II ☣ TEXT.

[unmakes]

hey so

i know shit's going down but i've done this solo thing way too long, i'm pretty sure i'm going actual crazy

free booze for whoever wants to come hang out with me in this shithole i've decided is totally the new bar. but i'm cutting you off if you're shitty company or try to eat me alive (this is me, pointing to my eyes and then pointing to you wiggy infected motherfuckers)

❰ incoming attachment: cometothebar.jpg. it's a map. a really shitty one with a big circle drawn around a building somewhere in the business-ish area. ❱

Comments

text

[unmakes]

yep

❰ she'll be found sitting crosslegged on the bar-top, a bottle in hand and no glasses in sight, the area lit dimly by shitty overhead bulbs. ❱

action

[murderpotato]

[This is 100% Gren's kind of place-- run-down and poorly lit, with people drinking right out of the bottle. His stupid Crocodile Dundee villain-esque wardrobe almost doesn't look completely out of place in a bar like this.]

[He sits down at the bar, close enough to be in passing distance but not close enough to be friendly. Because, well... Gren.]

That better not be fuckin' all of it.

[One bottle is not gonna cut it.]

action

[unmakes]

❰ her nose wrinkles. ❱ What? God no. Hold this. ❰ not the booze - she's actually lifting up her arm, clearly looking for a counterbalance because she's already leaning over the other edge of the counter to reach for something (presumably heavy) behind the bar.

if he does comply, she'll haul a duffel bag filled with what sounds like varying metal and plastic bottles up to set it heavily on the bartop. there's gotta be at least twenty bottles in there. ❱

action

[murderpotato]

[For about half a second, he's a little confused about what she means; then he obliges and grabs onto her wrist, counterbalancing her weight. He holds her there like she weighs pretty much nothing.]

[The bag that gets put down on the bar is full of liquor. He lets go of her to start poking around in it.]

Now that's more fuckin' like it. [He picks up one of the plastic bottles and turns it over in his hand.] This all moonshine or some shit?

action, pretend that last tag said glass and plastic bottles, not metal. my b

[unmakes]

❰ she shakes her head a little, reaching over to pull another one out of the bag and look it over. ❱ Nah, like - they totally had labels and shit when I found them, they've just seen like ten circles of hell and the paper warped and the sticky shit got all gross and just. ❰ a head-shake. ❱ I remember most of it, though. That one's tequila. Not the shitty kind, either. The glass cracked so I had to swap the bottle.