2010-07-02: Drinking 101



Date: July 2, 2010


Morgan fails at getting drunk until a professional happens in to give a few lessons.

"Drinking 101"

The Cherry Pit

The Cherry Pit is a cheap little cocktail bar across from the hospital that does a decent business thanks to hospital visitors needing to drown their sorrows as well as the various medical staff who need to unwind after a long day on the job — hopefully not during their shifts. Tonight it's a touch quieter than usual, as the long weekend is just beginning. Those with families and happier circumstances are likely tossing back a cold one at a poolside barbecue or softball game rather than in a sad little bar.

Morgan Gale is not one of those with happier circumstances. She would be drowning her sorrows, but she hasn't yet found a drink she actually likes. On the bar in front of her is a line of several unfinished drinks in various shaped glasses. Pink, blue, green, amber, and clear liquids within those glasses. She's currently sipping from what looks to be her 9th attempt, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head at the bemused bartender.

It's been a few off days since that Eclipse and Julian Fennell has been feeling a little odd lately. His ability seems to have been taken from him or at least temporarily displaced. Not that it truly affects his job, but it does make it just a tad more difficult. The lawyer has been coming to this place for a while now, so when he walks in the bartender greets him by name and begins to prepare his usual drink.

The drinks lined up on the bar get his curiousity churning so he walks over and takes a nearby seat. "Either you're real thirsty, or real picky." He spins the stool around to face the bar, though canted just enough to watch her. His drink comes and he takes a sip, looking very much like scotch. "Which is it?"

The blond turns to look at Julian, giving a chuckle. "I don't think I'm either, actually. I want to be drunk, but… I haven't figured out what to drink that I can stand more than a sip of to get me there. Well, I guess maybe that does make me picky, but I never thought of myself as a picky person before. I guess I'm just not much of a drinker."

She distinctly remembers drinking alcohol in her past — wine? gin and tonic? But it tasted much better than anything here. Sweet and refreshing, not burning and bitter. Even the sweet drinks the bartender made for her doesn't match the memory.

She eyes his glass. "What's that? Have I tried that?" she glances at the bartender.

"You won't like that," the tender tells her.

"Everyone can be a drinker, you just have to get past the first impression." He slides his drink over to her. "Don't even taste it, just wash it down as quickly as possible. Problem is, you're tasting it. Drink enough, and the taste won't matter much after a while." Julian waits to see if she'll try his technique that has taken him many years to perfect. Of course, she sounds a little like him ten or fifteen years ago. The divorce, the betrayal by both his wife and his brother brought him to places like this every night. Of course, he denies he has any sort of drinking problem because when he needs to, he can quit, though in the end he always ends up back on the barstool.

"Any particular reason you need to get drunk tonight?" he asks as he picks up one of her other samples and takes a swallow, making a face. Ugh. Someone sugared that one up. He pushes that one to the side and reaches for the next.

The bartender lifts a brow and moves down the counter to refill someone's beer, leaving Julian to train Morgan in the illustrious art of drunkenness. She glances down at his freshly poured Scotch and shrugs, picking it up and bringing it to her lips. She takes a deep breath and then tips the glass back, swallowing audibly once, twice, thrice, and then setting down the dead soldier on the counter.

That will likely do the trick.

Her eyes watering from the burn of the alcohol down her throat, she wipes her lips with the back of her hand like an accomplished barfly. "The only person who cares about me in the world's in the hospital. I don't know anyone else in the city besides a couple of people she knows. I almost got one of those people killed yesterday. I almost died yesterday. I don't have a job." The list of the reasons she has to drink comes out without much thought, and she tilts her head. "Do those work?"

Waving to the bartender for two more scotches, since no one in their right mind would drink any of these others, he grins at her like a teacher beaming at his prized pupil. When the two drinks come, he slides one over to her and takes a drink from his. "Sounds like reason enough to get drunk." He edges that drink closer to her. Julian isn't much for charity or doing the right thing, but he has to feel a little sorry for her. Either that, or the alcohol is hitting him faster than usual.

"What sort of work do you do..?" He lets that hang since he doesn't know her name. He glances at the bartender with a look towards the drink line up, wanting them gone now that they have their drink of choice.

"I … I don't really do anything," Morgan says a little lamely, dropping her gaze. "Like, I don't have a resume. I can do things, I'm not stupid, but I don't have any body of work that people can look at and be impressed with. For a lot of reasons, none of which I want to bore you with and you might not believe anyway." She isn't up to lying tonight, in other words, and the truth is rather unbelievable.

She nods to the drink, picking up the second glass. "What is this, so I know what to order next time?"

Huh. "Scotch. It does the job pretty quick." He swallows his last swallow and pushes the glass forward for a refill which comes fairly quickly. While he waits for it, he pulls out his card. "I've know idea if you can type, but if you come by, I might be able to find something for you." Wow. He's really getting drunk. He's actually being nice. "Can't make any promises, but maybe someone'll have something they need done." He drinks from his newly refilled drink then asks, "Got yourself someplace to stay, right?"

Her brows lift as she glances at the card and then up to his face. "Really? I can type. I'm not going to win any speed records but I can manage. And file and the like. I'm a good worker, I just don't have anything to show for it." Glancing at his name on the card, she supposes that's her cue to give hers. Sliding the card into her purse, she offers her hand. "Morgan Gale," she offers. She's finally managed not to stumble on the last name, having had enough practice (some of it in the locked bathroom by herself).

Julian takes the offered hand and even though his name was on the card, he does a proper introduction, "Julian Fennell." He's gotten so used to having his ability that he takes any non-indicators given to be fact, which has been frustrating for him for the past week. He's drunk enough not to think anything of it however. He pulls his hand back and lifts his drink, giving it another healthy swallow. "If I can't use you as in the office, I could always use a courier. I'm sure we can find you something. At least it'll be something." She doesn't comment on the place to stay question, so he figures she's not going to say and drops it. "So, what was it that happened yesterday?"

"It was on the news," she says quietly, glancing down, and finally picking up the other drink, taking a smaller swallow than she did on the last glass, but still trying the whole 'don't taste it' method. Don't waste good scotch on her, apparently. Cheap stuff will do. "I was at the museum that got held up."

Green eyes narrow, and she looks at him a little suspiciously. "Do you offer every unemployed person who you find drinking in a bar a job? People in New York don't seem that nice in general. No offense."

Museum? Huh. Probably was in the news, but he's been working on a case most of the night and well into the morning. Got three hours of sleep in his chair, showered at the office and was in court by 9am for a probable cause hearing. So, again: Museum? As she drinks down her second, he motions for a third because they do have to come in threes and that one is refilled as well. "Should be enough in you now that you can take smaller swallows now." He's lost count on which lesson number that was but it was somewhere between three and twenty seven.

"Don't think so, though I don't often remember much after a night of drinking, so I could have. You'll want to be sure I know you're not trying to pull some shit on me." Besides, he could always use a drinking buddy, right? She's becoming a pro rather quick.

Maybe the alcohol's already hitting her, but the last bit just gets a confused shake of her head. "I don't think I am. Are you?" she says, finishing the second glass and setting it down. The bartender comes to refill and glances at the two with some amusement. He's probably aware of Julian's outer limits, as the lawyers a regular, but Morgan's a new patron and apparently a new drinker. "Thank you," Morgan tells the bartender with a toothy smile that changes her face altogether. "I think I found my drink."

He lifts his glass and clinks it against hers. "Here's for finding your drink." Hell, using his same technique any of those drinks could have been hers. He just knew how to get her past the first shot. He shrugs at her question, "You come by and we'll see." He's not making any promises, but he could always use a hand, especially a looker like her hanging around. He glances up at the clock, shaking his head. Court in the morning, so he should stumble off. "Joe, you got that cab for me yet?" It's a typical routine, so Joe responds, "On its way, boss." The bartender reaches for Julian's half empty glass and Julian stops him, finishes it and then hands it over. "Make sure my friend here gets home as well. On me." He gets to his feet. "Nice to meet you.. Morgan, was it?"

Morgan smiles at the clink, picking up the third glass. Going home to Erin's empty home is nothing she's in a hurry to do. "Yep. Morgan, that's my name." That, at least, is true. The first name is about the only thing that hasn't changed in her life. "Thank you — for … well, the drink. The cab. The job." She lifts the third glass in a little toast, and sips from it. "Good luck in court. Should I call you boss, too?" She teases.

He's already heading towards the door, seeing his cab pull up. "Call me whatever you like, Morgan." Julian pushes the door open and steps outside, walking up to the cab and climbing in. Soon the cab is pulling away from the front of the bar. The bartender walks over to wipe down the counter where he was sitting and looks at Morgan, "Actually, he doesn't make those kinds of offers. Ever." For whatever that is worth. He turns around and begins to check his liquour levels.

"Thank you," Morgan calls again as he heads outside, then turns to look at the bartender with wide green eyes. Of course, the pupils are rather wide, now that the alcohol is hitting her system. "Huh," she says, glancing down at the card in her purse to make sure she doesn't lose it — she's not sure why he's offering her a job, but beggars can't be choosers, and she certainly isn't going to get hired by anyone expecting good references and a salary history attached to a resume that consists of nothing but a name, address, and phone number.

"I guess I chose a good day to be a lush, huh?" she asks, smiling and finishing off the third drink. "Can you call that cab for me?"

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