It had been a long day, and while getting kicked out of various places he'd never normally go to anyway was one of Knight's favorite pastimes, he still was no closer to getting a job.

So, instead of using his steady dwindling money supply to buy food as a normal, smart person would have done, he decided to get plastered. Not just regular old drunk, he was hoping for "hanging onto the ground for dear life after being thrown out of the bar oh hi police officer" drunk.

And, of course, he just happened to know where an Irish pub was.

Before heading in, he leaned against the wall for a quick smoke, unsure of whether or not it was a non-smoking place and actually caring, unlike at the theatre. Part of the reason that he started caring all of a sudden was because the last bar he lit up at where it said "No Smoking" he ended up being hurled out the door like a sack of potatos by six angry bouncers.

It wasn't a fun thing, and he wasn't about to try for a repeat performance...

Working at a bar isn't necessarily Branwen's cup o' tea, but it certainly payed well. Can't say no to a hundred dollars worth of tips a night, can you? At an Irish pub, too, where drinking was a way of life. People tended to let their wallets loose after a few drinks, and that was just the way he liked them.

Another customer walked through the doors and made his way over to the bar like almost every other patron who set foot inside. The look on this man's face was peculiar, though. Looked like he was in here to get thoroughly wasted.

Oh yeah, Branwen was gonna get a GOOD tip tonight.

Knight waved Branwen over, and grinned tiredly.

"How much would I have to pay to get..."

He trailed off, doing a few mental calculations.

"...a bucket of the strongest stuff you have? And if y'all don't have buckets, how about something on the order of just, like, a full bottle of Bacardi 151?"

He pulled out a twenty, looked at it and sighed, then pulled out another ten. Yeah, screw eating.

"Take the twenty, bring me as much Guinness as it'll get me, and the ten's yours. Pocket it or something."

"Answer me this, then. Do you want something that tastes good or are you just looking to pass out?"

He slid the ten into his pocket while he spoke. He left the twenty where it was for now. Branwen didn't even need to put it in the register until he knew what it was for. A guy could nearly kill himself for twenty bucks if he knew what to ask for, and who was he to stop him?

Knight pondered for a few seconds, then answered.

"I want something that I won't be tasting after a very short while of drinking. Y'know, something that'll make me wish I was dead in the morning if the alchohol poisoning doesn't kill me first."

He looked at the man and chuckled darkly.

The laugh was unexpected, and came out of nowhere, but to each his own. This was a bar, you got a lot of crazy occupants when you worked in one.

Branwen filled a pitcher with some of the cheapest stuff they had. It also had way more alcohol than it had any right to. The guy in front of him would be passed out before he got half way through his money's worth. It served the soon-to-be-drunk's purpose, right?

The pub didn't order much of this stuff, anyway. Due to the high alcohol content, it was highly flamable, therefore a safety hazard. And, due to it's potency, they didn't sell much in bottles.

"Here ya go, drink to your heart's content. This stuff'll put you out fast enough, that I'm sure."

The next part he loathed. A bunch of good-for-nothings show up and cry their sorry stories into their beer. The man that currently occupied the bar was going to get drunk enough, Branwen could tell, to spill his life's story. Right down to the oh so embarrasing moments in front of the entire senior class at prom.

It was good to be a bartender, he decided. You have the high opportunity for black-mail.

Knight started drinking, and to his credit, managed to stay semi-coherent while talking. His drawl became a good deal more pronounced, but hey. You take what you can.

"...Tha' damn bitch stole my job..."

He looked at Branwen and laughed again darkly, then drank some more.

"Never though ah'd be calling myself old at 26, but damn ah'm starting to feel like that."

He drank as much as he could before having to get some more air.

"Dayamn. What's in this?"

Branwen only smiled. Yes, while he had to listen to ranting and bitching, he got to see people drown themselves with the full knowledge that they would be puking their guts out in the morning.

"Oh, there's not much else in there than regular beer...just more of it. A hell of a lot more."

He decided to play the role of bartender and pretend to be interested in this poor chump's problems.

"That's too bad. But people aren't like wine, we don't get better with age. Who did you say stole your job?"

Knight shook his head and stared at his beer for a bit, then drank some more.

"Eh, thish broad that halfway screwed the guy to get the job I was being interviewed fer."

He looked at the bar for a bit then kicked it, and drank some more.

"To 'ell with it. I'll jess' whack someone."

Slowly it dawned on him that he most likely shouldn't have said that. Shrugging inwardly he drank even more.

Lovely. Now he had a potential murderer on his hands. Oh well, as long as he didn't try anything here.

"Yeah, women like to do that sometimes," he said, dryly. Or maybe she actually had skills other than drinking.

By now Branwen figured that it didn't matter what was said, the man situated(to use the term loosely) accross from the bar probably couldn't understand him anyway. He was starting to speak really loudly, too. In just a few minutes he'd probably be out like a light.

Shit, the thought just hit him that someone would have to take this drunkard home. Not only did he have to lock up, but Branwen couldn't leave this guy on the street. Damn his morals!

Knight slowly tried to stand up.

Amazingly, he suceeded.

Drinking the last of the beer, he nodded to no one in particular.

"Thanksh..."

He staggered out the exit, and turned to leave. He did manage to get to the nearest side alley before puking his guts out in the dumpster. Falling over on his back, he decided that beds weren't worth it and no one would care if he slept back here anyway. So, he did.

'Course, he didn't think it through quite so coherently. But the basics of that did go through his head.

A couple of hours later, the bar had been closed and the last of the haunts shooed out.

Branwen was just about to fly on home when in the alley he saw the same drunk from before lying next to the dumpster.

He had nearly forgotten all about the guy who, miraculously, finished that entire pitcher of beer and still managed to walk out of the pub. Well, it was now obviously far from miraculous to find him lying in a puddle of drool.

Branwen searched Knight's person trying to come up with anything that would lead him in the direction of a home. Unfortunately, he found nothing.

Looks like flying home is out of the question.