Space Invader [closed]

[Sloane Deveraux]

God, Farley was annoying.

Drink.

A heavy thunk was heard as Sloane slammed her tumbler on the wooden counter of the bar, asking the attractive male bartender for a refill. "Make it count this time will you?" her thick gruff voice sounded over the clinking of cutlery and soft hums of the patrons' hushed conversation.

The jukebox in the corner was playing some cheesy 80's music Sloane was embarrassed she recognised.

When her drink arrived, she took a little sip first and grinned at the bitter aftertaste of the concoction. Her eyes met with the bartender who had a similar grin with a little nod. "You are my new best friend." Sloane held her glass up, pointing her forefinger at the man before taking another sip.

Not noticing the new addition to the bar beside her, she hummed to the jukebox music, musing at how annoying her new boss was. How could that batty old lady blame her for the things that had already happened? Granted, Sloane should have been more alert when shit went down but she couldn't expose herself as a meta in the meantime! It just wasn't wise.

After about five drinks, Sloane was getting slightly lightheaded as she started leaning against the dark-haired newcomer beside her, not realising she was even doing it.

[John Thornton]

“Pint of larger,” John said to the barman, ignoring the raised eyebrow his accent still got. It hadn’t faded much, though his mother had accused him of sounding American when he’d called to talk to her. He’d had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the wailing that was still passing for music these days.

It sounded like rock and/or roll, and no matter what the woman singing was claiming to feel, Mr John F. Thornton did not love rock and roll and would be putting no dime in the jukebox. He also took offense to being referred to as a child, let alone an infant.

Attempting to block the song out and hoping the next would be much more pleasant (or at least not as bad), Thornton pushed over his dollars and accepted his drink gratefully. He’d sat at the bar, not expecting any company not wanting it, at the moment. He just wanted to have a drink or five then walk home and sleep, or read the Financial Times or the Ecconomist and do the house accounts. Anything to calm his mind, really.

Through his coat and somewhat reinforced skin it took more pressure then perhaps it should have to register that there was someone pressed against him. When the rather uptight man did register this however, he cringed back and shot the woman a look of complete irritation, complete with slightly flared nostrils and lowered eyebrows. ”Ma’am,” he snapped, his tone icy with disapproval, ”Either sit up straight or find someone willing to be used as an arm rest.”

Him, in a bad mood? Honestly no. It just struck him as a lack of respect was all. Honestly.

[Sloane Deveraux]

She was actually getting very comfortable with where she was leaning against that it took her awhile to realise that her leaning post had speaking powers. And was rather snarky at that. Well two could play that game.

After about two minutes of trying to sit back up straight, with the help of the bar top having to survive her death grip, Sloane slowly turned to her previous leaning post, annoyed to find in it's place a rather slight man with harsh features and a very noticeable nose.

"Well 'scuse you Queen Mother." Yes, because only the Queen Mother spoke in that accent. "Wan even aware 'n arm rest could even speak. Let 'lone have an attitude pro'lem." She slurred her words, licking her lips before glaring at the offended Englishman.

"Hardly a way to talk to a lady. Don't they teach you manners where they taught you how to speak like you have a stick up your derriere?" She asked, her eyebrow shooting up.

[John Thornton]

She was clearly ignorant. Or drunk. Thornton inhaled sharply through his nose at the insult, and at the slur it implied on the royal family. The Queen mother had been a lovely lady, and besides, he had a soft spot for mothers. As the woman continued, his frown deepened; she had either had a stroke, which seemed unlikely as she seemed to have (mostly) full control of her limbs, or she was very inebriated.

Also very rude.

Taking another swallow of beer, Thornton weighed up moving, or just ignoring her.

”Manners usually include not leaning against total strangers then insulting their monarchy, especially the dead ones,” he pointed out, looking down his nose at her and raising an eyebrow. It struck him as somewhat ironic that she chose to call herself a lady; she was certainly not exactly portraying the qualities he usually thought of. A particular foreign staff member feeding the fishes came to mind; now, she was a lady. None of that nonsense, Thornton.

Brushing off those uncomfortable thoughts like dust off his shoulder, he stiffened and shifted slightly when he heard her final remark. Nothing he hadn’t heard before, but still, to have a complete stranger say so... Picking up his glass and looking at her pointedly, he scowled and took another sip. ”You’re drunk,” he said flatly, ”Or I’d take offense. A lady would know better then to make such remarks. Have some water, for goodness sakes.”

[Sloane Deveraux]

A slew of curses in her mother tongue left Sloane's lips as the Frenchwoman scowled at the Englishman. In her inebriated state, Sloane had no recollection of ever insulting a monarchy. She had simply pointed out the fact that the man was clearly using her language. This of course did not help matters at all as she tried to regain her composure. She was still an officer of the law. She should be setting an example.

It escaped her entirely that she was trying to do that in a bar.

She didn't, however, try to rectify her earlier behaviour and chose to completely ignore its' existence. Giving out a bark of laughter at his next statement, Sloane saluted him mockingly. "No shit Sherlock." She scoffed. "Oh, you're an expert on ladies now are you?" Her accent was heavily seeping into her speech, something that had ironically bewitched her previous bar companion.

At least she was smart enough to know it won't happen twice.

Or ever.

"How thoughtful of you to be considerate of my welfare. Really, I'm touched." She placed a hand over her heart before slapping it on to the bartop to signal the bartender. "Vodka, barkeep. And keep it coming." She pointedly looked at the man before attempting to sit up straight. She was quickly sobering up and was well aware that her actions was completely unladylike. Not that it mattered. She sure as hell wasn't one. And if the man continued to be this uptight, she might have to slap some sense into him. It was just the right thing to do.

[John Thornton]

You didn’t need to speak french to realize when someone was swearing at you in it. Thornton couldn’t speak french, but he still returned the woman’s scowl with one of his own, patented glares. While she had been slurring, her accent had gone relatively unnoticed but even someone as culturally oblivious as Thronton could tell french when it was spat at him. French curses were particularly distinct.

Bollocks to you too, ma’am, he thought, but kept his lips pressed tightly together. He was not about to sink to her level.

She did not seem satisfied with merely insulting him in french, and Thronton’s jaw set as he tried to ignore her mockery. The jab at his knowledge of women stung a little, given his recent and rather obvious failure at proving to be seen as anything other then a overly stern accountant. But this... this hussy didn’t need to know about any of that.

”Your sarcasm is not appreciated,” he finally snapped, pushing his own empty glass away and signaling for a strong drink of his own. Even if he did get up and find an empty seat to enjoy his scotch in private, which he would not as that would indicate she had won (what exactly he didn’t know but it was something damn it), his already slightly sour mood had been spoiled further and not even scotch could salvage the evening.

”Chivas, straight,” he barked at the bartender, then ran his hand over his face as the englishman tried to collect himself. Some people just couldn’t be appeased. ”Do whatever pleases you, ma’am,” the ex accountant said sharply. ”It doesn’t concern me. As long as you avoid falling on me, you are free to do as you like.” And with that he turned to his own drinking, scowling heavily as if the glass itself had done him some grave injustice.

[Sloane Deveraux]

The perverse pleasure she felt when the man glared at her showed in her smirk as she downed her drink in one shot. The drink left a pleasant burn in her throat and she cleared it slightly.

When the man finally retaliated, Sloane admitted she was surprised, as evident in her body jerking up slightly. But she had to hold back a little giggle at how pissed off he looked. And his next order made her smirk widen.

"Oh thank you so much for your permission. Really. That was all I needed." Sloane replied. "Thank you so much." She tapped her glass on the bar top and leaned against it to avoid leaning against Mr. Johnny English.

"What's gotten you so uptight, Mr. English man? This is a bar. Gotta hang loose."

[John Thornton]

Not to be outdone, John matched her and finished his scotch off with a swallow. The ice cubes clinked as he set the glass down harder then was really necessary. Sarcasm. Not. Appreciated. The slight loosening of his mind as the alcohol started to work on his somewhat reinforced system only made him look grumpier as he glared at his empty glass.

"My name," he said through slightly clenched teeth, "is not Mr Englishman. It's Thornton. And I am not uptight, nor do I need to," his expression twisted at the unfamiliar turn of phrase, "hang loose. Certainly not if it means falling into strangers. Do you usually insist on it?"

Why was he still talking to her? Sure, her leaning against his shoulder had been the first real bit of human contact he'd had in.... a long time (if you didn't count the training sessions with Lyra that ended with him having to hold her back as she tried to charge him) but he was not so desperate for conversation that he'd encourage conversation with a buzzed barfly...

Was he?

[Sloane Deveraux]

Sloane did not even try to mask the snort when he revealed his name to be Thornton. "Really? Really? THORNton? I'm sorry, but that is just hilarious!" Sloane guffawed, mindlessly slapping the bar top, amused by how apt his name was to his bristly nature.

His rhetorical question was met with a straight face. "Almost exclusively sir." She responded before snorting, picking up her glass and asking for another shot. "Now, Mr. Thornton,"she laughed in mid-sentence, still finding the name amusing. "Get your stick out of your arse and enjoy the bar the way it was meant to be enjoyed. We could sing along with the jukebox or we could play a drinking game or beer pong! Have you ever played - what am I saying, of course you've never played beer pong! Come, I'll teach you. BARKEEP!" she signaled the bartender for shot glasses and a ping pong ball.

If they didn't have a ping pong ball, she would be thoroughly disappointed.

[John Thornton]

"I fail to see what's funny," Thornton snapped, glaring at Sloan in anger. She was making fun of his name, his father's name, and he was not amused. Still, he was slightly mollified when she called him Sir (no, he did not realise she was being rude and sarcastic because sarcasm didn't work on him when he was dru-drinking). "Of course, your name is something perfectly french, I imagine. No doubt something that means 'unbalanced'."

"I am enjoying the bar. I'm drinking, aren't I?" he muttered, finishing off another glass and signalling for another. "Why does everyone say that?"

If there was a stick up there, sometimes he wished he could pull it out and start beating people with it. Maybe they'd leave him alone then.

Wait, they were friends now? For the first time that night, John's eyebrows settled into an expression that was not a scowl. Rather, he was surprised. She must have had more to drink then he'd thought. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said slowly, then looked down at the shot glasses and the ping pong ball that was just put down on the wooden counter.

"And I do not sing. I do not sing, ever. No amount of whiskey in the world will change that."

[Sloane Deveraux]

"Aw come on Thornton. You're just making all this way too easy." Sloane waved her hand about as she stopped the bartender from pouring anymore into her glass. His remark about her name just caused her to raise an eyebrow without a response.

"Everyone? Because it's true. Dude, you don't enjoy a bar simply by drinking. Socialise." Sloane threw her hands up, clearly very drunk. She was the last person, sober, who would socialise let alone ask people to do so. She was a contradictory drunk, everything she was while sober was completely reversed when drunk. But her sarcasm? Very much intact. Heightened, even.

"Wh..." Sloane rolled her eyes at his resistance. "Really, Thornton. You need to loosen the fuck up.

Arranging the shot glasses, she grabbed the bottle of whiskey and filled the glasses and grabbed the ping pong ball. "Okay so I'm not too privy about the rules so we'll play the way I see it. You gotta bounce the ball into one of the glasses and once your ball lands in a glass, you gotta drink it. First one who finishes the other's triangle of glasses wins. Alright?"

Sloane was about ready to pass out but if it helped Thornton loosen up tonight, she was all for it. She was suddenly feeling very charitable tonight.

[John Thornton]

Well, she’d finally stopped drinking. Good for her. John signaled for another and spun the liquid, listening to the ice cubes clink like glass beads. She was plastered, and he had to duck to avoid one of her hands as she threw them into the air. Sipping instead of swinging it back as he was heartily tempted to do, Thornton ran a finger along the rim of his tumbler as he started at the rings from careless glasses on the bench.

He’d had enough of this. Enough of a drunken french woman (why did she have to be french) insulting him and nagging at him, and enough to drink too. Clearing his throat, the englishman placed both hands on the counter and pushed himself to his feet. ”You’re very drunk,” he said clearly, feeling only slightly unsteady on his feet, ”And I’ve had enough. I don’t feel the need to loosen up if it entails bouncing ping pong balls into glasses of perfectly drinkable scotch.”

Slapping enough money on the counter to cover his drinks, and the bottle Sloan had just grabbed, John twisted his neck to work the kinks out and pushed his hands into his pockets. ”You should go home,” he said shortly, brow furrowed. He had actually been considering playing that stupid game, and the thought made his lip curl in disgust. Desperation had an ugly look to it, and he could see it in the veins on his hands.

With a nod to his barfly companion and his hands still stuffed in his pockets, John Thornton swept out of the bar, and didn’t breath a sigh of relief until he was well over a block away.

[Sloane Deveraux]

So beer pong wasn't exactly on her mind since she just wanted to do shots but when Thornton replied with the slightly off-putting [only slightly because Sloane was too busy eyeing her drinks] comment and announcement that he was leaving. "What? Aww come on, Thornton. You can't possibly..."

She didn't even get to finish her sentence when the man walked out of the bar with his hissy ending advice. She sneered at his retreating back and turned to the row of shots she had just acquired for herself. "Sweet. I get to finish all this. BARKEEP! Turn up the jukebox!"

[OOC: Wassap wrapper! >_< I should not be doing posts at 3 in the morning]