Accord // Canon

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Despite appearances, Robin is in a horrible mood.

Normally when he has bad days like this, he goes out and does something stupid to shake out the bad parts and knock a few resolutions back into place. He used to go out and get wasted for attention; Vincent would never just ignore him when he was fucked up on something, and that was nice. It was never the plan, but that's how it always wound up happening.

Tonight he picked out this little dive-bar right off the Industrial District tram station, where the drinks are cheap and the bartenders won't tell you to leave until you're throwing up in their bathroom. It's no-smoking, but the smell wisps in from outside. It's got neon signs and greasy food. It's the perfect place to get irresponsibly smashed.

Somewhere between drink three and drink four, though, it occurs to Robin that Vincent is not actually here, and that no one knows where he is, and that no one would go out trying to find him because he hasn't come home yet, and that makes him feel crushingly horrible.

So, in a drunken stupor, he borrows a pen from some guy next to him and opens up his grimoire, scrawling out an only-passively-legible message to the first person he can think to want to see. Tek gets told that he should come find Robin. There are directions. He says it's really important.

But by the time Tek makes it to the bar, Robin will have completely forgotten about all that in favor of playing a game involving cups and a little round ball. He's with a group of vicious-looking sailors, several of which are trying not to split their sides laughing at the table-tennis antics ensuing in front of them.

Comments

[heresyandlace]

He's not going to thank him for it; he's not going to say that he'll keep it. He's just going to quietly tuck it into a safe pocket and change the subject.

He's also not going to scoot closer, but that's just because of the icewater that is likely still on the seat between them. He compromises with a hand dropped halfway-affectionately on Robin's head, though, as he nods toward the door.

"...I'd take you home, you know. But they're blocking the way."

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Oh, 'home'. The magic word. Drunk or not, he's still governed by an overwhelming, ever-constant desire to curl up next to someone he likes. That trumps his common sense in milliseconds.

And he smirks, haphazardly. "Nooooo they're not. Come on."

Again, he'll attempt to drunkenly get up out of his seat.

[heresyandlace]

He'll let Robin make this attempt on his own. He's not about to be knocked into, or knocked over, or pulled off balance, so Robin is just going to have to manage (or fail) without his help. ...Tek is too busy making sure that he's dodging spilled water and everything else on his way to his feet, anyway.

And, once there, he has a room full of panicked people and potential ensuing violence to watch.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

It does take him two or three failed attempts. In the end, he more slithers out of his seat and uses the bolted-down table to pull himself up into a standing position. He didn't remember being this drunk when he sat down, but he doesn't remember a lot of things right now.

He waits quietly for things to stop spinning. He waits until he can move his feet, before he shuffles and wobbles his way out into the middle of the room.

And, once there, he taps into some hidden reserve of focus and balance--possibly swelling out of the promise of more attention. He cracks his knuckles, looks at the swarming blur he has to work with, and then raises his arm up to aim all the way towards someone up at the front.

The funny thing is that he doesn't really do much. It's just that, suddenly, someone swings back and decks someone else in the face. The poor victim of Robin's puppetry has a couple of seconds to look surprised before someone else takes a swing back.

The crowd explodes. The spark was all they needed, a sudden flurry of violence and confusion as the frightened, angry, and arguably drunk denizens of the bar beat down and scramble over the people that've been keeping them in the building.

The crowd thins out quickly, once clawing at each other is established as an acceptable way to make it out the door. With a very satisfied look on his face, Robin flicks a few strays out of the way to stumble over to the door himself.

[heresyandlace]

He really does try to keep his wicked grin to himself; he already stands out enough. Sticking close to Robin--his wonderful, inebriated, walking weapon--he lets him be the one to lead the way out. Whether it's actually true or not, it makes him feel pretty untouchable, as long as he stays tightly within his escort's striking range.

Like this, Robin is the only drunken idiot he has to watch for.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

He does knock into someone on his way out, just a drunken miscalculation--but he ducks rather gracefully under the ensuing swing in his direction and sends the offender flying off into someone else anyway. He's more likely to topple over from a fit of giggles than he is to actually get dragged into the fight.

When the two of them are finally out of the riot, into the clear, Robin shivers against the air and the dark even though it isn't very cold. He takes Tek's hand and pulls him even further from the lingering crowd of people. It isn't long before he steps in and leans on him nicely.

"You're the best."

He still smells like booze, but he feels much better about life.