13694/Beer

Beer
Date of Scene:	30 December 2022
Location:	Main Kitchen
Synopsis:	Logan and Alison get krunk.
Cast of Characters:	Logan Howlett, Alison Blaire

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Logan Howlett has posed:
Ah, Christmas. Well, not anymore, but it was. The Egg Nog is drunk (drank?) and now there's nothing left to booze up with before New Years! Or, at least, there wouldn't be without Wolverine's stash.

That's right. His stash of beer. Which sits in a crate on the kitchen counter. Open, with a few crushed and drained cans already sitting by it. The Wolverine himself sits on the floor, slumped with his back to the counter and a half-drained can in his hand.

"Ahhh, foooor ... juuuust one tiiime ... " he sings to himself. A reasonably fresh Canadian folk song from the early Eighties.

Alison Blaire has posed:
Christmas is actually the best time of year for drinking for a handful of reasons... Most of them are depression based. Alison, who has been engaged in heavy amounts of forget the past drinking, stumbles through the mansion towards the sound of a Wolverine singing. She's been in the spirits, it's a Thursday night and she's freaking Dazzler, it's not hard to imagine...

As she passes through the open doorway she catches herself on the frame and swings around into a slumped position against the wall with a laugh/giggle of self deprecation, "Woops..." But there's beer, she can see it! There's also singing... she can hear it!

"Wooo... are those communale? Communel.... communism... you know what I mean... are they that word?"

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Sure, who gives a fuck," Logan says with a wave of his hand, reaching up and behind his head to pat the counter several times before his hand finally locks around a full and unopened can. He then hurls it at Alison to catch with a level of accuracy that is frankly bizarre coming from someone as drunk as he appears to be.

"I know you," he says, pointing a finger as her, well, pointedly, "Got you on my Spotify playlist. The Serpent is Coming is my fav'rite. C'mon. Pop a squat, Daz."

Alison Blaire has posed:
Catching shit isn't in Dazzler's skillset when she's sober, so doing so while deep into the cups is next to comical. Ali holds her hand out for the chucked beer, bumbles it, and nearly goes tits up trying to keep it from hitting the floor. Which leads to a series of stumbling half crawls, bouncing the can until she's laying on her back clutching it to her chest like a soccor ball. (RIP Pele).

Giggling like a dumbass.

"That's one of my favorites too." She admits. Rolling over to push up and slide her back against the counter beside Logan where she taps the lip of the can several times as if this will somehow prevent the explosion of carbination that is absolutely about to follow cracking the beer.

"Didn't take you for a fan, though. Seem more like a Hank Williams Jr kinda guy."

Logan Howlett has posed:
"The Serpent is coming, the Serpent is coming, the Serpent is coming," Logan half-sings, half-slurs to something that vaguely might be considered the tune of that hit song.

The observation is met with a shrug of broad shoulders as he takes another gulp of beer. He fishes around in the pockets of his jacket, producing one cigar and then another which he holds out to her in offering.

"Was, still am ... but ya forget, I lived through pretty much every musical era people give a shit about these days. They all got somethin' to give. An' the music video ain't so bad. Garden of Eden an all that."

Alison Blaire has posed:
Ali lays her head back against the counter, eyes half lidded with the beer draping dangerously close to spilling off the side of her right leg. There's a grin on her face though, "Serpant is coming, lock your doors... board up the cupboards and dust up the floors... we're here for the party, we'll take it in stride... the serpant is coming, we see you inside..." She murmurs and smirks over at Logan, slapping her hand out to grab the offered cigar.

With an undexterous manuever, it's placed between her teeth to bit off the tip, "Oh yeah.. I keep forgetting you're like a trillion years old. What was music even like in the eighteen hundreds?" Is he actually that old?

"Ooooh all of you poor single men... Don't ever give up in dispair.. For there's always a chance while there's life.. to capture the hearts of the fair. No matter what may be your age, you always may cut a fine dash.. You will suit all the girls to a hair, if you've only got a mustache.. a mustache.. a mustache.. if you've only got a mustache."

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Back then we just banged rocks together an' grunted," Logan says with a wave of his hand, not seeking to correct.

"I grow a moustache sometimes," he offers Alison with a lopsided nod of his head, "An' a beard. All the facial hairs."

Alison Blaire has posed:
Alison rubs her smooth face, "I'd look super smart with some fine facial accessory." She murmurs in a sing-songy, very meta, voice. Then she guzzles her beer and crushes the can in one fist. Grrrrr face.

"That's Stephen Foster by the way. If you've only got a mustache. Very popular in eighteen sixty four."

Logan Howlett has posed:
"'fore my time, I think."

Truth be told, he has no idea. His memories don't go back that far, at least.

"Catchy tune, though. Thinkin' of coverin' it? Y'know, I play a mean harmonica. An' a pretty good ... what's it called ... the one you put in your mouth. Ain't allowed to call it a ... thing harp anymore. Vargan. Ozark harp. That thing."

He holds his hands up to his mouth, miming playing that particular brand of lamellophone.

Alison Blaire has posed:
"The mouth harp." Alison pantomimes putting absolutely nothing in the corner of her mouth and BOING BOING BOINGS with the end of her finger extending from her beer. "Or a Jaw Harp. Gewgaw, guimbard. Many other very suitable names."

"But I think you meant a mouth organ." snickering as she sucks down some of the beer with a glance at the label. It's rude to look a gift beer in the mouth though.

"Maybe. I think 'what's his name' from Family Guy did a cover already with Neil Patrick Harris... But if I did a moody version about the arbitrary nonsensical relevance of facial hair as a mode of capturing the hearts of women? Could be big with the hairy armpit croud."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan chuckles, a rough and grumbly sound emanating from deep inside his chest: "Heh ... gewgaw."

He turns sidelong to sort of lazily listen to her musing, before he lifts one arm over his head and points at his armpit.

"Like me?" Not that it's visible beneath the layers he's wearing. All the same, his hand comes back down with another couple of beers. He's got those big, calloused old person hands that can carry like two bowling balls at once.

"You gonna hang out an' get drunk with me, or you got places to be?"