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xp_logsJean-Paul takes advantage of Gabriel's friendship and drinks a lot for free. Sort of.
Jean-Paul allowed himself to slouch against the wall toward the back of the room, glad he'd nabbed this spot at the join of bar and wall. It was easy to hide here -- only Gabriel was paying him any attention, which was nice. He hadn't bothered with the image inducer, seeing as it was dark enough inside that somebody'd have to get in his face to clearly see his features. Then, of course, they'd have to recognize him. Which, with his luck, would happen any second now.
"Ugh," he muttered, toying with the shot glass in front of him. When Gabriel came close enough to hear him, Jean-Paul said, "This is not working."
"That's probably good. Means you're not becoming an alcoholic." Gabriel planted his hands on the bar so he could lean over it slightly and get a better look at Jean-Paul's face. "Don't really know what you expected." He reached for Jean-Paul's water glass, letting the thumping bass of a Lady Gaga house mix fill the silence for a bit as he refilled it. "It's whiskey. It's not granting miracles."
"This is not the point," Jean-Paul replied. "I hate this ridiculous thing." Because he couldn't actually say aloud in a public place that he hated his mutation, of course. "It is so stupid."
"Yeah," Gabriel said reflexively, because being a bartender came with certain automatic responses. He plopped the water back down, and his brain shifted back into friend mode. "What now?" He crossed his arms, again studying Jean-Paul. "You're out, you're drinking, you're grumpy. Are you trying to get another free drink? I can do that."
"Merci. You are a good friend," Jean-Paul said, nodding. He actually quirked a half-smirk before poking at his glass of water with the tip of his finger, much as he'd been poking the shot glass earlier. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Gabriel shrugged. "But then I'm not the one who suddenly decided alcohol was an emotional cure-all." That was mostly because Gabriel had made that decision some time ago, and he knew the risks and reward of that approach. He turned, grabbing a glass and a few bottles. "Starting to think about how much longer I want to keep pouring drinks on top of the office job."
"You do not like working two? Which would you stop?" Jean-Paul asked, taking a sip of his water now. "It is not difficult to imagine you in a suit and tie always, but I think it is something strange."
"Well, first, that you think I wear a suit or a tie to that office every day is cute." He smiled, but didn't look up from the cocktail shaker in front of him. "Not that I don't look great in office clothes, but I'm not trying to impress anyone we live with." Not like they didn't all know better anyway.
"Who said anything about impressing the people we live with?" Jean-Paul asked, putting his glass of water back down. "Meetings in front of offices are very good beginnings for romantic comedies, are they not?"
"Yeah. Well." Gabriel just shrugged, then passed Jean-Paul a Manhattan in a rocks glass. "Not looking for much of that either, so, either way, I'm keeping it casual. Though, you know." He gestured around. "Not this casual."
"This is fair," Jean-Paul said after accepting the drink. He took a sip a moment later, hummed softly, and then said, "This is very good. How do you feel about Bellinis?"
"Eh." Gabriel's face showed slight disapproval. "Fruit juice with booze for the silver-spoon brunch crowd?" He shrugged. "Not making you one if that's what you're about to ask."
"Non," Jean-Paul said, quirking another almost-smile. "It is only, I like peaches, oui? Is there a thing that tastes like peaches but is not a Bellini?"
"Ugh, you are so —" Gabriel shook his head, a small smile on his face. "I can make something work."
"Is this to be a drink that is not so much a drink but a peach soaked in liquor? Because," Jean-Paul said, his tone almost philosophical, "I would not be opposed to this."
"I mean, peach schnapps is a thing. I'm sure I can add it to some orange juice and vodka, and you'll seem like a University of Kentucky sorority girl who just turned 21, but you'll be happy, which seems like what we want to achieve."
Snorting a laugh despite himself, Jean-Paul said, "Merci. Just so long as this drink is not a Bellini." After a brief pause, he tilted his head to the side and asked, "You have speed, do you not?"
"This isn't that kind of bar," Gabriel quipped from a crouched position behind the bar, where he was looking for schnapps. "But yeah, more or less." This wasn't the time to get into the peculiarities of his power.
"I must train with it. Everett Thomas has said the speed could be difficult. Could this be something you would be interested in helping me with?" Jean-Paul watched Gabriel as he moved behind the counter, half curious as to what he was doing with the drink, but also watching him to see what his reaction to the request would be.
Gabriel didn't respond; he turned his back to Jean-Paul as he mixed the man's drink. "Here," he said as he turned around, placing the glass on the table as if it were radioactive waste. "I think they call a Fuzzy Navel a Hairy Navel when you add vodka to it, so..." He shrugged. "I might be interested, but we should talk to Ev about it." This was good deflection. He could shift the blame. "We might have different issues, you know?"
Jean-Paul eyed the glass in front of him before shrugging and picking it up. "It could be. I thought only that it might be good. But if our issues, as you say, are not the same..." He smiled, though, still small and slightly rueful now.
"I just meant that I can't take flight," Gabriel pointed out, "which adds a whole other dimension to what you've got going on, you know?"
"Oui, yes. Putting them together is not a thing I have been able to do when trying to. Only when I am not thinking," Jean-Paul muttered, taking a sip of the drink. His eyebrows rose in surprised pleasure before he took another. "Merci, this is not terrible."
"It is," Gabriel countered with a smirk. "You are just a man of impeccably poor taste."
Shrugging again, this time almost philosophically, Jean-Paul said, "So give me whatever drink it is you think would make me a man of exceptionally good taste."
"Uh, hello?" Gabriel, ever the bartender, gestured to the half-finished Manhattan in front of Jean-Paul. "I'm not sure there's helping you, honestly." he feigned a big sigh. "Canadians. Unbelievable."
Laughing softly, Jean-Paul picked up the Manhattan and took a sip of it. "Do not fault all Canadians for my taste." He gestured toward his empty shot glass. "Alcohol is having no effects on me now. Or not so many as before."
Gabriel glanced at the shot glass, then looked down at the bar to see if any of his other customers appeared to need anything. Then he reached for a handle of Jameson. "You know, you drink this much for free, I'm going to have to make you pay for some of it, right?"
Eyebrows rising, somewhat intrigued, Jean-Paul tipped his head to the side and then said, "Oui. You know I... enjoy paying for it, do you not?"
"That's not entirely what I meant," Gabriel raised an eyebrow back as he filled Jean-Paul's glass with another shot of whiskey. "But maybe I could be convinced."
Happily finishing off the Manhattan, Jean-Paul paused for a moment and then reached for the whiskey. "How best to convince you, though? A practical demonstration, I think."
"Well." Gabriel crossed his arms. "That certainly sounds interesting."
"When is your break?" Jean-Paul asked.
Gabriel scanned the bar. "I should probably take care of my other patrons first. Gonna need like 15 minutes."
"I'll meet you... where? Do you prefer the alley or the bathroom?"
"Wow. The fact that you even think that's a reasonable question suggests that you're drunker than you think, and this going to be the sloppiest head of my adult life."
"You are opposed to sloppy?" Jean-Paul asked, raising his eyebrows. "I have fifteen minutes. This is more than enough time. We could fuck instead."
Gabriel cocked an eyebrow and took a step away from Jean-Paul. "I'm going to go serve that old bear another dirty martini. How about you give this all some thought and see where you land?"
Sighing as Gabriel walked away, Jean-Paul took the shot of whiskey and put the glass down near his other empties. Then he considered the peach drink, which he refused to call a 'hairy' anything, and picked it up to sip again. What did that even mean, 'see where you land'?
Leaning back in his secluded corner, the Quebecois raised a finger to tap at the end of his nose as he watched the other man assist the other patrons. The music was loud, the bass thrummed through his back where he rested against the wall, and wondered if other people were truly just not so direct as he might wish they were -- or as he was himself. Was he too direct? Or was Gabriel simply not interested.
Finally, Jean-Paul just shrugged to himself and pulled a napkin across the bar toward himself and snagged a pen as well. After scribbling a note, he left a condom beneath the napkin and got up to make his way to the bathroom. He'd give it fifteen minutes and, if Gabriel didn't show... he'd find someone else for the night. He did make sure he caught the other man's eye as he headed for the hallway and to the bathroom. No use waiting there if Gabriel went to the alley instead.
Jean-Paul allowed himself to slouch against the wall toward the back of the room, glad he'd nabbed this spot at the join of bar and wall. It was easy to hide here -- only Gabriel was paying him any attention, which was nice. He hadn't bothered with the image inducer, seeing as it was dark enough inside that somebody'd have to get in his face to clearly see his features. Then, of course, they'd have to recognize him. Which, with his luck, would happen any second now.
"Ugh," he muttered, toying with the shot glass in front of him. When Gabriel came close enough to hear him, Jean-Paul said, "This is not working."
"That's probably good. Means you're not becoming an alcoholic." Gabriel planted his hands on the bar so he could lean over it slightly and get a better look at Jean-Paul's face. "Don't really know what you expected." He reached for Jean-Paul's water glass, letting the thumping bass of a Lady Gaga house mix fill the silence for a bit as he refilled it. "It's whiskey. It's not granting miracles."
"This is not the point," Jean-Paul replied. "I hate this ridiculous thing." Because he couldn't actually say aloud in a public place that he hated his mutation, of course. "It is so stupid."
"Yeah," Gabriel said reflexively, because being a bartender came with certain automatic responses. He plopped the water back down, and his brain shifted back into friend mode. "What now?" He crossed his arms, again studying Jean-Paul. "You're out, you're drinking, you're grumpy. Are you trying to get another free drink? I can do that."
"Merci. You are a good friend," Jean-Paul said, nodding. He actually quirked a half-smirk before poking at his glass of water with the tip of his finger, much as he'd been poking the shot glass earlier. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Gabriel shrugged. "But then I'm not the one who suddenly decided alcohol was an emotional cure-all." That was mostly because Gabriel had made that decision some time ago, and he knew the risks and reward of that approach. He turned, grabbing a glass and a few bottles. "Starting to think about how much longer I want to keep pouring drinks on top of the office job."
"You do not like working two? Which would you stop?" Jean-Paul asked, taking a sip of his water now. "It is not difficult to imagine you in a suit and tie always, but I think it is something strange."
"Well, first, that you think I wear a suit or a tie to that office every day is cute." He smiled, but didn't look up from the cocktail shaker in front of him. "Not that I don't look great in office clothes, but I'm not trying to impress anyone we live with." Not like they didn't all know better anyway.
"Who said anything about impressing the people we live with?" Jean-Paul asked, putting his glass of water back down. "Meetings in front of offices are very good beginnings for romantic comedies, are they not?"
"Yeah. Well." Gabriel just shrugged, then passed Jean-Paul a Manhattan in a rocks glass. "Not looking for much of that either, so, either way, I'm keeping it casual. Though, you know." He gestured around. "Not this casual."
"This is fair," Jean-Paul said after accepting the drink. He took a sip a moment later, hummed softly, and then said, "This is very good. How do you feel about Bellinis?"
"Eh." Gabriel's face showed slight disapproval. "Fruit juice with booze for the silver-spoon brunch crowd?" He shrugged. "Not making you one if that's what you're about to ask."
"Non," Jean-Paul said, quirking another almost-smile. "It is only, I like peaches, oui? Is there a thing that tastes like peaches but is not a Bellini?"
"Ugh, you are so —" Gabriel shook his head, a small smile on his face. "I can make something work."
"Is this to be a drink that is not so much a drink but a peach soaked in liquor? Because," Jean-Paul said, his tone almost philosophical, "I would not be opposed to this."
"I mean, peach schnapps is a thing. I'm sure I can add it to some orange juice and vodka, and you'll seem like a University of Kentucky sorority girl who just turned 21, but you'll be happy, which seems like what we want to achieve."
Snorting a laugh despite himself, Jean-Paul said, "Merci. Just so long as this drink is not a Bellini." After a brief pause, he tilted his head to the side and asked, "You have speed, do you not?"
"This isn't that kind of bar," Gabriel quipped from a crouched position behind the bar, where he was looking for schnapps. "But yeah, more or less." This wasn't the time to get into the peculiarities of his power.
"I must train with it. Everett Thomas has said the speed could be difficult. Could this be something you would be interested in helping me with?" Jean-Paul watched Gabriel as he moved behind the counter, half curious as to what he was doing with the drink, but also watching him to see what his reaction to the request would be.
Gabriel didn't respond; he turned his back to Jean-Paul as he mixed the man's drink. "Here," he said as he turned around, placing the glass on the table as if it were radioactive waste. "I think they call a Fuzzy Navel a Hairy Navel when you add vodka to it, so..." He shrugged. "I might be interested, but we should talk to Ev about it." This was good deflection. He could shift the blame. "We might have different issues, you know?"
Jean-Paul eyed the glass in front of him before shrugging and picking it up. "It could be. I thought only that it might be good. But if our issues, as you say, are not the same..." He smiled, though, still small and slightly rueful now.
"I just meant that I can't take flight," Gabriel pointed out, "which adds a whole other dimension to what you've got going on, you know?"
"Oui, yes. Putting them together is not a thing I have been able to do when trying to. Only when I am not thinking," Jean-Paul muttered, taking a sip of the drink. His eyebrows rose in surprised pleasure before he took another. "Merci, this is not terrible."
"It is," Gabriel countered with a smirk. "You are just a man of impeccably poor taste."
Shrugging again, this time almost philosophically, Jean-Paul said, "So give me whatever drink it is you think would make me a man of exceptionally good taste."
"Uh, hello?" Gabriel, ever the bartender, gestured to the half-finished Manhattan in front of Jean-Paul. "I'm not sure there's helping you, honestly." he feigned a big sigh. "Canadians. Unbelievable."
Laughing softly, Jean-Paul picked up the Manhattan and took a sip of it. "Do not fault all Canadians for my taste." He gestured toward his empty shot glass. "Alcohol is having no effects on me now. Or not so many as before."
Gabriel glanced at the shot glass, then looked down at the bar to see if any of his other customers appeared to need anything. Then he reached for a handle of Jameson. "You know, you drink this much for free, I'm going to have to make you pay for some of it, right?"
Eyebrows rising, somewhat intrigued, Jean-Paul tipped his head to the side and then said, "Oui. You know I... enjoy paying for it, do you not?"
"That's not entirely what I meant," Gabriel raised an eyebrow back as he filled Jean-Paul's glass with another shot of whiskey. "But maybe I could be convinced."
Happily finishing off the Manhattan, Jean-Paul paused for a moment and then reached for the whiskey. "How best to convince you, though? A practical demonstration, I think."
"Well." Gabriel crossed his arms. "That certainly sounds interesting."
"When is your break?" Jean-Paul asked.
Gabriel scanned the bar. "I should probably take care of my other patrons first. Gonna need like 15 minutes."
"I'll meet you... where? Do you prefer the alley or the bathroom?"
"Wow. The fact that you even think that's a reasonable question suggests that you're drunker than you think, and this going to be the sloppiest head of my adult life."
"You are opposed to sloppy?" Jean-Paul asked, raising his eyebrows. "I have fifteen minutes. This is more than enough time. We could fuck instead."
Gabriel cocked an eyebrow and took a step away from Jean-Paul. "I'm going to go serve that old bear another dirty martini. How about you give this all some thought and see where you land?"
Sighing as Gabriel walked away, Jean-Paul took the shot of whiskey and put the glass down near his other empties. Then he considered the peach drink, which he refused to call a 'hairy' anything, and picked it up to sip again. What did that even mean, 'see where you land'?
Leaning back in his secluded corner, the Quebecois raised a finger to tap at the end of his nose as he watched the other man assist the other patrons. The music was loud, the bass thrummed through his back where he rested against the wall, and wondered if other people were truly just not so direct as he might wish they were -- or as he was himself. Was he too direct? Or was Gabriel simply not interested.
Finally, Jean-Paul just shrugged to himself and pulled a napkin across the bar toward himself and snagged a pen as well. After scribbling a note, he left a condom beneath the napkin and got up to make his way to the bathroom. He'd give it fifteen minutes and, if Gabriel didn't show... he'd find someone else for the night. He did make sure he caught the other man's eye as he headed for the hallway and to the bathroom. No use waiting there if Gabriel went to the alley instead.
