It was three o'clock in the afternoon and Wit Cleaverdale was already feeling buzzed, and that was quite all right with him. He didn't have any appointments - or, at least, he hoped to God he didn't - and he was pretty sure that unless he was suddenly having worse luck than usual his cell phone would not ring and his supervisor would not demand an explanation as to why although he had a high rate of appointments, only two of them had bought any of CutCo.'s wonderful kitchen supplies (this was mostly because he would probably be too inebriated by that point and he did not have an answer that didn't include mentioning the kind of work he did on the side and on CutCo.'s payroll). Wit usually preferred to drink in the privacy of his own apartment, but his fridge was full of nothing but canned alcohol and he was not in the mood for such silliness.

Wit wasn't entirely positive as to why he had picked The Twa Corbies as an ideal drinking location, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that the only people who were likely to bother him were the kinds of people to wear socks with sandals and needed directions to the local amusement park. He liked those kind of people. They weren't going to knock his drinks over and they weren't going to ask him why he was getting drunk at three o'clock in the afternoon - they were going to ask for directions and be on their merry way, and all parties involved would be happy. He was confident that he wouldn't have to deal with those sorts of people, however, as he had at least had the foresight to plant himself in a rickety-looking table near the bar but far enough away from the door to suggest he did not intend to leave any time soon.

Wit, forgetting that he looked more like a down-on-their-luck-school teacher in his ugly maroon sweater instead of a guy into pyramid scheming just for the kicks with a questionable business on the side, then drank an incredibly tasteless and below average mug full of beer just because he could (and because he was broke).

Brody Donovan wrapped a napkin around the handle of the door leading into The Twa Corbies, entering with his usual amount of caution and dropping the napkin into a trash can by the door. God, he was just this shy of wearing latex gloves everywhere he went. It'd definitely be easier, though it'd probably earn him more funny looks than he already got. And Brody was pretty sick of the funny looks. He was just a guy with OCD, not a freak!

Wait. He was a freak. But he was pretending to just be a guy with OCD. And frankly, he thought he was doing a damn good job. Nobody had any reason to suspect he was anything other than an obsessive-compulsive. Except for his total lack of a social life. And his job at the hospital, not working with patients or researching or anything like that, just - disinfecting. All day, almost every day. Except today. Which is why Brody was out getting drunk.

Normally, he wouldn't be out somewhere, around people, especially buying drinks that had been handled by other people. He'd just get drunk alone in the privacy of his own apartment. But the little liquor store he usually bought his alcohol from had just gone belly-up (though Brody had no idea why - he'd pumped quite a bit of money into it. Personally, he suspected embezzlement), so he had to find somewhere else to drink. And this had been the closest place.

Sliding into a seat at one of the tables, Brody pulled a baby wipe out of a jacket pocket, wiping down the table thoroughly. Finally seeming satisfied, he crumpled the wipe up, scooting it to the far edge of the table.

Wit was probably one of the nosiest people in the world. He liked watching other people and, despite having no intentions whatsoever of getting involved in someone else's life - unless, perhaps, it included him getting laid - he also enjoyed playing guessing games about people who had particularly bizarre public habits. This was probably not a particularly nice habit of his, but seeing as he had way more free time than just getting inebriated could fill, he had to find his fun somewhere.

Well, actually, he should probably just go bowling or something if he got that bored, but Wit didn't really think through these kinds of things.

As a result of Wit's obnoxious habit, it didn't take long for his attention to be pulled from the sports game playing on the closest television to an interesting young man cleaning what he had thought looked like was an already clean table (His perception of clean was very different from most people, however, and probably irrelevant, but that didn't stop him from becoming baffled when people were bothered by the pit that was his apartment). Thankfully, Wit was usually a bit of a lazy sleeper when he decided to go get drunk, so instead of getting unreasonably upset and attempting to defend The Twa Corbie's honor, he snickered.

Loudly.

In addition to being bad at being neat and organized, Wit's manners were questionable at best.

Brody had slipped off his jacket and was in the process of standing up to head to the bar when he heard the snicker. Immediately beginning to blush, he half-turned, trying to see who was responsible. It wasn't hard to figure it out; he was only sitting near one person. And that person was looking right at him.

If Brody had been a more aggressive person, he might have started a fight. But no. Brody had long since decided that fighting, while sometimes fun, wasn't worth the germyness. So, instead, he turned to glare at the snickerer. "Do you have something to say to me?" he asked, trying to act tough. He couldn't quite pull it off, though, and ended up sounding pretty wimpy. Trying to make up for it, he folded his arms over his chest.

God. How much of a fool could he make of himself even before he got drunk?

There was a rather pregnant pause as Wit decided if he did, indeed, have anything to say to Brody. He could ask him why he was going through all of that trouble just to clean off his table; that was a good option. He could say no; that was a good option, too. He could just let Brody go on with his life, or Wit could proceed to be a total annoyance see how long it took him to get kicked out of The Twa Corbies. This was, however, the only place he could drink in the middle of the day and not have to deal with the ridiculousness that was canned beer, so he guessed getting kicked out was a bad idea.

"Wanna buy some knives?" was all Wit could say, and he wanted to kick himself the second it left his mouth. He had been working with CutCo way too long if it was starting to affect whether or not he could be properly obnoxious whilst under the influence.