electrocynic | The Fortress, Sarah's London, Saturday

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The Fortress, Sarah's London, Saturday

It had been decided Sarah wasn't going to the picnic. By Sarah. Because she felt she got the best quality decisions when she made them all by herself. New kids could just as well meet her during office hours next week. She wasn't portaling back and forth for that. Or the free food, even.

So, she'd already been here for a while. They'd gotten back from the retreat – finally, thank Christ – late last night, and she'd slept in, done some shopping, then retreated to the only place in London that really mattered: the Fortress.

And now she was standing outside in the street, smoking as she waited.

[ooc: NFB, and for the boys!]

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"Lay beside me, tell me what they've done, speak the words I wanna hear, to make my demons run--"

Yeah, Atton's singing voice was decent when he was sober. It was slightly less decent now. And that was without getting into the whole bit where Unforgiven II was about as polar-opposite of a poppy song as you could possibly get.

The worst part was that he knew all the lyrics and so did not forget and stumble away halfway in as he would have otherwise.

Someone, somewhere, needed to give Sarah a gold star for managing to not shout 'this is not poppy, Atton, you absolute tit'.

Instead, she shook her head and gestured to Norse Dave at the bar for another round they probably shouldn't get but which seemed necessary, somehow, all the same.

"Forget Gilbert and Sullivan," Sparkle mused. "After he's done, I'm going to get up there and start singing Journey or something."

Yeah, that would happen, sure.

"--Cause you're unforgiven tooo-oooh-oooh."

Atton squinted blearily at the small handful of people left. Stayed where he was for all of twenty seconds before it suddenly occurred to him that he should get back to the drinking.

He wandered back to the booth unsteadily, Force-blind and clumsy.

"Good show," Sarah drawled once he'd made it back. Or close enough to hear her, anyway. There was the slightest bit of slurring but not too much. "The fuck was that?"

Sparkle just kind of found him half wanting to pet Atton's face. Poor guy was having a shitty something something...

Anniversaries. They sucked.

"Sit down an' drink some water or something, man. I mean. Good job knowing the words. You are soooo fucking drunk."

Pot, this was Kettle calling.

Atton squinted at him as he wandered on back and collapsed in the booth.

"No," he said, "No, it means I need to be drunker. 's-- can't justify it anymore tomorrow."

Beat.

"Monday."

"Well thank fuck I had the forethought to order more." She only stumbled a little bit over 'forethought'. She was also eyeing Atton because of reasons, but at least she wasn't volunteering any of them. "Sunday's meant for feeling like you'd rather be dead, 'nyway."

"Well, we're well on the way to that," Sparkle decided, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I bet if we keep up the karaoke, that'll just help that along."

"Go sing," Atton said, grabbing another drink. "Sing it. Stuff. I hate everything."

"Well, I'm not going to." She needed at least one more drink before that. "Don't wanna follow something that bloody depressing, anyway."

Seriously, she couldn't vouch for her song choices after that.

And Sparkle... well...

"Yeah, yeah, I've got this. We can do poppy without busting out the show tunes, I'm sure." He pursed his lips for a moment, and then nodded and made his way over to the songbook. He was pretty sure he had something he could sing.

"Lets, uh. Let's pick this up a bit, huh?"

And if that something, once the music started playing, happened to be some Billy Joel...

"Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio..."

Well, he hadn't started the fire yet, okay?

"Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe..."

And hey, after Metallica, pretty much anything would be more poppy, right?

Atton let out a bark of slightly desperate laughter.

Then he sank out of his seat and onto the floor.

Yeaaah, someone should about cut him off now.

Okay, yeah, even Sarah had to admit he'd quite literally gone low wnough, now.

And that was before Norse Dave came up with the drinks, took one look at him, and shook his head.

"Yeah, maybe," she said, "maaaybe some water instead?"

"Rosenbergs, H-bomb, Sugar Ray, Panm-- Fuck, Atton!"

Yeah, that was Sparkle shoving his mic at whoever was nearest, and ignoring the way they looked at it stupidly as he made his way over to the table.

"Get off the floor, man. C'mon. You don't know what's been down there."

Probably spilled drinks and feet. And now also one very drunk Jedi.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Atton muttered, "'s just the floor."

Whatever else he said was mostly a bunch of Twi'leki nobody here would be able to understand.

Edited 2015-08-31 14:22 (UTC)

"'S a fine floor," Sarah noted, aiming for dry, ending up... not quite there. "But there's been –– uh, rumours have it that Devlin's jizzed all over it at some point. So you prob'ly want to get up."

"Ugh," Atton said, though he wasn't making any moves to get up yet. "I hate Devlin."

So did everyone still here, Atton.

"Yeah. And you don't know where he's been." Sparkle crouched down to try to at least get his arms under Atton's. Which was an interesting trick with him halfway under the table like that. "Come on, you doorknob. Get up, already."

Sarah wondered if she should've been trying to help.

She decided against it.

... Then rolled her eyes and swore under her breath and got herself (a little unsteadily, for a second) to her feet so she could try and mirror Sparkle's actions from the other side.

"For fuck's sake, space boy."

"'m from a planet, not a doorknob."

Yeah, sure, that was relevant right now.

Atton came out from under the table grudgingly. Really grudgingly. "E chu ta, hate everything."

"I've got this sneeeaking suspicion," Sparkle said, speaking slowly and carefully so as to not slur all those s-words, "that you're not going to hate everything any less from under the table, man."

Just a hunch.

"Also on the floor there's the possibility of pregnancy via super sperm." She slurred the hell out of those s-words. "S'pose it'd be dry by now, but. You never know."

Sarah, please stop.

"You gonna be alright, mate?"

"No kids," Atton muttered, "No kids, I made sure o' that."

... Sort of?

As he got up, he almost immediately stumbled and wound up with his back pressed against the table. Oh well. Better than the floor?

That was officially more than Sparkle ever wanted to know about the state of Atton's junk, right there.

"Hey, look," he said, instead. "We're making progress! Fuck, man, I feel like I should be trying to catch up to you or something, but like, then it'd be up to Electroclash," he was never not going to call her that, sorry, not even in the bar, "to keep us from walking into traffic, and I'm not that busted up over Lewis being a complete fucking asshole at the moment."

He did have less verbal filter than before, though.

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