red solo cup is cheap and disposable;

[tartanisstylish]

WHO: ِ Aziraphale [John Gates] & OPEN.
WHAT: After an invitation from a very nice man, Aziraphale heads to the Bar for some much-needed libation. Be aware that he is a hilarious drunk.
WHERE: The Bar [The Cave].
WHEN: Wednesday 11 April, evening.

-

Human he might be (and how quick had the transition been, really, not that he was willing to think too hard about that), but at the moment he was in a very figurative Heaven. After all, even absent the Rhône, the Bar served an excellent dry red.

He had been pleasantly surprised at the look of the place, actually. It was far cleaner than he'd expected, well-organized, not sticky, and he'd sat down at the bar without much trepidation, aside from the slight buzzing of nerves that came from a combination of new experience and social gracelessness. Which he'd likely never get rid of no matter how much he put his mind to it.

He could have done without the music, but it wasn't Queen and that was small favors.

It was so easy to immerse himself in the smell and flavor of the wine, to close his eyes and experience it with every nerve. (He swirled it around in the glass, too, like a proper wine snob, although if anyone confronted him about it he would say that he had a right to snobbery; he'd tasted nearly every wine there'd ever been.) He had missed this, very much. Sometimes they'd had trouble getting the right vintages to the cottage; there was much to be said for the convenience of urban life, even if urban life did take place inside an enormous cave. Although this experience was entirely new, it did bring back memories, and he allowed himself to toast to absent friends - friend - who would likely have sneered at him had he been watching in any case.

The day had gone better than expected - certainly better than his whirlwind of a first day. On occasion he caught himself wondering, Are you really just a man? Have you always been? It was so easy to slip into that mentality. There was the video, after all. But then he would remember his conversation with Owen, who'd seemed so off-kilter at first, so meddled with, and who'd voiced his doubts with such remarkable clarity. He had so obviously been struggling in the same way Aziraphale was that Aziraphale had found himself getting quite angry after the conversation was over and he was back in his tiny flat. It all smacked of messing about, which he heartily disapproved of.

It was odd, though. He'd never felt kinship to a human before. Adam had always been a bit . . . far removed, at once a child and omnipotent. He'd admired humans, for their skill and talent and intelligence, and he'd pitied them (Oscar Wilde had fallen into both categories), but never felt that he had anything in common with them.

This was all very new. He had never been good at "new". Drat.

But at least now he had wine and a bit of time to think. He smiled into his glass and ordered another. Really, it was wonderful.

Comments

[inequal]

His order was served with efficiency and a knowing smile. "Told you we had something close," Owen commented. It was hard not to notice Aziraphale's enjoyment of his drink, which was at least one good thing to add to his day. (That put it up to a nice round number of three: George's continued presence, his brief smoking break earlier, and now this.) He was positive "count your blessings" had never been meant literally, but that never stopped him from making note of good things that happened on bad days. It was especially useful for dealing with surly boyfriends back home and then later for cheering up upset daughters.

"Shall I leave you two alone, then?"

[tartanisstylish]

"And I will never even think of doubting you after this," Aziraphale said with what was nearly a smirk, pulling the glass close and tapping the stem with his fingernails. "It's magnificent."

He was peering into the glass and tilted it slightly towards himself when the last comment registered. "What? Oh!" He flushed slightly. "I do apologize, that was rude - but no - it's only - " Gesturing broadly with one hand, fingers splayed wide in the air, he attempted to explain. "It should be a sensory experience, or else what's the point?"

[inequal]

Owen chuckled, taking the muddled replied for an invitation sat opposite of Aziraphale. There were two people in at the Bar and not enough customers to justify it, so he had plenty of right to take his time in speaking with people before he needed to get back to actual work.

Rhetorical question or not, it deserved the fully obvious answer: "Inebriation, I'd wager. Not much of a social drinker, are you?" he asked. Who else would drink for the experience?

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale beamed when Owen sat down. Nothing was better than wine and company.

"That comes later," he said airily. "One must earn one's inebriation. And I am a social drinker, just not a public drinker. The difference is that I have never in my life talked about sport."

Social drinking would have been frowned upon in the old days, and in any case he'd had Crowley. Actually, scratch that - drinking would have been frowned on, period. And eating. And most everything enjoyable.

[inequal]

The warm reception allowed Owen to relax just the small bit he had been holding out. So he was reading Aziraphale correctly — good to know. He affected mock incredulity when he asked, "Never? Talk about impossibility, right there. How's a guy like you go so long without talking about sport with anybody?"

[tartanisstylish]

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "It never seemed relevant," he said. Beyond that one incident of divine inspiration at a rugby match, but he'd never actually talked about that. "Perhaps I've just been socializing with the wrong sort."

[inequal]

"The completely wrong sort," Owen agreed enthusiastically. "We can fix that right quick, though, don't you worry. On the other hand... not many sports to talk about around these parts. We'll figure something out." He waved his hand widely, taking the opportunity to lean back into his seat in what looked like a very comfortable position were it not for the stiff seating in the Bar.

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale imagined a person who would discuss sport. Then he imagined himself, and tried to put the two together. It didn't work, and he vaguely felt the universe laughing at him for trying. "Somehow I think you might be fighting a losing battle there, my dear."

[inequal]

"Oh, I haven't lost yet. We'll just have to find something just as exciting as sports to get your interest and go from there," Owen explained through a chuckle. "Itty-bitty baby steps."

[tartanisstylish]

"And what, in your mind, is as exciting as sports?" Aziraphale felt he would need more wine. Quite a bit more wine. He was not sure he would enjoy steps of any kind, no matter how many babies were involved.

yes, Aziraphale, get more wine

[inequal]

With a devious smile blossoming on his face, Owen pretended to think about that answer. The façade didn't last very long. "There's always bedroom sports, but that generally doesn't make for good dinner conversation."

WELL HE NEEDS IT NOW thanks liam >:(

[tartanisstylish]

With a cough, Aziraphale promptly knocked his wineglass over - it didn't break, thankfully, but a puddle of wine slowly spread along the counter. He covered his face. Mortifying. Mortifying. What an inappropriate thing to say and yet he was the one who was mortified.

"Please tell me that a rag will appear in front of me by the grace of God so that I might clean up this mess without ever having to look you in the face again," he said, voice muffled by his hands. "Also: sorry." The tips of his ears felt hot.

LIAM IS NOT SORRY well okay maybe an eensy bit

[inequal]

Owen's first reaction was to immediately scoot back in his chair, away from the seeping wine that had spilled all over the table. Laughter followed far too quickly and even as he pulled the towel out from its placed tucked into his belt loop, he was helpless to the mirth.

"No, no, my bad, mate," he said as he sopped up the mess. Hard to tell if he was sincere or not through the chuckles. "You just opened yourself right up to that one, I had no choice."

THAT ICON DOES NOT LOOK AT ALL SORRY

[tartanisstylish]

"I don't think I did, the two aren't even connected, and - " He righted the glass in a huff and glared righteously at Owen. "You are enjoying yourself far too much!"

He stared very hard at his empty glass, willing it to refill of its own volition. Once upon a time it would have worked. Now he turned his gaze to the ceiling - give me strength - and remarked, "If you're quite finished, I will have something significantly stronger than wine as quickly as possible." He did, after all, have the money for it - and apparently the need.

HE CAN BE SORRY AND AMUSED AT THE SAME TIME

[inequal]

Pushing away from the table to stand, Owen gave Aziraphale something of a more sedate smile. "Coming right up." He excused himself to fetch another towel for himself and retrieve something with more of a kick for Aziraphale. He used the brief moment to even out his breaths, making sure he didn't end up choking on nothing or just plum forgetting.

When he returned, he did not sit back down, although he seemed to very much want to. "Here you are. Fancy a bit more conversation, or shall I duck out before you throw that empty glass at my head?"

so ruuuude

[tartanisstylish]

His glare was somewhat watered down by this point. One can only glare for so long. "I'll take the conversation," Aziraphale said, gesturing to the seat. His fingers itched to stretch toward the glass Owen was holding. "Also," he added, resisting the urge, "I would like to make it clear that I am not a violent man unless it is an accident, and that was an accident, even though I was provoked."

welcome to friendship with Liam

[inequal]

Owen quickly retook his place, setting the glass out for Aziraphale as he did so. Instead of leaning back as he did before, this time he sat forward with his arms on the table, amusement colouring his expression as before. "I'd hardly call spilling your drink all over the table violent," he replied. "Clumsy, definitely, but not violent. However, your remark is duly noted."

he is an excellent friend

[tartanisstylish]

He took a sip. Blended Scotch. Though he rarely drank whiskey, he'd certainly take it. "Thank you," he said with as much dignity as he could muster, and took another swallow. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, "Is it a universal task of friends to make each other as uncomfortable as possible? I don't think I'm very good at it."

bestest of them all

[inequal]

"That takes practice. Having siblings helps," he mused, head briefly tilting as he considered, "but they're not necessary. Besides, the rest of the time, friends just try to make each other laugh... or offer our shoulder or ear if need be. It's not all about pissing about."

[nouvellestyle]

Since his first visit to the bar, after meeting the men who were meant to be in charge of the place, Sable decided he wouldn't mind going back. At the very least, people gathered in places like that. Where people gathered, they would talk. Maybe there would be something worth listening to...

... but he didn't expect to see a vaguely familiar face. At all. He couldn't put a name to it, but that didn't matter. Just one more thing to add to the bizarre situation, yes?

With a thoughtful frown, Sable approached the bar. He didn't order anything (at least, not yet - probably wouldn't at all) and took a seat, leaving two seats between himself and the other patron.

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale would likely not have noticed Sable come in for ages, perhaps not at all (he was on his fifth or sixth or maybe seventh drink), if he hadn't sat so close. As it was, Aziraphale glanced over at the lean figure, back at his drink, and then performed a Hollywood-quality double-take.

How it was possible he hadn't a clue - how it was that he was sitting two seats down from Famine, in a bar, in a cave, underground, and didn't have any sort of weapon or even steady feet - but it was happening. It really was. And he was finding it hard to process.

He was half-tempted to wave down Owen again and alert him to the fact that he might be in grave danger and he should be very rude to this patron at the very least, but he was nowhere to be found and anyway, panicking him was not in anyone's best interest.

He picked up his wine glass, a safety, and barely noticed it rattling against the counter when he slowly placed it back down. Why was he trembling so?

[nouvellestyle]

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught that movement - that sudden register on the man's face of... well, shock, at the very least. Probably something else. Honestly, he had to keep himself from smirking. It was actually very amusing.

As far as he was concerned, it proved one thing: this man knew who he was. Not who "David Mathis" was, but who he was. What he was. And yet... Sable still had no idea who this man was. Well, at least he'd been right about him being vaguely familiar. ... Maybe.

He doesn't comment on the shock, the shaking hands... but he does lightly ask, "Is this your first time here?"

[tartanisstylish]

There were two reasons why Aziraphale had never gotten truly drunk in public before. The first was that he never considered it necessary, given his perpetual drinking partner. The second was that doing so made one vulnerable, and even as an angel he had to be cautious.

As he was apparently no longer quite an angel, and as he was, if not as drunk as he'd ever been, certainly well on his way, he ducked his head slightly. Defensive, telling, but he couldn't help it.

"It is, yes," he said guardedly. "And you?"

[nouvellestyle]

"During business hours, yes," he answered casually, "I was just looking around the first time. Learning my way around the... cave." He couldn't help the pause. It was still such a weird thing to say.

He watched the not-quite-a-stranger carefully, noting his movements and demeanor, the way he was obviously trying to be cautious around him. Now... who could have known him before - really known him - that he didn't know in return? Probably no one human. Except that here, they were all human. Maybe that's why this was suddenly harder...

[tartanisstylish]

Aziraphale took a sip, trying to get a grasp on the situation. His eyes narrowed slightly, knuckles white but relaxing on the bar, and he wondered: Did it happen to him too? Had he lost his power? It seemed like a backwards question. If anything, a personification of the End Times would lose form first; the form was not the being. And yet.

Here he was, looking exactly like he'd done at the power station, looking a bit puzzled, very intrigued, and entirely dangerous. What did one even say in this situation?

"How do you find it?" Aziraphale asked, eyes sliding forward again. "The Cave."