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Jack Sparrow had nothing on the great and ever insatiable Richard Valentine Moreau when it came to love of liquor, though Richard's favorite wasn't rum (though it was pretty high up there). Richard's favorite drink was Bourbon, as crass at it may be for someone of his refined tastes, and he loved it SO much that when he had reached the end of his bottle, there was only one possible solution to this dilemma.

Go out, and buy more!

And out he went into the streets, slightly buzzed but more than able to walk a straight line and say his alphabets in proper and reverse order if need be (and if he couldn't then he was certain he could BS his way through it with his charm). There was no Baldwin this time around, as his dog was simply not going to budge from beneath the covers (and honestly, who could blame the poor thing? One could catch their death out here!). So it was just him. Alone. Walking into one of the many late night stores, not bothering with looking at the name (what did he care, so long as they sold liquor!). He wasn't even aware of what time it was. The liquor section might have even been closed, but he was certain that he could once again rely on his charm and a few whoever-the-hell-was-on-the-fifty-dollar bills to get him what he needed.

'Little bourbon, and if I'm lucky, maybe a sleeping partner... besides my dog...'

He had nothing against sharing his bed with his canine companion, but there were days he wished to wake up next to a fellow human being and not dog breath.

Richard groaned, the bright, fluorescent lights of the store felt like opening the Arc of the Covenant to a man slightly buzzed (though he dared not imagine how horrific it would have been had he been completely hung over; in which now that thought made him wonder if it would be the equivalent of his facing melting, or his head exploding...). He rose a hand to block some of the light, but unwilling to show others just how much he already had running in his system, he turned the motion into a more natural and vain attempt to brush some of his crimson hair out of his eyes and correct it. After all, the wind had a terrible way of messing up someone's hair, and he's rather someone accuse him of being a preening peacock than a lightly intoxicated swine.

Could pigs get drunk? It seemed possible, but then again, Richard was no zoologist and the only good pig was a cooked pig, so what did he care? He gave the place a look around, not too surprised to find the place empty, minus an employee at her register, and a rather dark skinned delight further in.

Oh yes, his eyes immediately caught sight of him. How could he not? Dreads longer than Baldwin's tail (which was already epically long), shoulders and arms were decorated with tattoos (or at least, Richard thought they were tattoos... he's have to get closer and maybe be a lot less intoxicated to make absolutely sure), and the piercings were... exotic, for one of Richard's taste. The only complaint he had about the other patron was the way he carried himself, and when there was alcohol in his system, there was no filter from his brain to his mouth, as he spoke with a wry curl in his voice. A sound mixed between a laugh and a moan, if that made any sense.

"Why so slouchy? It's bad for your back, friend... 'sides, it covers the good parts!"

Maybe he was a little more drunk than he cared to admit. Or maybe he was just super flirty. Either way, it was Richard's way of saying 'You look good!'

"Yelling? Who's yelling? Not I, said the cat."

And follow Richard would! Like the Pied Piper twiddling his flute for the rats, Richard did follow Kor, not once missing a beat and surprisingly enough not missing a step (he may have been drunk, but one must always put their best foot forward when it came to meeting new people.) He neither looked around for anyone else nor at the aisles he zoomed by to reach his destination, as his attention was fully on the masterpiece that was otherwise known as... Richard squinted his crimson eyes, realizing that he didn't know this man's name, and at the moment, he couldn't really come up with a clever nickname.

No, it was much too soon to bestow a nickname onto this dark canvas of a man, and Richard had to rectify this immediately! The moment they were within speaking distance, Richard wasted little time in introducing himself, momentarily forgetting about his world crushing dilemma of his condo being without a bottle of bourbon for more than twenty-five minutes. "Richard Moreau, friend. And yes, those tattoos look so much more impressive up close..."

And would likely make more sense or look even better if he weren't drunk! Still, he was sober enough to carry a conversation, and though they were the only customers there (that Richard could see, anyway), he kept his deep voice low never the less. As much as he craved attention, the gentleman before him was the only one worthy of his attention at the moment. "What's your name? Oh, better yet, do you have it written on you somewhere? Shall I take a look and see?"

It seemed like a fun game, AND it gave him a better reason to get closer to admire his "tattoos".

Richard may have been slightly more intoxicated than he wanted to admit (though the evidence was as clear as day), but he felt he could do well in holding a conversation with someone as interesting to the eye as Kor, as well as walk along with him without making too much of a show of himself. Not that there was anyone he could be making a show for, but still, he had appearances to keep up! That was ALWAYS important, no matter what time of day and where one was! So Richard was doing his best not to stumble over his own feet, if not only for Kor but for his own sake as well.

"Kor. Interesting name. Like Thor. Yes, definitely going to remember that one," Richard said, unaware of Kor's mental dilemma with his name and playing along, regardless. In truth, the name "d**k" was more fitting, but for now, Richard was still deluding himself that he was a sophisticated man with a sophisticated name and reputation (though his own assholish nature and the added effects of alcohol were likely to ruin this real, real soon). "I've done my share of wild and crazy in my time. Skydived naked, really naked. No clothes. Getting a tattoo? Hm... may need to pass."

He looked to Kor and gave a shrug. "Nothin' against tattoos, though. Nice to look at, not to much to have, I think. On me, anyway..."

When faced with Kor's question, Richard couldn't help but groan, and a slap to his head was a little louder and harder than he would have liked, but alcohol had a way of doing that to a man, even the 'mighty' Richard. "I, my good friend, am here for bourbon. I'm out. And that's unacceptable."

Kor's act was so subtle that if Richard had tried to spell out the word, he would have completely forgotten the 'b', but that could also easily be passed off that Richard was simply that drunk. He'd never admit it though, but that was besides the point. He was out of bourbon, and Kor seemed to be the one man that understood him. REALLY understood him.

"Finally..." Richard said, tossing his hands in the air to express his exasperation and the relief of finally finding the one person that understood his dilemma. He didn't care if Kor liked bourbon or not (everyone was allowed to like whatever liquor they wanted, regardless of how inferior it was to his precious bourbon); the fact that Kor seemed willing to help him was more than enough to please the inebriated man. "That's what I'm talkin' about... you'll help me on my quest, which makes you ten times the man than the others I ran into on the way over here. Their loss!"

One of them was even in a uniform- all those badges and weapons, and not man enough to embark on a quest to get more liquor for Richard! When Kor brushed some of his hair out of his face, he pulled away slightly, but not out of disgust or alarm, but to fix his hair. Was something wrong? Why else would Kor need to fix it?

His hair didn't matter. Bourbon did, and Richard moved his hand around in a circle, half following it and looking dazed, but only for a moment. "What we need to do if find more bourbon. Never been in this store before... would you mind telling me where it is, Thor?"

Yep, it was official. Kor was bestowed a great nickname that evening, which meant that Richard would definitely remember him, even when the bourbon wore off. It was Richard's way of saying 'I like you', and a great way in remembering names later on down the road.

Richard's crimson eyes lit up and the way he looked at Kor resembled a child being told that not only could he have his overly sugared, diabetes inducing cake, but he could eat that damn thing too. Did he really just say 'all night bourbon', or was his slushy, drunk mind playing tricks on him (a possibility that even the intoxicated Richard was well aware of). With the same enthusiasm as that gluttonous kid, the red headed man was all too willing to follow Kor anywhere now. "And tell me, Thor... where is this magical place... of hope and wonder and bourbon? Is it called Heaven?"

Had he not been drunk, he would have been a little sarcastic, but Richard was drunk. So drunk. But NOT drunk enough to not catch onto that look that Kor was giving him, the purpose behind it, and the subtle implication behind his invitation. Richard wasn't hungry. He hardly ever was, and when he was, it was never really for food, or something that could be consumed. Not... in the normal method of consumption, anyways.

No, Richard may have missed the first bus, but he was completely on board when the second bus rolled in, but still he tried to play it cool. Keyword was try, and though he was standing considerably straighter than he once was a few moments ago, his words still came out as a drunk purr. "I may have to take you up on that offer... I wonder if you're cooking is as divine as your tattoos... hm... assuming you've done those yourself? ... Did you? That takes skill, and talent... and balls. Balls of steel!"

Not his best approach, by far, but what would it matter soon? Within an hour, he would have his booze, a meal, and maybe a little rump around in someone else's bed. Never a dull moment!

When Kor mentioned heaven, Richard was more than willing to follow at this point. How could he resist such an offer? He'd get bourbon, a meal that he didn't have to cook, and maybe a little something more if he played his cards right. Even the fact that they would have to walk there seemed perfectly alright with Richard, despite how wibbly-wobbly his legs felt and how familiar his face would be to the concrete if he had tried to make such a long trek alone.

But at least he had Kor the mighty and colorful to help him along, and in response to his wink, the drunk candyman all but threw himself at Kor, draping his arms around his tattooed frame and pressing his forehead against his shoulder blade. There were two meanings behind this random gesture- first and foremost, it was to balance himself, but secondly, it was to express his genuine interest in his new friend. With no one there but the cashier to see, Richard cared little for his reputation, or Kor's, for that matter. He had the perfect excuse if Kor or anyone asked.

"Then lead the way, mighty Thor..." Richard said with a contented sigh, and with the way he whispered, one would have sworn he was moments away from falling asleep in that position. It wouldn't have been the first time he slept like a horse... "And maybe I'll get to see your famed hammer..."