outsiderslogs | i found a liquor store (closed)

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i found a liquor store (closed)

who. Stiles & York (

neverknocks)
what. Stiles is a slick motherfucker who can totally get drinks. Absolutely.
where. The Quad,
when. Saturday, after the Vorcha varren announcement.
warnings. Underage drinking.

So things with Lydia were awkward, to say the least. They may have been up front with each other, but he'd still been lying to her and she'd still resurrected one of the people Stiles liked the least of the werewolves. So it was awkward.

And then the showers had stopped working. After that, there'd been monkeys, and now there were alien fucking dogs eating the monkeys. And possibly people. It was carnage. Stiles hadn't even been on Omega a week and already he wanted to get off this crazy train.

Getting up on a bench to avoid a varren chasing a pyjak, he'd heard an advertisement for a bar in Zeta district. Something called the Quad, which a quick search told him was referencing a certain part of an alien's anatomy. (Really?) But they were talking about how they might not have water, but they still had alcohol!

And that lit an idea. Stiles had some credits left from the repair work he'd been (trying) to do. Sure, that was supposed to go towards food and protection money but - he could spend some, right?

Let it never be said he couldn't budget, ah-huh.

So he managed to get in the door - the place was bumping, it seemed, and smelled really bad, but he couldn't tell if that was the bar or the patrons. He wrinkled his nose but then attempted to act like everything was normal, and sidled his way on over to the bar top, cool as you could be if you were a sixteen year old attempting to get alcohol in a space bar. (It wasn't very cool.)

He managed to elbow his way into a seat and hoped he could catch the bartender's attention.

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Stiles has one of those moments that he figures gazelle have when they see a cheetah. That sense that he's about to engage in a stupid decision, and frequently its a voice in his head that sounds like his father that tells him he's about to do that.

He's gotten good at ignoring that particular voice, so he just leans forward, watching York with his best cool expression.

"I know how to avoid one," he tells her, which to him, means he maybe actually ate something before coming here. Its questionable whether he even did that.

His dad ususally drinks Jack Daniels, so Stiles actually hasn't had either of those. Like hell he's telling her that, so he points at the tequila. "That one, por favor," he tells her, but the grin that crawls onto his face isn't really cool so much as it is excited.

"Let's test that theory," York says brightly, maybe a little too brightly, as she puts the vodka back on the shelf and sets the tequila down on the bar. She can tell from the giddy look on his face that he still thinks this is going to be fun. She almost feels bad, but hey, teenagers bounce back. He'll be fine.

"You've gotta be familiar with the scientific method, right? Let's call this an experiment. Tequila, matched shot for shot, and we'll see if you really know shit about avoiding hangovers." York's eyes are dangerously bright as she grabs a couple of lemon wedges and a shaker of salt and all but drops them on the bar. She picks up the bottle of tequila and pours them both a shot, her eyes barely leaving Stiles' face. She can hardly stop grinning, her smile breaking only long enough for her to lick the back of her hand, the spot between her thumb and forefinger, and she shakes a bit of salt onto it before she holds out the shaker.

"C'mon, lick your hand. You know how to do a tequila shot, don't you?"

All right, maybe it's a little unfair to taunt him, too. But man, she's had a long week. Stiles picked the wrong moment to try and cajole booze out of her. At least he's getting what he wished for.

"This isn't remotely related ot the scientific method."

Stiles rapidly realizes he's in way, way over his head. At least, that she knows how to do tequila shots, wheras he's left considering the lemon wedges like they're the aliens in this bar.

But he's stubborn, and so he plows on.

"You're on," he says after a moment. He can't exactly do it in a perfectly practiced way that seems sexy, but he takes the salt shaker and licks the spot, then salts it. Once he's done that he tilts his head back, as if to say hah.

Except that it's obvious from the way that he glances at the shots and the lemon he's not sure what part comes next.

"Sure it is," York says, totally unconvincingly. This kid couldn't bluff his way through this more obviously if he tried. But hey, York's throwing him a bone here and there. And if all else fails, he can always follow her example. Not like the one she's setting is very good. "I'm the control, and you're the variable."

York flashes him an awful grin before she licks the salt off her hand, tosses back the tequila, and bites into the lemon wedge all in one quick, fluid motion. She's not really supposed to be drinking on the clock, technically, but it's not like everybody at The Quad doesn't break that rule every so often. Besides, this is in the name of the good cause of teaching a teenager a Valuable Lesson. Also, she's pretty sure he's gonna choke on that shot and it's probably going to be hilarious.

"Shouldn't I be the control? You work at a bar." And there's Stiles, thinking that bartenders regularly drink on the job. He has so little practical life experience in this arena.

He watches her closely, the way she licks the salt, takes the shot, and bites the lemon. It doesn't look that hard. Honestly, it can't be that bad, she's not even choking. If Stiles got used to Jack, he can do tequila.

So he takes a hold of the shot in one hand and the lemon in the other, licks the salt off his hand, and then goes to take the shot.

It doesn't go as smoothly as he hoped. As soon as the alcohol hits the back of his throat it burns, and his eyes water. He coughs, and coughs again, barely managing to swallow the shot. He might actually get some up his nose. He never even makes it to biting the lemon, dropping it back onto the counter so he can pound his chest.

"Oh my god!" He says in a rasping tone. That was disgusting. And he totally failed it.

York shouldn't laugh. Honestly, she shouldn't. He's just a dumb kid, and she totally set him up, and it's kinda mean.

Okay, so York is mean sometimes.

She can't help it -- she explodes into laughter as soon as Stiles chokes on the shot, practically spitting the lemon wedge back down onto the bar with a vigorous cackle. She barely manages to set her shot glass down on the bar without dropping it, wheezing out some hearty laughter for a minute or two before she manages to suck down a proper breath.

"Sorry," she manages, in between lingering chuckles. She sounds sort of sincere. "I'm sorry, kid, you just -- whew, you made a face. C'mon, you all right? Gimme your shot glass."

He kind of wants to ask for water, except oh yeah, there's not any water to be had right now.

"You don't sound very sorry," he accuses, betrayal in his eyes before he coughs again. He swears he can still feel it burning all the way down to his stomach.

He hands her his shot glass before rubbing his hands over his face, making a disgusted expression. "Augh. Okay, you have to let me try again, I know what I'm expecting now."'

How quickly he forgot they're matching shot for shot.

Edited 2013-04-15 05:16 (UTC)

All right, she has to give the kid props for jumping back in the ring so readily. That shot hadn't exactly gone down easy. Honestly, the longer he sits at the bar, the more he reminds her of herself when she was his age. It's starting to verge on the uncanny.

"Big talk for a little man," York says with a raised eyebrow, her grin more of a smirk, and she slides the salt shaker over the bar to Stiles as she pours another round of tequila into their glasses. This time she just grabs the whole container of lemon wedges and sets it on the bar. "You think you can remember not to try to inhale it this time?"

"I'm almost six feet tall, excuse you," Stiles says, raising his eyebrows in offense. He knows what she means, though, and playing dumb is just easier at the moment. Especially when she slides the salt shaker over and pours them more shots.

"I'll try. Though I think this could have something going for it as a nasal cleanser," he says with a straight face before licking his still slightly salty hand and salting it again.

He waits for her to pick up her shot before he grabs another lemon wedge - he's going to try and do it right - and then takes a deep breath, licking the salf off and taking the second shot.

It goes down smoother than the first - if by instead of choking you mean he nearly coughs it up becuase his throat closes up like it's trying to make the right decisions for him. But he swallows it with a vaguely disgusted expression and then finally bites down on the lemon wedge.

Well, at least that helps with the aftertaste.

Man, he really is like a sixteen-year-old dude version of herself, it's kinda freaky. She appreciates the smart remarks, though, letting out a little chuckle after she finishes her own shot, slamming the glass back down on the bar. "Hey, you've lasted two shots already. You're already holding up better than I expected."

She pours them both another round, the tequila burning pleasantly in her stomach. Honestly, even if Davrax were to come back now, she's not sure he'd even be that put off. He spends an awful lot of time with a bottle of ryncol to be criticizing, at any rate.

"How you feelin' by now, kiddo?"

Two shots in and Stiles feels okay. Feels, because the alcohol has yet to hit him beyond a fuzzy warmth in his stomach. It's coming, York, just wait for it.

Still, he's a little overexaggerated when he answers her.

"I'm feeling fine! How strong is this stuff supposed to be, anyway, what's the proof," he points at the bottle, squinting at it a little disbelievingly. Then he looks at York pouring the third round of shots and smiles.

"Aw yes, one more shot. My nasal cavities aren't clean yet."

This time, it's obvious that although he feels 'fine' he's not exactly sober. He gets a little more salt on the bar than he does on the wet patch of his hand. Still, he scoops up a lemon wedge and the third shot, and isn't waiting for York when he takes this one.

It's still not smooth, and he actually doesn't take the whole shot - there's a little bit left at the bottom of the glass. He also forgot to lick the salt off, so he swallows with his eyebrows drawn together and then bites down on the lemon wedge.

"Ugh. Okay, so clearly there's a salty and bitter thing going on, but that was just bitter," he says, feeling a lot more warm and pleasantly buzzed. Three shots in less than an hour for a teenager is a lot. He rubs his cheeks with his hands, a little ruddy-faced.

The touch of color coming to his face is a dead giveaway, and so is the way he's starting to move as the alcohol starts to hit him. For York, it's still little more than a warm tingle in the back of her head, but she holds her liquor better than most sixteen-year-old boys.

She holds off on pouring him another for now, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, helps if you do the salt. And, y'know, finish the shot. So how's your experiment lookin' now, science whiz?"

"It's a good experiment," Stiles tells her enthusiastically, like that's even remotely related to the question she asked him. He picks up his shot and squints at the little bit of liquid left at the bottom of it. "Oops."

He gets distracted by a salarian walking by - look, this bar is mostly krogans right now, it's a distraction - and then his gaze snaps back to York. "Uh, actually, the experiment is looking good. Really good." To be honest, Stiles doesn't remember what he was experimenting for. How drunk he could get, maybe?

He licks the salt off his palm and finishes the little bit of tequila.

"Uh huh," York says, raising an eyebrow, but she's grinning, too. The alcohol hasn't totally hit her yet, so a few shots is starting to make her pleasantly buzzed. She easily pours another shot for each of them, grabbing up all the used lemon wedges to toss away. "You don't even remember what I'm talkin' about."

It comes out as more of a laugh than an accusation, though, and she shakes a bit of salt onto her hand. "You're learnin' pretty fast, kiddo. So where're you from, anyway? And I mean that in the loosest possible sense."

"We're performing an experiment, using the scientific method," Stiles parrots to her, sitting up a little when she starts pouring another shot.

"Annnd my scientific opinion is that I'm feeling really good, I'm good for another shot."

Honestly, Stiles wasn't worried about anything right now. Well, except for the Krogan, but now that he was focused on York and not them and containing his movements, they were at least ignoring him.

"Mmmm, Beacon Hills," Stiles says, licking his hand and salting it again. "Oh, uh, Earth, 2011. Small town, my dad- "

Stiles has to pause then, even with the alcohol he can't help the stab or worry and anxiety at thinking of his dad, alone, without him. He quickly licks the salt and takes the shot, barely tasting it because of the bitter feeling of worry in his throat. He bites down on the lemon and answers.

"My dad's the sheriff, so being here without him is a little, uh, different, to say the least."

All right, that's four shots in, uh, maybe a half hour? Even buzzed York knows to slow down a little at this point. She's trying to teach this kid a lesson, not kill him. Except -- well, she's actually kinda having fun with the kid now. He's so...earnest. It's kind of adorable. So she holds off on pouring them another shot just yet, and she could probably stand to slow down a little herself.

"Shit, if I'd known you were a cop's kid, I wouldn't have even let you in the front door," she says teasingly, sweeping some spilled salt off of the bartop. She peers at him a little more closely, cocking her head to the side, and gives him a knowing smile. "You and your dad pretty close?"

Stiles is pretty much feeling all of the shots hitting him at once. Considering he's a lightweight, they're hitting him pretty hard, but he appears to be holding them down, so far.

"Can't be a cops kid without the cops bein' around. Or the dad," He says, eyeing his empty shot glass a little mournfully. But he shakes it off again to look at York. "Yeah, we're pretty tight," he says, crossing his fingers to indicate as such. That might be something of a lie, considering he'd stolen a police van and cost his dad his job for a while - but after the lacrosse game, his dad had seemed proud of him again so that's what he was choosing to focus on.

"What about you, though? Like, parents, what about yours," Stiles rambles in an attempt to deflect.

York gives him a little smile, because she can tell he doesn't want to wax mushy about it, but he obviously cares about his dad. York can relate to that. "Yeah, we're close. Haven't seen 'em in a few years, but me and my dad have always been pretty tight. He was pretty livid when I joined the war effort, though." She laughs a little, mostly to herself. "I got two brothers, too. Older ones. They're all married with kids, by now."

"War effort?" His brain sluggishly reminds him about the war that's apparently going on in this place, the Peepers or the Reapers or whatever. He squints at her.

"Do I gotta worry about bein' drafted or anything like that?" He asks, words slurring together a little, before he remembers they're talking about her.

"'M an only kid. More attention for me though, right?" He laughs to himself. "Sounds like a good family, though"

"Yeah, I love 'em. That's why I joined up in the first place." Thirty years was way too long for a war to go on. She's at least got some comfort knowing it ends not too far in the future, from when she'd last been home. At least, it had in Wash's timeline.

York figures it's not worth elaborating on the war, not when he's drunk and is probably gonna forget he asked anyway. She's starting to feel a good buzz, too, but she's got plenty of judgment left to sweep the shot glasses off to the side, determining that at this point, Stiles probably doesn't need anymore. What was the point of this again?

"2011, huh? You're a few centuries behind me. So what's that like?"

He does listen to her explain, briefly, why she joined, but put simply? It doesn't stick in his brain. He leans one elbow on the bar, pressing his cheek into his hand, because it's that or flail around and hit a Krogan, and even drunk Stiles knows that's a bad idea.

He doesn't even notice the shot glasses get removed, but it's probably for the best.

He sits up a little when she addresses him. "Few centuries? Future girl," he laughs, mostly to himself, before he answers. It's a good thing he's used to keeping the werewolf secret a secret, or else he'd be tempted to spill his guts.

"Boring. Except for the part where mountain lions and serial killers have decided everyone in my home town makes a tasty snack." Belatedly, cheerily, "Aside from that, great! I've even played in a lacrosse game." Because his werewolf buddy was failing school, and some of the other players were missing.

"Jesus, kid. That almost makes the war sound good." At least when you were in a war, you were expecting some bad shit to go down. York had enlisted knowing full well she might not come back. But when that kind of stuff happens in your hometown, where you're supposed to be safe...well, that's just scary. Especially if you're just a teenager.

York gives him a critical look, drumming her fingers on the bartop. "You play lacrosse, huh?"

"Nah, it's fine," he says after a moment, like it isn't a thing. "You just," he makes a gun shape with his fingers, "And," he makes a gun noise with his mouth, raising his hand up like recoil.

If only it were that simple, a shot to the head. Hell, if Peter Hale ever showed up, he'd be tempted to do it anyway. But he looks up when she asks about lacrosse.

"Yup," he says, overenunciating the word. "Usually on the bench, but I actually have the championship game under my belt now," he adds, his ego visibly puffing up at relating that fact.

York knows teenage bravado when she sees it -- hell, she's done it enough herself -- and she can tell that whatever's going on at home isn't easy for Stiles. Hell, it wouldn't be easy for anybody. York leans against the bar, resting her elbow on the surface. "How you feelin', kid?"

"Mmm," Stiles says after a moment, because he's still in happily drunk, even if the subject isn't happy. "I'm feelin' like a hundred bucks. Aside from the smell," he adds belatedly, which gets him a look from a nearby Krogan.

"I didn't mean you dude," Stiles waves at him, but Krogan doesn't seem very happy about it regardless, and Stiles hunches down. "I think he needs something to drink, York."

"He needs somethin', all right," York mutters, giving the krogan a sidelong glance, but it's Stiles her gaze lingers on as her lips purse into a half-frown. "And so do you, kiddo. C'mon, I think it's time you headed home. Can you get home all on your own?"

"Kickin' me out already?" Stiles pouts, like it'll work again, but obediently gets up after a moment - nearly falls off his bar stool, actually, but he keeps his feet under him. It doesn't lend weight to his next words though.

"I'm fine," he insists, even though nobody likely asked, brushing himself off. "M'not too far from here, I'll be kay."

York raises an eyebrow, but she just gives him a small smile, shaking her head. He'll be all right. "All right then, kiddo, you get outta here, all right? I'll see you around, I hope."

She'd kinda meant to teach him a lesson -- she hadn't been in the best of moods when he'd shown up -- but in a weird way, she'd had some fun herself. Stiles isn't a bad kid, and he's just one more teenager stranded away from his home. Okay, so her heart goes out to him a little.

"Seeeeeya," he draws out the words, waving a little and almost tripping over a table. Was that table always there?

Either way, Stiles finally makes his wobbly way out of the Quad, happily intoxicated, as was his goal in the first place.

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i found a liquor store (closed)

shrieks

i'm sorry i'm not sorry

im so happy rn

good.

my room mates have taken over the bathrooms so

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wrappy wraps