away himself before he sighs and adds to the overall atmosphere of cattiness with a side of bitter. If there's anything these two have in common, it's their ability to sneer at their lives of injustices, no matter how big, small, or self-inflicted.

"Other than the fact that you eat like a five-year-old, I mean. I'm pretty sure they're not gonna clean up after you."

[boneitis]

He gives Garrus a look dry enough to dessicate an ocean, though the effect may have been slightly ruined by the whipped cream in his beard. Which, obviously, wasn't going anywhere unless Garrus decided to get rid of it himself, so he could just turian up and deal.

"What, you think my meds come cheap? I've gotta pay for it one way or another, Vakarian, and if I join up, the government foots the bill."

As far as deals went, it's as good as he's getting around here. He can't pay for all of it on his own, not with what he's making now, so he doesn't really have a choice. It's either sign up and get covered or stick it to the man and have his health tank. No matter how much he wants to tell them to go fuck themselves, he wants to be able to get up in the morning more.

[calibrating]

Garrus raises his palms in the universal 'calm your tits' gesture as a waitress finally comes over with their food after what feels like eons to the hangry turian.

"Fine, fine. I didn't think about that. Sorry."

He means it, too, even if his focus is otherwise occupied by the burger in front of him. His first burger ever, and it's on a date with the ornery pilot of the Normandy.

At least that giant bite he takes out of it is delicious, and Garrus makes it known with an indulgent hum.

[boneitis]

Most people tended to take their good health for granted, so it's not like he's surprised that Garrus didn't factor in the cost of medicine and medical services into his assessment. It'd be nice to not have to consider where his next bottle of pills is going to come from, and he's super not looking forward to having to explain his condition to another doctor and figure out what treatment options are available, but that's just one of the many joys of having a crippling genetic disorder.

Hurray.

Thankfully, the burgers arrive as the perfect distraction, and Garrus looks like he's died and gone to the turian equivalent of heaven now that he's got something to put in his mouth. Joker's pretty damn hungry by that point, too, so having a big, greasy diner burger with horseradish and fries is exactly the kind of artery-clogging comfort food he needs.

"Your life will never be the same, Vakarian," he says between bites.

[calibrating]

For a few moments, it looks like Garrus didn't even register what Joker said, what with his heavy sigh, closed eyelids, and the tiny piece of lettuce dangling from his mandible. He's fairly certain that, as good as this burger is, it's not even close to what could be. He'd have to ask Joker and that other kid that mentioned burgers for tips on making them later.

When he finally falls from burger-induced nirvana, Garrus makes sure to look Joker in the eye and give Joker due attention.

"I want six more."

[boneitis]

Garrus inhales his burger with a speed that impresses even Joker, and that's saying something because he's pretty good at polishing one off when he's hungry enough. Honestly, the only reason that Joker hasn't been eaten by the hangry turian is probably because of the whole chirality thing.

"You, uh. You got a little something here."

He gestures with one finger at his face, wiggling it to show where Garrus has a piece of lettuce dangling from his mandible like an embarrassing piece of underwear hanging out of a burst suitcase.

"But hey, knock yourself out. Have six burgers. Have twenty burgers. It's not like your waist is getting a little supportive or anything."

[calibrating]

"Like you're one to talk about supportive waists," Garrus grumbles, although he doesn't wave their waiter down for another six burgers. Instead, he pulls on the sleeve of his now-deemed-ugly sweater. Two knocks to his ego in one sit-down, Joker. Nicely done.

It takes him a few moments to remember what Joker had originally pointed out and tug the lettuce away from his mandible and onto the plate in front of him with a flick of a wrist.

So that really makes three knocks to his ego.