WHO: Luke Quinn and Max Yorke. WHAT: When you get in trouble with the law, how do you cope? Drink of course! WHERE: The High Dive, District 2. WHEN: Sunday night after the first round of raids. RATING: PG for possible swearing.
He had to admit it, when it came to jails, the one he was forced to stay in last night wasn't too bad. Sure, he was holed up with about three or so other guys, had to piss in a communal toilet and slept on a bench while keeping one eye open but still. It wasn't dirty and made out of stone and the Protestants weren't trying to beat the shit out of the Catholics. So really things were looking up.
He made no apologies for what he did to earn himself a stay in the first place. It was bad enough he had to be labeled as a "Foreign National" and practically relegated to a second-class citizen, but then even while he was doing his best to stay out of trouble, instead he was forced to endure scorn which he could handle and getting jostled by the police which he could not handle. The bastards decided that the flying robocops weren't enough (which he was still trying to look for ways to beat it), cops in raid gear showed up out of nowhere and demanded to be let in.
Which led to a misunderstanding by way of him trying to beat the hell out of them.
Which led to his arrest.
Which somehow led him to getting bailed out after much bribery between friends.
And then the conversation between his online friend whom he was going to meet in person. Alright. People did it all the time it wasn't weird at all.
Which is how he found himself drinking at some place called the High Dive. Max wasn't kidding when he said it was kind of crap. However as he quickly found out, he could buy a lot of cheap whiskey for the little bit of coin he had. By the time Max showed, Luke was feeling a bit fuzzy while faintly recalling that the other guy didn't even know what he looked like while he had the advantage of seeing one of his video posts. So while waiting as proof for Max to figure out it was him, Luke drummed his fingers on the table while softly singing dirty limericks.
"A mathematician named Hall Had a hexahedron cal ball The cube of its weight Times his pecker, plus eight Is his phone number ... give him a call."