Post by merrill on Jan 15, 2011 3:05:03 GMT -5
[ooc=I know nothing about bars' beer delivering, so please bear with me. Jill, don't be afraid to tell me if I get stuff wrong 
]
The engine was cut and the low hum ceased. Two-Bit snatched a cigarette with haste and lit it as he kicked open the door with a loud, rusty screech. The door was slammed shut and a breeze of cold air hit him in the face, biting at his ears. He let the cigarette hang from his mouth and he flipped up the collar of his jacket before shoving his fists into his pockets.
It was near six in the evening, but darkness had already clocked the smog-filled city of New York. The winter air was no help with improving Two-Bit's night. He wasn't enjoying hanging around Manhattan, the upper class feel screamed Soc. He wished that Charlie could've found someone, or at least some place else, to do the job. Two-Bit would have gladly taken on an extra shift behind the bar counter. However, Charlie had sent him with the truck under the threat of unemployment.
Two-Bit glanced at the truck-- Charlie's --and couldn't help cursing the old thing. It was in worse condition than his own car, and that was quite the feat. He pulled out the ring of keys when he reached the truck's trunk and he unlocked the back door. This one creaked open with less noise than the driver's door. "Damn rust bucket," he muttered under his breath and blew out a stream of smoke.
Once the truck's trunk was opened, he turned to the restaurant's backdoor. He rapped on the metal with quick, sharp knocks. The door was pulled open to a small crack and a face peaked out. Only a red, bulbous nose could be distinguished, for the rest of the man's face was shadowed. "Charlie's?" the man asked in a rather high-pitched voice.
"Yeah," Two-Bit replied, and the door swung open to welcome him. What was more welcoming was the warmth of the bar and the familiar sound of clatter.
"The storeroom's that way." The man pointed at another door. His thin lips pulled into a frown and he folded his thick arms. "You better hurry."
Two-Bit dipped his head and saluted. "Thank ya," he answered, proceeding to the black door, grabbing a cart on his way.
Once he was through the black door, he perused the storeroom and felt a sudden craving for beer. Knowing that he could easily get himself a can back at his own bar, he found a large crate with a sign with spiky black handwriting spelling out 'Charlie's'. He heaved the crate onto the cart and pushed it out of the storeroom.
Two-Bit was about to head outside when a glittery bottle on a polished shelf caught his eye. He surveyed the corridor and seeing that he was alone, he decided to inspect the bottle. He read the label and took a double take. This shit was not only tequila, but it was expensive tequila. He checked his environs a second time to assure this wasn't a trap. It seemed that his paranoia was irrational, there was nobody in sight.
It was as if someone intended for him to have it. However, it is almost for sure that someone would miss a bottle of tequila that costs fifty dollars, right? Two-Bit automatically raised an eyebrow and inwardly smirked; whichever rich bastard owned this place would probably have plenty of this expensive stuff at hand. It is most probable that he wouldn't miss this one.
Of course, Two-Bit found this reasoning good enough to slip the bottle into the load with the rest of Charlie's cheap stuff. The only tequila you get at Charlie's was only the cheap stuff. Christ, he grinned inwardly, a whole bottle of tequila to himself.
]The engine was cut and the low hum ceased. Two-Bit snatched a cigarette with haste and lit it as he kicked open the door with a loud, rusty screech. The door was slammed shut and a breeze of cold air hit him in the face, biting at his ears. He let the cigarette hang from his mouth and he flipped up the collar of his jacket before shoving his fists into his pockets.
It was near six in the evening, but darkness had already clocked the smog-filled city of New York. The winter air was no help with improving Two-Bit's night. He wasn't enjoying hanging around Manhattan, the upper class feel screamed Soc. He wished that Charlie could've found someone, or at least some place else, to do the job. Two-Bit would have gladly taken on an extra shift behind the bar counter. However, Charlie had sent him with the truck under the threat of unemployment.
Two-Bit glanced at the truck-- Charlie's --and couldn't help cursing the old thing. It was in worse condition than his own car, and that was quite the feat. He pulled out the ring of keys when he reached the truck's trunk and he unlocked the back door. This one creaked open with less noise than the driver's door. "Damn rust bucket," he muttered under his breath and blew out a stream of smoke.
Once the truck's trunk was opened, he turned to the restaurant's backdoor. He rapped on the metal with quick, sharp knocks. The door was pulled open to a small crack and a face peaked out. Only a red, bulbous nose could be distinguished, for the rest of the man's face was shadowed. "Charlie's?" the man asked in a rather high-pitched voice.
"Yeah," Two-Bit replied, and the door swung open to welcome him. What was more welcoming was the warmth of the bar and the familiar sound of clatter.
"The storeroom's that way." The man pointed at another door. His thin lips pulled into a frown and he folded his thick arms. "You better hurry."
Two-Bit dipped his head and saluted. "Thank ya," he answered, proceeding to the black door, grabbing a cart on his way.
Once he was through the black door, he perused the storeroom and felt a sudden craving for beer. Knowing that he could easily get himself a can back at his own bar, he found a large crate with a sign with spiky black handwriting spelling out 'Charlie's'. He heaved the crate onto the cart and pushed it out of the storeroom.
Two-Bit was about to head outside when a glittery bottle on a polished shelf caught his eye. He surveyed the corridor and seeing that he was alone, he decided to inspect the bottle. He read the label and took a double take. This shit was not only tequila, but it was expensive tequila. He checked his environs a second time to assure this wasn't a trap. It seemed that his paranoia was irrational, there was nobody in sight.
It was as if someone intended for him to have it. However, it is almost for sure that someone would miss a bottle of tequila that costs fifty dollars, right? Two-Bit automatically raised an eyebrow and inwardly smirked; whichever rich bastard owned this place would probably have plenty of this expensive stuff at hand. It is most probable that he wouldn't miss this one.
Of course, Two-Bit found this reasoning good enough to slip the bottle into the load with the rest of Charlie's cheap stuff. The only tequila you get at Charlie's was only the cheap stuff. Christ, he grinned inwardly, a whole bottle of tequila to himself.
