Welcome to Gaia! ::

There were a grand total of three televisions going over the bar. One was flashing the wild body-to-body collisions of a rather enthusiastic hockey game, bedecked men slamming each other against the glass. Another was a basketball game -- at a quiet moment, just now, refs arguing quietly to themselves about some kind of call, a very tall young man standing in preparation at the foul line.

The one Ever had settled in front of, however, was baseball. It wasn't that he had any great love for the sport; to the contrary, there were enough bad associations in his memory to leave him a little sour, in general. However, with a drink in front of him, clear and smelling like vodka and mostly drained, it became more tolerable -- and it was, after all, the only one he really understoond the rules of.

He looked out of place, in here. Mostly the crowd seemed to be rougher than him, older, not alone but in little clusters of three or four. This was a Guys Night Out kind of bar, the place where regulars knew enough other and laughed uproariously in the corner, or shouted at the TV screens as if they could somehow impact the result of the game. In contrast, Ever was too young and too quiet. He sat at the bar, worked on his drink, and watched the game in a fascinated sort of way.

He'd been pining for television, any television, and at the very least this kicked that craving.

At another moment, Ever might have reacted more quickly to the approach, to the chatter. Today, though, it was an annoying hum at the edge of his senses, invading into the small world of him and Major League baseball, television and vodka. Dark eyes barely flicked onto the stranger as he settled down, taking in his size and then his bearing, to make sure he wasn't looking for a fight. Generally, Ever didn't do well in fights with big men almost twice his size.

Once the threat had been assessed and dismissed, though, his attention was back on the game in a single-minded way that made him seem much drunker than a vodka tonic and a half should have made anyone. He wasn't prepared for the assault of Kam's arms going up, and his reaction as he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye was a start, a twitch, halfway off the stool and with his own glass gone sideways.

It was definitely not cool to jump up like a terrified teenager, spilling almost a half a finger of vodka across the wood, just because a stranger threw up his hands in frustration. Ever was well aware.

At least he moved quickly, if crookedly, to help clean up: snatching napkins out of the holder at the end of the bar and spreading them out across the mess with a quiet curse of his own. A pepper shaker rolled in a semi-circle, slowing and teetering for a moment before finally tumbling off the edge of the bar. Ever snatched it before it had really gotten far and looked as surprised as anyone else that he'd actually caught the damned thing.

"...uh." He held it out to the stranger, giving him a second assessment and coming slowly into focus. "Not that bad, actually. At least you didn't make a mess."

"I need a new drink." It could have come out snappish and annoyed, could have been a dig or a hint. Instead, however, Ever sounded mournful as he said it, considering the drops still clinging to the inside of his empty glass. He flicked a look upward to make sure the bartender wasn't watching and then swiped several pieces of scattered glass off the countertop to the floor below. Someone would get that with a mop later, right?

Only after he'd done it would he think of the big man beside him, attention shifting to see if he'd watched the surreptitious 'clean up'. It wasn't so much that Ever felt bad as that he didn't want to get called out.

He put on a sheepish expression just in case.

"It's okay, I'm an idiot's all." There, big friendly stupid eyes. He went to swipe hair out of his face and decided his hand was too sticky from the drink, and clutched at fresh napkins instead.

Ever blinked at the drink, genuinely surprised, still half off-his stool -- and then his expression melted, from sorrow or concern or stealth to something more pointedly friendly. A smile, sudden and bright, his fingers curled around the top of the glass. Kam had just bought him a drink. Kam was now his best friend.

Anywhere else, he might have made a snide comment, teasing, about attractive men buying him booze. He had enough experience in places like this to know that those kinds of comments were courting trouble. Most sports fans were reasonable guys, if tending toward a high dosage of testosterone, but every now and then you found one with something to prove. So instead he dropped back onto his stool and relaxed, eyes flashing over the game [damn, he'd apparently missed something exciting, the crowd was up out of its seats] and then to Kam's food.

"Thanks." There, that was nice. Normal. Friendly. Non-suggestive and failing to push any buttons. Even with the ice disposal and his cursing, Ever thought he was making a pretty good impression. He gestured vaguely to the wings, clinging to his drink. "...are those hot?"

The expression he turned on Kam, settled back into his chair, was one of false innocence. It wasn't like he'd been fishing for a wing or anything, right? At the offer, though, he leaned in and delicately nabbed one, flashing Kam another brief grin.

"Thank you." Ever was polite enough for that, at least, even if he was already leaning back into his own space to devour the thing. His own eyes lifted up to the screen and elbows on the counter, he looked more at home now than he had before. It only would have been more appropriate if he'd actually gone for beer instead...

It was hotter than he'd expected it to be, in all honesty, from Kam's casual dismissal. It meant three bites and he was chasing after his drink -- and then wishing he had water or milk instead. Stupid. His fingers were still covered in sauce, and his expression more amused than anything else.

"...you're braver than I am."

"Ever, and you can call me that." Yes, yes, it was hilarious; Ever rolled his eyes a little as he took the napkins from Kam, but his expression at least held a similar note of amusement. He didn't take himself too seriously, swatting at his mouth and rubbing his fingers clean before he shook. His hand shake was likely surprisingly firm, considering how slight he looked. Well-trained.

Then his eyes turned back to the wing. It was only half eaten. It was possible he was considering a second attempt.

"...vodka is definitely not the right pairing." His tone was mild -- too mild. It was a caricature of wine critics or fancy-diners who took their food rather seriously. He turned the wing over, napkin crumpled into his palm and his head tilted to the side. It was a terrible plan but...

He went for another bite. It was probably just as hot as the first, but he thought maybe it was a little better, this time. His eyes still twitched sideways to Kam's celery, though.

His mouth was burning; hot. This wasn't the kind of food he was used to, certainly. Generally what his mother cooked had been bland and burned -- never enough pepper on the chicken, which was dry as bone, never enough butter in the potatoes, green beans so underdone they'de barely even looked at the stove. Perhaps this was why, in general, Ever didn't care much about food.

And perhaps that was why the celery appealed to him so much. He grabbed a stalk to chew on immediately, and looked perfectly pleased by it. If he'd known Kam wasn't going to eat them, Ever might have gone for them right away....

"You're a bad influence, though." It was dryly teasing around the piece of celery, fingers crumpled into his napkin and eyes flicking over his drink. Ever'd had just enough to be pink around the edges. "Do you always encourage people to do stupid things?"

"I always do." He was still speaking around a napkin, of course, his eyes not-quite watering but damned close. Ever meant it, though. That was his policy. Try not to think too hard about tomorrow, or yesterday, or worry about the bigger picture. It was getting harder and harder to stick to that, of course...

His expression muted, then brightened all at once, dark eyes locking onto Kam and eyebrows twitching up and down in a vaguely-suggestive, somewhat-teasing manner. He was grinnig again. Seemed like he always was.

"In light of that, let's do shots. I think I have another twenty somewhere..." It'd take some hunting, though, fingers dipping into all of his pockets twice before he came up with a crumpled-up, very-old bundle of bills. A twenty and four ones. Not exactly a fortune.