Scene #8366: Why Not Drink

Owner	Pose
KNK	Megacities aren't great places to live, which makes it all the stranger that they're defined mostly by just how many people live in them. The directions Candy gets to meet up with Violet are easy enough to follow if he's hooked up for AR, and a little difficult otherwise, but once he does get there, deep in the lower levels, Violet's up on a balcony, waving at him. There's not really any single thing that could be called 'street level,' here, but there are streets, there are towering buildings, there are squat buildings stacked up on top of each other, and then there are more streets above that. Here, the neon lights of club fronts and distant music, the bass thumping carrying through to be everpresent even if the lyrics are anyone's guess, the jostling foot traffic, the hundreds of distant conversations that become an indistinct murmur with some distance, it all forms a wall of presence. You can get lost, here, escaping notice far more easily, in some ways, than an isolated shack in the mountains. Being seen in the half-dark is all the harder. And that's probably why KNK put a safehouse right here. Some little studio-sized flat with a balcony, and ill-repaired metal steps, a little too steep, leading up to it. That's where Violet set out a table and a couple chairs, apparently very content with people-watching -- for which the view is perfect. She's not masked, today. Rose is probably inside.
Candy	Candy has no idea what AR is, much less how to hook up to it. Ordinarily, there would be barely-hushed swearing for every time he'd have to double back, huffs of impatience for every corner he'd passed more than once. The Candy that's here instead is almost going through the motions--his eyes are locked straight ahead of him, following the directions with a stare that pierces through anything in front of him. Dressed in a beige long coat over simple work clothes (slacks, overalls, button-up) in matching earth tones, he wanders through neon glow and beating bass, until he eventually finds the safehouse. He tries to avoid eye contact with Violet, nodding his acknowledgement, but walking past her, coat still on, to grip the back of the chair at the table she's set up on the balcony. His eyes aren't on the horizon, but on the table. Tears that he'd been holding back--that he's still trying to hold back--brim up in his eyes. When he blinks, they bead up and fall to the table below. His whole body tenses up after that impact, fingers digging into the chair, eyes shut so tightly they draw his brow into a crease.
KNK	The collection Violet's supplied for this little drinking party is more than enough to kill a dozen men, with no two bottles alike. Most of them are unopened. None are easily recognizable, though words like 'spiced' and 'rum' translate just fine. Some are probably just for mixing, though a skilled bartender, she isn't. The square glass on Violet's side is dark and half-full, and the shotglass she pours for Candy as he sits down is something clear, smooth, but with a fiery aftertaste. 'Quality' maybe shouldn't be expected here, either, but surely something in that array will work. It's a wonder she's kept this many kinds, given how her own attempts to get drunk are mostly blocked by physical circumstance. Would if she could. Or maybe that's why. She sits back down, Rose still not in evidence, though she glances at the door inward, before sweeping her eyes back over the street, and then back to Candy. "Yeah." They've only met in person that one time before. "Maybe..." she shouldn't feel like she knows him well enough to say anything, but she has a particular kind of bravery, in that regard. "Maybe you'd wanna talk about him, I was thinking. Not about what you're gonna do. But being in love... I'd wanna talk about them, I think. Or scream. Or cry. Prob'ly all at once."
Candy	"Yeah," Candy answers, hoarsely quiet. "Yeah." It's all at once. He's quiet, still staring down at the table, trying to keep the urge to scream in check, at the expense of the urge to cry. At last, after a few paroxysms of grief shake him, he sits down. "We had known each other for a while, but..." He swallows. Then, he looks up, drags his sleeve across his teary brown eyes, and sniffles, reaching out for the shot glass. He downs it in one, his mouth twitching slightly downwards as the aftertaste comes. "Wasn't until Lilian that we got close. See..." He pushes the shotglass forward. "At his best, he wants... wanted, to understand. And that's... rare, for people that have 'departments' and 'offices' and 'bureaus' they can call on, you know?" Candy's fingers curl up on the table, as if trying to claw something back. He blinks away some tears, and continues. "At least, it is where I come from. I know it's not that way everywhere. And I know sometimes he was too goddamn... I don't know," Candy says, with a shrug. "He... always had questions, when things didn't make sense. And sometimes he'd ask one that crossed a line, and someone would have to put him straight. The thing is... he would listen. You know? Sometimes it would take a while, but he wanted to be better." Candy sniffles. "And now none of that fucking matters," he suddenly says, voice wavering, hands now balled into fists as he chokes back a sob.
KNK	Violet pours Candy another, from the same bottle. "Just so y'know, my tastes're weird, or I'd know the one to recommend." What she has for herself smells way too sweet. But what's in the shotglass is strong enough to cut and burn through everything, for at least a few moments. "Understanding? Yeah... that is pretty rare, for a... but he acted more like a kid, sometimes, didn't he? Wanting to know how things worked. Not like... those guys who burned out on their way to a desk. I get it." She gives him a little bit, then. Long enough for another drink. Long enough to pick something out, if he wants. Long enough to drain part of her own, and long enough for someone more than two drinks in to stumble against the base of the stairs, realize this isn't his address, and keep walking. Violet watches him go for a moment, the motion of the cameras in her eyes barely perceptible in the neon half-light. She's quiet, before she says, "It still matters to you, doesn't it? That a guy like that was here. Somebody..." she takes a moment to find a word, "somebody worth it."
Candy	"A little burn is okay," says Candy softly. "There's a... bourbon the yankees make that's a little like that stuff," he adds. "But, sure." Candy nods, eyes misty as they sweep slowly across what's on offer. He sniffles, "Let me try, uh... this, and this, on the rocks. I can do ice, lime, if you don't wanna get up." Either way: "...yeah. It still matters. He was like a kid sometimes, with the questions. But I understand that. Me," he says, gesturing vaguely to himself, "I want things to make sense, too, I think. Or... I want to make them make sense." he says, almost somewhere else but for the fact that he's sitting right in front of her. "He was worth it. Not just for that, but because he always so excited for new things," Candy starts again, staring out over the balcony. People watching. "I could cook for him, and something that was, you know... comfort food for me, was this amazing for him." He swallows audibly. Then he looks Violet in the eye, for the first time. "I should have listened to Lilian. I should have told him to stay the fuck away from that girl, you know." Candy sucks in a breath, shakes his head, and draws his hands into his lap, one squeezing the other tightly. His eyes shut tightly. "I should have told him to stay the fuck away from that girl, more than I did. That's what I fucking get, for thinking she'd get better." "She had Rita, and the Powerpuffs, and Hibiki," he utters, tears streaking down the soft lines of his face as his eyes slowly open again. "That's just the tip of the iceberg. Me, Nephra, that Dimo lady--so many goddamn people tried to help her be better. And every single time, she looked at that person and spit right in their fucking eye." He looks at her, across the top of his glass. "If there's one person she hasn't done that to, I'd like to know what the fuck they did to deserve it, ah?" he spits, his eyes burning with hatred, anger, until he can't muster the strength to glare at the cityscape anymore, and buries his face in his hands. Candy lets loose, then, his back heaving in abrupt fits and starts as he sobs in his chair. "And why the fuck I didn't do something sooner."
KNK	"Oh, I got ice." She does. It's in a little black jar with a lid and a scoop. "And lime. There you go." The small bottle of 'lime flavor' is not, at all, a lime, but Violet is sadly unaware of the difference. The availability of lemon and orange is about the same. There's a little of everything, as long as it comes in a bottle or a jar. While Violet listens, closely attentive but quiet, she replaces her drink with a mix that's more what looks like raspberry juice than alcohol, likely just as overly sweet as the last. She sets it down, puts her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, and listens to Candy give his 'I should have's. When she says more than, "Yeah," it's to say, "Rose had something to say about that girl, too. Though it was mean. And probably right, though I don't know. It's like she's... trying to get herself killed as messily as she can. Like she doesn't want someone to help her live." Violet leans back in her chair, pushing up the front legs in lifting her heels. She rocks on it just to the edge of balance. "Y'know, I sorta get it. To thinking the only way you're gonna matter to people is by being a mess for them to fix, so you just... haha, sorry, sorry." She waves it off. "This isn't about me. That kind of pathetic thinking. Mattering to people like Ishirou did..." A whisper, "...that wouldn't be so bad." When Candy buries his face, Violet waits a moment, then puts a hand on his shoulder. There's nothing remarkable in the feel or soft warmth of it. It's just a squeeze, and then withdrawn. "There you go. Let it out. God knows, you tried."