Wasted

Who: Brian and Hunt
Where: The Wooden Nickel
When: 8PM

It had been such a weird day. From Domino to a stressed Mya and that kid being shot, to Katrina-the-cougar and hearing that pretty demon Konnor was dead and supposedly a murderer, himself... to a drinking date with Hunt-the-ridiculously-normal. What a line-up. Brian was early to his meeting with the last, coming in to sit at the bar-- Torziel-free, thankfully-- and nurse a black and tan and watch the television in the corner without really paying attention to what he was seeing. Mya was right: there had been a lot of strange things going on in Marquette lately, and maybe it was time to start being more careful.

But at the same time, he just wanted to spend time with a friend and relax a little. Everything had just been crazy, lately, it seemed like.

Hunt was running a little late - it wasn't usual for him, but then this had been far from a usual day. Learning of the murder of Lullaby first thing this morning had started it off. Was it only yesterday that he'd been talking with her? Asking if she needed time for the assignment that had been due after the weekend, promising himself that he'd watch her over the coming weeks. And now she was dead, shot. And then the lunchtime news, with its news that the killers of Josh and Mary had been apparently found - killed themselves. It had been a rollercoaster of a day alright and as HUnt walked into the bar, he knew that he'd be being up for some serious drinking tonight. He spotted Brian and headed over, sinking into a seat across from him.

Looking up at his company, Brian grinned. It was a little wan, but then, Hunt looked a little wan, too. "Hey. Long day?"

Hunt looked around for a waitress and gave his order when one appeared, looking to Brian for him to add in his if he needed a refill. "Yeah, you could say that," he responded once the woman had gone. "You hear the news at all today?"

Brian did-- a refill and a snack, some onion rings to share. He propped his chin up on his hand. "Yep. I'm guessing you know the girl from school?" It wasn't too far of a stretch; a lot of kids had Hunt as a teacher, and he would be willing to bet Hunt even knew kids he didn't necessarily have.

"Yeah - she was a student of mine. Actually talked to her yesterday about her performance. She'd been having some problems - said she was over them. You know that's the third student I've lost in as many weeks?" he asked. A rhetorical question. He'd taught Mary and Josh as well. He'd never lost a student before now. Sure, they sometimes dropped out, moved away. But murder? Didn't happen in Marquette.

"Hell, man, that's right. That is three." Brian downed the last of his current drink, in anticipation of a new one. He'd almost forgotten about the other two-- not that he'd forgotten, exactly, but he hadn't put it together that Hunt probably taught them, too. "And I knew one of the dead guys, who supposedly killed them. Just met in passing, but he seemed all right...." He made a face. "Guess you never can tell about a person."

Hunt shook his head. "I don't know what's going on in this damn town. You know, I moved to a small town for a reason - I didn't want all of the big city bullshit, the crime rate and the murders and all the rest of it. And ten years I've been here and it's been great. And now this - I don't know what's going on," he complained.

"You've got me," Brian shrugged. "Been quiet the whole four I've been here, too. It's like it all of a sudden decided it needed to catch up with the rest of the world, disaster-wise, and actually give all the police something to do."

"Finally the world decided to realise that the UP existed?" Hunt suggested, not exactly sounding happy about that fact. He took his drink as it arrived and shook his head as he turned to his friend. "I have to admit, I'm in the mood for some serious drinking tonight - I don't know whether you're with me on that, but - I think I'm either going to need someone to stagger home with me, or carry me home... one or the other," he admitted, throwing half of the glass down in one gulp.

"You know, man, that sounds like a good idea to me?" Brian said with a little grin, grabbing one of the onion rings off the top of the tower when that was set down, too. "I could use some good, old fashioned drunkenness about now. Mya's saying she wants to shorten the diner's hours because of everything-- not be open overnight anymore."

"You ever make any money at night anyhow?" Hunt asked, snagging one of his friend's onion rings without asking. They could always order more. Talking of which, he signalled to the waitress and, across the room, gave her his best smile and pointed to his glass - maybe she'd get the message. Maybe she should just leave the bottle. It had been far too long since he'd gotten well and truly legless - it was overdue. "Sorry, man - that was... What do you think about it? The hours?" he asked.

"Not a lot," Brian admitted. He waved a hand at the rings in a "help yourself" sort of gesture; they were as much for both of them as just him. "I think we get one regular every night, middle of the night, and random orders of coffee, but that's about it. I'm not so worried about the diner closing as I am about why. She's worried about our employees getting hurt on the way to and from. Talk about not something I'd ever thought to consider in Marquette, of all places."

Hunt let out a steady breath. "Hell no - Marquette, home of the many police and almost zero crime rate? I've never been afraid to walk the streets at night, but now? Yeah, not good," he admitted, as if he'd never before questioned his own safety. As if he didn't have half a dozen bolts on his door, or locks on all the windows and that he didn't religiously check them all every night. Marquette had a low crime rate, but still Hunt was paranoid to the point of near-obsession about his personal safety. He just didn't realise it to enable him to admit it openly.

"You know, I would've thought you of all people would've seen danger everywhere and not be surprised," Brian snorted lightly over the rim of his own glass. "I've seen your doors and windows, Hunt." He'd even teased the guy about them before-- what was the point of all those locks in a small, harmless town like this, after all? Oh, now it made sense, of course, but before? He'd just assumed Hunt was paranoid, or OCD, or something, razzed him about it now and then, and let it be. The very idea that he hadn't even considered his own safety, though, was a little preposterous.

Preposterous it certainly was, but no less true for all of that. Or, at least, no less true from Hunt's point of view. In all honesty, Hunt wasn't afraid to walk the streets at night - because he'd hardly ever do it unless he really had to. He drove almost everywhere, unless he was walking Mutt. But he didn't outwardly acknowledge it. Like he didn't really acknowledge the locks. Hunt didn't see the kind of life he led, which was the reason for the almost blank look he gave his friend at the comments. Surely what he did was just normal? Nothing could make him see otherwise. "What's with my doors and windows?" he asked, honestly puzzled.

"Nothin', except nobody has that many locks on everything unless they're paranoid or they have enemies," Brian chuckled. Hunt really was a little off when it came to those, but hey, to each their own. He was a great guy, otherwise. Everybody had their quirks-- but that didn't mean he couldn't give people a little grief over those quirks. "I have two on my door, next to your six, and I forget to lock 'em half the time."

"Well, I don't have enemies, and I'm not paranoid, so I think that leaves us at a loss," Hunt said, brushing the subject off, just has he had done every other time once it was brought up. He honestly didn't see what the point Brian was trying to make was. He snagged another onion ring and bit into it.

"You're impossible, you know that?" Brian told him, picking his own ring and pointing it at Hunt in mock-frustration. "I can't even tease you properly. You just shrug it off all the time." Which, while frustrating now and then, yes, was really more funny than anything else. "I'd blame it on the bad day, except I know you're always like this."

"I know you too well, Brian, to rise to your teasing, you know that," Hunt told him, finishing off his drink as the next arrived. In truth, if he could hear himself, Hunt would realise that not everything he said made perfect sense. But he just didn't see it. So one minute he would be saying that there wasn't a problem, the next he would claim that it was simply that he preferred to ignore Brian's jokes - in his mind, it was all one and the same, a carefully concocted lie to himself.

Snorting again but letting it slide-- he always did; if Hunt wanted to change his story around, Brian wasn't going to bug him about it-- Brian drained the last of his, too, and let the server replace it, as well. "Make the next ones scotch," he suggested to her before she left. "And you might as well bring the bottle, so you're not running over here every few minutes."

Hunt was grateful for the words from Brian - he was taking the murders of his student a lot harder than he'd let on. It had been eating away at him lately. He'd thought that he'd coped sufficiently well with the murders of Josh and Mary, but the news of the appearnt murderers had brought that back, hot on the heels of Lullaby's murder. It was all too raw, too fresh right now. He stared down, into his empty glass. "Why can't things just be simple?" he asked, looking for a drop of alcohol that had maybe escaped him before. "Easy - nice. Why all of this? There should be... good news," he decided, firmly - as if that had any bearing on anything, but he could feel the alcohol starting to seep into his system.

"Wish I had some to give you, man," Brian sighed, back. "I feel like my life's gone to shit lately, myself, and this's all just adding to it. Making things worse. Self-centered kinda thought, but...." He shrugged. "What can ya do? Everybody's selfish at the core, I guess. Maybe that's the problem, y'know?"

Hunt winced with sympathy. "Yeah - it's all going to shit," he agreed, knowing that Brian's life hadn't been easy lately. "Sorry man, I feel like I'm dumping - you don't need this shit."

"You're not dumping," Brian waved it off. "--Thanks," he added with another wan smile for the waitress, who'd brought the requested bottle and two shot glasses. "You're commiserating," he continued as she smiled, back, and went on her way. "We've both had a shitty few weeks." He poured them both a shot and slid Hunt's across to him.

Hunt took the shot and raised it. "That we have," he agreed. "That we really have. To it getting better?" he asked, proposing a toast. "Or, to drowning it in more whiskey." Either seemed a good option right about now. Maybe both. This was a side of him people rarely, if ever, saw. Usually he was positive, upbeat, forward thinking. Today, he couldn't do it. He'd be that guy tomorrow. Possibly with a hangover.

"Here's to getting totally shit-faced and forgetting about everything, at least for one night," Brian agreed, and held up his glass to clink it with Hunt's in true toasting fashion. "We'll save the getting better toast for once we're actually drunk and can be optimistic 'bout it all."