Ronan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
somnioergosum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-12-22 08:33 pm
somnioergosum) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-12-22 08:33 pm
Ronan walks into the month late and with a cup of alcohol [open]
who: Ronan and open
what: Open log. Ronan drinks and later he shops for his pets and brings along his raven and a dog.
when: Late December
where: A bar (ground floor of Trixie?) and a pet store respectively
warnings: Alcoholism, violence
notes: Can switch to brackets, message me if you’d like a different scenario
a. Putting that alcohol tolerance to good use
Ronan preferred to drink in private, before bed, and with his electronic music playing in his headphones. But moving in with his boyfriend had some drawbacks. His distaste for alcohol was one. As a result, Ronan was out doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted.
He went to a bar in the evening and had to deal with people talking around him. But he was here on a mission: drink as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and then think about nothing. And by God, he was going to do it.
He took a seat and glanced at the person next to him. “What’s that shit you’re having?”
b. Ronan should never name his pets
Ronan had never been in charge of the finances at the Barns. He didn’t handle it at Buttercup Farms either. So he was unprepared for how fucking expensive all his animals were. It was easy to keep Chainsaw happy. She’d eat anything. Dogs and cats? Jesus.
He walked into the pet store with his raven Chainsaw on his shoulder, as usual. But this time he had a dog with him, a young puppy with big paws, soon to grow into a fine dog. He was eating enough for it.
Thorpedo, as Ronan named him, was going to represent all the dogs in the house by choosing toys.
Should anyone be inside the pet store, this scene would unfold before them.
“Hey, mutt. Let’s get your crap.” When they reached the toy aisle, Ronan glanced around to verify no one was there, then grabbed a rope tug. “Hey, Thorpedo. What do you think?”
Thorpedo grabbed it.
“That’s my little shithead.” Ronan rubbed behind his ears.
And if anyone caught him after, Ronan hauled bags of dog and cat food, along with a small bag of toys, to his BMW while Thorpedo, still on a leash, trailed behind, carrying one chew toy and squeaking it periodically.
what: Open log. Ronan drinks and later he shops for his pets and brings along his raven and a dog.
when: Late December
where: A bar (ground floor of Trixie?) and a pet store respectively
warnings: Alcoholism, violence
notes: Can switch to brackets, message me if you’d like a different scenario
a. Putting that alcohol tolerance to good use
Ronan preferred to drink in private, before bed, and with his electronic music playing in his headphones. But moving in with his boyfriend had some drawbacks. His distaste for alcohol was one. As a result, Ronan was out doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted.
He went to a bar in the evening and had to deal with people talking around him. But he was here on a mission: drink as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and then think about nothing. And by God, he was going to do it.
He took a seat and glanced at the person next to him. “What’s that shit you’re having?”
b. Ronan should never name his pets
Ronan had never been in charge of the finances at the Barns. He didn’t handle it at Buttercup Farms either. So he was unprepared for how fucking expensive all his animals were. It was easy to keep Chainsaw happy. She’d eat anything. Dogs and cats? Jesus.
He walked into the pet store with his raven Chainsaw on his shoulder, as usual. But this time he had a dog with him, a young puppy with big paws, soon to grow into a fine dog. He was eating enough for it.
Thorpedo, as Ronan named him, was going to represent all the dogs in the house by choosing toys.
Should anyone be inside the pet store, this scene would unfold before them.
“Hey, mutt. Let’s get your crap.” When they reached the toy aisle, Ronan glanced around to verify no one was there, then grabbed a rope tug. “Hey, Thorpedo. What do you think?”
Thorpedo grabbed it.
“That’s my little shithead.” Ronan rubbed behind his ears.
And if anyone caught him after, Ronan hauled bags of dog and cat food, along with a small bag of toys, to his BMW while Thorpedo, still on a leash, trailed behind, carrying one chew toy and squeaking it periodically.
a.
But here, walking into a bar and ordering a drink is totally a thing he can do, and so every now and again, he does. Today is one of those days, and he's going the whole hog, sitting at the bar on a stool with a drink just like a guy in an old black-and-white movie, except way more cute than distantly handsome and without an awesome fedora. Oh, and not exactly drinking whiskey on the rocks either.
When the guy next to him asks what that shit he's having is, Marco raises both eyebrows, in an expression of mock offense.
"Excuse me? The piña colada is a perfectly valid and frankly classic thing to drink, okay?"
no subject
A bartender came by and asked what Ronan would like at that point. He paused only to say "I dunno. Your highest proof beer." He looked at Marco. "Perfectly valid." Also a classic. Either this fact was lost on him or he ignored it, just like he'd ignored the price.
no subject
"Ouch, okay, you can leave the 70s classics out of this okay? I just happen to like sweet, sweet tropical alcohol concoctions."
No need to mention that it's one of the few drink names he knows. He's almost 20, and not knowing these things is shameful. Super shameful. Especially around a guy who looks as handsome and surly as this guy.
When the guy orders a high-proof beer, Marco actually laughs, "Man, that's beyond valid. I'm like, still working my way up to beer. I figured I'd start with fruit juice."
no subject
His lip curled. "Your homage to the 70s is an offense to alcohol. You’re here to murder your liver, not get a sugar high.” The minute Ronan received his drink, he set to work doing the former. By the time he set it down, a good portion of it had been lost to time and Ronan’s stomach.
sorry this is so late. new job blues.
A little shrug, and then when the other guy says it's an offense to alcohol and that he's here to murder his liver, not get a sugar high, and Marco laughs, abruptly.
"Okay, I'll agree with you on that one. I just don't see why I can't do both at the same time."
Marco winks at the guy and immediately tosses back half his drink - which leaves him with a bit of a brainfreeze. Wincing, he lifts his hand and presses it against his forehead, but he refuses to complain about it. He already looks super uncool next to this guy.
no worries I myself have the usual job blues
Well, at least the guy tried. Poorly, but it was as funny as it was sad.
no subject
Not that he's done a lot of shots. Seriously, not being old enough to drink back home hadn't really ever gotten in his way, he was just, how you say...too paranoid to get drunk with anyone around, and doing it alone was way too pathetic.
"You know, you're like, probably the worst drinking buddy I've ever had."
Not that he's had many. Not that he's getting up to leave.
no subject
That was better.
"So. Shots, huh?"