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[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?

Oh, right.

[The first thing that goes when you're tipsy, besides balance, is knowing what time it is, apparently. He can take the soda with him, he supposes.]

I don't have to sneak in. What are they going to do, ground me?

[He's eighteen!! He can come and go as he pleases, most of the time. He straightens up from peering at the shots and sways, leaning against Greed for a moment in silence. Mm.]

Thanks.

[They probably can ground him, frankly, but whether Ling will listen is another matter. Greed sighs pointedly, but also wraps an arm around his hips, keeping him upright as he tugs out a cell phone and makes a call.]

I don't usually do this for customers. Count yourself lucky you came on a slow night.

[Oh, well sure, he'd be happy to stay stuck to Greed's side for a little longer. Sure thing.]

I think I like slow nights better.

[And he's not so desperate that he'll ask something not-that-coy like Is Wednesday a slow night, too? No—he doesn't even want to say he'll be back next Tuesday, on the off chance Greed has now officially had enough of him and will tell him not to come.

He likes it here. It would be a shame.]

Oh—I didn't pay for my shots.

[On the one hand: running credit is a really stupid idea. On the other hand: Ling has had, what, three shots, and he's almost guaranteed to come back next week. So, grudgingly:]

Pay it when you come in next time.

[When, not if. He doesn't quite realize that Ling thinks there might be a chance he doesn't want him.

They stand there for a long few minutes, Greed's fingers idly sliding against Ling's side, keeping him upright and stable as they wait. The kid mumbles a few more things, vague and nonsensical, and Greed replies, and then there's headlights shining into the bar, and ah, there they go.

He packs him into the taxi, offers an address (why does he know Ling's address? don't worry about it, that's why), and watches the kid go. And he absolutely does not think about if the kid got home all right, because that would be pathetic. Ling's eighteen, he's old enough to manage himself, and Greed is being stupid for thinking of him at all.

Not that he does.

Roa, as predicted, gives him a few Looks, but doesn't mention anything, so that's all right. And a week passes, and then half of one, and Thursday nights are usually pretty packed regardless, but tonight's really hopping. The colleges have let out for the semester, which means he's got a sea of people desperate to get wasted and not think about how shitty they'd just done on their exams.

It's busy. It's good, honestly, they're making a hell of a lot of money, but it's also kind of a pain in the ass, because he hates when he's busy like this, moving so quick he doesn't have a chance to properly show off or enjoy himself. But it isn't so busy he doesn't catch sight of that familiar black hair, tied back and belonging to a boy who, for once, seems sort of in place amidst the sorority students and scholarship brats.

At least he's managed to worm his way to the bar. That's something. Good job, trust fund baby, you did it, you managed to catch the bartender's eye, and Greed flashes him a quick grin-- and then, impatient with the rest of the world, stops in front of him. Likely he shouldn't, there are a few girls who are trying blatantly to catch his eye, but they'll still be there to flirt with in a minute.]

[Tuesday doesn't happen, and there's no point dwelling on why not - it wasn't interesting, just paperwork - although Ling can't help but wonder if Greed thought about him at all when he didn't turn up. Not that he said it would be Tuesday, or it usually is, just—he dwells on that, okay? Whether or not Greed thought at all about him while he wasn't there.

But that's Tuesday, and Thursday is as far from a quiet night as he's ever seen in this place. He hasn't come in with anyone, so he almost doesn't stay, but somehow he's swept in and, honestly, he's made lifelong friends with three different groups of steadily drinking students before he finally deposits himself at the bar. So it's fun—someone has spilled their drink on him between the door and this seat, but he doesn't care.

And then there's Greed coming over, and Ling finds himself just as guilty of leaning on the bar and ignoring the throngs of people behind him to stop and chat. It's like any other time he's here, he just has to raise his voice.]

Drunk people love me, [he says cheerfully by way of greeting. These are his people.] They laugh at my jokes and everything.

Sorry to break it to you, kid, but they'll laugh at anyone's jokes.

[He reaches for him, tugging lightly at his damp shirt, raising an eyebrow. Beer stains and expensive threads: not a good combination.]

Poor you. Stick around for a little while, yeah? I'll be off soon.

They laugh harder at mine.

[He's sure of it. They love him. And he leans closer when he's tugged, glancing down at his shirt himself - he can replace this shirt, but he's not going to say that and make Greed give him that judgmental look he gives - and, ah? Stick around?

It's a surprise; he blinks a few times, then grins.]

Sure, I just got here.

[Not true in the slightest, but whatever.]

Liar.

[He says, not because he knows but because he guesses. Pushing up from the bar, he flashes him one more grin before focusing on the paying customers who actually drink. There's a fair few, and he flirts with most of them, men and women both, teasing statements and low tone, baiting them into buying something more. Easy, easy, and there's a part of him that revels in it, delights in it, in everyone watching at him, adoring and sycophantic and flirtatious, desiring him and only him. He drinks up the attention, and it takes Martel's pointed tap at his elbow to get him to realize twenty minutes have flown by.

He glances over just once, seeking out Ling so he can jerk his head. Follow me, towards one of those little doors in back marked employees only. He doesn't wait for Ling; just walks up the rickety set of stairs, up and up til he hits the rooftop.]

[Ling still doesn't drink anything while he waits; it takes more than a few shots over a week ago to make him want to drink without Greed paying attention to him - and at least he isn't doing the opposite, drinking more in an effort to get attention, so this habit of not drinking is only bad for his wallet. A few times some of his new drunk friends try to push their drinks into his face, to get him to try, but he doesn't have anything in hand until Bido, bless his little heart, hands him a soda.

Bido should get a raise. Ling tells him this and Bido sputters sheepishly away, leaving him to nurse his soda until Greed catches his eye again. He doesn't even pause before getting up, his seat immediately taken by someone else, leaving him with no choice but to weave through the crowd to follow where Greed has gone. Not that he wouldn't have wandered into the back of a bar just because, anyway, but already he's been surprised by Greed's attention tonight, so he's too curious not to see it through.

Nobody bats an eye at him slipping through the marked door, which is nice, and one staircase later he pushes the door to the roof open and pokes his head out. It's quieter up here despite the noise from the street not far below and Ling wanders toward the railing at the roof's edge before he thinks to look around and see where exactly Greed has gone.]

[Just a little ways away, behind a water tower so he can light his cigarette. A sharp inhale, and he comes forward, sprawling down on the roof, leaning his back against the brick wall behind him.]

C'mere.

[He beckons lazily, though his eyes are sharp as he watches the kid. Ling, he thinks, not the kid. His teeth flash as he notes that soda, and he grins up at the sky.]

Who gave you that? Ah, never mind, I think I know. He should've made you pay for it, but I bet he didn't.

[Ling watches the scene below for another moment before he turns, unable to help the way his expression lights up a little to see Greed again. It's a nice night with a cool breeze, much more his taste than being packed with dozens of people downstairs, and- this one, the best part, that he's still not sure how it happened or why- Greed wants to see him. Specifically, him, here on the roof.

Very interesting. He wiggles the soda bottle as he comes over to sit next to him.]

I slipped him some cash but I don't think he noticed. [So far Ling's only vaguely criminal skills are climbing on everything and putting money in people's pockets, go figure.] He's just being nice.

Nice doesn't pay the rent on this place.

[He's not upset. He might be if Bido did this to everyone, but spoiling their mascot isn't so bad. He sets the cigarette to his lips and inhales sharply, enjoying the heated sting and the contrast of the cool breeze.]

Hmm?

[He tugs it out of his mouth, holding it between two fingers in silent question.]

Neither does buying a new crate of sodas, I'd think.

[And yet the soda in his hand is not ancient and possibly spoiled like the one he had last week, so thank you, he will assume this is entirely for his sake. That makes him smile, and the cigarette makes him pause. Uh!]

I don't smoke.

You didn't drink til last week either. You might as well expand your horizons while you're here.

[He holds it out. He doesn't actually care if the kid takes it or not, he's not one of those weird fuckers from a 1970's anti-drug campaign, but still. It'd be fun to see him try.]

Besides: what's the point of coming down here all the time if you don't indulge in a little sin, hm?

[Hmm... see, it's probably going to be embarrassing, is the thing. But alright, he reaches out to take it.]

Just once.

Just once.

[One knee draws up, his arm sprawling over it, watching with interest. There's no real trick to it, just inhale and exhale, but it's something that somebody has to get used to. Cigarettes burn (in a different way than whiskey; whiskey is wet and this is a dry heat, sparking down your throat, lighting up your lungs and stomach, and then that blissful moment where you exhale and the smoke streams out, oh, he does so love smoking).]

[Well, here goes nothing. He puts the cigarette to his lips and inhales and then just sits there, not proceeding to step two. His eyes water. Another second and then there comes the coughing, smoke coming (and he's pretty sure it's coming out of his nose, too, holy shit), and even though it burns and he holds the cigarette back out to Greed instantly, he's laughing as soon as his throat calms down.]

That's- [ack] That's that! Here you go.

[He laughs, taking it back from him, setting it between his teeth so he can shove his fingers through Ling's hair again.]

Not bad for your first! I'm proud of you, kiddo, I really am-- drink some soda, it'll get rid of the burn quick.

[He slumps back, inhaling sharply, aware that they're touching, aware that something is building and he isn't sure if he wants it to continue or not.]

Your first drink, your first smoke . . . it's almost like you're a man.

[Ling coughs behind his hand once more, a weak little thing expelling the last of the smoke, then wipes at his eyes. Greed's hand in his hair is getting more familiar, a fact that is both exciting and a little intimidating, leaving Ling to hum around a sip of soda as he leans ever so slightly towards Greed.

The special treatment he's getting tonight is off the charts. He's warm despite the cooling evening air, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with alcohol.]

I'll take that as congratulations and say thanks, I think. No card?

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