Lindsey McDonald (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} stopitevilhand) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2010-03-26 14:34:00 |
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What: He's drunk and buying shots.
Where: A bar
When: After this
Rating: PG-13, at the least. For language.
Status: Incomplete
He'd lost track of the number of shots he'd downed. It was at least one more than the big guy passed out cold under a nearby table, he knew that much. At some point, the bartender had said something about needing to get a new bottle but he couldn't remember if he had meant them or the patrons in general. The crowd was sparse at best, people looking for a cheap place to get drunk. A TV blared in the background, some old show that was on at the late hour for insomniacs. Lindsey picked up the full shot glass and looked over his shoulder, raising the glass in toast to the man still laying on the floor. "Cheers."
Getting drunk had not been foremost in mind when Lindsey had arrived at the bar. Just a few drinks and then home. But "Bruno", as he'd started calling the antagonist, must have been bored enough that he'd decided giving a complete stranger hell about his name was a good idea. If only the bar had been like the other small, low key bars that didn't ask for ID. The jokes started coming until Lindsey had had enough and suggested they let shots call the winner.
As it turned out, drinking to drown the voice of the angel on his shoulder out came in handy. Some undetermined amount of time later, "Bruno" had toppled and Lindsey returned to the bar. One patron stopped long enough, at the bartender's request, to make sure that the passed out man was alive. Waste of time, in his opinion. If Drusilla showed up, it wasn't going to matter.
Motioning to the bartender, Lindsey pointed to the empty stool next to him. "One for her."
The bartender looked at the empty space, his expression becoming dubious. "I think maybe it's time you call it quits," he suggested.
Lindsey glared up at him. If looks could kill, the man would have been a pile of ash behind the counter. "She's not here yet." Moron, he added silently as he picked up his phone and shook it. He still had a good part of a bottle of beer to get through and he wasn't leaving it behind. "So how about you quit pretending to be my mama and go get that shot?"