lucetilogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Schuldig and whoever stops by.
What: BOOZE.
When: Most of April 30th
Where: Aerie.
Summary: Schuldig is 'celebrating' his birthday by getting blind stinking drunk.
Rating: Probably PG-13. It's Schuldig.

The Malnosso clearly had a sense of humor, since Schuldig's personality returned to normal just in time for him to celebrate his birthday the same way he has for years.

In a bar, with massive amounts of alcohol and generalized unhappiness.

So for most of the day, the German telepath could be found in Aerie, blitzed out of his mind, not to mention anyone else's, and buried in a funk of monumental proportions.

Whether or not he would welcome company probably depended on the time of day, the nature of the company, exactly what he was drinking at the time, the prevailing wind, and myriad other random or not-so-random factors.

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When shit goes down, you get drunk. Birthdays, holidays, family gatherings, evil cookies... the answer is almost always drink. And if you happens to find that bastard who chased you off your well-earned fight the other day, hanging out all mopey-like in the bar? Well. That's just an added bonus.

"That's not very responsible pet ownership, leavin' your dog locked up home alone like this." Gojyo leaned back against the bar, fishing one of his precious remaining cigarettes out of his pocket. "Better be careful, or someone'll report you."

Edited for log layout. Hi, I'm awake, really.

Edited 2008-05-02 05:38 (UTC)

Schuldig glared, a little blearily, at Gojyo, taking another drink of his... Apparently rum right now.

"So I'm not a very res'pons'ble pet owner. Farf c'n fuckin' take care of 'imself for one day," he growled, shoving a hand through his hair roughly. His bandanna and sunglasses were sitting discarded on the bar.

Your cigarette is getting stared at, Gojyo. His had been ruined by saltwater when he got here, so he hasn't had one since before Luceti. Yes, the withdrawal symptoms were over by now. No, he didn't care.

Gojyo has a grand total of six cigarettes left. Stare all you want, Red. All you're getting is second-hand.

"I'd ask who broke your heart, sweet cheeks," Gojyo chuckled, reaching behind the bar and nabbing himself a bottle from the well. "But th'thing is, I don't like you, so I really don't give a shit."

Lemony-limey vodka? Interesting. Sure, he'll drink that! Cheers, Schuldig.

"Nobody broke my verdammt heart, anyway. So if you not likin' me means you don't ask stupid questions, works f'r me."

Schuldig swished the liquor around in his bottle, staring into it for a long moment before drinking again. "Not even sure I have one anymore."

Gojyo paused, bottle halfway to his mouth. "If you start singin', I will punch you in th'head. Fair warnin'."

He took a long swig, hissing at the burn. "Town full of people who ate th'angry motherfucker cookies, an' I end up in th'bar with th'one guy who ate th'sad bastard ones instead. Th'hell's wrong with this place today?"

"....th'hell did THAT come from?" Have a drunken but still vaguely disturbed and disgusted stare, Gojyo. Schuldig doesn't sing when he's drunk and morbid, damn it. He sings to annoy ~~his team~~ people with his horrible singing voice. "Not gonna sing."

Schuldig finished off his bottle and shoved it down to cluster with the rest of what he'd been drinking. "Didn't. I ate th' fuckin' ethical moron cookies, but I'm me today. Figures. One day of the year I wouldn't MIND not bein' me, so of course they turn me back f'r it. Arschlochs."

"What's so special about today?"

"'s my birthday," Schuldig muttered, reaching for a new bottle. So what do we have here? Oh hell yes, whiskey.

Oh. Um. Cheers?

"So?"

"SO, it r'minds me that there was somebody b'fore 'Schuldig'. Life b'fore fuckin' telepathy and verdammt Rosenkreuz. Makes me remember I wasn't born like this."

Nice whiskey. Schuldig swallows down a decent amount of it without a cough.

"Don't like to remember."

"You get changed here?" This vodka is good and all, but it's still fucking vodka. There another bottle of whiskey back there?

"Th'mind readin', and all that, that somethin' th'Malnossi did to ya?"

"Nein. I mean no. Think it's int'restin' as hell, but they didn' do it t'me." There does indeed seem to be another bottle of whiskey, which is good, because Schu's not giving up his without a fight.

"Just...showed up, when I was thirteen. Most kids start growin' extra hair and noticin' girls. I started hearin' voices. Life went all t'hell."

Yeah, and Gojyo's really not into sharing a bottle with you, Red. Nothing personal. Mmm, whiskey.

"That doesn't sound too bad, actually. Readin' minds, hearin' what people're thinkin'? Not too bad at all."

Schuldig is fine with that. And look who's calling who Red. Pot, kettle?

"It doesn't turn OFF," Schuldig growls, drinking some more. Mmm, whiskey, indeed. "Ev'ryone 'round me, ALL the TIME. No matter how stupid or petty th' thought. Like bein' in the middle of a huge crowd that. Won't. Shut. Up."

What? Like he could be bothered to remember your name, Shuddig. Shoe-dig. Shuftik. ...Red.

"So it's fuckin' noisy. So fuckin' what?" This is good enough whiskey that he wants a glass. Ah, much better. "You get t'hear what people think. I know people who'd pay good money t'be able t'do somethin' like that, so what th'hell are you complainin' for?"

"What for? How 'bout for the days I wake up not sure who th' fuck I am? Or for th' telepaths I've seen with no minds of their own LEFT?"

Schuldig needs more whiskey for this bullshit. "Or th' bastards who tortured me an' fucked with my head f'years, 'cause they wanted t'use what I c'n do."

This grumbling is barely audible, "Why's ev'ry-damn-body think readin' minds is so damn great? It sucks."

"You whiny fuckin' bitch." Gojyo slams his glass down on the counter and turns to glare at Schuldig. "You got tortured an' fucked with because of somethin' you've got no control over? Cry me a goddamn river."

Fuck this. He needs another cigarette. "You can do somethin' nobody else can, an' you're complainin' about it. You want t'be like th'rest of 'em?" He gestures at the window. "Runnin' around, laughin' an' huggin' an' too fuckin' stupid t'know any better? Be my fuckin' guest." Shit. No ashtrays. Fuck it, the floor's good enough for ashing on. "Get yourself killed enough times, an' you'll lose it. They'll take it away from ya, but stop fuckin' whining."

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