dumbshow | the critically acclaimed open post

[Being a wealthy socialite... gets a little boring. Sure, the first son of the Yao branch of the expansive Xing family (old money, they like to say; older than God, and the Yao isn't quite that old yet, but the money is there), Ling is... charming to some and a nuisance to most, but even a life of parties and the occasional meeting to discuss where his inheritance is going is just not very interesting. It's naive of him, privileged even, to seek out the seedy underbelly of the city where the living is fast and the excitement higher (and saying he's naive and privileged doesn't lessen it any, but he says it, to impress someone or other with his startling self-awareness).

But. And there is, in fact, always a but in these situations—Ling is a man on a mission. He has a head full of dreams and pockets lined with gold, and surely, this time, surely he'll find the simplest, surefire way to rocket the Yao branch up to the head of the family. He'll sit in the big chair instead of halfway down the table, unimportant, shouted over and shuffled off to be kept busy with mindless social gatherings that the house staff insist to him are important.

(He climbed out the window of the third floor to get away last time and showed up the next morning still in his dinner clothes, scuffed and dusty and very nearly put on house arrest for a month afterward.)

Still, he insists again, with one leg over his bedroom balcony railing before he disappears and leaves his personal staff shouting after him, he's the only one with the guts to take their family branch at high as they can go! It's entirely up to him, as first born, to make something of them—and himself, in the process.

There's only one problem (well, there are several): Ling is absolutely, without a doubt, terrible at planning. He has ideas, he has endgames, but he has no skill when it comes to starting out and connecting point A to B and so on until the end.

So it's been slow going, his quest to elevate the Yao branch. Many have tried to gently tell him it's a process, it isn't a one-step ordeal, nothing like "Ling finds the miraculous solution and then they've won!"—and he doesn't listen.

Once, the first time, he'd insisted getting familiar with the grittier parts of the city would lead him to the answer. He'd wandered downtown still dressed to the nines, oozing money and unworldliness, and it's a wonder- and credit to his only actual hobby, combat training- that he didn't wind up mugged in an alley. That was the first time.

That was six months ago, and he's stumbled into the Devil's Nest bar (and sometimes grill) several times after that, to... well, loiter. He's rattled off half his life story to most of the staff and a few of the regulars, and no one has tried to follow him out and hold him at knifepoint lately, even if the staff generally treat him like an endearing mascot more than anything, and it's fun! He has fun. Then at the end of the night he goes back home to his million-dollar bed and sleeps without a care in the world, besides the one. He'll figure something out for the Yao branch eventually!

So he's not everyone's favorite, around the neighborhood, just like he's not everyone's favorite in the social elite circle. It's fine, he still has a good time—even when he buys a drink like he's super good at alcohol and doesn't touch it at all, like tonight. He's done his usual, disappearing the moment the staff take their eyes off him at home, and now he's rocking his bar stool back dangerously far before clunking the legs back down loudly, in the all but silent room.

This he does intermittently for five whole minutes before he speaks up, leaning halfway over the bar to look all the way down it to the bartender at the other end. Hi, hello, it's Ling again.]

Slow night, isn't it?

[There are worse patrons than Ling Yao, but not many.

Ling Yao, belonging to the Xing family, and he thinks himself so very subtle, but the truth is, Greed had known who he was the moment he'd walked in. That first night he'd wandered in here Martel had been at Greed's elbow in an instant, her gaze subtle but absolutely hungry. Later that night he'd had to dissuade her and all the others from following the kid out and robbing him blind.

Because, see, that'd be a path to some quick riches, but some even quicker retaliation. Rich brat gets a taste of the rough side, he goes crying back to his daddy and suddenly they're all out a bar. And while they could undoubtedly make their way back up, Greed rather likes this spot. His life has settled into an easy rhythm. He has his little gang and his staff (and some are both, it always pays to have a few clever people around the upstairs), and he has customers he enjoys, and it's not really something he wants to disrupt.

Right now, anyway. He's not going to be a bartender forever.

But the point is: Ling Yao is much more useful as a friend than an enemy. So Greed lets the kid stay (flashing around that shitty fake ID, it's pathetic, he's lucky he hadn't been tossed out the first night) and serves him alcohol and watches how much he drinks-- not because he cares, really, but if he dies of alcohol poisoning because he wanted to be a big man, it'd be trouble.

Actually, he hasn't ever once consumed those drinks. (How rich he must be, to buy a drink and not even bother to drink it!). Which is good, Greed supposes; one less sin on his admittedly flimsy conscience, never got a kid drunk, well done Greed, truly a saint.

He's growing on the staff, honestly. Martel scoffs at him, but it's gone from a disgusted scoff to something more endeared. Roa finds him exasperating, and Dolcetto is of the opinion that they'd still be better off robbing the kid blind. Bido's just happy to be paid attention, poor bastard, but all in all, Ling's managed to (perhaps intentionally) worm his way into their group.

Greed's in the middle of trying to decide if it's worth it to even try practicing mixing drinks when the kid speaks up. He's been fussing for the past few minutes in a blatant attempt to get attention, but it hasn't worked so far.]

Tuesdays usually are, no matter where you go. 'S why they put the ugliest girls on during Tuesday nights down at strip clubs.

[A little bit of trivia for him to ponder over! He wonders vaguely if Ling's ever even seen a girl without clothes, and then dismisses the thought. No, probably, because he's too sweet to hire someone and too hungry for something interesting to wander around his social circle.]

You could buy a second drink, you know, if you ever finish your first. Really get things going around here.

[It's a joke, see, because Ling never drinks. But still Greed comes over, leaning his forearms against the bar, bored enough to come talk to the kid.]

[Despite the... everything about him, Ling isn't fool enough to think they let him loiter in the bar and waste alcohol for fun, or because anyone is particularly fond of him. (Except maybe Bido, but...) He's not worldly at all but he's high society, where backstabbing each other's reputations is automatic, and knowing when someone likes him or not is second nature.

It's just, well, he likes all of them, and it's easier to laugh and look sheepish when Dolcetto exclaims about how annoying he is than to make a scene. He doesn't mind playing up the dopey rich kid angle, kernel of truth in that as there is. And of course he likes Greed best for no reason he can explain - the man is mean to him pretty much all the time, and yet, here he is angling for his attention - so he's still coming around every other week or so. (Never mind the completely shallow reasons he loiters around Greed at work, those don't have to come up.)

His eyebrows go up - naked girls! Unexplored territory! Brand new information! - and then he grins easily, leaning his chin on his hand as Greed comes over.]

If you had girls, I could buy one of them a drink. [It would only be polite!] But there's no one here to buy drinks for except me, and this one's going to take me a while yet.

[Hours and hours. He'll wind up giving it to Bido, who won't know what to do without getting scolded for it. It's fine.]

If I had girls, you wouldn't be here to see them.

[Just saying. Greed glances down at what the kid bought-- ahh, envy, made up of tequila and curaçao, very flashy, very sweet, very feminine, that's the first time he's bought that one-- and back up at him.]

So? Go on. It's gonna take you longer if you don't start.

[His hobby of the evening: gently peer pressuring Ling Yao into drinking. Fun!]

[But he could buy them girly drinks! Like this one, picked purely because it looked pretty when someone else had it and not because Ling knows anything about tequila or anything else. He doesn't; at least he's stopped trying to order "dark beer," which was actually super embarrassing the first time everyone in the room laughed themselves to tears.

He looks down at the drink in turn, and--doesn't drink it. He gets as far as poking the side of the glass and drawing a little loop in the condensation, this time.]

It's too pretty to drink.

[like, actually]

Edited 2018-05-01 22:06 (UTC)

It's too expensive to waste.

[Ehh, sort of. It's not the most expensive thing here, he's not stupid enough to waste the good shit on Ling, but at the same time, pouring a drink costs money. .... which, admittedly, Ling has paid, but. Whatever! There are starving children in Amestris! Finish your drink!]

I already paid you.

[He always already-pays, wallet lined as it is with more than enough money to pay up front for every drink he never actually drinks. Talking to him probably wastes more money than pouring him drinks, but hey, Greed is still here. On account of it's Tuesday, maybe, but details.]

Can I have a cherry?

[Another cherry.]

No.

[He's seen the way Ling demolished the bar peanuts; he's not getting his hands near those cherries. Not until they're a day before expiration, anyway; then he can polish them off.]

You're going to have to learn how to drink sooner or later, kid. Though . . . actually, I wouldn't start you off with that.

[Please... he can't sustain himself on peanuts alone. He sighs and slumps, getting his elbows all over the bar and frowning at his pretty drink. Really, the moment Greed says this isn't a drink for beginners, he's never wanted to chug a beautiful blue mystery more...

But he won't. He looks up again.]

Well, with what, then?

Bunch of shots.

[He gestures, demonstrating where the few glasses would go.]

Whiskey, vodka, beer, tequila . . . get you used to what each one's like and what it means.

[Space out each shot generously, then then cut him off quick and give him an enormous amount of water, because he doesn't actually want the kid to die.]

This stuff's fine if you know what you want, but you don't have any idea what's in it. So you'd drink and you'd think it was fine, and you'd order another, and then two drinks later you'd be throwing up in the alley.

[Hm... shots. Would be better if they were pretty, but he supposes Greed is the expert.]

You'd let me wind up puking in the alley... I'm not that bad, am I?

[Hmm, so...]

Is it time for shots?

Dark beer.

[Is all he says as he reaches beneath the counter and grabs a few shot glasses. Apparently it is, yes, though Ling's going to pay for them . . . but he has a tab, so it's fine. Tequila first, and so that demands the addition of lime and salt as well.]

You know how to do this?

[Dark beer! His most foolish moment. That gets him to laugh, mostly sheepish, and casually slide the cocktail to the side to watch Greed do his thing. Do a cool bartender trick!!]

I've seen it done.

[Vote of confidence, see, he's good at this.]

I can do a shot!

All right.

[He does not do a cool bartender trick, or at least he does not do it with tequila. Maybe later, because he does like showing off and he is good at that flashy shit. For now: a simple shot of tequila (only half full), along with some cut-up lime bits and a salt-shaker.]

All yours, kiddo.

[God, he hopes this isn't the night some cop wanders in. That'd be just the thing . . .]

[Don't call him kiddo, he has a shitty fake ID. He looks at this... display... There are a few extra accessories here he actually was not expecting. Shit!

So the tequila is going well. He looks at this spread for about twenty seconds, not sure what to pick up first for the least horrible experience.]

Okay, I lied.

[He laughs. It's not entirely mean. It's a little fond, honestly.]

No shit.

[The bar is empty, is the thing. Oh, Roa is somewhere in back, and undoubtedly there are a few people lurking around downstairs, but in the bar proper, it's just he and Ling. And while the kid is underage, he's not actually a kid, just not . . . twenty-one. Not too much younger than Greed himself, honestly.

So why not, is more or less the conclusion he comes to, why not, and that's all the go-ahead he's ever needed.

One hand darts forward, catching Ling's. He turns it over, the inside of his wrist up.]

The order's salt, drink, lime, right? Salt to stop the burn, lime as a chaser. So you just--

[He brings his wrist up to his mouth, his eyes locked on Ling's. He wants to come down to the shitty side of town? He wants to play at being a big man and strutting with the criminals? Fine. But he's got to learn actions have consequences.

It's a quick lick, nothing crude or overly sexual. But it's reddened tongue against pale skin; it's heat and wetness and nothing like the kid's ever experienced, and he'll be thinking of it long after he leaves the bar tonight.

Gently, a smirk on his face, he sets his hand down on the back. His fingers still have a tight grip there, keeping him in place, and he sprinkles a bit of salt.]

Think you can handle that?

Edited 2018-05-01 23:07 (UTC)

[Well, it's not the lesson he was expecting. He can't seem to find his voice to ask what Greed is doing grabbing his hand like that, doesn't even think to tug his hand back and make some half-assed posturing about not grabbing people whenever he wants. It's just Ling sitting there in silence, eyes locked on Greed, half-coherent thought about salt, drink, lime just barely managing to form.

Salt-drink-lime. Why do people drink this shit if it burns and they have to eat salt, pure salt, first?

Ling shows up at the bar a few times in a month, maybe less, it depends, and he never thinks anything out of the ordinary will happen.

Salt, then— ugly girls on Tuesdays, and Ling has flirted around, stolen a kiss or two here and there, but the girls in his family's circles are soft and pretty and none of them can capture his attention like someone rude and loud and as far from soft as a person can be. Greed does whatever he wants and Ling should object to it, surely, pull his hand away and stop this stupid drink lesson and maybe even go home, but it's too late now; the spot on his wrist feels electric. His ears burn, embarrassed; all it takes is that? He's not fucking twelve.

Clearly, this is why people drink.]

Salt, drink, lime. [This is a bad idea, but what's life without a couple terminally bad ideas?] Okay.

Okay.

[It's a piss-poor idea to drink on the job, and Greed normally never entertains the thought. But it's a slow night, and he's off in an hour, and the kid looks so tempting right now, wide-eyed and flushed cheeks, oh, he can't resist.

His tongue slides against his finger (a little because he doesn't have room on his wrist thanks to those leather bracelets he wears; mostly because he wants Ling to turn red as he thinks about Greed's mouth and fingers), wetting it enough to take a little salt. It's been forever since he's done this, but it's a fun little ritual.

A glass is procured one-handed; tequila is poured (his own shot is a little bigger than Ling's, because he himself is a little bigger than Ling), and he flashes a grin.]

Remember to swallow.

[And with that absolutely-not-innuendo-no-sir advice given, he licks the salt off his finger and downs the shot.]

[Ling turns red alright—redder, after the wrist move, just sitting there for a second before he remembers to lift said wrist and get ready for the actual shot part of doing shots. He's still staring at Greed, so it makes a ridiculous picture, holding his wrist up and not even looking at it or at the alcohol, and he blinks and looks down only when he nearly fumbles the shot glass all over the bar.

Salt-drink-lime, salt-mistakes-lime, fingers-wrist-mouth, jesus—he sputters for a second when Greed tells him to swallow, then throws caution to the wind, licks the salt and throws back the shot.

Then he actually does cough, once, twice, not huge choking coughs but smaller, still embarrassing wheezes. The salt does nothing to help the burn, he understands now, and picks up the lime to all but shove the whole thing in his mouth out of pure frustration.

Well, he didn't die. He's quiet for a moment and then speaks around the piece of lime, because of course he does,] I paid real money not to taste anything.

You've been paying real money not to taste anything for six months. At least this time you'll get drunk off it.

[And he'll get a kick out of things. He doesn't bother with a lime, too used to the taste to need it, and watches with no small amount of amusement as Ling sucks on it.]

This stuff'll knock you flat if you're not careful. It won't hit right away, though. So let's give it a few minutes, huh?

Oh, [Ling says, because that is true. But he didn't wheeze on pretty drinks he didn't actually drink, so was it really the lesser option...?? He almost says something truly absurd like I don't want to get drunk, but at least this time remembers he is in a bar where adults who like alcohol go.

Also he's going to eat this lime down to the rind like it's a fucking orange slice, just watch him.]

There's so much more waiting in drinking than I expected.

It's only long to you because you've got nothing else to think about.

[He gestures with his empty glass, indicating the empty bar.]

It's different when the place is packed. When you're thinking about other people, about whether that girl over there is gonna let you take her into the alley or if you've got competition from that asshole two seats down.

Then, it hits pretty quick. And you decide that you want another shot to get your courage up, and that's how I make money.

[See, that... sounds... incredibly boring, actually. Ling makes a face - he even sticks his tongue out for a second, to emphasize both how uninteresting that sounds and also what a baby he is - because honestly, he gets enough practice manipulating the situation^TM from his own family to need it from strangers.

Leaving aside that he's the least subtle person who comes into this bar except for maybe Greed himself, who has time for all of that when you can just ask—]

We already talked about how I'm not here to see girls. [Are there more limes and, important, can he eat them all? He's going to, in the absence of the cherries he so politely asked for.] Ah, but— the alley?

[That's gross... he's spoiled.]

[He is not getting at the limes. He is allowed the one lime, which he's already consumed, and the rest is staying safely beneath the bar.]

What, too good for it?

[He's spoiled, but that's no surprise. Idly, his movements carelessly graceful, he pours out some whiskey. He wants taste, he'll get taste. This stuff's a little more expensive, if only because he wants the kid to have a good first impression.]

[Please give him more limes? He is a paying customer.]

Haha, am I supposed to be politely embarrassed about not wanting to fool around in the alley out back? I don't think so.

[There is actually a limit to how many times he can be tricked into checking his privilege, and not wanting to fuck in a dirty alley is way past it.

Now, please do a cool bartender trick with the whiskey.]

i give you....the most annoying trust fund baby

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