If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me [Reida, Alastair]

Turned out those guys n' gals off in Jefferson had finally gotten home, and naturally, Reida was gonna be the one to welcome 'em all back. She was at her usual hole in the wall, her favorite little bar on the edge of the City of Lights. She didn't send any announcements out or anything like that, just bought people drinks when they came in, told 'em to call their friends.

"Hey, drinks're on me t'night, so drink up! Great work out there! Show them Shadow Fall faggots they oughta go burn in hell!"

She, of course, was already quite a few drinks deep, but that wasn't anything new for her. If anything, Reida was honestly more sober than she usually tended to be. The night was still young, after all, and she wanted to talk to anyone who'd listen.

Alastair was not often one to frequent a dive bar, but he could not stand the hustle and bustle of the usual bars in the centre of the City of Lights right now. He still thought of Jefferson, even as the days rolled into weeks since he had returned. Some nights he just wanted to walk alone through the outskirts, other times he took a chance on a different watering hole. He could not tell if the drinking helped him cope, but it certainly took his mind off things.

He approached the bar of one particular establishment, head hanging a little low, before the waiter placed a double whiskey in front of him.

"Oh, I did not order ye-"

He was cut off by the man behind the counter, who muttered something about it already being paid for and thumbed in the direction of a woman a few seats down. She already had a few empty glasses around her, but other than that she was sitting alone. Picking up the freely given drink, he headed over to give some thanks.

"Thank you for the drink, madame. Room for another stranger there to share it with?"

"Hey! Mister big ol' hero himself! I heard ya made one mighty big impression over there! Can't tell ya how impressed my squad was when we read the file, y'er a regular hero."

Patting the barstool next to her own, Reida drank quite freely from the bottle she'd already made ample headway into, far from reserved about that sort of drinking. This was a party, after all, so she could drink a little more openly for once. Not that it actually mattered, really, she was always drinking anyway. Despite her initial jovial tone, however, Reida's voice did drop rather quickly. She had read the full report, after all.

"Sorry ta hear about what happened out there. I know y'all probably didn't think it'd be such a mess, huh? Caught y'all off guard. Wish I'd been there to help."

Another gulp of her whiskey, but less cheerful this time. Mostly to wash away the bad thoughts.

"Ya need to talk about it, I'm all ears. Now or whenever ya want."

It was not totally alien for him to be recognised, he was a Sternritter after all - and there were only so many of those with flaming red hair, but being called a hero caught Alastair by surprise. Most seemed happy enough that he survived, but he was not used to the concept. At the mention of her squad, though, he did clock that she was at least with the Vandenreich and likely one of the Intelligence divisions. That no doubt narrowed her identity down, but he was hardly familiar with rosters outside his own division.

He slunk into the proffered stool quietly, sloshed the liquid around in his glass for half a second, and then knocked it all back with a reckless sense of abandon. It stung the back of his throat, but there was not much of a burn. An unfamiliar, but welcome, sensation.

"I do not feel like much of a hero, my report was just an accurate recollection of the event."

Catching the attention of the bartender, he motioned for a refill on his drink with a wave of his hand and turned his gaze back to Reida. There was something about his look that seemed thankful as she lowered her tone, but he did not smile.

"If you read the details of those then I think you will understand the sentiment. There was nothing more I could do."

"I getcha."

Looking Alastair over with her one eye, Reida knew that sort of demeanor all too well. It was one she'd worn a few too many times herself at this point.

"Well whether or notcha feel like a hero, you best believe people're still gonna call ya one, think of ya like one. Even if maybe ya coulda done more, don't let them sad thoughts distract ya from the fact that ya also coulda done a whole lot less. Ya with me?"

Of course, Reida herself didn't ever feel as though she could have done much less than she did. But that didn't change that, intellectually, she knew the advice was true. What weighed on her wasn't something that she had any real reason to feel guilt over. It was just grief, really. She wiped those memories away with another long sip from her bottle, then continued, her voice still supportive, reassuring.

"Few people still made it home, didn't they? Oughta stop in some time, check on 'em, see their families n' all that. But right now what's more important is ya make sure you're doin' alright. Ain't easy when all that's weighin' on ya, some days'll seem mighty rough. Hang on."

Rifling through the pockets of the jacket hanging around her waist, Reida eventually pulled out a pen and a notepad, writing down a phone number with only a small bit of difficulty before handing it to him.

"Gimme a call whenever that happens if ya need a hand, I've been around that block a few times."

There was a strange sense of understanding from the woman as she began to dig through her pockets. Only, as he thought about it, it was not so weird that others had experienced the same as he had. She had certainly been through some things, what with the eyepatch and the way she made that bottle of liquor look like lemonade, so he supposed that was some small comfort in that mutual feeling of unspoken despair.

"That would not be a bad idea, checking in with the families that is. I suppose they are owed that much after all they went through."

As she offered him her number, he pulled out his phone and began to key in the digits. That double whiskey had not quite caught up with him yet, so his motor functions weren't off by more than a tingle. It did take him a second to decipher some of the numbers but, after that was handled, he hovered over the area for a contact name.

"I might just take you up on that, you know. But what should I put you down as, Miss..?"

"Hey, don't go thinkin' it's just for their sake that you're stoppin' in. Gotta see the people who actually made it home nice n' safe with their families, know you did that. Important ta keep in mind."

Settind down her bottle, Reida turned to properly face her companion, holding out a hand with a confident grin that seemed to border on outright cocky. Yet, despite that, it seemed almost hollow, as if the weight of this conversation had not yet left her shoulders.

"Reida Ray Copeland, at'cher service. Don't you start on that 'miss' though, I'm too old for that. 'Ms.' is what y'er lookin' for , but just call me Reida. Ain't no reason ta get extra polite with me."

"In some ways we were lucky that any of us came home at all. Sure, I landing the final blow, but it feels strange claiming some credit for saving their lives."

He turned to face her as she did him, copying the movement, and met her hand with his own for a polite shake. He wore the faintest of smiles, with a sombreness to it that was suggested that he was just as afflicted as her but also avoided saying so. Whatever she had been through, he was now going through in his own way. That was how he had ended up here in this bar, so it was oddly fitting to find something of a kindred spirit.

"Alastair Eisfluch, though perhaps you already knew that. Still, apologies for my presumption, but you can call me Alastair."

He keyed in the given name as he turned back to take another drink, making sure to add 'Ms. Copeland' to his contacts before stashing the phone away again. Drink now in hand, he offered it towards her for a toast before taking another sip.

"Does it ever get easier?"

"Maybe it does, but people're gonna give ya that credit anyway. Best ta let 'em have that. Might do ya a little good too."

Emptying her bottle as if it were nothing but water, Reida simply moved to a new one, seemingly unfazed by the sheer damage being done to her liver. Of course, her regenerative capabilities were at least enough to keep any long term health risks away, but it didn't keep the liquor from doing its job. Thank God, huh?

"I reckon that's a conversation for somewhere else, if ya wanna really go into it. I don't mind gettin' out of here with ya, gettin' a little fresh air. Up to you."

Reida stared down at the bartop for a short while, her gaze a bit more distant than before as she thought about how to answer that question.

"Some ways yeah. Some ways not so much. Guess it depends on how much ya beat yerself up."

Seeing her polish off the rest of her bottle in response to his toast, Alastair figured it was going to be one of those nights and threw back the rest of his own whiskey. Though he did not have a chance to order another before Reida suggesting getting out of here. A small but growing part of him wanted to say no, to just stay here and hammer the drink until the sun came up, but that was not who he was.

"Alright, we can walk and talk. Might as well get into things if you are offering, after all."

He pushed himself back off the barstool, nodded in thanks to the barkeep, and waited for Reida to take the lead. Perhaps the city at night was the perfect backdrop to what was no doubt a depressing conversation. If she did not have a jacket he might offer her his own, but she seemed like the kind of woman to look after herself anyway.

"Do you have a destination in mind or is it easier to just.. walk?"