(Untitled)

[mr_gaeta]

"I can't. I'm sorry," says Gaeta when the napkin appears at his elbow, right next to the pages he's been filling with neatly-penned notes. "Not tonight."

Don't give me that, buster. You and I both need a break, reads the next napkin -- and before Gaeta can protest further, Bar snatches up his notebook. It vanishes into thin air as she adds, You'll

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[southphillysob]

"Royal Bill, huh? Goddamn!"

The swagger Gaeta probably recognizes: the accent, however, they don't make nowhere but South Philly. Bill leans against the Bar. "My tab's so high I gotta jump outta fuckin' airplanes. That nab me a free one?"

Guess what, Gaeta? THAT. WAS. HILARIOUS.

[mr_gaeta]

The cursing sounds a little strange, too -- kind of like how you make up less offensive words when you accidentally bark your shin within earshot of a kid. But the swagger? Yeah, Gaeta definitely knows that.

His lips quirk, just a little, and he leans on the bar. "I think I almost want to charge you more, that joke was so bad, sir."

[southphillysob]

Bill shrugs. "Yeah, give it a try. For one, it's fuckin' true, and two, I ain't afraid to go fist city with you over it." He flashes a truly impressive grin. "Come on, the hell's in a Royal Bill anyway? Figure I oughta know, seeing as how I'm named Bill and all."

[mr_gaeta]

"There's no violence in the bar," he answers immediately, but the faint half smile doesn't go away. "It's pear liqueur and champagne. Sound like something you'd be interested in?"

From the look of Bill, Gaeta thinks it could go either way.