[Open] The Nights

[Patrick Bishop]

Patrick had to stop himself from bursting out with laughter and smoke, seeing as he didn't have a cigar at the time, smoke from nowhere would be very odd, at the mouth full comment. He was guy and one that tended to lean towards men anyway, the comment had so many meaning. He grabbed his drink and brought it up to his mouth as his inner teenager burst to the surface."So you don't like a mouthful, eh Hel?" He said before taking a sip of drink as he prepared for the possible punch to the face that might follow.

He chose to ignore the alluring comment. It just ment that the man knew about vampires and there were different types of us in this world. They could talk later if they wanted but he wanted to make sure they were in safe company with the third gentlemen before delving into that conversation further. In the meantime he grabbed the dark haired man and helped him up onto the seat. Poor guy. "By the way, names Patrick. Friends call me Bishop."

What had he come to this place for anyway? "I hadn't been in here before and I need to find a new haunt. Old one was getting to familiar." And by familiar he means that he was the only one left that he knew there. "Have to, Rethinking this one."

[Kaspar]

He winked to Reinhardt's surprisingly observant "cheeky" comment and smirked at Dublin's suggestion he didn't like a mouthful. "Not when it comes to names, my friend. Other mouthfuls are completely acceptable." He shrugged as if this was obvious, simple fact. The slender guy shoving his way onto the seat was clearly fast approaching too drunk to stand, Kaspar moving so that he was close enough to catch the guy if he should fall, or bustle the other guy right off his seat as they wriggled and adjusted to get comfortable.

"Patrick Bishop, good choices, but I think i'll be sticking to Dublin if it doesn't bother you. Who doesn't love nicknames? Right Glory?" He teased, grinning at his fellow Allurist, and their teetering companion.

Both of them seemed eager to get out, to make new acquaintances and have a bit of fun. While the place wasn't the worst for it Kaspar was quickly growing bored of the surroundings. It was too typical, the DJ tonight playing a couple of jams but mostly it was the expected crap and he just wasn't feeling it. "If you're looking for somewhere new, somewhere good then I wouldn't be picking this place. Not tonight, at least. It's great on nights they have live bands playing, or when DJ ShitForBrains isn't on. I'd be a poor friend if I didn't warn you. Drink prices are average, unless you know how to get a discount or know someone who can. I mean you two are cute, but how often do us men get drinks bought for them?"

For Kaspar? All the time, actually, but he wasn't about to say it. Plus he preferred to be the one to cut in and grab drinks, that way he got what he wanted and had no awkward obligations to people. He didn't like the expectations that went along with punching someone a drink, for him it was just because he wanted to, not for what he could get out of it.

[Reinhardt (DELETED 8150)]

Reinhardt hadn’t intended to take over as much of the space as he seemed to have, but he wasn’t going to argue for or against himself. His legs stretched out before him, seemingly for meters on end, incidentally caging Kaspar somewhat in. It’d be a trip hazard were they to go unnoticed by a passerby, which is why he had enough mind to stretch them out where he did, but he’d make sure to retract them if the German showed any inclination to move.

That is, if he noticed.

Reinhardt was admittedly becoming more inebriated by the minute, the whiskey already coursing through his bloodstream. Soon enough his bladder would be shrieking at him for release. Drinking alcohol was so inconvenient; the need to pee just sneaked up on him our of the blue, each time, repeatedly. Ah, to be human. Or to be alive really, he mused, mentally reminding himself that everything that ingested, excreted too, no matter how simple a life form. Biology was truly fascinating, was it not?

But they weren’t talking about biology, so he didn’t mention his less than extensive knowledge and childish fascination. Bishop. Religion. Religion, science... both interesting topics in their own regard if one actually gave a **** about religion, which he didn’t. Reinhardt had left behind everything, including any and all ties he’d ever had to the church. No, he decided then and there, he’d call the guy Patrick instead of Bishop. Even Pat, if he was so inclined. Paddy, perhaps. Saint Paddy, what with the chair sharing and all. Oh, the joke was surely lost on the other two as he giggled quietly to himself.

There was a question hanging in the air. His sluggish brain replayed the exchanged lines, and his posture straightened as he wised up. It didn’t occur to him he’d missed the conversational turn off, and was about to lead them straight into dangerous territory.

“Plenty,” he replied flatly, lifting his glass to prove his point. He wasn’t showing off, at all. No, it dawned on him that free alcohol slicked the slippery slope he’d only now realised existed. Stumbling drunk home had many, many dangerous outcomes, but Harper City was the last city a guy like him - or anyone, really -should be getting this sloshed in. “Which is probably bad considering...”

Reinhardt left it at that, considering his situation with growing detachment. The bleakness evaporated almost immediately, replaced by a twisted sense of amusement and lighthearted resignation. He thoughtfully added before bringing the drink to his lips: “On the upside, if you’re too drunk to realise you’re dinner, then you might have half the mind to enjoy it.”

No one ever expected drunk people to make any sense, so he didn’t seek to explain himself. He’d just made friends, there was no point in scaring them off with stories that they’d think preposterous. Reinhardt didn’t have many acquaintances here, let alone friends; he couldn’t afford to be cast aside now for talking the crazy talk of town.

[Patrick Bishop]

"Dublin is fine. I like to be reminded of home every now and again." Well sort of. "Is there somewhere else you would suggest going to then? Maybe somewhere we can get some coffee and food into our friend here before he passes out on us?" His hand moved to the J's shoulder, just as the base of the neck. There was a pulse there. He was, at least, human. He made eye contact with the blonde and mouthed the word to him before he finished off his drink and sat the glass back down."I wouldn't want him to miss out on all the fun to be had."

His eyes cut to the human as he made his dinner comment. Did he know about the supernatural of the city? Most normal humans didn't have an idea. Did that mean he knew something? He didn't give off the aura of a Palladian. Perhaps he was one of those sorcerers that had began to enter the city. Patrick wasn't a fan of them due to the fact that he didn't understand their motives fully. Palladian's were easy. Kill vampires. Sorcerers? They did their own thing and that lead to uncertainty. That made him nervous. Made him wounded if the man was truly drunk or not.

"I don't know. I tend to enjoy being someone's dinner sometimes. Same if it's the other was around" He was trying to be calm and continue with the playful banter that had started. With any luck it worked out.

[Kaspar]

The long legs trapped him, as if he were going somewhere even if he could, he was too amused not to stick around and see what would happen. Besides, the brunette wasn't the only one with legs for days, he could have easily stepped over or simply tipped the teetering man over. He laughed at the "Plenty", catching the man's gaze long enough to mouth, "me too".

The cheery banter seemed to slip for a moment, Reinhardt taking on a more serious expression, the kind of bleary eyed intensity that took over someone's features before they were going to reveal some dark truth, or start demanding drunken D&M's. Frankly, Kaspar would rather it just be that the guy suddenly decided he needed to puke, that was a mess far easier to clean up than the discussion at hand. Was he actually aware of the supernatural or was it a vague "the truth is out there" type thing?

Maybe they'd find out.

The other guy was chattering too, distractingly, and making suggestions that appealed. The place suddenly felt too busy, too crowed. Stifling. Kaspar was beginning to think finding a chill place to sip at coffee and shoot the **** with a couple of guys wasn't such an awful idea. Human. He didn't bother to whisper, just raising a brow as he responded. "No ****, Dublin. Alright, come on, coffee and cake it is for J-Rind and the Irishman!"

A scoff and laugh lightened his features, smoothing any concern that might have filtered through from the turn of conversation. "I feel like you're offering yourself up on a platter, Dublin, too easy. Glory and I can play coy, hard to get, ja?" He reached out to tuck his arm around the man in question, sliding his hand to nestle securely beneath his ribcage on one side and drawing him to his feet. "Onward, Glory! To victory! If you're lucky, you might even get a ride on Paddy boy before the night is through."

His wink said it all, he was only somewhat kidding.

[Reinhardt (DELETED 8150)]

Nonsense! He was absolutely fine. Were he not concerned with finishing his drink before the imminent exodus, he would have pointed out that there was still a distinct difference between the people and ground. Sure, they were both moving, but that was beside the point. The floor couldn’t trick him into thinking it wasn’t moving, not when he knew it was. No, he was perfectly fine. He rose to his feet to prove it, and was suddenly thankful for the support. He didn’t slump ungracefully, instead stumbled momentarily like a colt testing its legs for the first time.

“Yeah, I’m drunk,” Reinhardt acquiesced with a lopsided smirk. He looked far too proud of himself when he added, finger wagging between both emphatically à la Jack Sparrow, “but the fact that I still know that I am proves that I’m not.”

The brunet glanced curiously over to Patrick before looking back at Kaspar, visibly so surprised by their matching height that the retort died on his tongue. The implication caught him off guard, for he certainly had not gotten that kind of vibe from the Irishman.

“Your innuendos suggest you want him in-your-end-o.”

Then, after a moment of absolute stillness, Reinhardt burst out laughing, nearly doubling over and taking his supporting cast with him to the floor.

[Patrick Bishop]

"I'm not that drunk just yet Blondie." He smirked to the man as helped the other. "Besides, never on a first date. I have some morals that I stand by." That was lie but **** it they didn't need to know. "And why do you make us sound like some bad seventies cop drama? Not that I wouldn't mind some cheesiness for the evening. Well more so than we already have at least."

This evening was taking a very odd turn. He was interested to see how things would go once they could sober J up some and he was able to make more sense. "Please lead the way." He made a deep bow as he gestured to the door.

[Kaspar]

It wasn't difficult to support the man's weight, keeping him snug against aside as Patrick picked up the slack and took the other. He had a sort of cheeky, flirty style of drunk that was highly amusing. He barely knew the could and already Kas could imagine hilarious adventures running around the city, playing stupid pranks. Yeah, he needed that kind of fun in his life.

As Reinhardt pitched forward with the bout of laughter Kaspar became grateful for his strength and balance, teetering but managing to help the group stay upright by merely straightening out his own posture. "You are drunk, too drunk to get anywhere near MY end-o thank you both very much." He acted stern, but the corners of his mouth were already lifting.

"Dublin, i'm betting it takes a lot more to get you *** over head drunk, but we'll save that for episode number two, hm? On this instalment of "Glory and the Irishman" the handsome blonde rockstar whisks them away in his awesome jeep to grab some snacks and talk smack about nothing in particular!" The cheesy accent was a great imitation of one of those aforementioned dorky shows, Kas looking briefly proud of the effort. He laughed, half hauling J towards the exit, glad for the assistance of Patrick to make the process that much easier.

Once outside he lead them towards his car, pointing it out. "Option one, I drive you losers. Option two, we take an evening stroll. There's a late night cafe open a few blocks down. What do you think?"

[Reinhardt (DELETED 8150)]

Reinhardt wanted to complain. After all, this was cruel and unusual punishment. Yet, the arguments he had against being transported through the thick crowd and across the unsteady ground paled in comparison to the determination he had to muster in order to keep walking without incident. It was much harder than it looked. It was so easy to become distracted, to allow his gaze to lag over his shoulder as they pressed by happy, dancing people. If he didn’t feel so fluid against the strong hold his new friends had on him, he surely would have twisted himself free and found himself hanging off the necks of strangers, his body enslaved by the rhythm of the shitty music, and his insobriety and impish enthusiasm matched.

When the cold air washed over him, the heady atmosphere of the bar behind them, Reinhardt felt jolted awake. He untangled himself from his support network, swaying a little before grounding himself on a patch of dry pavement, feet shoulder-width apart to offset his height.

Skin alight, Reinhardt felt no pain as the night chill pressed against his rosy cheeks. He breathed deeply, feeling the air burn as it travelled through dried mucus membranes. The pain was centring, but he felt boundless. He unconsciously drew on his life force, realising that the cutting cold was where his body and mind ended. Everything beyond this was external; at the club he had been overwhelmed by the presence of everyone around him. Alcohol had thoroughly unravelled him, and so he picked at the loose filaments of his mind, grounding his thoughts on two stable points in his periphery. There was something off about them both, he noted dully; their presence was too… it lacked the dynamism he had begun to sense when he looked upon others.

It was a welcome respite, their immovability, and he centred the few working thought processes he had left on his companions. A loud group of club-goers rounded the block, a burst of sensations that he turned his consciousness away from, focusing on the conversation to ground himself back into his own existence.

Motion sickness had more than once been an unwelcome side-effect of drunkenness, but it was a repressed past experience that fished out the age-old adage from the back of his mind: Don’t get into a stranger’s car.

“I vote evening stroll,” Reinhardt replied with a contented smile, shrugging into his leather jacket. He couldn’t remember carrying it, though he found it in the crook of his elbow. He shrugged the thought away. Stranger things have happened. A singular thought swept across his mind - a bodily need, and as if someone had swung an arm and knocked everything off the tabletop, he found himself with just that one thought to verbalise.

“I need food.”

[Patrick Bishop]

He helped keep the man upright as much as he could. He wasn't about to force the man to do anything he didn't want to but he also wasn't about to let him fall face first on the concrete and asphalt or into oncoming traffic. "Walking sounds good. The air and exercise might do him some good. He might be able to hold the food down." Then the thought hit him. He turned to the man and looked him square on. "Jay, If you have to throw up, for the love of God, warn someone so we can make sure it doesn't end up on anyone." He smirked then."And so someone can hold your hair back."

It wasn't that he couldn't handle throw up, he just really didn't feel like explaining to Michael how he got throw up on him, again.

"We'll get you food. Don't worry about that. Just worry about getting there first."