He had to leave his room some time...
[Matt's sitting behind the bar, with a cigarette in one hand, a paperback version of Interesting Times in the other, and a half-finished pint glass of a copper-colored beer in front of him. He's lost track of how many times he's read through the Discworld series, and most of his attention isn't on the book, which he's mostly memorized by now anyway
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Almost tentatively, he turns the knob and peeks in, immediately pleased with the sight. Nice. He was thinking that if he didn't get a drink in him soon, he was likely to go nuts. Yeah, it's fucked way of coping, but after everything that's been explained to him, at this point, he really doesn't give a shit.
He fixes his attention on his figure behind the bar, the heels of his boots landing heavily on the floor as he walks over. Matt. Or...a Matt. Sure, he looks like the Matt with whom he's spoken before, but Mello's quickly learning that around here, that doesn't count for much.
He reaches the bar and flashes a smile, leaning over the surface and resting his elbows down.]
Chocotini?
[If ( ... )
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A non-pussy version, yeah? I can do that.
[He gets to work on it.]
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That, and his manner seems generally laid-back. Mello always did prefer that to uptight. Except for when the situation called for it, of course.]
Double non-pussy.
[He watches Matt's movements intently for a moment before stretching his leg out and settling onto the stool. A few seconds later, he breaks his attention away, finally fully surveying his surroundings.]
Take up bartending as a hobby to pass the time?
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[What he's making isn't technically a martini, he supposes, but he doubts any Mello--or even any Wammy's kid, except maybe Near--would object to vanilla vodka, creme de cacao, and Godiva liqueur. He goes heavy on the vodka, as per Mello's request, and slides the drink across to him.]
Only so many video games in the world, y'know. Are you doing okay here?
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I haven't walked into any rooms that fucked with my head yet, if that's what you mean.
[As far as "doing okay," Mello's not sure what else would qualify. No, he's not okay. He's trapped in a fucking mansion with copies of not only himself and Matt, but L, and possibly a bunch of people that he has absolutely no desire to run into.]
S'good.
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Did you run into Ryuuzaki?
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[His eyes fix on the liquid in the glass before indulging himself in another sip.]
He's so...L. But not. It's kinda unreal.
[Another sip. He should slow down.]
Didn't you flip when you first met him?
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[He takes a sip of his beer.]
There used to be a version around who's our age. Ha, we were flat-on-our-asses drunk together once.
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[The glass is suddenly empty and Mello pauses for a moment before deciding that he'll hold off on asking for another just yet.]
Yeah? [He raises a brow at this.] That must've been some crazy shit. Can't picture L getting plastered, at any age.
[Another second and he glances up and holds the glass out in front of him slightly with a grin.] One more?
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[He starts gathering up the bottles for it.]
I dunno, maybe it was better that I landed here with my brains all scrambled. Like a defense mechanism, yeah?
[If his gut feeling is right, he died right before coming to the mansion, and he can't imagine being able to cope with both at the same time. He shrugs, and deliberately moves on to a happier topic.]
We didn't mean to get loaded. We each had one sip of something.
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Yeah, I guess. Sounds like a shitty deal to me, though. I'd rather remember and deal with it than be oblivious.
[The thought of the latter actually terrifies him.]
One? T'ch. Fuck were you drinkin', man?
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[He discovers some cocoa sugar this time, and puts it on the rim of the glass.]
Ha, a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.
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[He cracks a smile. Maybe it'll ease the heaviness of the thought of Matt dying. Or himself, for that matter.]
I take it it was an Earth version? [Now, the smile is genuine, followed by a low chuckle. It's a bit unnerving how similar to his own Matt this Matt is, though there are clear differences. His Matt is a bit more crass, less at ease, but that's to be expected, what with the shit they're currently going through.]
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[He finishes making the drink, slides it over, and picks up his beer again.]
Yeah, we had to fake some of the ingredients. The real thing probably would've killed us. That was in one of the rooms that doesn't suck. It's Milliways. Uh, the restaurant at the end of the universe. From Hitchhiker's.
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Doesn't mean he has to like the thought, though.]
Thanks, man.
[The sugar is sweet, if not a little bitter upon first taste. He wonders how many of these he can knock down without getting sick. The actual liquor isn't a factor. It's the overall sweetness of the drink that might do him in. Even Mello has his limits.]
Heh, probably. [His thumb runs over the glass absently.] You ever wonder who thought this up? Like do you think there's something creating all of this shit, or is it more of a collective consciousness that feeds off of whoever's here and emulates what it sees? Like an absorption and ( ... )
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[He shrugs, and goes a little pink, at how silly that sounded out loud, and lights another cigarette to cover his embarrassment.]
I dunno, dude. People say some guy called the master runs the place, but that no one's ever seen him. The rooms that fuck with your mind... it's like they know shit about you. I know that sounds crazy. But I told you about the fake memories, yeah? It was like it knew that was the worst thing I could imagine.
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