2019-09-08 - Just Drinking in the Rain

It's a relatively quiet night at the Two if by Sea, with a few tables filled with people having a late dinner and then a smattering of patrons at the bar. There are no theme nights yet to speak of but there are still plenty of people out for a drink or a bite even in the rain. Easton is not behind the bar tonight though. In fact he's not even inside. No he's sitting out in the rain by one of the firepits on the lower deck that is lit. He doesn't care that there's a bar half-full of people up there. He needed a drink and he didn't really want to have to talk with Bennie about why or if he's drinking too much or really anything right now. He's having a sad.

He at least has a light rain jacket on that does it's best to keep him dry but the water pooling around him in the chair has long since soaked him. His jeans and boots are likewise drenched but he doesn't seem to mind. He has a cigarette light in his mouth and a capped bottle of Knob Creek whiskey on the ground next to him. He's forgoing the glass, even though it makes him look even more like a drunk because he can't stand the thought of the rain watering down his drink.

If anyone asks after him, the waitresses are quick to point him out and roll their eyes at their increasingly erratic some-times boss.

Justin has a bottle of beer in one hand when he comes wandering down to the lower deck and plops himself down into a seat by the fire pit next to Easton. He's got on a pair of comfortable jeans and a t-shirt with a light jacket that is waterproof enough that for the moment, he isn't too soaked, even though his jeans will be from sitting in the soggy chair. He doesn't seem to care all that much, to be honest. He stretches his legs out in front of him and props one ankle over the other, looking out over the water -- grey on grey on grey with the rain. The bottle makes it easy enough to make sure there's no water in his drink. One thumb covers the opening when he isn't taking a swig from it. For the time being, he just sits there in silence, apparently just there to keep Easton company for the moment.

Sutton seems to spend a lot of time in the ladies rooms (and sometimes men's rooms, what can you do) of various taverns around the town. It's a small town, but here are plenty of bars here. God bless rural towns of dying (dead?) industry. Good drinkers. She wanders out of the ladies and heads outside to enjoy the view, the fire, perhaps company. Does she know Easton's outside? She will shortly. Also, she didn't add to any graffiti in the bathroom. Honest.

Sutton shows up in a pair of black cargo pants and a pale grey Seattle Fire Dept tee, a worn, old one, black lettering well-faded. It probably used to say PARAMEDIC across the back clearly. Her hair is damp from the rain, her tee sprinkled liberally with rainwater. She walked here from somewhere, and almost made it before it started raining again. She has a few new bruises on her arms, a day or two old by the look of them. When she wanders down to the lower deck to sit by the fire, she has neither a drink nor a rain jacket. She seems unconcerned. "This place is really nice when it's not raining bullets." Ghost bullets, but bullets just the same.

Interestingly Easton's become more aware of the fact that he can sense not just objects but people too. He knows someone is coming down the steps from the bar even without being able to hear or see them. He half expects someone to tell him to go home or that he's weirding out the patrons. When the person sits down though he finally deigns to turn and look and is surprised to see Justin. He looks at him with a suspicious appraisal from the corner of his eye. But he's not talking and he can't actually have come to check up on him so Easton allows his presence for now.

And then more people are here? Really is Easton surprised at this point at the number of people willing to drink outside in the rain? It's always raining. He looks up at Sutton when she speaks and he gives her a slow upnod.

"I liked the two days when it wasn't raining or raining bullets, personally. But I'll take the lack of bullets."

Justin catches that suspicious look and just raises his bottle to Easton before taking another swig from it. "Drinking alone's no fun," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He didn't come to check up on him, but when he noticed him outside, it seeemed a good enough reason to come and settle down. When Sutton joins them, he lifts his bottle in her direction in a kind of salute/greeting. "Rain's not so bad," Justin says as he watches it come down around him, causing little ripples in the nearby puddles as fat droplets dance across their surfaces.

"I missed those," Sutton replies. She takes a seat nearby, probably in a little puddled water. She doesn't seem worried about it, or the rainfall. "I was a little bit hungover." She was quite drunk, is what she means. Bennie may have mentioned (or not, if they're not talking), that Sutton took the week off. She's been out for a couple of days so far. She doesn't look sick. Her gaze flicks over to Justin. She nods to him, but doesn't say anything. He may actually be out here to drink in quiet. When he speaks up, she smiles a little. "I often enjoy drinking alone, but it's nice to explore a new view now and then."

You'd think that would be easier to do around here. In the rain. "Your dog is pretty fucking cute." She finally noticed the text she missed. Sutton's a bad friend this week, having totally neglected everyone and everything, except a jar of peanut butter and few bottles of vodka. At least she showered today.

Easton looks up at Justin with a perfectly neutral look when he makes the crack about drinking alone not being fun. He bites back any annoyed response and instead forces a smile, which doesn't come close to touching his eyes to say, "I like to think it can be either a team sport or a singles match. Depends on the day." He opens the bottle and takes a gulp before offering it to Sutton.

He does give her a bit of a look over. He expected her to be sick or in the hospital (like everyone else) to be missing work this week. But then she changes the topic to his dog and he actually smiles. "This is true. He's also chewing every fuckin' shoe in my place but still super cute."

"Noted," Justin says in response, and then shrugs, taking another swig from his own bottle and then glancing over to Sutton as she voices her own enjoyment of drinking alone. "Guess it's just me, them." He falls silent after that, just listening as the two of them talk about Easton's dog. "What'd you get?" he asks, then asks Sutton, "You have any pets?" His own phone buzzes briefly with the arrival of a text message, and he pulls it out to glance at it for a moment without replying, then tucks it away again.

Sutton reaches over to take the bottle without a blip of hesitation. She reaches over with her left arm, the one tattooed from shoulder to wrist. Under the ink, a few bruises blossom. It's hard to see the shape of them, in truth they hide beneath the firelight's flickering too. She lives on the 5th floor of the Bayside Apartments. Residents of floor 5 do seem to be dropping. Not her. She really seems... physically ok. Good, even. Bruises notwithstanding. Maybe a little tired around the eyes.

She glances down at the bottle to have a look at the label, "Good choice," before she brings it to her lips and takes a pull of it. "Cheers, love." That comes between the first drink and the second. She rests the bottle on her thigh for a moment, them reaches down to brush her thumb over the rim of the bottle, smearing off a little waxy red lipstick. "Shit, wearing the cheap stuff." She wipes her thumb off on her jeans and hands the bottle back to Easton with the other hand. To Justin, she says, "No, I mean, sort of — maybe? Depends on if vows taken while very drunk count at all." She eyes Easton then. "Is he housebroken yet?" Watch as her offer to sit for her neighbor roll back to 'when he learns to piss outside.'

Easton knows he's being lousy company and while he knows that Sutton would instinctively get it, he does feel at least a little pang of guilt that Justin is trying. He offers, "An English mastiff puppy. He's gonna be huge." There is already talk of clearing out the guest room to size this pony sized dog when it's fully grown. A wet eyebrow raises as he sees the bruising on Sutton's arm, and he glances up at her questioningly as she passes the booze back.

"I think vows taken when very drunk count the most." He smiles and says, "Which I think means you are my dogs step-mom? Or something?" He shrugs and flicks the spent cigarette into the fire before taking another drink. "Thankfully yes. And he does well with the crate." Letting his head swing back to Justin, resting on the back of the chair he asks, "What about you?" Is he asking if Justins' house broken? Maybe.

Justin's gaze drifts back out over the water, still listening, still paying attention, but not seeming entirely focused at the same time. The three are seated around a firepit in the rain on the lower level. The fire pit is lit, but the chairs are soggy, and no one seems to really mind at the moment. Justin toys a bit with ihs bottle of beer, turning it around in his hand and rubbing his thumb over the label. When Easton asks him what about him, he glances over in his direction and says, "Oh yeah. Dahlia wouldn't move in until she was sure I was housebroken." Of course he knows Easton meant the puppy. "Caleb's mostly housebroken. He's still learning, but he's getting the hang of it."

It's fucking raining again. So naturally, Javier's decided to hide out at the bar and drink his misery away. He sidles up to the front counter and raps on it to gain the 'tender's attention. They don't know him quite well enough here yet to guess at his order, so he provides it in a low murmur, "Tequila, por favor." He hasn't spotted the group outside yet.

"You do know he's going to outweigh you," Sutton says, smirking as she glances over to Easton. "That's pretty great." It's clear from her amusement that she's either thinking about Easton getting shoved out of his own bed by a 220 pound beast, or she really loves dogs. She glances down at her arm when she reaches for the bottle, then Easton's eyes. There's a slight shrug. NBD, good buddy, it says. "Dog step-mom? Ugh. That's the worst."

"I accept bacon godmother or co-parent." The blonde mutters, "We should train him to use the elevator so he can come see me when he wants." Surely Byron won't mind a horse of a dog hulking through the apartment complex on his own. Sutton's grey Seattle FD tee is slowly soaking dark grey. Her hair is already thoroughly dampened. She reaches up and combs it out of her eyes with her fingers, and takes another hit of the bottle. She usually prefers to sip a good Kentucky straight, but it's raining, and it'll keep her warm. She swipes her thumb across another little smudge of residue from her lipstick.

"Dahlia. Fair skin, dark hair, sweet smile?"

"Nice of you to not say he's going to be taller than me." Easton replies and takes another swig from the bottle. He then pulls a face and decides to cap that for now and move back to smoking. It takes him a bit of huddling and effort to get the thing lit with all the rain, though really he should be used to at least that much by now. He smirks as Justin mentions being housebroken and then quirks an eyebrow, "Caleb? You got a dog? Or just an incontinent side-piece?" It's probably the first one.

"Bacon godmother? And I would say co-parent but Bennie and I are a little more living together than when we first hatched this plan." A little more? All the way more. He watches Sutton take the bottle and take another sip and he blinks hard at something before turning his attention back to the fire, which at least helps it not feel cold and wet. Just wet.

"I wouldn't complain about having a bacon godmother," Justin says with a chuckle. "Definitely go for bacon godmother. Co-parenting is a lot of responsibility." This, he says to Sutton as he gestures a little with his bottle of beer in her direction. His eyes sparkle a little bit with amusement, and then he smirks at Easton. "A puppy, half-doberman, half-rottweiler. He's going to be a bit of a bruiser when he grows up, too." He notices that hard blink from Easton, and glances to Sutton, then back again, a flicker of curiosity in his expression, but then he doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods to Sutton and says, "Yeah, that sounds like her. You know her?"

"Why rub it in?" The dog is totally going to be taller than everyone. Sutton snorts at the incontinent side-piece comment. It's probably the first one, sure, but you never really know. Sutton glances over at Easton. A little more living together. "Yeah, shit like that tends to happen when you're not paying attention." She finally hands the bottle back again. She opens her mouth, could be about to say something else, elects not to. She sucks a little air through her teeth, then closes her mouth, watching an ember on the periphery of the fire sizzle a little.

"Yeah, I do." Sutton says to Justin. "Sort of, we met at work. Her work, not mine." The difference isn't important, but, "I was a few shots in by then and the music was pretty loud, but we did make a date to meet up again. I quite like her. You and she share a dog called Caleb? Seems to be going around." The dogs and the moving in, that is.

A drunken shrug of acceptance at the fact that the dog will be larger than half the population threatens to slump Easton over to one side. It's evident that the bottle which is half-way gone did not start out that way when he came down here. He smirks and shakes his head at thing that happen when you don't pay attention. He takes the bottle back and does his own wiping of the mouth of the bottle before taking another pull. Talk of Dahlia sends him back into staring at the fire meaninglessly.

Justin shakes his head at Sutton and says, "No, if anyting Stefano and I share the dog. He named him, after all. Dahlia doesn't mind him, but I think she would have been happy enough without a dog in the house. He's too cute not to win her over, though." He seems to have confidence that she'll come around and be wooed by the puppy soon enough. He shifts a bit in his seat, leaning forward then to rest his elbows on his knees, getting a little closer to the warmth of the fire. He glances over at Easton, studying him for a moment, noticing that he's gone quiet, and tips back his bottle, finishing off the remainder of the beer.

Sutton reaches up to wipe rain water out of her eyes. What little other makeup she wears appears to be waterproof. At least everything's on straight. It's pretty easy to end up looking like the joker when you're applying makeup with a hangover in the half-dark. Muscle memory ftw. "Puppies always win." Her matter-of-fact statement is brief, but decisive.

Sutton touches Easton's shoulder and gives his arm a squeeze. "Want to go out into the forest and shoot stuff?" Which is an excellent suggestion half in the bottle. Excellent life choices, Sutton. Banner idea.

Slowly looking down at the hand on his arm, it's clear that Easton might have lost track of the fact that other people were here for a moment. He looks back up at Sutton and nods slowly, thoughtfully. He answers softly, "Yea. I really do." He looks at her again and then almost adds something to that statement. And again, doesn't. He steadies himself to rise up from the chair, standing with a bit of a wobble. He looks over at Justin now and asks, "How 'bout you? Wanna shoot stuff?" It somehow sounds like an even worse idea coming from Easton, but that may be because he's a touch more drunk than Sutton at the moment.

Justin glances between Sutton and Easton, and there's a certain dubiousness in his expression, as though the wisdom of the two of them going off to shoot stuff drunk in the woods may not be the wisest of life choices, so of course he says, "Sure. Why not?" Because he's sober enough that he figures it can't hurt for them to have someone who isn't drunk around on this shooting stuff expedition. "I'll drive." Because, yeah. He pulls himself to his feet and fishes around in his pocket for his keys.

Sutton's hand on his arm tightens almost imperceptibly at Easton's answer. Someone watching might not notice. Easton probably will. It's his arm. She tips back, her hand dropping down Easton's arm. A short hiccup follows, that might have been a burp stalled before it left her mouth. Going to the woods with these two seems like an excellent idea this evening, no? The blonde looks, well, she looks soberish. Mostly sober. Heeeeeey, Justin makes great life choices too. "Good. I don't have a car." Also she probably shouldn't be driving.

The squeeze to his arm brings a soft, drunk smile to Easton's lips. Now that he's standing he looks even less steady on his feet, but still good. Kinda. He takes the bottle and is ready to follow Justin. But what are they going to shoot? "I only have a little guy on me." He reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls out a Glock M19 compact 9mm pistol. He smiles at it and says, "But it's kind of fun to shoot." He then replaces the gun back into his waistband and looks to Sutton to say, "Oh and if I kiss you-" He then ammends, "Either of you." As an aside to Justin. "Please slap me. Or.." He frowns and thinks better of that. "No. Knee me in goods. I might like the slapping."

"I've got something similar, and my hunting rifle," Justin says, "Though neither of them on me. We'd have to stop by the house." He wanders toward the car, a totally unobtrusive charcoal grey sedan that in no way speaks to the sort of luxury he could afford, and that's the way that he likes it. It's comfortable though, reliable, and hopefully neither Sutton nor Easton will puke in it. He laughs at Easton and shakes his head. "Duly noted. No slapping. Wouldn't want you to like it."

"Oh, you're an easy drunk." Sutton mms. "Good to know. Look, I'm not going to clock you in the goods. I will kick your leg out, because I think that would be pretty funny." Okay, she's not drunk, but she might be a little buzzed. She still can't remember which of his legs is the prosthetic. "A Glock is what my brother carried, so I'm familiar." It's good to know Easton's always armed in the bar. She doesn't say much about it, but does smile. "Good plan." She reaches for the bottle to tuck it into the crook of her arm, even if Easton has it. He's quite a few drinks ahead of her and she's less likely to drop it.

Ruiz is in the process of ducking out onto the balcony for a smoke, mostly oblivious to the drunk shooting plan in the works over yonder. At one glass of tequila and a bottle of beer, he's not even tipsy yet, really, though seems to be in no rush to get there. He lights up as he steps out under the awning, and squints at the trio headed past, to parts unknown. Two of them are familiar to him, and the third receives a cursory glance before his gaze travels back to the blonde. And remains there steadily while he drags off his smoke.

Easton confirms, "The easiest" to Sutton and then laughs and says, "Careful. I like a mean streak in a woman." He then laughs at himself again and says, "At least judging by my ex." Yes, we've reached the part of the evening where Easton thinks he's hilarious. Sorry. But to Justin he replies, "I don't know that I've ever been slapped by a guy.. maybe some other time." His eyes catch sight of Ruiz on the balcony and he calls out, "Captain! Come on, we're going shooting!" Because he's that level of drunk wherein you yell this out to cops. So yes, he's past the sullen drinking alone portion of the evening and is well into the hitting on anyone, laughing at his own jokes and yelling at cops portion. It's probably best he's not left to his own devices just now.

Justin just shakes his head in amusement and leads the way as they wander back toward the car. He glances over his shoulder when Easton calls out to the Captain to join them in this little excursion, and both brows raise just a little bit. He pauses there, standing by the car, waiting to see exactly what kind of reaction that is going to get. He opens the driver's side door and leans against the side of the car, not quite getting in, looking between the other three.

"Fucksocks," Sutton mutters, promptly nearly tripping over a rock. A literal rock. As they walk. It's not even a big one, worthy of kicking and tripping. It's a little one she steps on, and it rolls. She very nearly drops the bottle of whiskey, but no Sutton will ever waste booze in that way. She'd go down cuddling it first. All this is because she happened to catch sight of a familiar smoker while talking, and multi-tasking isn't her strong suit just at the moment.

Luckily, core strength and excellent balance are. She keeps her feet. "That's why we're friends, Easy." Out pops that nickname again. She has this habit. It's a natural flow. "Your ex, maybe, but that's history. Plus I only have handcuffs for one man in my life. I'm really nice to everyone else." She isn't. She's an asshole to cops. All of them. "Hey!" She holds up her arms. "Shooting." Sutton looks like the world's most lazymode cheerleader in that position — loose cargo pants, and old tee, hair a soggy mess (all of her a soggy mess, really). She waits to see if Ruiz will join. Who could refuse this assortment of hot ass people, right?

Javier could, that's who. "You're going shooting," he repeats, like, isn't that a cute idea. "How much have you had to drink, Marshall?" He has to raise his voice slightly to be heard across the patio, and he's not a yeller, but he gets the job done. Justin he doesn't know from a hole in the wall, though the younger man gets a little down-up of his eyes like he's matching him to some sort of mental rolodex of pretty boys he's stumbled across. Then Sutton and her fucksocks, and damned if he doesn't stifle a bit of a smile as he drinks the blonde in. Affection? Indubitably. "You're not going shooting," his earlier statement is amended to. Drag, exhale through his nose. Dark eyes on the paramedic like he's challenging her to defy him.

"Yup!" Easton replies loudly, back to his normal ear rattling volume. How much have you had to drink Easton's face screws up like he's just been asked what the root cause of poverty in America is. He answers, "Some whiskey." With a breezy air of I'm not sure the answer nor why you are asking. He also laughs and repeats "..fucksocks.." to himself as Sutton stumbles, apparently appreciating this particular exclamation. He gives her a dubious look at I'm really nice to everyone else because he's pretty sure he knows her well enough to know that's not true. You're not going shooting. Easton looks to Justin and then to Sutton and then back up at Ruiz. He seems confused. He's pretty sure they are going shooting.

Justin is a pretty boy, also famous, in part due to being a pretty rich boy, but most people in Gray Harbor know who he is from his folks bringing him up every year, and most don't care. The fact that people in Gray Harbor give no fucks is, after all, in part why he moved here. That's the way he prefers it. He looks back at Ruiz, and then glances back over at the two of them. He is obviously sober, wheras the other two are decidedly not. "Maybe I should take the two of you home, and consider shooting another night," he suggests to Easton and Sutton, but it's Ruiz that he's studying, as though figuring that the Captain is going to back him up on that idea. After all, he'd planned on going with them to make sure they didn't shoot each other, themselves, or somebody else.

Arms still in the air, Sutton asks, "What do you mean? We clearly are, bebe." Look, they're soaked and half lit and most of them are walking — were walking — to the car of some dude she doesn't know except tonight, and he seems very nice. "He has a puppy." She thumbs to Justin. Did she catch Justin's name? No she did not. "He knows Dahlia." Maybe she's a little more toasted than she looks, if this is the setting her current safety level is on. Then again, Easton's on board. Someone stop her before she tells Ruiz they're going shooting with trustworthy Justin, whom she knows is trustworthy because he named his puppy Caleb. "I... well." She frowns. "You want to wait for sunny weather so you don't have to oil your gun after, love?" This exceptionally English question is asked of Easton. Raindrops run into her eyes. She wipes her face.

Sutton finally lowers her arms (and the whiskey). Seems she's just relaxed enough that it seems like a good idea to stand in the rain having this conversation. The blonde makes gimme hands at the Police Captain. "Don't finish that. I need a hit." Of his cigarette. If he comes within range, she's probably going to wrap her wet arms around Ruiz and press her soaked clothing against his dry self. It's like a trap, the blonde holding whiskey. A trap.

It's painfully obvious that Ruiz is not a Gray Harbour native, though even he seems to have a sense that he ought to know who this guy is. A smile, after a few moments' thoughtful scrutiny of Justin, amusement only corroborated by Sutton's assertion that he knows Dahlia. Does he now. "If you wouldn't mind making sure my idiotic friend here gets home safely, I'd appreciate it," he tells the younger man, without so much as looking at Easton. He'll understand. And maybe punch Ruiz in the mouth for it later. It's the Marine code. Sutton, meanwhile, is sidling up to him all wet and smelling like whiskey, and she asked so nicely (no, she didn't), so he moves in closer to offer her his cigarette. And is trapped. And wet. And being rained on. "I'll drive you home," he grumbles, even though she didn't ask. Or tell. Fucking bossy blondes.

Sutton leans against Ruiz, his cigarette in her mouth, her soaked clothing soaking his. She slides her arm around the cop's waist, tucking in against him under his arm. She brushes her fingertips over her lips, smoke scissored between her fingers. "Thanks." Maybe she's not mean to all cops, at least those who gift her with cigarettes. She still has that bottle of Easton's, so that could be improving her mood. She watches the men go off to carpool home. There's a long moment before she wipes rainwater out of her eyes. That does absolutely no good. She's soaked through.

Sutton looks up at Ruiz. "You totally just Glock blocked me."