Raising an eyebrow, looking almost unamused. Taking his drink back, giving it a considerably sized gulp.
“..Does that tactic usually help you get a higher tip? I respect the hustle, but I’m on a tight budget.”
mikey is refilling the good doctor’s glass within seconds of it slamming down on the bar top, another overly generous pour.
“maybe you’re not burying it deep enough .. or in the right person.”
a smirk, he’s such an ass. a shit bartender too as he ignores the other patrons —
Exhaling forcefully through his nostrils, hiding his shame in his drink. Finishing off whatever was left in the glass, setting it down quite loudly.
“…Not well.” Glancing up at Mikey, then back down at the counter. “But confronting it feels worse.”
“relax man, i’m joking.” his smirk hidden behind his glass as he sips on his beer.
“besides, the gomorrah is overrated, especially when we got sweetie around here …”
“how’s the, uh, burying your problems thing going for you .ᐣ”
A soft sigh of defeat escapes him. He knew there was little arguing with Eleanore — she would do what she thought was necessary. To both their credit, he was much more receptive to receiving assistance these days.
Wordlessly, Graham sits onto the table he used for examinations,
elephant in the room, not wanting to poke him in case he retreated into his shell, but she had experience fixing synths up. hell, she'd personally broken and then fixed robert's jaw.
"please, just sit down and let me help you. you don't have to do everything yourself, you know?"
you realize? I’m certain this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten injured since.. I was created.” Not that he knew, really. Nothing as terribly deep as this, though.
“…I appreciate your insistence either way..” Grumbles. Staring down at his scuffed old boots, ashamed to be the
Hrm. Clearing his throat, trying not to choke on the bourbon still in there.
“Gender is not the issue..” Rubbing at his throat and shirt collar — an obvious nervous tic.
“I just.. deal with my problems differently. By confronting the head on, or.. pushing them deep, deep down.”
mikey cracks a smirk, pouring himself a glass of his house brewed ale before raising his hand in false surrender.
“hey, if the girls aren’t your thing …”
a shrug of his shoulders, a twisted smirk on his lips before taking a large gulp of the cool beer.
Shaking his head, turning his gaze down to his drink. Trying to hide the smile on his lips.
“Not sure what you’re attempting to imply there, but I’m fine as I am now. Just.. need to take it more easy.”
“you do all of that shit for free .ᐣ” he’s honestly shocked, no one in vegas works for free — hell, even his siblings give him a small cut of what the bar brings in to keep him content enough.
“i hear the gomorrah is nice …” it’s a joke, if his smirk means anything. —
@wastesweetie Start letting folks in? I’m not sure.
Maybe the advice I’ve been getting is the right thing to hear, but not at this moment.
I don’t want to bury this deep and get over it, I want to keep picking at it until I uncover as much as I can. I’ve already lost so much sleep over it.
“I’m a volunteer doc. My income comes from those who only have enough to spare, which is just barely enough to keep me fed.” And enough for the occasional drink, too..
“Besides, where would I go?”
𝘰𝘰𝘱𝘴.
he wouldn’t have been the first to get a lap full from mikey, far from it, but the doctor’s reflexes saved him from going home smelling like a drunk.
“you’re a doctor, don’t you have the caps to just fuck off whenever you want .ᐣ have someone else deal with these —