driftfleet | Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

Entry tags:

Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

Who: Steve and everyone else who just needs to get drunk. One closed to existing CR
Broadcast: No
Action: The Iskaulit/Space Bar
When: Post Calibrations/Bombing the eff out of Marsiva

[OPEN]

Tony would probably be proud of Steve, if he were able to see him right now. He'd slap his back and welcome him back to the world of inebriation while ordering shots for everyone in the bar to commemorate the day. As it is, though, Tony isn't here and, without him, there's not a damn person who would feel proud in this entire bar. That's part of it's charm.

Steve sighs and swallows his fourth drink. It's strong and alien and somehow enough to give him a strong buzz but not enough to really get him drunk. Not yet, at least. But he's not a quitter, so bottom's up! He hisses a little at the burn of it and feels, not for the first time, like he was being a coward. He saw some stuff in those rooms, sure. But other people had it so much worse. Saw so much more. He should really be thankful, actually.

But he's not. And this is a 30's approved way of getting over trauma. There were worse ways of coping, he was sure. So for now he's just going to stay in his seat and keep ordering drinks until that elusive drunken state hits him once more.

Should only take another hour or three.

[CLOSED TO EXISTING CR]

No one could blame Steve for starting. He'd messaged his friends about fifteen minutes ago, telling them to meet him at the bar for some drinks. But just sitting here, waiting? It was done better with a drink in hand to look social, at least. And it's not like that one is going to be his last. No, after Calibrations he can imagine himself coming over here quite often. He can imagine all of them coming here quite often, in fact. But maybe tonight (today? Space was hard to judge) would help take some of the sting off. Or at least some of the awkwardness.

But it wasn't as though they <i>chose</i> to share all of that. Loki, Steve is sure, would have preferred to keep his death to himself. And Thor? I am sure half of those memories were things he'd rather not have replayed over and over again. And <i>Hux</i>. God... That was just what Steve knew of. Who knew what other people had put his friends through? What they'd been through themselves?

Steve preemptively orders another drink for whoever shows up first. Whoever it was, he's sure they won't say no. Not now.

First round is on him.

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Steve blinks at 'three times'. He knew from Kitty that it happened yearly but that meant this man had been here for three years. How long were people stuck here for? Did they ever go home again?

Steve swallowed his drink down fast and waved for another. Not like he had anything else to spend his money on.

"Yeah. Well. Nothing like meeting the alternate-universe version of your traumatized, amnesiac best friend and then show him how he died. Almost as good as seeing your first officer as a kid being..." Steve paused, knowing that this wasn't his story to tell.

"Yeah. Wringer. Or maybe it feels worse because it's the first one. I don't know..."

Was the man part fish? When the drink came, Kirk reached forward and took it before Steve could reach it, sipping and licking his lips slowly, more to think than to try and be sensual. "You have good taste," he complimented, but not sorry that he was forcing Steve to breathe for have a second before knocking another back when he already looked a bit wobbly on his chair.

"You had it rougher than me. Thankfully no one poked to deeply this time," he tapped his fingers against the glass he had stolen. "I want to tell you it gets easier, but... well, that would be lying." Another sip. "What ship are you on?"

Steve watched his drink disappear with a small amount of frustration. He barely knew this man and now he'd taken it upon himself to swipe his liquor? But he was still Steve Rogers so he did little more than shoot A Look and then wait for the bartender to come back around so he could order again.

"Do I?" Steve answered dryly. "I wouldn't know. Stopped tasting them awhile ago."

Still he looked at the person beside him and debated answering more. But then again, after all, what did he really have to lose?

"I'm on The Bishop. Good ship, far as I can tell. Lots of weapons."

It wasn’t as if it would be hard to find out what ship Steve was on. It was a rather finite and closed system after all.

“Tourist, myself. Engineer and Captain,” he returned the favor. He held out his hand to Steve. “James Tiberius Kirk,” he introduced himself properly. “But just Jim or Kirk is fine.” He already knew Steve’s name, but he didn’t think he should give the many anything else to have a crisis over at the moment.

"Steven Rogers. Just call me Steve." He doesn't extend his hand out for a shake because this is a bar and it would likely be odd. Still, he tilts his glass over to Jim in a more formal greeting than just grunting.

"Tourist. There's a lot of ships around here. I haven't been around long so I really feel like I should get a list or something." The Fleet version of small talk, he figures. Like he'd really know.

Would it be? Kirk makes a small sound in the back of his throat at the lack of shake, but doesn't comment on it. He leans back in his chair, continuing to sip his stolen drink without an ounce of shame.

"You can get one - the comm they give us," he pulled out his. "It's hooked into the network, basic info and some compiled information over the years. They're all ridiculous though, really. I'm surprised no one's made some sort of weird jingle about it yet."

Steve was the kind of old man that used his cellphone to talk so it doesn't surprise him that his comm has more on it than he's discovered. He thanks Jim for the news and makes a mental note to do some real research before their next planet. It would be worthwhile to see where everyone was. Who else was here. Who knew when someone new would pop up.

"How long have you been here for?" Another version of small talk, he figures. This one puts a cold shard of ice into his stomach, though. The idea that he could be here for another Calibrations isn't one he relishes.

"Roughly three years," Kirk replied, as if the very realization did not pain him. It was a mixed bag of feelings to be sure. He had met so many good people here, had experiences good and bad. Yes they were colored by the realization he was more or less a prisoner, but that didn't stop him from genuinely caring for the people he met. For the man who's leather band he wore. For the angry little elf who had carved a mark into his heart. For the blue demon whom one could say he was probably courting.

Mixed bag indeed.

"I'm one of the older ones now. We have some before who were here longer, but they've gone now."

"Three years..."

He needs more drinks. All the drinks. If he does something wild like dance on a table will he get enough money for that? Too bad he was always shit at dancing.

"You don't seem broken up about it," he notices. "A lot of people who've been here for awhile don't seem overly upset. I don't know if it's Stockholm Syndrome or they just don't like their home, but..."

He glances up, realizing that was rude to hypothesize in front of the stranger. Steve holds his palm up to gesture his apologies.

"That's not fair for me to say. Sorry. We all come from different places and see...this differently." Just look at Vision and Wanda. "Maybe it's...nice when you get to know it."

"It's not that I'm happy being here," Kirk explained, and if he was offended by Steve's words he didn't show it. He supposed it must look that way to an outsider, him stating so calmly how long he had been here, lacking the rage of the newcomers. "I wasn't happy when I first arrived. Was very unhappy. Still am. But... but after three years you do form a sort of life here. The situation is shit, but the people aren't. And you can rail against all of it as much as you want, but at the end of the day you here, right now, in the moment. And being angry all the time isn't productive. Don't get me wrong - if I was told I could go home in the next five minutes, I would. I want to go home. I have people who need me. A home."

He took a longer sip of his drink now, brushing his fingers over the rim,

"But it would hurt too. Hurt leaving people I care about behind. You get used to the ache of loss here. And you keep trying to find ways home. But it is - difficult doesn't really cover it. Not impossible. I don't believe that. But our openings are few and far between, so patience will be your friend here."

Steve, chastised by the level-headed and logical answer, just gets his next drink and holds it between his palms. Kirk is right, after all. He could be here for years. Who knew how long? He couldn't just be angry all the time. He didn't have to accept it, but he couldn't keep pushing at things waiting for the right one to open.

"You're right," he concedes openly. "I mean. Already I've gotten my best friend here. From another universe, sure. But..." He laughs a little, shaking his head. "Actually. I have both. Just one remembers me back."

God, it was all so messy. So temporary. He looks over at Jim, curious now rather than upset. He'd been here for so long, Steve could recognize an informational jackpot when he saw it.

"You lost a lot of people in those three years?"

"Yeah, you'll need to get used to that. Doubles and people popping up from all sorts of time frames. I mean, there's another me running around - but not me? He's James Tiberius Kirk too, but he's been somewhere else for a number of years," he chuffed, shaking his head.

He took a slow breath as he considered the last questions. "Friends, mostly. Members of my crew on the Tourist, people from other ships. Most recently it was a man named Shiro. He was - he was a good friend. A dear one. I've had a lover leave, and another leave and then come back, and thank god they remembered me or it would have been a third heartbreak." He rubbed at his cheek. "But now, after three years, my first mate is here - from home." He smiled just a little then. "I think I scared him because I definitely cried when I saw him."

There's something about that smile that reminded Steve of himself. With everything else he had said, Steve focused on that. "Yeah. Getting a good friend back here is overwhelming. I might have cried a bit when I got Bucky back."

One of them, at least. Which, yeah. That brought up the guilt again. Another reason for drinking if there ever was one.

"There's another version of me, too. It's complicated. We should all make a club."

"Only a bit?" Kirk asked, narrowing his eyes at Steve, but only teasingly, as was his way. His smile gave it away, unable to keep the tight purse of his lips.

"Oh, I think we could. Have jackets, the whole shebang," he nodded. "Though I like my twin personally. It's kind of like having the brother I wished I always had." He shrugged and drained his glass, motioning for another. "It was very, very freaky at first though. Worse when his fiance thought I was him for a minute."

Steve still grew up in the 1920's so he doesn't really mean anything when he defaults to, "That must have been really uncomfortable for her. Time to dye someone's hair."

He swirls his drink and thinks about his own twin. Something tells him they're not going to be like brothers.

"Yeah. My other self comes from a timeline where he's been brainwashed and forced to murder for seventy-odd years. Don't know if he'll want the jacket. But at least we won't be confused."

“His hair. My twin's fiancé is named Victor,” he corrected gently, but not with venom. He’s come across more than a few where that would be the default and it’s not really their fault so much as the eras they come from. "And believe me, he can tell us apart just by looking at us, and our faces are identical." He waved his hands around his own face for emphasis.

"Well, give it time. We don't exactly have a lot of space for avoiding each other, you know?" He took the new drink placed down in front of him. "Not quite sardines in a can, but a close second."

If the news about the fiancé being a man shocks Steve it doesn't show. He nods slowly, accepting the information as he has most information from the new world he'd woken up in. It's not for him to question, he knows. Just to understand. And it's not like he didn't know men who liked men, before. It's just now they can get married instead of arrested.

"Yeah, I noticed that." He thinks about the other ex-HYDRA spy keeping clear of him and takes a long drink. "I can't say I'm eager for the meeting. At least you and your...twin...share most experiences. This one?" He looks at the bar and shakes his head. "I don't know what I'd be in his shoes.

"Part of me doesn't want to know."

"My advice? Don't worry about it. You're you and he's him and you just have to remember that. My twin and I share experiences, but we've come out of them different," he shrugged. "You'll just send yourself into some kind of spiral if you wonder about all the possibilities and what could have beens."

He shook his head, having taken himself down that road more than once. It usually left a scratch on his soul, and he would see Steve spared that if he could.

"Maybe it's like ripping off a bandaid. Better to get it over with?"

"Maybe." He doesn't sound convinced but he smiles all the same. "I imagine if he wants to meet me, he'll find me sooner or later. I won't avoid the meeting but... I don't want to force it either. He's been through a lot. This is just another thing on top of it all."

He has no idea how his 'twin' will take it all. Has no idea if he even knows that Steve is here as well. He really should find him and try to help. But the feeling in his gut still tells him to stay away until he's approached. Or maybe that's just him being avoidant.

"It's a club we all join when we get here, in one way or another."

He swirled his drink.

"Another piece of advice - find a way to let it out. Whatever it is you got in your head, in your gut. Doesn't have to be words, but it's better to try and let it out somehow or else you go a bit crazy, especially in little tin cans like this. I like the obstacle course, personally speaking."

"I'm trying to get ownership of the art studio," he confesses. "I used to like to paint. Draw. Never had enough time to really get back into it at home. Might as well here."

Steve smiles at Jim, thankful for the well-meaning advice. It's nice how people have each other's backs here. They're all in the same boat, after all. All kidnapped people together on this crazy show. Might as well help their fellow prisoners out.

"Thanks. For all of this. I'm sure you came to drink alone. But I appreciate this."

"Really? I wish you luck. My other self likes to draw too - he's way better than I am at it. I mostly do it for note taking. I prefer messing with mechanical stuff myself. I've made a couple of star projectors, actually - with constellations from Earth."

He smiled, and then shook his head.

"No problem. Really, I came to bother my lover." He winked. "But it was nice, getting to meet you. Doesn't seem like a bad trade at all."

Steve smiles at that and swings back his drink. "I'll leave you to that. I need to maybe go and bother myself." He's not going to seek the other Steve out but he's not going to avoid meeting him either. Jim was right. Bandaid time was inching closer.

"I'll see you planetside when we dock. Don't irritate your lover too much; if they're the bartender, I don't want it impacting my drinks."

"Oh no, he makes the food," Kirk smirked. "And if knows what's good for him, he won't try anything."

He raised his glass to Steve.

"Good luck, Steve."

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Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

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