Murder He Wrote...? [Closed @ Jhin]
@fourthshot
This was probably a terrible idea. That thought was running through Nero’s mind as he took a large sip of his third cocktail of the night. The first had been a martini, in a pretense of class. The second had been a Long Island Iced Tea, to wash away the taste of the first. The third was a Sex on the Beach because frankly it was his favourite and no one was here to judge him anyways.
Part of him knew this was a terrible, terrible idea. The bartender had been glad for a break when Nero said he could mix the damn drinks for himself, so it was just Nero, the components for his cocktails, and the walls. He was taking another sip (more like a swig), when someone walked in and made Nero nearly spill his drink. After all, when one is thoroughly inebriated and has a certain type, and that certain type has walked through the door, it is forgivable to be a little on edge.
Putting the drink down, the broker walked toward the stranger with a smile a little wider than he’d usually wear. “So, what... brings you here?” ... Piss. Bloody, bloody hell. What kind of a line was that? What brings you here? It was to DRINK, obviously. “Sorry, you’re here to have a drink and the bartender’s out. I mean... I could mix you something, if you don’t mind. That I mix, not... not that you have a drink.” The broker’s tolerance had become far worse than he remembered. “Anything in particular you had in mind?”
