Marcus Caravahlo (caravahlo) wrote in immune_ic, @ 2012-07-18 19:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2012 [07] july, brandon |
WHO: Marcus and Brandon (disclaimer: I was informed that apparently there is a question of the existence of a bartender. I am assuming there is one for the sake of wanting to actually play. If someone's character was or is hired as a bartender and retroactively wants to say they were here and witnessed the brilliance that is about to ensue in this thread, by all means! In fact, anyone can have witnessed the brilliance herein, as it's presumably a public place, but yeah. And if anyone DOES decide that they were the bartender here on this soon-to-be fateful night, please note that Marcus will then know that you have control over alcohol, and he will never leave you alone./disclaimer)
WHAT: Drinking, currently! Such enthusiastic drinking!
WHERE: The Four Horsemen
WHEN: Evening, July 18th?
RATING: PG13 (language)... if something insane happens I'll raise it.
STATUS: In progress.
It wasn't that Marcus distrusted the advice of strangers on the network, but he hadn't been lying when he'd said that the lights in the Four Horsemen were usually off when he ventured by it, so he really hadn't expected it to be open, even after some guy he didn't know informed him that it was. When he saw that it actually was - blessedly - unlocked, his step lightened. His entire outlook on the world shifted for the brighter and more optimistic. All of the injustice he'd suffered at the hands of... well, basically, the whole fucking universe... no longer mattered. It was irrelevant. There was really a bar in Sing Sing, and it was active. Not just a storeroom for shit he wanted but didn't want to risk repercussions for by breaking open a door to get. Maybe there was actually some small amount of fairness to be had in life.
In short, when he walked into the bar, Marcus was actually in a good mood. His heart had swollen to the approximate size of a normal human heart, and he was feeling thankful for the existence of other people. Even the network didn't seem like such a bad idea to him. Sure, he informed the bartender that they "should post the fucking hours on the door," but it was in a jovial way. He was delighted when he successfully acquired a drink, and was only slightly surprised by the fact that the person behind the counter did not actually want to hear his box-of-condoms story. That was their fucking loss, really, but even he had to admit it wasn't his best story. Maybe later, then. He went to take a seat by himself, cheerfully contemplating a game of darts later if he could dig some up, and did not feel the least bit surly or irritated. Hale-fucking-julah and praise the sweet distillations of the blue agave plant. Amen.