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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"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.

"He is a complete fucking arsehole and probably a twat, to boot," Sarah replied, momentarily distracted and making a big ol' face. "But, I'm not going to fucking babysit you lot, either, so... fucking rem'ber how to walk, or something."

"I'm gonna punch him," Atton said. His hands found the table and he pushed himself fully upright. "You hear me, Sparks? Next time I see that guy I'm gonna punch him."

"Hey, I won't stop you," Sparkle replied, holding up his hands as Atton straightened up. "He left like a dozen kids wondering where the hell they're going to live next. The only reason I haven't punched him yet is because I couldn't get him alone where the littler ones wouldn't see."

Sparkle was really protective of the littler ones.

Sarah was mostly rolling her eyes and leaning against the side of the booth. Even while drunk she wasn't very good at expressing emotions that were more complicated than simple anger.

"Irresponsible wanker," she muttered, mostly to herself.

Atton muttered something indecipherable.

"...I could go bed now," he added, slightly louder. "Less thinking. Then punching."

"That might not actually be a bad plan," Sparkle noted. "Is there, like, a bed nearby we can dump him in? Or at least a hostel or something like that? Let him sleep this off and then do all the punching he wants after the hangover lets up?"

Because Sparkle doubted the possibility of there not being a hangover involved, here.

It seemed highly unlikely that there wasn't going to be one, didn't it? Sigh.

"Hang on," Sarah mumbled, already patting down her pockets in search of something. Took a moment, but then there was a jangle of keys. "Got 'em. Alex is at a SPA thing ––" That was ess pee aye, not the kind with massages "–– all weekend. 'M crashing at his, it's revolting but it's not out in the street."

Atton barely really parsed any of that. "I dun' care," he mumbled. "Your friends are nice."

Well, they were, when you were aggressively trying to avoid thinking about something.

Seriously, Atton, Sparkle wanted to pet your face.

So much.

It was getting harder to resist.

"Especially when they don't know you've got drunk Canadians," or Space-Canadians, "crashing on their couches," he offered. "Come on, let's get you the hell out of here, man, before we lose you under another table or somebody plays a sad song or something."

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