maskormenacelogs | CLOSED LOG

WHO: Rusty Venture & Alfie Solomons
WHERE: [ Insert Seedy Bar Here ]
WHEN: Backdated to approx. April 5th, prior to Alfie's arrest
WHAT: Two assholes meet in a bar.
WARNINGS: Likely crude language; will be updated if necessary!

[ On the face of it, Doctor Thaddeus Venture has had a very successful life here - arguably more successful than he ever managed to truly be back home, now that he gets to make things of his own creation instead of coasting off of his father's laurels. He has no children to hold him back, a business that is by all means successful, and, well...

He's bored as shit. He's constantly bored as shit. That means that most nights, somehow, he winds up at a bar so that even if he's bored, he can be drunk and bored, which is magnitudes more entertaining than the alternative. He's still got Helper with him in case things go sideways, as they tend to do in bars like these, but he left the robot by the door beside the coatrack with a coat flung over his head, patiently waiting for his master to finish up and stumble on home.

He scans the bar, finger tapping against the glass of the frightful fruity alcoholic concoction he has in his hand, and waits for something - or someone - entertaining to cross his path. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh-ho, Alfie recognizes this guy. They'd only met briefly, but considering the timing of that meeting, he'd definitely made an impression. And now he has a decision to make: to go over, or not to go over?

It's a decision made quickly. There's still an empty stool next to the man, and so he claims it, gesturing roughly to the drink he's holding.]

The fuck is that, then?

It's delicious, that's what. It's... [ He flags down the bartender. ] Yoo-hoo! What did you call this?

Superman Sunshine Special.

There you go. One of those tacky imPort-themed drinks. [ He takes another sip, seeming to enjoy himself without a trace of self-consciousness because he is a man of singularly terrible taste, then looks Alfie over. ] Let me guess: you're more of a brown liquor, neat sort of guy.

[He lifts a hand to the bartender, gesturing him over.]

When I drink? Whiskey, scotch. Rum. Now, what's good here, and what's that one got in it?

Juice and vodka, mostly. Some sours, probably an absolutely unbelievable amount of sugar, but if we're killing ourselves with alcohol, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't kill myself with sugar at the same time, [ he says, with the sort of breeziness of a man who has been slowly killing himself with a number of substances both legal and illegal over the course of his not-insignificant life. ] But if you prefer to stick to plain old lilquor, all the power to you.

If you were a little more public, it's a distinct possibility they could fix a drink named after you too, you know. Whatever that would look like.

Alcohol isn't meant to be sweet. Wine aside.

[He goes with a scotch, then sits back in his chair.]

And this idea, them naming a drink after me - is that meant to be a positive or a negative?

[Because he has very strong feelings on that matter, and none of them are good.]

Edited 2017-05-12 14:26 (UTC)

Oh, please. There's no meant to be when it comes to alcohol. It's a blank slate! There's more than just alcohol in here!

[ He tilts his glass towards Alfie, still looking pleased with his horrifying cocktail. This is what he drinks for fun. He drinks plenty of hard liquor when all he wants is to get plastered and pass out as soon as possible which happens often enough too, but mostly at home. Helper has proven to be a shitty, shitty designated driver. ]

And it's a by all means, it's a compliment, unless they're making a joke at your expense. [ He slowly looks Alfie up and down, and sees that there's unfortunately not very much at all for him to riff off of. ] Maybe if you ask nicely, your name can be synonymous with a finger of scotch, but that's really no fun.

No, no. I know it's a compliment - well, in the sense that any marketing ploy is, eh?

[He drums his fingers on the counter, watching the bartender whip up his drink.]

But "if you're public, they might name a drink after you" - I'm only wondering if that's meant to be a suggestion from you, or a word of caution. Yeah?

Either or, really, though I can't imagine what the terrible consequences of having a drink named after you would be. It made be a slam on one's pride and masculine persona, [ he says, wiggling his fingers in Alfie's direction ] but on the other hand? If they're using your name, they certainly can't make you pay for your drink. It's a business transaction, that's all.

[ He rolls his eyes. ] Believe me, you can make anything profitable.

[ He, for example, scams rich parents and leads little kids through a hellish daycamp. Win-win! For Rusty! ]

Horrible, not likely. But annoying? Irritating? Yeah. It puts your name out there. Makes them think you're all right with this sort of thing.

[He waves a hand vaguely, meaning to encompass... well, everything.]

I don't need the free drinks in exchange for that.

[ Rusty leans forward, resting his chin on the heel of his hand and raising an interrogative brow. It's never occurred to him not to be in the limelight. It comes with its problems, certainly, but he thrives off of attention - he doesn't quite know who he is without it. ]

You can dream a little bigger than free drinks, [ he points out, dryly. ] But that begs the question: why aren't you all right with, to borrow your words, this sort of thing?

With being brought here; with being stuck here. Eh? You're asking why I'm not all right with that?

[Alfie copies Rusty's eyebrow-raise.]

Pfft, no, not about that. That's government side, not when it comes to actually living here. Do I want to be here? No. But I'm here, aren't I? There's no reason to spend time dwelling on it when we could make our lives here as comfortable as possible, [ he points out, waving one lazy hand in the air. ]

What difference does how we got here make? All that means is that everything here is temporary.

[ Which means he feels even freer to partake in any nastiness he wants to. Why not? It's not as though he'll be suffering any lasting consequences. ]

Ah, well.

[Alfie's shoulders relax a little, because as much as he likes to take every opportunity to lambast their general situation, it does get tiring.]

You and I do not disagree on that, mate, and might I say that it's very refreshing to meet someone who feels the same. Yeah.

But I don't like letting them name their products after me, because I don't like letting them think even for one moment that I accept the roll they'd like to put me in.

A man with integrity, eh?

[ Which is to say: not like Rusty at all. He's capitalizing the hell out of his newfound fame, but that doesn't mean that he's going to argue others not doing the same. Why would he? That would just be more competition in a soulless game, and he doesn't feel strongly enough about it one way or the other to try to sway Alfie's priorities. ]

So what is the role you'd put yourself in, then, hm? I've never quite gathered what you do.

[The corners of his mouth twitch up.]

The man who's returned home.

[But he knows that's not really what Rusty is asking.]

No, I've got a business. Sales, import-export, that sort of thing.

[ He snorts, dipping his head towards Alfie in recognition of something, though it's not entirely clear what. He understands the inclination to go home. He misses it too.

As much as he didn't think it would happen, he misses his family. ]

Hopefully that's all of us one day, [ he says, raising his glass and taking a sip out of his ridiculous drink. ] What kinds of things do you sell, exactly?

Rum.

[To shady businesses, without a license.]

Bread, sometimes. I make a good loaf of bread. I'll make one for you someday, if you like.

Edited 2017-06-12 05:59 (UTC)

CLOSED LOG

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wow "roll" good spelling there self

I didn't even notice! WE ALL DO IT.

no subject