Open Log: Drunk Time

[yippiekiyay]

WHO: John McClane and Whoever
WHERE: Dive bar named Mickey's
WHEN: The night the Joker broke free again.
WARNINGS: Swearing, drinking, jerks.
SUMMARY: The Joker's free, and he spelled out McClane's mantra in blood. It's too much.
FORMAT: Whatever

Comments

[theprimerprime]

If there was one man in the City tonight with as much right to be in a bad mood as John McClane, it was Sentinel Prime. He had worked his aft off to get the new prison up and running, just so that this sort of thing wouldn't happen anymore. And when Texas decided they wanted the Joker...sure, he had been happy to get rid of the problem, but he had made certain they knew exactly what they were getting into. Apparently that wasn't enough.

Blackarachnia was still a vacant shell in a hospital room; if asked, he would have denied missing her, but he did. And after Optimus had given no response, official or otherwise, to the Joker's sick little 'message', he had gone looking. Pit, he would have even accepted a lecture from the other man at this point, just to have something predictable.

What he had found instead was Optimus's comm unit, resting ominously in a pile of paperwork on his desk with no sign of its owner.

And that was the proverbial straw that caused Sentinel to lose it.

He had been working around McClane - and listening in on comm buzz from other dysfunctional 'heroes' - long enough to know that when humans were in this kind of emotional state, they dealt with it by drinking. Therefore, despite his previous bad experience, that was precisely what he did. He had been bar-hopping for an hour or two now, looking for someone to listen to him complain and getting kicked out of a few places (and punched by an angry lesbian; mental note never to go there again) in the process before he happened upon McClane. Perfect.

He plunked himself on a barstool directly next to his co-worker and started right in. "I gave them protocols for dealing with the fragger, not my fault if they decided to ignore them. Texas. Bah. Where the Pit is Texas, anyway?"

[yippiekiyay]

Been a while since he's been out drinking with Sent. Might've lifted his spirits a little if he wasn't talking about the fuckin' clown.

"South. They do everything big and fuckin' stupid there."

[theprimerprime]

"Figures," Sentinel groused. "Planet's full of slaggin' idiots. Next time anyone asks me to extradite, I'm telling them to go stick it in their hard drive."

The bartender, clearly not used to the language of belligerent former robots, gave him a quizzical look. Nonplussed, he jabbed a thumb in the direction of McClane's glass and said "I'll have what he's having."

[yippiekiyay]

McClane shakes his head a little, almost wanting to smirk at that, but not having it in him tonight.

"Can't argue with you there," he mutters, as he finishes his own drink. "Another Jack."

[theprimerprime]

When Sentinel's drink arrived, he downed it like a champ. Clearly he had been practicing. It was going to be hard enough to break the news to McClane that additional alcohol was obviously necessary. Not that it was a good idea to do so, what with both of them in varying states of intoxication. But few people had ever accused Sentinel of good judgement.

"...Slag. Remind me why we do this, again."

[yippiekiyay]

It actually takes him a while to answer, the mood he's in.

"Because tryin' to put these assholes down is better than sittin' around with our thumbs up our asses lettin' 'em do their shit."

[theprimerprime]

Sentinel toyed with the empty glass in his hands, gazing into the bottom of it. He was considering ordering another. He knew it was probably a bad idea. He wanted one anyway. Wherever the notion humans had that alcohol numbed emotion had come from, it was a load of scrap. And McClane's words of encouragement weren't helping much either.

Finally, he just came out with it. There was no good way to say it, so why not? He dug the extra comm out of his pocket and slapped it down on the bar.

"Found this in Optimus's office. No sign of him. I think he's gone."

[yippiekiyay]

That gets McClane's attention. Didn't think anything else could bother him tonight... but there it is.

"Motherfucker."

His face gets buried in his hand.

"Son of a bitch."

[theprimerprime]

Sentinel wasn't usually the type to offer comfort. His attitude was that whatever happened, people should just suck it up and deal. But McClane was putting voice to Sentinel's own feelings, and he found himself struck with a rare, deep pang of empathy. He clapped a hand onto his friend's shoulder in a gesture of companionship.

"Looks like it's just you and me this time."

[yippiekiyay]

McClane's not big on touching, but he'll let it go for the moment, as his face is buried in both hands now, before they slide into his hair, and he just stares at his drink, shaking his head.

"I can't do that job, man. I can barely do THIS job, and I'm sure half the guys'll tell ya I'm wrong for thinkin' even that much. We can't spare any of our street force to bump them up to bureaucratic shit, man..."

[theprimerprime]

"I've got you covered, John," Sentinel replied, and was for once actually sincere about it. He even managed a shadow of his usual overconfident smirk. "I haven't met a bureaucracy yet that I couldn't handle. Between the two of us, we'll get this place running like the machine it ought to be."

[yippiekiyay]

McClane isn't sold on that just yet.

"You think you can handle that AND the prison?"

[theprimerprime]

"The new prison's so advanced it can practically run itself."

Sentinel laughed, the sound hollow. McClane didn't know just how accurate that statement was. The alcohol was playing hell with his emotions; he felt simultaneously invincible and scared to death. Still, he decided to go for it and ordered another shot. At least if he passed out he'd be able to get some sleep tonight.

"I've gotta do this, John," he continued. "I...Pit, I owe it to Optimus."

[yippiekiyay]

"I'm not gonna stop you, Larry," he says, thinking that's the human nickname he decided to give him the first time they went drinking, and not caring enough to remember if he's right.

"I'm just glad to have somebody that ain't me volunteering. Good luck with it."