xp_logs | Sharon and Garrison: the pro's and cons of Jim Beam

After Salina's news, Sharon decides she needs something to drink. Luckily Garrison is there to join her.

The noise of some kind of sport on television rose when Sharon entered the bar and quickly spotted an empty stool at the bar. It not being very busy, the bartender was there moments after she took her seat. "Whiskey, neat. The Jim Beam is fine." She ordered in sharp tones.

Brier poured the drink and set it down. Sharon hadn't asked for a double, but the look on her face was reason enough to add the extra measure.

"Jim Beam is not fine. Jim Beam is what rookie cops drink after a shift trying to pretend they're in a cop film." Kane said, not looking back from his ballgame on the television.

"It has alcohol. It's not drain cleaner. That's all I need." Sharon replied, feeling the burn of a large portion of the glass in her throat. "Besides, isn't that the Jim Beam version of beer?" She nodded at the pint in front of him.

"Disparaging my Moosehead by comparing it to shitty fake bourbon is a good way to get cut off, thanks to a completely unfair level of favoritism I command from the bar staff." Kane replied, although it was clear it wasn't being that serious.

"Moosehead huh? Sounds like some froofy beer from up north somewhere." Sharon took another large sip of her whiskey. "How much proof is it?"

"It's been brewed in New Brunswick since 1867. And it's beer. The only beers you refer to by proof are brewed in prison toilets."

"Not strong enough then." Sharon dismissed the beer and signaled Brier for another glass. "Not for getting what I want. Leave the bottle and bring an extra glass for him. Put it on my tab." She poured a portion in the glass and pushed it over. "You look like you need it as much as I do."

"Ah, this is that healthy attitude towards drinking Americans have that I've heard so much about." His sardonic reply did not stop him from picking up the glass, although he did not abandon his beer. Technically, you could call it a boilermaker.

Sharon raised her glass at him before knocking back another healthy portion. "So what bring you down here? From the grapevine I hear you're often more here than not... except when you're at work or that fancy room of your."

"My girlfriend is in a medically induced coma on Muir and may never wake up from it. So how was your day?"

"That still sucks." Sharon allowed. "I found out I might be part of dozens of people disappearing and never been seen again. Still shittier, it's probably why sparky sparky boom man is after me. Some folks he cared about got caught up or something."

"Never happen. They chipped you your first night at Xavier's. We can track you if you disappear." He paused. "That was a joke. Have any contacts pulled up any more information about this guy?"

"He is still in the wind. All Salina managed to shake loose was a possibly reason why is coming after us like this. You know, except being the soldiers in a war." Sharon sounded bitter. "And you know, with what Salina mentioned about us causing people to vanish, he might've a valid reason."

"So what? Seriously, Sharon, even if you think you and your fellow soldiers deserve to be punished for what you did, that doesn't justify the other people he's killed targeting you. If you think he's got a point, when all this is over, I've got a friend at the Bugle who can put your story on the front page and make the Army answer for it. And you can go to jail if you think that's what you deserve. But until he's stopped, everything is secondary."

Sharon snorted: "Hauled off to jail for publishing classified information or something sounds more like it. The brass hates whistle blowers and everything will be swept under the carpet." She reached for the bottle and poured in another generous amount of the liquor. "That's how it always goes. You want more?"

"You don't work for them anymore." Kane took the bottle and refilled his glass. "If you need a public confession to happen, I can help. War crimes aren't covered under the intelligence act. It's about what you need."

Sharon considered that for a moment, then shook her head. "Not now. Even if I don't get charged... there are others. Salina might agree and be willing to take the risk, but over ten of my mates died trying to do right while stopping the program. They gave their lives for the country and I'm not going to taint that with war crimes for their families without very good cause... I'd want to find answers though... maybe..."

"So, what is your next step. I should point out, getting shitfaced is a completely valid first step."

"Get shitfaced. That is why I came here." Sharon stated, punctuating it with a large swallow. "Then poke my contacts to see what they can do with this... maybe they can find out how sparky sparky boom guy is mixed up in all of this, outside of being part of the project."

"Many a plan had started this way. So, about this poking contacts thing. Is the fun poking or the 'fingers don't work for the rest of their lives' poking?"

"Am a nurse now, not a soldier anymore." Sharon could feel the alcohol kicking in, putting a fuzzy layer over the information she'd received and how she was feeling about that. "Do no harm and all of that."

"I don't know if do no harm is an option, really." Kane shrugged. "Once the hangover wears off, there are some options you can look at. Just, you know, if you want to take some precautions about being blown up."

"Have already taken some, but need to take some more." Sharon tipped back the remains in the glass. "Some more info would be good. Then use that to set a trap or something. Here mousie mousie." Reaching for the bottle, she poured another portion in the glass.

"So, how do you get more info? If your contacts are tapped, do you have another line of attack?"

"Dangle myself out there as a tasty piece of bait? Don't know yet, Kane... I'll figure something out on the morn."

"Well, unlikely that bottle has a solution." Kane said, waving to Briar for another pint to go along with the liquor. "Or, you could lure them into a drinking contest."

"That's an idea." Sharon grumbled. "Maybe he can't blow up if drunk."

"Or maybe it's like a giant flambé. He goes up, we all make Cherries Jubilee, and then send him to jail."

"It'd be better if he got flambéed himself." A small grin managed to escape at the picture. "And stayed that way."

"Maybe we can lure him into a giant unfired Baked Alaska."

"Baked Alaska?" Sharon threw him a slightly incoherent look. "Why not a nice fried Canada?"

"I don't think that's a flambéed dessert. I mean, anything called a Fried Canada is probably just a beavertail covered in maple syrup. We are a simple people, after all."

"Throw it on the BBQ... should get plenty fried then." Sharon's words were starting to slur together, but she reached over and poured another shot for Kane and herself. She raised the glass in a drunken toast: "To flambéed or fried 'bad guys'."

"To the flambé!" Garrison shouted and toasted her glass. "Say Sharon, why don't we get you home? I think you're already victorious tonight."

Sharon finished the last shot and eyed the bottle, which was close to empty. "Good plan..." She slurred as she dug out her wallet and dropped some money on the bar. "Let's go."