"Oh...yeah thanks." Orren took the ice bag, his face still heated. He stood there awkwardly in the doorway, not realizing that he was keeping her from getting by. He wondered why she was standing there in front of him. Should he say something?
"So...what's your name? Your real name I mean. I mean, I know your nickname, but it's kinda' dumb so. Not that [i]you're[/i] dumb! I just mean..." He shouldn't say something. Orren's face was turning redder by the moment, and when he heard a laugh from behind him, he could have died. 

Jack stood behind him, face in hand. His shoulders shook as he tried to keep his laughter contained. Finally, he grabbed Orren by the arm and pulled him out of the doorway. "Just quit while you're behind, kid."

Meanwhile, Dylan was finishing up with his last customer of the night. He took the money and headed home, his tired feet scraping the sidewalk. It was a long walk across town, but he'd done it plenty of times. At least it was nice out tonight. By the time he reached the south side of town, he was worn out, thirsty, and out of his favorite little pills. As Dylan lumbered by, the noise and lights of a pub caught his attention. He heard music playing, people laughing, TV's shining from the window. It looked pretty cool in there. His hand patted the thick wad of bills in his pocket as he considered. Surely Amber wouldn't mind if he got himself a drink; what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. 

Dylan turned and slunk up the steps and in the door. He looked like a bedraggled mess: his curly hair all over the place and his clothes smelling like five different perfumes. Not that his appearance ever bothered him. Dylan went up the bar and sat himself down, leaning heavily onto the counter. He stared at the bottles behind the counter blankly, his mouth slightly agape.