[ The reaction to the liquor is all the confirmation that Wolfwood needs, and he hides his amusement behind his own glass, matching Vash's generous swig. ]
It'll clear your head, that's for sure. Everyone's probably used to the taste of this—
[ He sounds amused when he speaks and he cuts off to reach for the bottle, twisting it around to look at the handwritten label on it. ]
— Alvin's Bathtub Boot Screech. Do you think it was actually made in Alvin's bathtub?
[ Knowing the equipment they have around here, Wolfwood wouldn't be surprised. Wouldn't even be shocked by the presence of a boot in the mixture before it was bottled.
Even crappy but strong moonshine is better than stewing in his thoughts. He takes another drink, barely blinking as it burns through him. With the lollipop, it's not terrible, and he sets his glass down to pat down his pocket, looking for another one to pass to Vash. ] Just this once. And don't tell little missy I gave it to you. I'll never hear the end of it.
[ Vash pulls a long grimace, sticking his tongue out. ]
I wouldn't doubt it was made in Alvin's bathtub with Alvin in it.
[ He's pretty sure the bartender is Alvin himself, actually, which comes with a mental image he doesn't particularly want to dwell on. Thankfully, Wolfwood's got him covered with a distraction, and Vash's eyes light up as he takes the lollipop between his fingers and twirls it by the stick. ]
Aw, you really do like me, [ he coos, delicately peeling the wrapper away with a bemused smile on his face. Like there was any question. But the thing about Vash is, when he drinks, the alcohol hits fast and runs its course faster, so maybe his lips are already a little loose. Just little plant things.
He dunks the lollipop in his glass, stirring until he thinks the topmost layer of syrupy sweetness has dissolved away, then takes it between his teeth and tongues the alcohol off. Satisfied with whatever flavor monstrosity he's created, he knocks back another, more conservative sip, and finds it more bearable this time. ]
It really does take the edge off, [ he hums, reaching for the bottle to refill the glass. ] You ever consider a career switch to bartending? Bet you could beat the guy downstairs at it.
[ The little comment about liking him makes Wolfwood roll his eyes, and he intentionally bumps his shoulder against Vash's, jostling him a little. There's a spark of affection evident in his eyes, probably easily read since he tucked his sunglasses away. He has to look away a moment later when Vash just... cleans the lollipop of any alcohol, unconcerned about how it looks or what it might be doing to Wolfwood's psyche.
(He's almost ashamed he hadn't considered it first. He doesn't copy Vash, but only because he has some pride. Instead, he sips his drink and munches on the stupid hard candy of his lollipop.
He resolutely doesn't think about what Vash looks like, either.) ]
I'd have lines out the door trying to buy my drinks. Finest things you'd get in the area. Then I'd put everyone out of business and where would these fine gentlemen like Alvin go?
[ If there's a future for him once the Eye of Michael is done with him, maybe. ]
Pretty sure a bartender isn't supposed to get drunk on his own product, though. Who wants to deal with drunkards while they're sober?
[ If Vash is at all aware of what he's doing to Wolfwood, he doesn't give any indication, smiling his winsome smiles and teething at his candy without ever fully biting down. He's settled into a rhythm now—swirling his glass, taking a sip or two, and letting the fire settle in his chest before he keeps going, idly kicking his feet all the while. ]
I would, [ Vash says without hesitation. The corners of his mouth twitch, like he's trying to figure out whether to laugh or not. ] I'd play the piano, and handle the patrons, while you mix your drinks and drink them too.
[ He says it like it's a given he'd be there, as if it's not a pipe dream he invented in the moment. The booze is terrible but the aftereffects are a pleasant warmth and a dusting of pink on his cheeks, which does, on occasions like tonight, make Vash prone to indulging in fantasies.
Most of his weight is propped up against Wolfwood's shoulder now, with Vash blissfully unaware of how close he's crowded in. He's too busy grinning, and stealing glances at Wolfwood, enjoying the opportunity to look him in the eyes without obstruction for once. ]
And then, after hours, we could lock the doors and share whatever's left over. That'd be nice, don't you think?
[ Of course he'd be there. Wolfwood wouldn't want anyone else there, in this little fantasy of Vash's, which is now firmly fixed in Wolfwood's mind. Easier than thinking about the orphanage and why he's out here, doing all of this.
For all that he's tall and lanky, Vash doesn't weigh much against Wolfwood's shoulder, but Wolfwood's still careful not to jostle him too much when he reaches for the bottle to pour another glass. It makes him less morose, although he hasn't had enough yet to make him feel better. ]
Pretty nice. [ Until people start throwing punches. But that's not part of the daydream. Closer to the reality they live in. ] Can't drink it all, gotta save some for the next night. But we'd make do. You any good at playing?
Used to be, [ Vash admits, sheepishly passing a hand over the back of his neck. ] I'm out of practice, but I'm sure it wouldn't take much to pick it back up again.
[ He was never as attentive to his studies as his brother, but he learned enough to play competently. A long time ago now, but he's sure the muscle memory is still there. If he stretches a hand out, he can still remember the positions of the notes to some old earth song, the sheet music lost long ago in the Fall.
The tune is there, on the tip of his tongue. Humming it to himself, fingers dancing over invisible keys, he can almost remember what it was called. ]
Got any favorites? I'd take requests. Even play something special for the man in charge once the doors close.
[ It's wishful thinking, he's aware. They both know Vash is a dead man walking, and Wolfwood has more important things to worry about—but he'll beg forgiveness another day for just this once glancing in the direction of his own wants. ]
So you'll get hecklers at first but charm them well enough in the end. [ Which will undoubtedly lead to problems, a bar fight turning into more. That's how the rhythm of their lives go, right now.
But even Wolfwood can let go of that for now, indulge in a pleasant dream of a quiet night in a bar, a pretty boy playing pretty music for a crowd that's not out to kill him. ]
A request would require me remembering what songs are called. Who mentions that? [ He knows hymnals and some old earth songs, thanks to the nuns at the orphanage, but the names of those fade in his memory, mixed in with the prayers he confuses and the memories he tries to forget. ] Play something you like.
[ Indulge in that; it's better than relying on Wolfwood to have decent taste. ] Can you sing, too?
[ Vash mulls that one over for a hair longer than necessary, thoughts pleasantly sluggish now, before plucking the candy from his mouth and holding it out in front of his face. ]
Ba-aw... [ He drawls the noise out, rolling it around in his mouth until he can practically taste it, and drops his head onto Wolfwood's shoulder. He's close enough to feel the warmth of his own breath blow back on him as it puffs against Wolfwood's neck, and for some reason that makes him smile. ] You don't really wanna hear me sing, do you?
[ Vash can't even honestly say that his singing is bad—but then, he's only ever had his sisters to judge. He sings to them sometimes, when no one else is listening, when they're confused or sick or dying and he doesn't know what else to do. It seems to help as much as anything else, and if it bothers them, he's never heard tell of it.
Doing that in front of an audience capable of human speech? In front of Wolfwood? He's gone pink again, and this time it's not the alcohol. ]
I mean, I could try, but it's kinda embarrassing...
[- Wolfwood rolls his eyes at the drawn-out noise Vash makes, but he's too comfortable to jostle them and reach over and tousle Vash's hair like he would any other time, just to annoy him.
Besides, Vash is curling into him and that's— Wolfwood can't even describe what that makes him feel. His cheeks burn, and Wolfwood is thankful it's dark and that Vash (hopefully) can't see his face from his angle. ]
Gotta have a singer to go along with this music of yours, and it ain't gonna be me. [ Wolfwood sang to the kids in the orphanage a thousand pleasant memories ago and hasn't attempted it since then. He'd probably sound as good as one of the thomas's squawking. ]
How's it embarrassing? [ Oh it would be terribly embarrassing to Wolfwood too but he's not the one singing here. ] I've already seen you get fumble down a flight of stairs and your bedhead hair, can't be worse than that.
[ Vash huffs, a sound that makes his shoulders expand and then deflate like the air going out of a tire. At least Wolfwood makes a comfortable place to lean—he doesn't think he's peeling himself off that shoulder anytime soon. ]
Yeah, but you've seen that. You haven't seen me sing, [ Vash complains, waving the glass in his hand around vaguely. ] I mean, what if I'm really off-key and they throw vegetables at me! That'd be wasting food—
[ He's not even sure why he's nervous about it. It's rare to see a busker in any bar in No Man's Land who can hold a tune for more than a couple heartbeats, and Vash is... pretty sure he can do that. Maybe it's because it's Wolfwood, and this little fantasy of his has spun out of control into a memory he dearly wishes he could make and cherish.
He's thinking wistful thoughts, he realizes, and that's never good, so he pops the candy back in his mouth and reaches all the way across Wolfwood, grabbing for the moonshine. ]
C'mon, gimme the bottle, I'm not drunk enough for singing yet.
You think any of 'em are gonna throw food, if they had that? [ Wolfwood snorts and rolls his eyes, very amused at this picture: Vash playing the piano, singing off-key for a crowd with enough food to throw at him. ] They'd probably throw their glasses at you. Or their shoes, which would be worse than any rotten food.
[ He wrinkles his nose, thinking of that. ] You ever smelled the feet of one of these ruffians after they've walked around an entire day? Disgusting. We'd have to kick 'em out for that, so we gotta make sure you can sing.
[ As Vash reaches across, Wolfwood grabs the bottle, raising it over head. Despite that, he's careful not to jostle Vash too much, too comfortable, enjoying this far too much. That's dangerous territory, and Wolfwood knows it, but he's too tipsy to care. ]
You think being drunk's gonna improve your singing?
No, [ Vash says, his eyes following the bottle in Wolfwood's hand up, and up, like he's just learning object permanence for the first time. He squints at it resentfully, sitting just out of his reach. ] But it'd sure help with the stage fright.
[ Not to be deterred, Vash gets his knees under him and slings both arms around Wolfwood's neck, leaning heavily on him. He summons up his best, most pitiful pout, lower lip protruding, lashes fluttering over the biggest, saddest puppy eyes he's sure he's ever made in his life. ]
Wolfwood, [ he says, and it's not as sweet as he'd like it to sound, not with a hand slowly creeping up Wolfwood's arm, trying to snatch his prize down from on high. ] gimme the bottle. Please?
[ Wolfwood's eyes widen momentarily when Vash loops his arms around his neck; he didn't expect Vash to nearly crawl into his lap, and the sneaky hand creeping up his arm is a downright tease. He blushes and huffs at Vash, glad that the light is dim and he can blame any heat on his cheeks on the alcohol.
He's a strong, stoic guy. He can resist the puppy eyes. Mostly. Somewhat. A little.
Goddamnit, Vash— ]
What are you gonna do with the bottle, Blondie? You've still got a drink, don't you?
[ He's not sure, honestly. Not even sure what's left in his glass. His fingers tighten around the bottle, but there's only so far he can stretch without completely dislodging Vash. ]
[ Vash considers it for a second, squinting at the glass in his other hand that still has at least a quarter of its contents sloshing around inside. He really doesn't have an excuse to be all over Wolfwood like this, does he?
Except he does. It's just got nothing to do with the bottle.
Seized by a fit of impulse, Vash makes a decision, tipping back the glass and downing the rest of his drink in one swift motion. ]
Sure don't.
[ He spits what's left of his sucker into the empty glass.
Then he leans in and kisses Wolfwood, just as fast as knocking back another shot of liquor.
He's not thinking too hard about it. It just seemed like the right move in the moment, and the way Wolfwood's lips are warm and chapped against his own—well, he's certainly not second-guessing himself now. Besides...
His hand creeps up Wolfwood's wrist and seizes the neck of the bottle, finally in reach to tug it from his grasp.
He makes a noise against Wolfwood's mouth that might be a ha! but he doesn't seem in a hurry to get away with his prize just yet. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@biblicallyaccurate
[ The reaction to the liquor is all the confirmation that Wolfwood needs, and he hides his amusement behind his own glass, matching Vash's generous swig. ]
It'll clear your head, that's for sure. Everyone's probably used to the taste of this—
[ He sounds amused when he speaks and he cuts off to reach for the bottle, twisting it around to look at the handwritten label on it. ]
— Alvin's Bathtub Boot Screech. Do you think it was actually made in Alvin's bathtub?
[ Knowing the equipment they have around here, Wolfwood wouldn't be surprised. Wouldn't even be shocked by the presence of a boot in the mixture before it was bottled.
Even crappy but strong moonshine is better than stewing in his thoughts. He takes another drink, barely blinking as it burns through him. With the lollipop, it's not terrible, and he sets his glass down to pat down his pocket, looking for another one to pass to Vash. ] Just this once. And don't tell little missy I gave it to you. I'll never hear the end of it.
no subject
I wouldn't doubt it was made in Alvin's bathtub with Alvin in it.
[ He's pretty sure the bartender is Alvin himself, actually, which comes with a mental image he doesn't particularly want to dwell on. Thankfully, Wolfwood's got him covered with a distraction, and Vash's eyes light up as he takes the lollipop between his fingers and twirls it by the stick. ]
Aw, you really do like me, [ he coos, delicately peeling the wrapper away with a bemused smile on his face. Like there was any question. But the thing about Vash is, when he drinks, the alcohol hits fast and runs its course faster, so maybe his lips are already a little loose. Just little plant things.
He dunks the lollipop in his glass, stirring until he thinks the topmost layer of syrupy sweetness has dissolved away, then takes it between his teeth and tongues the alcohol off. Satisfied with whatever flavor monstrosity he's created, he knocks back another, more conservative sip, and finds it more bearable this time. ]
It really does take the edge off, [ he hums, reaching for the bottle to refill the glass. ] You ever consider a career switch to bartending? Bet you could beat the guy downstairs at it.
no subject
(He's almost ashamed he hadn't considered it first. He doesn't copy Vash, but only because he has some pride. Instead, he sips his drink and munches on the stupid hard candy of his lollipop.
He resolutely doesn't think about what Vash looks like, either.) ]
I'd have lines out the door trying to buy my drinks. Finest things you'd get in the area. Then I'd put everyone out of business and where would these fine gentlemen like Alvin go?
[ If there's a future for him once the Eye of Michael is done with him, maybe. ]
Pretty sure a bartender isn't supposed to get drunk on his own product, though. Who wants to deal with drunkards while they're sober?
no subject
I would, [ Vash says without hesitation. The corners of his mouth twitch, like he's trying to figure out whether to laugh or not. ] I'd play the piano, and handle the patrons, while you mix your drinks and drink them too.
[ He says it like it's a given he'd be there, as if it's not a pipe dream he invented in the moment. The booze is terrible but the aftereffects are a pleasant warmth and a dusting of pink on his cheeks, which does, on occasions like tonight, make Vash prone to indulging in fantasies.
Most of his weight is propped up against Wolfwood's shoulder now, with Vash blissfully unaware of how close he's crowded in. He's too busy grinning, and stealing glances at Wolfwood, enjoying the opportunity to look him in the eyes without obstruction for once. ]
And then, after hours, we could lock the doors and share whatever's left over. That'd be nice, don't you think?
no subject
For all that he's tall and lanky, Vash doesn't weigh much against Wolfwood's shoulder, but Wolfwood's still careful not to jostle him too much when he reaches for the bottle to pour another glass. It makes him less morose, although he hasn't had enough yet to make him feel better. ]
Pretty nice. [ Until people start throwing punches. But that's not part of the daydream. Closer to the reality they live in. ] Can't drink it all, gotta save some for the next night. But we'd make do. You any good at playing?
no subject
[ He was never as attentive to his studies as his brother, but he learned enough to play competently. A long time ago now, but he's sure the muscle memory is still there. If he stretches a hand out, he can still remember the positions of the notes to some old earth song, the sheet music lost long ago in the Fall.
The tune is there, on the tip of his tongue. Humming it to himself, fingers dancing over invisible keys, he can almost remember what it was called. ]
Got any favorites? I'd take requests. Even play something special for the man in charge once the doors close.
[ It's wishful thinking, he's aware. They both know Vash is a dead man walking, and Wolfwood has more important things to worry about—but he'll beg forgiveness another day for just this once glancing in the direction of his own wants. ]
Sorry for my delay
But even Wolfwood can let go of that for now, indulge in a pleasant dream of a quiet night in a bar, a pretty boy playing pretty music for a crowd that's not out to kill him. ]
A request would require me remembering what songs are called. Who mentions that? [ He knows hymnals and some old earth songs, thanks to the nuns at the orphanage, but the names of those fade in his memory, mixed in with the prayers he confuses and the memories he tries to forget. ] Play something you like.
[ Indulge in that; it's better than relying on Wolfwood to have decent taste. ] Can you sing, too?
no subject
Ba-aw... [ He drawls the noise out, rolling it around in his mouth until he can practically taste it, and drops his head onto Wolfwood's shoulder. He's close enough to feel the warmth of his own breath blow back on him as it puffs against Wolfwood's neck, and for some reason that makes him smile. ] You don't really wanna hear me sing, do you?
[ Vash can't even honestly say that his singing is bad—but then, he's only ever had his sisters to judge. He sings to them sometimes, when no one else is listening, when they're confused or sick or dying and he doesn't know what else to do. It seems to help as much as anything else, and if it bothers them, he's never heard tell of it.
Doing that in front of an audience capable of human speech? In front of Wolfwood? He's gone pink again, and this time it's not the alcohol. ]
I mean, I could try, but it's kinda embarrassing...
no subject
Besides, Vash is curling into him and that's— Wolfwood can't even describe what that makes him feel. His cheeks burn, and Wolfwood is thankful it's dark and that Vash (hopefully) can't see his face from his angle. ]
Gotta have a singer to go along with this music of yours, and it ain't gonna be me. [ Wolfwood sang to the kids in the orphanage a thousand pleasant memories ago and hasn't attempted it since then. He'd probably sound as good as one of the thomas's squawking. ]
How's it embarrassing? [ Oh it would be terribly embarrassing to Wolfwood too but he's not the one singing here. ] I've already seen you get fumble down a flight of stairs and your bedhead hair, can't be worse than that.
no subject
Yeah, but you've seen that. You haven't seen me sing, [ Vash complains, waving the glass in his hand around vaguely. ] I mean, what if I'm really off-key and they throw vegetables at me! That'd be wasting food—
[ He's not even sure why he's nervous about it. It's rare to see a busker in any bar in No Man's Land who can hold a tune for more than a couple heartbeats, and Vash is... pretty sure he can do that. Maybe it's because it's Wolfwood, and this little fantasy of his has spun out of control into a memory he dearly wishes he could make and cherish.
He's thinking wistful thoughts, he realizes, and that's never good, so he pops the candy back in his mouth and reaches all the way across Wolfwood, grabbing for the moonshine. ]
C'mon, gimme the bottle, I'm not drunk enough for singing yet.
no subject
[ He wrinkles his nose, thinking of that. ] You ever smelled the feet of one of these ruffians after they've walked around an entire day? Disgusting. We'd have to kick 'em out for that, so we gotta make sure you can sing.
[ As Vash reaches across, Wolfwood grabs the bottle, raising it over head. Despite that, he's careful not to jostle Vash too much, too comfortable, enjoying this far too much. That's dangerous territory, and Wolfwood knows it, but he's too tipsy to care. ]
You think being drunk's gonna improve your singing?
no subject
[ Not to be deterred, Vash gets his knees under him and slings both arms around Wolfwood's neck, leaning heavily on him. He summons up his best, most pitiful pout, lower lip protruding, lashes fluttering over the biggest, saddest puppy eyes he's sure he's ever made in his life. ]
Wolfwood, [ he says, and it's not as sweet as he'd like it to sound, not with a hand slowly creeping up Wolfwood's arm, trying to snatch his prize down from on high. ] gimme the bottle. Please?
no subject
He's a strong, stoic guy. He can resist the puppy eyes. Mostly. Somewhat. A little.
Goddamnit, Vash— ]
What are you gonna do with the bottle, Blondie? You've still got a drink, don't you?
[ He's not sure, honestly. Not even sure what's left in his glass. His fingers tighten around the bottle, but there's only so far he can stretch without completely dislodging Vash. ]
no subject
Except he does. It's just got nothing to do with the bottle.
Seized by a fit of impulse, Vash makes a decision, tipping back the glass and downing the rest of his drink in one swift motion. ]
Sure don't.
[ He spits what's left of his sucker into the empty glass.
Then he leans in and kisses Wolfwood, just as fast as knocking back another shot of liquor.
He's not thinking too hard about it. It just seemed like the right move in the moment, and the way Wolfwood's lips are warm and chapped against his own—well, he's certainly not second-guessing himself now. Besides...
His hand creeps up Wolfwood's wrist and seizes the neck of the bottle, finally in reach to tug it from his grasp.
He makes a noise against Wolfwood's mouth that might be a ha! but he doesn't seem in a hurry to get away with his prize just yet. ]