L͢O̵CALE /̕/ Smi̧th's Rest, New Anch̢ǫra̶ge
TIME // Afternoon
"Alright, alright," Percy said, hands up in defeat, "You get Ana home - well, uh, home home - and make sure she gets to bed tonight, and I'll stay and keep my murderous intent in check." The red-head grinned just briefly. “You win. As always.”
"Damn skippy," Zach replied, not seeming alarmed by Percy's admittance to being positively mental - tone is everything, after all, "As long as you don't come into contact with a knife, I'm pretty sure you'll be fine. And if not, then I hope your ass is ready for prison.
"Do you mean that literally or figuratively? Cause in both cases.. Man, I am not prepared. At all."
An almost obnoxiously loud laugh from the other man, "Keep that up tonight and you'll be fine, Percy."
"I could really be ready to commit murder, and you're totally ok with that?"
"I know you're joking - you'll be alright. See ya'round, Pierce."
He watched as Zach and Ana went ahead and left to get back home - it wasn't too far, if Percy had his mental map of Smith's Rest correctly drawn. Either way, he knew Ana was in safe hands and, with a bit of guilt in his chest, he had some time to himself.. Surrounded by people. From what Percy could see, most everyone was lingering in the conference hall - there were some heading to the canteen, though. Key word: some.
And that's where I'll be.
LOCALE // Canteen (Smith's Rest, N̵ew ̀Anchorage)
Even if the ruckus and commotion of the canteen wasn't exactly what Percy wanted or even needed, it was still so much better than being in that damn conference hall - the aura of that room was all sorts of fucked up, tense, and he could tell that people were staring.. Or maybe that's just paranoia. In any case, between the hall and canteen, he’d rather be in the canteen. It was a bit of a smaller space, so there were less people, and everyone seemed more concerned with eating or drinking than focusing on the pilot that just insulted the Elect. Thank God.
Percy sat down where there was a free stool, not taking too much notice of who was around him - if he did, he'd probably notice Harrison, Vera, and Ryn a few seats down the counter. The red-head pushed his glasses up to his face so he could actually see, then, when the bartender came around to him, he put in a simple request.
"Fuck me up," Percy said - it sounded like a joke, but he totally, utterly meant it.
A snort from the bartender, "Christ, man - rough night? The hell happ- Oh, wait, wait, you're the guy that just-"
"Please just give me a drink." Percy said.
"Fair enough," the bartender's voice dropped to a mumble, "I'd wanna forget putting myself on Jackspar's hit list too."
Instead of an answer, Percy got a shot glass full of whiskey. "Hardest thing I've got right now," the bartender says, The pilot just nods, whatever mention of 'hit list' getting pushed out of his mind - was more than likely just a joke - as he downed the shot like a lifetime alcoholic. He didn't even really taste anything but fire and maybe the slightest tinge of vanilla to offset the burning of alcohol in his throat, but he's had plenty of alcohol to know that it doesn't matter what you mask the taste with. It's rotten - well, fermented foodstuff.. which is still fucking rotten. It's going to taste weird.
Before the bartender could pour another shot, Percy just asked for the whole bottle.
"That's 60 creds."
Percy nods, "Just.. Just put it on my tab."
An eyeroll from the bartender, but he simply nods as well. Percy then takes a swig straight from the bottle. Then another. Three. Four. Five.. Seven? Fuckin' whoops, I guess. It really didn't matter how much was in his system, it was positively bliss not having to deal with all the anxious thoughts ricocheting all in his skull like they usually did, and he felt oh so physically relaxed. The chatter of the people around him also helped to numb himself to his own thoughts. He could just focus on what was happening immediately, right now. Not the future. Not the past - especially not the past. He couldn't feel eyes on the back of his neck, or hear insults where there were none. Nothing could bring him down in this moment-
Well, except the bottle being empty.
Motherfucker, I'm empty. Percy tried to get any last drops of liquid bliss out of the bottle, but to no avail. As soon as the bartender got close, Percy spoke, "'Ey. Gimme 'nother bottle."
"Ho-kay," the bartender said, looking a bit incredulously at the redhead for a moment, "You sure you're good? You look shit-faced, man."
"Pff, yeah," the pilot replied, "I'm good. So good. Better than good, honestly. Thishit's great."
When Percy was handed the pre-opened bottle, he had not a care in the world for what the bartender was saying - something about "After that, you're definitely done," or some other stupid nagging crap. Percy took a healthy - or, rather, unhealthy - drink from the bottle, accidentally slammed the bottle down - stopping momentarily in the process - and then moved seats to be right next to Harrison. Fuck it, why not get frisky?
Wait. No, not.. Frisky isn't the word, but.. Fuck it. Who gives a shit? Not me~!
"You're.." Percy took a moment to squint, then adjust his glasses.. then just take them off completely. They're not helping for shit. "Aren't you.. Haarr.. Harurur.. Rah. Shit. Is it.. Har-e.. Hurise.. Whaddafug is your- Harry? Is it- Oh, yeah, Harry. Ok. I got it. I gotchu. Yep.. So how the fuck isshu?" Percy let that hang in the air for a moment before he realized he misspoke. With a little laugh, he corrects himself, "Are. I.. I mean are. How are you?"