Beer is Not Enough
Title: Beer is Not Enough Characters: Rude, Reno, mentions of Rufus Wordcount: 1,045 Rating: T (a lot of alcohol, and scattered cussing) Notes: Part of my ongoing saga of Reno and Rufus, with this being more friendship than anything else. I think it should be postable here?
“Fuck.” The exclamation was followed by the sound of a doorknob turning and the door being quite solidly kicked the rest of the way open. “Fuck, fuck.”
“Something happen?” Rude looked up from a book he had idly been pondering, setting it to the side as immediate afterthought. With that greeting from Reno, there was no way he was going to be able to think about what he was reading any time soon.
“Dumped me,” Reno replied in a way that would have been cryptic if it didn’t manage to so effectively answer the question. “Bastard fucking dumped me,” the redhead added more emphatically, flopping into the chair opposite Rude’s.
“I’m sorry,” Rude replied softly, otherwise choosing not to do or say anything. He wasn’t one to say much in the first place, and with Reno in a bad mood he had long since learned it was better to just sit and watch than to poke.
The ‘bastard’ in question was, of course, Rufus, and Rude imagined he could piece together what had happened even without asking. Since his promotion, Rufus had been even more twitchy about his image than usual, and with good reason. Unfortunately, it was also easy to see any number of reasons why Reno might not be so good for said image, and, well, Rufus had his own version of practicality.
It was unfair, yes, but Rufus was Rufus and Reno was Reno and there was just nothing to do about it. Except to let Reno whine and curse about it until he decided he didn’t care.
“Stupid, stupid bastard,” the redhead muttered, seemingly addressing the ceiling, as he was presently draped sideways over the arms of the chair and staring blankly upwards. Rude often found himself wondering about Reno and chairs and whether or not the man actually knew the proper way to use them. He didn’t get too long to ponder that particular idiosyncrasy, though, as his fellow Turk suddenly shifted to that he was peering at Rude rather intently.
“Reno?” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what that comment was supposed to mean, nor did he particularly want to find out. Reno chuckled and went back to sprawling awkwardly over the chair.
“Relax, I’m joking with you,” he explained. “...sort of.” Rude sighed quietly, and got up to get his coat. “What’re you doing?” the redhead inquired curiously. In reply, Rude threw Reno’s jacket at him and started putting on his own.
“I can either sit here listening to you whine all night, or I can get you a drink. Guess which one seems like a good idea right now.”
Given the circumstances, Rude would have expected Reno to go for something that would get him very drunk very quickly, but he seemed to be sticking with beer. On the other hand, he was making the most valiant attempt Rude had ever seen to get drunk quickly off of the stuff.
“I don’t think,” Rude noted as he sipped at what still remained of his first beer while Reno was on his third, “that breaking a record for most beer consumed in a short amount of time will do anything to help prove your worth to Rufus.” It might be a risky thing to say, but it was almost undoubtedly what his beer-filled friend was thinking, and besides that Reno never stayed mad at him for long. As it was, the redhead’s first response was to stick out his tongue.
“Nothin’ else to do, yo,” his fellow Turk replied once he decided making faces wasn’t doing such a good job of communicating a point. “Don’t do shots by myself, ‘cause that’s kind of sad, you know? ‘Less you wanna challenge me to a drinking contest.” Rude chuckled nervously at that thought.
“No, thank you. Neither of us would be able to find our way back to the apartment.” Sad a thought as it was, that was actually a proven statement. A drinking contest between Rude and Reno would undoubtedly result in both being more than a good bit intoxicated, and if not passed out in the bar, then wandering aimlessly and eventually passing out on some random street corner. Needless to say, this was not something Rude chose to do on a regular basis, and the fact that Reno was more inclined was at least in part due to the surety of Rude being nearby and not likewise plastered.
As it was, the somewhat puppy-dog-esque look on Reno’s face implied that the suggestion had been not entirely a joke. Rude sighed, and while still not planning on getting drunk himself, flagged down the bartender for something stronger.
“You drink,” he told Reno. “I’ll keep count.”
The number, at present, was six. That is, on top of the beer. Enough that most of Reno’s weight was now being supported by Rude’s shoulder.
“...’nother?” Reno murmured, and Rude mentally debated whether the other was actually drunk enough that he could impose a limit. Probably.
“No.” Reno frowned at the response.
“Why?” Rude turned to look at him seriously, or at least as much as that action was possible with Reno halfway draped over him.
“Because you’re already drunk,” he said matter-of-factly. It was one thing to let his friend get sloshed. Another entirely to let said friend keep pouring alcohol into himself once the cognitive processing was clearly gone. He could understand why Reno kind of needed to be drunk right now. He did not so much need alcohol poisoning.
“Oh,” the redhead murmured, seeming to accept the answer. Having no more alcohol to drink, he chose instead to nuzzle into Rude’s arm. Rude had been around a drunk and oddly snuggly Reno enough times that it no longer registered as odd.
“You know you’re nice,” he mumbled almost incoherently, “not like stupid bastard...” And with that, he passed out, sliding off of Rude’s shoulder and onto the bar counter with an audible ‘thud’.
Rude watched the redhead for a moment, trying to make sure he hadn’t managed to hurt himself, then rolled his eyes and carried the poor man home. He would tell him the next day that the number was ten.