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Nah. Just down it.

[He sets the bottle down, then puts his hand over both glasses, stopping Ling from taking his just yet.]

You think I don't know you well?

[He is, again, paying for that, let him wheeze in peace. He raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing Greed for just a moment.]

Yes, pretty much that.

[He stares down at him, expression unreadable. Then:]

Ling Yao, who wants to figure out some way to bump his family up so they're the head of the Xing clan instead of somewhere in the middle. Who comes down here almost every week, who buys a drink and doesn't touch it, who sits around and talks and talks and looks at everyone to see if they might be able to help him get a lead.

Who is eighteen, not twenty-three, and who needs to learn to get somebody better to do his dirty work when it comes to getting illegal shit. Who just had his first drink, who definitely hasn't fucked anyone . . .

[He takes his hand off the glasses, curling two fingers beneath his chin and tipping his head up. His eyes are darker, a smirk tugging at his lips.]

And who wouldn't say no if I took him to that alley.

[This is supposed to prove a point, Ling thinks when Greed starts in, this is supposed to prove him so wrong so he'll concede that Greed, uh, has ears like everyone else in this bar he's babbled to at length—but Ling is too busy being stupidly, childishly giddy that Greed actually paid attention at least once. Even this rather biting call out is something!

Ling has low standards for positive attention, see. Probably not hugged enough as a young cutthroat business baby. Even his shitty fake ID being so blatantly pointed out just makes him smile a little, stupid, and he's already leaned halfway across the bar in rapt attention (while Greed goes on about what a virgin he is, well, he's not embarrassed about that either!!) when Greed touches him again and he loses track of the whole thing for a second.

Oh, then, oh—] Uh—

[That's a mental image for the ages, something else to take home with him and think about for days, that makes him blush again now.]

You'd be surprised. [no. what? huh?] I don't see what the big deal is about the alley.

[You'd be surprised, no he damn well wouldn't. He can see it in the kid's face, the way he's leaning into this, the way he's staring at Greed with a mixture of rapt delight and intelligent skepticism . . . no, he wouldn't be surprised, because he'd expect Ling to follow him wherever he led if he snapped his fingers.

(He's going to be surprised).]

And you won't til you get there.

[He releases him, pushing one of the shot glasses towards him.]

But you'll see. Now: swallow it fast.

[It's going to burn more afterwards then while it's in his mouth, stinging sharply, leaving him sputtering, but ah, well, you have to learn how to get used to whiskey.]

[Ling is bad at plans and worse at business but he isn't a complete moron; if he doesn't want to do something he just isn't going to do it. He loves the attention, but how many people does Greed take to the alley whenever he wants? He has no idea, but he's sure he isn't particularly unique, so.

So, whiskey, apparently. He gives Greed one more look, eyes narrowed, defiant even as he picks up the glass and downs it without nearly as much hesitation as the last one. Give him a second—

And there comes the coughing, Ling rubbing at his neck like that's going to help lessen the sting. He wants to look at pretty cocktails again instead of this...]

Don't you have any that taste good?

Once you're done.

[So says the God of the Bar, as he reaches beneath it and grabs a . . . soda? He squints down at the scratched up label, unsure of how old it is, before shrugging and offering it to him.]

You drink something that doesn't taste of alcohol, you won't realize what's happening until it's too late. The sting reminds you of what it is you're getting yourself into.

[And then, because the kid is sturdy but still pretty slim, and two shots are a bit:]

How you feeling?

[Ling looks at the label and the unfortunate lack of a visible expiration date, decides he's already put two shots of relative burning garbage in his body and why worry about old sugar now, and twists the cap off. He will drink this ancient whatever-it-is. It's probably not, like, 6-years-expired ginger ale, which he might have once drank, so he will live.]

I feel good, [before he holds up a finger for Greed to wait while he chugs about a third of this mystery soda in one go. This is ordinary Ling brand behavior, so—] And a little warm? But that could be because of you.

[nonzero chance, but also, baby's first shots. who knows.]

Because of me?

[He says it mock-innocently, scandalized except not at all. Warm and good is a pretty good state to be in. Tipsy, but not about to veer into drunk or throw up. Two more shots, maybe, but just one more and then something sweet.]

And why's that? You getting all hot for me, Ling?

[Give him the dark beer, he can take it. While he waits, he'll be pouring his next sip of old soda into the plastic cap. Like a soda shot. He does not spill this, which is the good part.

Anyway, yeah, definitely. Not his attitude, though.]

You're the one who keeps touching me and talking about alleys. Don't act surprised.

I'm surprised you're admitting it.

[Honestly, it takes guts to admit that kind of thing, he's impressed. Pleased, too, which is a little disconcerting, because he hadn't really set out to be pleased, and now that he is he isn't sure that's what he wants at all.

It was a joke, flirting with him. He shouldn't be happy it's being reciprocated; the last thing he needs is Ling hanging off his every word once a week. But--]

Here.

[He slides his original drink, blue and chilly, over to him. It's syrupy and sweet, he won't taste anything but the sugar.]

This has tequila, so you're only getting the one.

[Thanks for inadvertently stopping him from drinking the rest of this ancient Coke with the cap, because he was about to do the same stupid thing again before the pretty drink interrupts. Well sure, he'll trade drinks, but he doesn't drink any of it yet.]

Maybe it's the alcohol, [but it isn't entirely. Direct question (sort of, with attitude, whatever Greed), direct answer—is this not the quickest solution!!

In any case, this is it. This is the moment. After six long months, Ling takes a sip of a fancy drink he paid too much for. And it tastes as fruity and shockingly sweet as it looks, so his face lights up a little—finally, alcohol is good.]

What about the other shots? Or did I do a good job?

[At not throwing up the first shots, of course.]

[Maybe he wanted to see that? It was cute and stupid and endearing, and he makes a note to buy a few more sodas, ones that aren't ancient.]

You didn't throw up or spit them out, so sure, kid, you did great.

[And this is the last drink he's getting for a fair bit, until Greed's sure he isn't about to get utterly wasted. Two shots of tequila and one shot of whiskey . . . mm, that's more than enough to make him babble.

Vaguely he wonders what kind of drunk he'll be. Happy drunk, probably, all bubbly and affectionate.]

Hey, [he says, knowing it's a stupid question as he says it, knowing he's being a damn fool and Roa is going to come in and Look at him but you know what, fuck you, Roa, who owns this bar oh yes it is him)] Wanna learn how to mix a drink?

[Be nice to him and he'll do it again, which is basically how to get Ling to do most things. This drink is still too pretty to drink, he thinks, but he'll sip at it appreciatively to apologize to his poor palate for the burning and the bitter whiskey.

That said, Greed says "wanna" and Ling pops up right out of his seat, standing on the foot rest bar that goes around the stool to loom higher and emphasize that he really, super wants to see more bartender tricks.]

Do I! Do I get to come behind the bar?

[Like, he can see from here, but he can also vault himself over this bar in about three seconds, so it should be a viable option if you ask him.]

Yeah, c'mere.

[He's already pulling bottles of various colors and densities out, pretty enough to last Ling for a while. If he's going to show the kid how to do a drink, it might as well be a flashy one, right?

Though he glances up as Ling stands (either to walk or to just straight up hoist himself over the bar). He's going to feel all the alcohol hit at once the minute he stands, and though Greed doubts he'll fall, he might just stagger.]

[Yes please, make it pretty. Ling definitely plans to climb over the bar, mainly because no one has told him not to, and he gets a knee up before he wobbles and pitches forward a little.]

Whoa—

[He's good? He's alright, he doesn't topple head first but wobbles there a bit longer, laughing at himself.

Reaching out for Greed's arm or shoulder or anything, he giggles again.]

Hey, help me.

[Oh my god trust fund baby . . . actually, this isn't the stupidest thing he's seen in this bar by far, because drunk people are, honestly, idiots. This is sort of endearing, honestly, and he won't deny Ling's slender fingers latching onto his arm is anything but enjoyable.

He ends up grabbing his hips, tugging him bodily forward, trusting his own strength to stop Ling from pitching forward. It's a bit of a trial, lacking anything close to grace, but they manage it, ending with Ling getting both feet on the ground and his body pressed flush to Greed's.

Which isn't such a bad position to be in.]

Idiot.

[Chiding, but fondly meant.]

[Oop, there he goes— Ling's exciting journey over the bar features even more giggling, squeezing Greed's arm to stop himself falling like he's doing any of the work here, and almost losing one of his fancy silk shoes that he insists on wearing to a downtown bar. But there, he's safely on the ground and looking up at Greed from much closer than usual.

Kinda nice, actually. He shakes his head.]

I'm usually better at that kind of thing. Really!

[He swears, he climbs out windows all the time and has never once cracked his skull open.

Now then, he could be content to stay right here, but after a moment he twists himself gently out of Greed's grip and slides a step to the side, dropping his elbows on the bar and wobbling a little, again. Time for Learning.]

Okay, let's see what you can do.

This is your lesson, brat. Don't act like you're evaluating my skills.

[But whatever. Kahlua, Citronge and Irish Cream are lined up neatly, along with two shot glasses, and he nudges him with his elbow.]

Here's a drink you'll like. A B-52. The whole trick is to pour slow and be sure to know your alcohol, so you know what's heaviest. So--

[The Kahlua first, poured straight from the top, not touching the sides at all. A beat, and he offers the bottle to him.]

Go on. Follow along.

[Can Ling do this thing without spilling? Maybe. Probably not as adroitly, but the goal as far as he's concerned is not to spill. He takes the bottle and the first layer is simple enough, just pour; so far his hands are steadier than the rest of him, and when he's through he gestures proudly at the glass.

Behold.]

There!

Good job.

[Next comes the spoon, held carefully, as the Citronge is poured over it.]

See, this stops it from mixing all together. They're different densities, so they'll stay atop each other if you're careful, but you have to do it delicately. Slowly, kiddo, understand?

[He repeats the process with the third layer, confident Ling isn't so drunk he can't understand how to do it twice. His own shot ends up having a neat layering effect, black and brown and clear. Ling would probably enjoy it more if it was red and green or whatever, but so it goes.

[Yeah, that could be prettier, and a spoon isn't the flashiest bartender trick he's ever seen (from Greed, considering this is the only bar he frequents), but he's still attentive and mercifully quiet while Greed layers the drink.

His hands haven't lost all steadiness in the past minute, so he doesn't dip the spoon and mix the layers or anything, but he isn't a practiced master of pouring slowly and his drink's layers wind up a little clouded. It doesn't look like a gross mess, but it doesn't look as neat and precise as Greed's, either.

So, well, he's pouting at it a little, face all but pressed to the bar to look.]

You know, layers aren't mixed anyway... [his drink is perfect hmph]

[He laughs, reaching down to shove his fingers through Ling's hair and muss it up.]

Don't get sulky. It's not bad for your first, and it'll taste just as good. Besides: most people don't give a shit later in the evening. It's dim and dark and they just want to get drunk, not have something pretty. The only time you gotta be careful is early in the evening, all those college girls who want something flashy to look at.

[He glances up at the clock. His shift is almost over, the bar's nearly closed, and he nudges Ling with his hip.]

Finish your soda. You gotta get out of here soon.

College girls and me, you mean.

[Only the prettiest drinks for the trust fund baby, thanks. The hand in his hair makes him flush red again and that good and warm feeling from the shots spreads out slowly from his chest. That's very nice, despite the mess it's making of his hair...

He dips a fingertip into his not-so-layered shot and pops it in his mouth. Hm!! Sweet!]

Where am I going?

Home.

[It was stupid to bring him back behind the bar, but it's a stupidity he doesn't regret. Keeping him after hours, though, that . . . mm, might lead to other stupid things, things he doesn't want to do while Ling is drunk.]

I'll call you a taxi. You gonna be able to sneak back in when you're tipsy?

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