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Of course, the necessary actions left a bad taste in the man’s mouth; he wasn’t cold-blooded or cruel in nature, but he wasn’t allowed to adhere to anything more than a shifty sense of morality. But that didn’t mean he liked it, and it surely didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to try to drink the memories of blood pouring dribbling down the man’s chin as the others watched… the bone-chilling screams… the silver gleam of the knife mirrored in his eyes. It made Stirling sick just thinking about it. He needed to get as far away from all of it as he could, if even just for the night. He left his right hand in charge of the warehouse and headed to the furthest borough from his own— the Bronx. His travels beckoned him to the neon glow of Snake Eyes where Stirling hoped that he could unravel himself— let loose and drown his feelings in liquor.
Stepping into the bar, Stirling tried not to let his sour mood show on his face, but it resulted in no more pleasant an expression than a thin scowl. He crept over to the bar, barely managing to snag one of the empty seats in the crowded bar. Maybe he shouldn’t have chosen a place that was quickly becoming a go-to sure place, especially if he wanted to be alone in his misery. He drew his fingers back through the top of his hair and let out a long heavy sigh. What he really needed was a drink and ASAP. Stirling straightened up, if only slightly, and rubbed a hand across his forehead to ease his weariness. As he considered what would fuck him up the quickest, make every dark thought he was having slip away, he tried to wave over the nearest bartender, a failed attempt with the hustle and bustle. That and with the women in slinky cocktail dresses lurking about who were probably much more appealing to serve than mopey Stirling.
‘Well, that was a bust,’ he thought, wondering for a moment if he should just go home and sleep away the chaos. He quickly decided against that though; he was here, and he was going to get a drink if it killed him. He relinquished his stool to a rather tipsy brunette, barely able to slip away without her flinging her arms around him in a fit of drunken giggles. Now THAT was the kind of toasty he needed to be... Slipping his hands into his pockets, Stirling looked around the bar once more, spotting someone who appeared to be staff, a man with striking red hair that made him hard to miss, heading out into the main area. From where, Stirling didn’t know, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t approach him. Maybe he could be some help in getting Stirling sufficiently liquored up... He approached him casually, as he might a friend. That was just how Stirling was, after all. “What’s someone got to do tonget a drink around here?” he asked with a low chuckle. Have weapons of mass seduction packed into a sausage casing of a dress probably, but he wouldn’t dare say that aloud. “Might I ask you for a suggestion? I need a surefire way to forget that today ever happened... any ideas?” If Stirling was lucky, this man would know what combination of booze helped numb a guilty conscience. No specifics would be mentioned, if Stirling’s eventually drunken ass could keep his mouth shut. No one else needed to be savvy to Stirling’s criminal activity.
Luckily for him, the man seemed inclined to help him out, which Stirling was thankful for. His luck turned belly up though once Stirling posed an innocent question, one that apparently didn’t sit well with the redheaded man. He quickly set the glass he had grabbed back on the counter and stared down at Stirling, hands clasped at his hips as he met Stirling’s gaze. “Hmm. You’re not female, you don’t have big tits. But that’s probably a good thing in your eyes. And you don’t know what you want. Man throw me a bone. That moron over there isn’t going to help you.” That sudden shift took Stirling back, and he blinked incredulously. It had just been an innocent question, why had it caused a reaction like this…? He bit his tongue, figuring he’d just throw out some random drink order and be done with it. This night really wasn’t going his way, after all, but even that option flew off the table in a matter of seconds. “And trust me I want your business, but what you want is a bottle of tequila and I can’t legally serve you that. So my recommendation is go to a liquor store and buy your alcohol there. Whoever the girl is buddy she ain’t worth it. Good luck to you.”
"What. In the name. Of hell," Stirling thought, his brows furrowing as the man headed off in a huff. As far as he was concerned— 1) no, he did not want a bottle of tequila… a bottle of tequila meant that he was going to be spending his night at home surrounded by reminders of the very thing he wanted to forget because he wasn’t going to get arrested for being drunk and disorderly on the streets, and 2) why was everything always about a woman? Frankly, Stirling hadn’t actually dated in a couple of years, and when it came down to it, it’d be just as likely for him to be all bent out of shape over a guy, but who the hell just jumped straight to that conclusion? You could want to get plastered over a great many things… Stirling simply rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. Maybe this was some sort of cosmic sign that he needed to remember this bullshit day? He lingered near the bar for a bit longer, debating if sticking it out was really worth the trouble. Everything was just going up shit creek— and fast. “Abandon ship,” he muttered to himself, taking a glance over the crowd with a faint scowl. Oh, how easy they had it— and they didn’t even realize it…