File #17: Relearning what we already know (open commentlog)
Gunn knew that he was going to have issues after the loss of his eye. He was a rational man; he knew about the loss of depth perception, that things were going to be different. It didn't help, though, when he started walking around and accidentally clipping walls with his left shoulder, with grabbing things and missing them, having to shift his
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He was also discovering that drunkenness was a good way to explore the ship with new eyes, which was what led him to Deck 13. And to unwanted memories. Memories which led to a heavy swig of whiskey.
A gunshot was unexpected and caused him to choke on the drink before spotting Gunn. Great. That was the guy he wanted to see. The dude who was a hefty part of why he was so drunk right now. Oh, well. Sal didn't hate Gunn. He kind of wanted to, but he couldn't. So he might as well talk to him.
Almost begrudgingly, Sal shuffled to the other man. He wasn't quite drunk enough to stumble. "Hey. What happened t'yer eye?"
He was, however, drunk enough to be completely tactless.
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They're all in the same boat now anyway.
"One of the birds," he says finally, looking at Sal but rubbing a thumb over the grip of the gun. "Tore out my eye at the party."
Gunn glances at the bottle and asks, casually, "What's with the whiskey?"
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On top of that, he hadn't had the balls to talk to Mikaela since the party and he was kind of hating himself for it. Sal had sort of settled with being lonely and sad and drunk. And hated himself more for that.
He offers the bottle to Gunn. "Wanna drink? Y'could prolly use it. Yer shot ain' gonna get any worse from it." He smiles just a little, hoping that his comment isn't taken hard, but not particularly worried if it is.
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When Sal offers the bottle, he looks up at him before he slides the gun into the back of his pants and takes it. He raises it to his mouth slowly, and once he's sure he's gotten it, he takes a sip, and then lowers the bottle again, handing it back to Sal.
"Probably not," He agrees after a moment. "You don't really appreciate depth perception until you don't have it anymore."
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He didn't mind Riley being around less - she needed her space, after all, and he needed his, though this time he'd grabbed a bottle of plum wine from a bar, and at least it tasted like plum wine when he checked it, needing something sweet and alcoholic.
Gunn had taken a shower, changed the bandages in and around his eye - it was getting easier, a little less painful, though he still took a pain pill - and then stretched out on his bed in his boxers and with the bottle of wine curled to his side, feeling pleasantly buzzed and a bit morose about his failure to hit a coke can.
When Riley knocks, Gunn calls out. "C'mon in."
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"Well, someone looks relaxed," she says, lips curving up slightly. Kicking off her shoes on the way, she heads toward Gunn and pulls her hands out of her pockets. "There enough in that bottle for two?" she asks, already reaching for it.
Right about now, getting a little buzzed sounds great.
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"Should be," he says. "I think it's plum wine. Can't read the bottle, actually, but it tastes like it, so I'm going to go with that." There's a tone to his voice that indicates he's a little out of it right now, but not enough to be incoherent, just pleasantly fuzzy.
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He's pretty sure that's new, and not sure how to compensate for that without sounding like an ass. But, still, he can't stand there awkwardly staring (even if its hard to tell where he's looking with the black eyes), so Marco offers a smile. "Hey."
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When he speaks, Gunn startles, jerking towards him. He doesn't raise the gun but an inch or two, and when he sees the man he thumbs the safety back on.
"Hey."
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"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
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