Taking Shots


buck_icon.gif cook_icon.gif faith_icon.gif

Scene Title Taking Shots
Synopsis Cook tries to get Faith's number while Buck hopes to find an in with those "Terrorist Fighting" people, all while drinking in Balor's Pissin' Eye.
Date May 30, 2009

Balor's Pissin' Eye, Brooklyn

Balor's Pissin' Eye is a respectable Irish etablishment. Here, we have good beer, good service, and most of all, good fights. Like the one in the corner with the pool cues and the darts. Kieran, proprietor of not only said establishment but also the cues and darts, is desperately trying to separate the men fighting. It's not going well, but his efforts are keeping the brawl cornered, for now.

Cook is laughing, watching, and having a bottlecap. Mmm, tasty bottlecaps.

Faith enters the bar, glancing around with a bit of a doubtful eye. She's dressed casually today — jeans, tennis shoes, a t-shirt. Nothing fancy, though all of them fit her perfectly and seem to make the most of her lean curves. She heads to the bar, giving the fight an amused glance, and looks up at Cook chewing on … is that a bottle cap?

Cook spots Faith and his eyes widening a bit, and whatever it was in his mouth is swallowed without a blink. He looks at the mirror behind him and adjusts his shirt's collar, as if she's not even there, and then hops off the bar counter, ambling over. "Hallo, lass! Makin' good of me invite, then?"

"Hey, James," the photographer says with a smile. "Sure. I had a long day so I figured I'd come in for a bit of refreshment. What's best on tap here?" she asks, glancing at the tap with the decorative ornaments on their handles, advertising the beers within. "Is it always so… raucous?" she asks, with a bit of a smile. By the look of it, she's a good girl, a bit out of sorts here.

"What you mean, raucous? It's been boring all day. You're the first excitin' thing's happened." He grins at her, clearly not finding the fighting as out of sorts. He pulls a chair out for her and says, "Best on tap's Guiness, 'course."

"Guinness… all by itself… might be a bit too heavy. I'm a light weight," she says. "Maybe a black and tan?" she asks, instead, glancing up at whoever is tending bar, since Cook is sitting beside her. "So. Which twin do you think I am?" she asks, grinning a bit.

Cook can't sit! Waiter! Behind the bar is a young girl with light brown hair who looks like a prettier and obviously female version of Kieran. "Black an' tan it is. I will think about it as I pour!" He skips off behind the bar to pour her drink, glancing over his shoulder with a grin.

Faith laughs a bit. For once she isn't carrying her camera bag, so that won't help him much. She leans her elbows on the bar, placing her chin on her hands as she watches him make her drink. "Kelly's actually our last name, by the way. So I'm Irish myself, actually. By blood, of course. I haven't been out of the country, though, so I've never been there. To Ireland, I mean."

Cook glances over his shoulder at her while she talks, raising a brow. "Really now? That's innerestin'." Sorta. Not really. He sildes back to her and sets the beer on the table, but doesn't let it go. Instead, he holds his hand out. "ID?" Big, shit-eating grin.

"Cheater," she says with a laugh and a shake of her long wavy hair. "Fine." She pulls out her wallet from her purse and flashes it at Cook. Faith Kelly. 22. "Now I know you cheat, I know not to trust you with anything important," she points out to him with a smirk.

Balor's Pissin' Eye is small Irish pub in Brooklyn. It's very Irish. Down to the colors and the people fighting with pool cues and throwing darts in one corner. Cook is at Faith's table, leaning over it. "Well, I may cheat, but the drink is on the house, so maybe I deserved th' handicap."

Buck looks about as out of place walking into an Irish pub as he does anywhere else in the city. But on the bright side, it doesn't seem to bother him a bit. He pulls open the door and heads right for the bar, doing his gawking as he's walking. After ordering a shot of Jack Daniels, he turns around with his elbows on the bar behind him, smiling any nothing in particular.

"Well, thanks, then. I guess my name is a slight price to pay. Of course, you don't know. I could be my sister, and just using her driver's license. It's not like we haven't done that, before," Faith says with a bit of a smirk. "But which twin do you think I am from the day we met? Besides the cute one, right?" she grins. She watches Buck walk past her, raising a brow a bit at the handsome cowboy, though she doesn't way anything.

"I think y'are number two. The one that doesn't want t'be number two." Cook grins a little, and then flits his eyes over at the cowboy, raising a brow. "… didn't know th'rodeo was in town."

Buck smiles at the comment from Cook, picking up his drink as it's delivered and inviting himself right on over to Faith's table. "Far as I know, there ain't no New York rodeo," Buck comments, accent beautifully authentic to match the costume. "But I'd have t' ask my sister t' be sure. How ya doin'? Nice t' meetcha." He sticks out a hand at Cook. "Name's Buck. Listen, y'all know a cheap hotel around town? I don't wanna say nothin', but I think mine might be overchargin' me." His glance includes Faith in the question.

"I don't think there's really such a thing as a cheap hotel anymore, but you might go to the outskirts of town, if you can stand the commute… even Staten Island if you're brave enough, if you need it to be really cheap," Faith says, and then she turns to smile at Cook. "You're right. How'd you know?" She doesn't introduce herself but does go so far as to kick the chair across from her out for Buck to sit down should he want.

Cook watches Buck move into his territory like a Rottweiler might watch a Great Dane. What's the big, skinny thing doing in my lawn, dammit? He smiles at Buck, though, and his own beautifully authentic Irish accent comes out as he shakes hands. "Nice t'meet ye, Buck." He glances at Faith, and says, "Got a feelin' yer sister'd already have ragg'd on me for summit'r other."

Buck gives Cook's hand a firm shake and then sits down. He pauses to throw back his shot. As the glass meets the table again he smiles at both of his newfound companions, either not sensing or not minding any potential suspicion on Cook's part. "Well, I been to Staten Island," he tells Faith, "But could cost ya more if y' get robbed out there. Ain't no good rentin' a room y' can't get any sleep in."

"Probably true. But don't get all comfortable thinking I'm the nice one, because that could be a mistake," Faith says with a grin. "That's probably true. I just went over there today for the first time since before the Bomb myself. It's pretty bad," she says with a wrinkling of her nose. "They're handing out free soup to the homeless people out there. Nice thing. Got some great pictures from the chopper, too, that might turn into something interesting artistically."

"Cheap hotel'd be hard t'find," Cook tells Buck with a shrug. "Might be better'f tryin' one a th'motels down th'block. Community tends to look out for each other an' th'businesses around'ere." He flashes Faith a chopper grin. "Who said I wanted nice?"
Buck belatedly removes his hat and sets it on the table, ruffling fingers through his hair. He says to Faith, "Can't say as I'm homeless just yet, so I reckon I'll wait." And then he looks to Cook. "They look out for strangers too? 'Cuz I sure ain't part o' no community out here."

Faith just smirks a bit and lowers her lids as she picks up her drink. She takes a long drink of her black and tan, before setting it back down on the table. She looks at Buck. "How long you been in town, cowboy? What brings you here, besides the non-Rodeo?"

"O'l Widderburns is honest folk," Cook admits to Buck. "He'll put ye up for less than most, and he never gets trouble, seein' as he's a respected member o' th'community." Cook holds up a hand at Faith, like be-right-back, and goes to ask a couple at another table what the hell they want to drink.

Buck nods at that information from Cook and pulls out a creased-up piece of paper to note that down. The paper is full of similar jottings. Then he looks to Faith, shrugging. "Lookin' fer work, I guess. Been here about…two, three days?"

Faith nods to Cook, smiling. He's a nice guy after all, helping out the new guy in town. To Buck, she tilts her head. "What kind of work are you looking for? I doubt I can help, but … you know. I'm a photographer for the Daily News. I hear things, sometimes. I can keep an ear out for you, if you want…"

Cook will be as nice a guy as Faith wants him to be as long as she's in the vicinity. Bwah. He heads for the bar to retrieve the couple's drinks, burping in the bartender's face. As the brown-haired girl proceeds to 'ew' and beat him with a wet rag, Cook just laughs.

"Yeah," Buck says, smile slowly spreading across his face, "Hell yeah. That's be great, actually. See, I figured if I came up here, there'd be some work in the terrorist-fightin' sector of the economy…?" He lifts his brows hopefully to see if Faith has any suggestions.

"Terrorist-fighting sector?" Faith repeats, and she gives a shake of her head. "Depends which terrorists you mean. There's two major sides, I think… unless you're against them all, and then you'd probably want to, like, be a cop, right?" she says, looking a little uncertain. "Which terrorists are you hoping to fight?"

Cook passing by again, Cook tries to look like he's not paying attention to their conversation. He's bad at it. But at least it's easy to mistake his interest in the conversation for his interest in Buck not cock-blocking him.

Buck rubs a hand over the back of his head. "Welp, you know, I ain't been educated on the whole…situation, but seems to me you got terrorism an'…guess you can't call it counter-terrorism, but maybe…reply terrorism? So if you stopped all these… 'Volved terrorists, the other ones wouldn't have too much to kick about."

"Ahh," says Faith, and she glances at Cook, with a raised brow, before looking back at Buck. "I see. No, I wouldn't know too much about that," she says with a shake of her head. "But you know, I don't know that they are so much paying jobs as much as they are… what's the word. Vigilantes? Or… like you said. Terrorists." She pauses. "What's your name again, though? I'll try and keep an ear out for you. Give me a phone number and all that, and I'll be sure to get in touch with you if I hear anything in that line of work."

Cook would say something, but it might ruin his 'dumb as a stump' routine. Instead, he tells Kieran (who finally ended the fight) that he's taking his break, and snags a Guiness, plopping himself down at the table Buck and Faith share. "If you give him yer phone number 'fore you give it t'me, I'll be sad," Cook informs Faith with a puppy-dog pout.

Buck frowns at Faith. "Well, I ain't gonna go around jus' killin' people 'cuz /I/ think they done wrong. Plus, I don't know how I'd eat if I was just doin' it fer free." He pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. "Hang on, I cain't remember the damn thing." A few electronic 'boops' later, Buck recites a number. "Name's Buck Lafferty." He looks up in surprise at what Cook says. "Aw, hell, am I gettin' in the way o' somethin'?" he asks, brows shooting up. "Don't mean to." He smiles at Faith. "Now, Miss, you got a good-lookin' fella wants your number over here."

"I wasn't giving him my number, I was asking for his," Faith says coolly to Cook, though a smirk curves her lips upwards. She pulls out her own cell phone and inputs the number. "Buck Lafferty," she says, then puts out her hand to him. "Faith Kelly," she murmurs. "I'm a photographer for the Daily News. So what kind of work do you think you could do for any sort of group like that?"

Cook pouts again as Buck's attempt to get him the number fails abruptly. He gives Buck a shrug and a 'it's cool, you tried!' look. He takes the beer to his mouth and gives it a long pull.

Buck gives Faith's hand a warm shake. "Fer a group like the Daily News?" Buck wonders in return and slowly shakes his head. "Not too much, I guess. Oh, or you mean…if Homeland 'r somethin' let me get back out an' fight? I got a lot o' trainin', in, uh…counter-terrorism an' counter-insurgency and…just plain shootin' people, I guess." He offers a 'c'est la vie' smile and shrug at Cook in return.

"Just plain shooting people," Faith repeats. "Quite a resume," she says with a bit of a smirk. She looks between the two men as they share glances and raises a brow. "Quit communicating in testosterone, will ya?" she asks and laughs. "Maybe I'll give you my number by the end of the night, as long as you don't do anything too horrible. Like belch in your friend's face again," she tells Cook. Yep, she saw that.

"Aw, she ain't m'friend. She's m'cousin. And if I stop doin' it she'll get suspicious an' try to see if I'm on drugs'r summat." Cook grins a bit, but looks placated for the moment. He takes another drink.

"Worth it to go to the trouble for a lady's request, though, ain't it?" Buck suggests to Cook. "'Scuse me a minute," he says to both of them, "I'm gonna go get me another drink." He leaves his hat on the table as he stands, so he must intend to come back. If there's any ire at Faith's assessment of Buck's resume, he doesn't show it.

"Interesting guy," Faith says quietly to Cook, though not so quiet that it will look like she's talking about Buck. Just low enough that he won't be able to hear her by the bar. She watches the cowboy for a moment and turns back to Cook. "So the guy who was breaking up the fight earlier, he's your cousin too? They gotta be related," she says, nodding from Keiran to the girl tending bar. "And you're not, are you? On drugs?"

Cook raises a brow at Faith. "He migh' be." He glances at Buck, and then back at Faith. "He's m'uncle. Her father. An' no, no drugs at th'moment." Which means he could be at some other moment. He's no spring chicken, this one. "Why? You got some?" Grin.

Buck does not have particularly good hearing, anyway. He doesn't seem to notice being discussed. He goes to the bar and cheerfully orders another drink. He settles on a stool, so perhaps the cowboy's being tactful enough to leave the two alone for a few minutes.

"Uh, no drugs, no. Do I look the type?" Faith says with a smirk. She knows she does not. She looks like what she was brought up to be — a well educated and proper young woman. Whether she is or not — well, that's another story. "Dude, I told you, I'm a light weight… drugs would just do me in. Not a good mix."

"Well I don't know! You keep warnin' me about what to expect," Cook points out, "you can't blame me fer wonderin'." He grins at her. "You could always try to build up a tolerance? 'Sides, you can be a lightweight for booze an' not drugs." It's true! He's a superduperheavyweight for most stuff.

Buck laughs at something the bartender says, throws back a shot and orders another.

Faith just shakes her head and smiles. "I really would rather keep my head on straight most of the time… a lot of bad things can happen if I don't… I don't have a lot, you know? But I have brains. Sometimes." She smirks. "Besides, I'd probably make a fool out of myself. Though I guess if I did, I could always tell people I was my sister." She glances over at Buck. "He's cheerful for a hater, hmm?"

"Huh?" Cook is grinning at her 'pass herself for her sister' bit, but the comment about Buck makes him double-take. He looks at Buck, and then says, a little low just in case: "If by 'cheerful' you mean 'gay'." Yeah, he can tell.

Buck picks up his second shot and brings it back over to the table with his newfound friends. Or the people who've been putting up with him thus far, at least. He grins at Faith. "Hey, you give him your number yet?" he asks, pointing a finger in Cook's direction.

The blond photographer raises a brow. "He is?" she asks, raising her brows. The cowboy drawl threw off her gaydar. As Buck leaves the bar, she turns back to Cook and lifts her brows. "They shoot people?" she mouths, so that Buck can't see, then she looks up at Buck and laughs. "No. He hasn't proven himself worthy yet," she says with a wink. "You gonna vouch for him?"

"She's draggin' me on, mate," Cook complains to Buck, but then grins over at Faith. "S'okay, I don't mind. S'a good view from back'ere, anyways."

Buck tilts his head in mock consideration. He's got to consider such a thing carefully, apparently. "Now, I don't know about that," he says slowly, looking Cook over thoughtfully, with furrowed brow. "You worth a vouchin' for, Mister?"

Faith looks amused, picking up her black and tan to take another couple of sips. She's apparently not much of a drinker, as the glass is still three-quarters full. Her green eyes flicker from Buck to Cook and back. "Like he'll tell you honestly?" she says, grinning. "He was just trying to corrupt me," she tells Buck.

"'Course I'm worth vouchin' for. I'm nice, clean, an' loyal like a puppy," Cook says with a grin. None of those things are true, except maybe that he's clean. He does shower.

Buck nods to Faith, "There, you hear all that?" he wonders. But then Faith makes her claim about Cook corrupting her and Buck frowns, this time giving Faith the once-over. "Sorry, Miss, but you don't look like the kind o' girl gets corrupted if she don't want to."

Faith glances down at herself and back up. "Oh?" she says with a smirk. "Wow. I need to work on my sweet and innocent demeanor some, I guess," she says with a snap of her fingers and a wink. "Someone earlier said he'd lay money on me in a fight with some hooker chick on Staten Island. I usually get taken for some rich Ivy League type who has no street smarts." She adds a mock-pout for effect.

Cook's reaction to the pount is to almost drool into his beer. He takes a long pull to stem the droolage and then says, "I t'ink you look very innocent and sweet," he tells her. It's what she wants to hear, right? "And street dumb." D'oh.

Buck gives Cook a slightly distressed look at the last part he tacks on. "No offense, Miss," Buck says to faith, "But I think a Staten Island hooker'd prob'ly lick you gooduh…so to speakbut I reckon I wouldn't bet against you gettin' even in the end."

"Eh, she was short. I coulda just held her at arm's length and watched her swing," says the tallish young woman, grinning a bit. She pats Cook's head. "That's very sweet, James," she says with a playful wink. "Maybe you are worthy after all, even if you lie horribly." She glances up at Buck. "So you came to town just so you could come fight people, or something happen back in… where… Okalahoma? Texas?"

Cook sinks his head a little into his shoulders when Faith pats it, and as she's pulling it away, he mock-chomps at it, snapping his teeth together. The sounds? Is unnaturally loud.

Buck smiles ruefully at Faith. "Ah, now," he disagrees with a respectful shake of his head, "You gotta watch out fer th' little ones, too. My little sister Louise ain't more'n five foot two, but she's got me good a couple times. I come from Blanco, Texas," he adds when she asks.

Faith gasps, pulling her hand out of the way of those god-awful-loud-clacking teeth. "Geez, Jaws," she says, her fingers curling into a fist. "And you," she says to Buck, "were probably too much of a gentleman to fight her back. I'd have fought back against the little tramp." She grins and picks up her drink again, taking another slight sip. At this rate, she'll be here all night finishing the one pint of alcohol.

"Hey, you got summat against small people, you tell me know, lass." Cook is, after all, rather short for a man in his early twenties, standing maybe 5'7" or somesuch. He takes a long drink of his beer, and acquiring a foam moustache in the process.

"Hope you're talkin' 'bout that hooker'n not my sister," Buck says, but his smile says he knows she is. He does his shot and admits, "Naw, I cain't fight my little sister. But sometimes she'll sneak-attack ya before y' even get a chance to fight."

Laughing, Faith shakes her head at Cook. "Nah. I don't have a problem with short people," she says, though she's probably an inch taller than Cook. She nods to Buck. "Not your sister. I'm sure your sister is as charming as you are, Buck." Another drink of that black and tan, this time a whole swallow's worth that brings her down to about half a glass. "Anyway. I got out of there before it could get too far," she says with a shrug.

"What were y'doin' in Staten Island anyway, luv?" Cook drinks at about five times the rate Faith does, if not twice /that/. He's done with his beer, and is inching his seat back to get up and get another.

"Christ," Buck says, "I hope she's a whole helluva lot charmin' than /me/," Buck answers, with a sheepish smile.

"Getting photos. These guys are setting up, like, mobile soup kitchens out of trucks and stuff. I got to ride over in a helicopter and everything. It was pretty neat," Faith says, and she looks a bit less like Miss Confidence and Poise than a kid who just got off their first roller coaster ride, grinning from ear to ear.

Cook raaaaises a brow and then grins. "I've never been on a helicopter. S'it fun? Does it feel like y'are 'bout t'fall out any second or summat?"

"I'm goin' fer another drink," Buck says. "Anybody else want one?" He stands and picks up his empty shotglass.

"He kept zig zagging and flew really low, like under bridges and stuff, so yeah, it was kinda scary," Faith confesses. She taps her half-full glass and shakes her head. "I'm still working on this one, but thanks, Buck, dear," she says, a little more warmly now. Maybe that half a glass is starting to create the very beginnings of a buzz.

Cook edges his empty glass towards Buck and grins at him. "Thanks, mate." And then back at Faith. "Must'a been quite th'adrenaline rush, then. Closest thing t'that that I've done is get on top of a movin' train."

Buck takes Cook's glass, too, and smiles at Faith, then goes to the bar once more, getting a refill each for himself and Cook.

Faith looks amused at the refill. "Aren't you, like, working?" she asks, glancing back at Cook. "And how did you get on top of a moving train? That sounds… stupidly dangerous, to be honest, James." She looks curioius though.

"I'm on break!" Cook protests. And he clearly doesn't seem any drunker than he was when she came in. "Well, I was told girls liked dangerous," he quips. "Never mentioned havin' t'be smart, too." He grins a bit.

Buck brings back the pair of drinks and puts Cook's in front of him. "You give your number to my buddy, yet?" he demands with a grin, then looks over to Cook. "What's yer name again?" It's hard to tell if he's kidding or not.

"Oh, is that why you keep leaving…" Faith says, though she smirks a bit so it doesn't come across as genuine. "I don't know, Buck. He jumps on moving trains… that doesn't sound very worthy of a nice girl like me… I mean, I'm an educated woman, with talents and goals…"

"And a sadistic streak," Cook points out. He glances at Buck and grins. "Cook." That's his name, don't wear it out. "It's okay, Buck. I figure she has a boyfriend'r summat an' is jus' humorin' me."

"Hell," Buck answers Faith, "You got education, he's got grit. All that education you got, I bet you don' know the first thing about jumpin' on movin' trains. You could learn a thing 'r two off this guy. You give your number to some ordinary college guy an' he'll just know all the same stuff you do." Buck looks back to Cook. "Well, hell, sometimes people're lookin' fer a change."

"I do not have a sadistic streak," Faith argues, her brows furrowing as she frowns at Cook. That's a reputation she doesn't need… She smirks a bit at Buck. "Why would I want to know how to jump on a moving train? Really, where's that going to get me in life? Except to the next train station, free of charge."

"Y'say that like it's a small t'ing," Cook points out to Faith with a big ol' grin. He adds, after a moment: "An' see? T'at's what I meant! First y'tell me not t'assume y'are nice, now y'are not sadistic." He rolls his eyes at Buck. "Women."
Cook adds, "Notice 'ow she didn't confirm or deny havin' a boyfriend?"

"See, there's one place already," Buck says. "And that's /life/ knowledge. You never know when that's gon' come in handy." He makes a gesture to Cook, like gently pressing a brake pedal with one hand. "You c'n worry about that part after you get her phone number."

"I can be a not-nice woman and not be sadistic at the same time," Faith argues, sticking a tongue out at Cook and then shaking her head at Buck. "I could get a free ride on the train without having to ride on top of it. So what were you doing on top of it, James?" she glances back at Cook.

"Railsurfin'," Cook says, a bit ashamed. "I do stupid things for fun. S'not a crime." Beat. "Sometimes they're even legal."
"I think it's prob'ly a crime," Buck puts in mildly. He sits back to do his shot, perhaps disappointed that there has as yet been no digit exchange.

"Probably," Faith says with a laugh. "But at least you win a point for honesty," she adds. She shrugs, and reaches into her purse, taking out a card and a pen. She scribbles a number in green ink beneath the pre-printed digits on the card. "The handwriting's my cell," she explains.

Cook raises his brows up high when she writes her phone number down, and shifts his eyes to Buck, letting a good-sized grin spread on his face. He glances back at Faith and scratches his chin a bit, looking like a kid in a candy store.

Buck just gives a self-satisfied half-smile, not looking at Cook so that nothing will get ruined by excessive enthusiasm. He's helping Cook play it cool. Sort of. He just situates his glass on the table.

Faith glances from one to the other and just lifts her eyes to the ceiling. "I'll probably regret that," she says to herself, and smirks. "And don't tell my sister. She'll make your life miserable. And mine. You're right, she's not the nice one."

Cook inches the card over and then slips it in his pocket. "My lips are sealed," Cook says with a grin. "… 'til you say otherwise." Oh, Cook.

Buck smiles his amusement and just shakes his head. "Well, I reckon I better go try an' find a vacancy," Buck says, getting to his feet and setting that hat back on his head.

"It was nice meeting you, Buck," Faith says with a smile toward the cowboy. "I should probably get home, soon myself." She scowls at her half-full beer, as if willing it to get emptier. It's free, but all the more reason to finish it, especially if Cook's family is paying for it.

Are you kidding? Cook is paying for it right out of his own wallet. Kieran doesn't care about some bint that came in here and batted her eye-lashes for a pint! Cook just glances up at Buck and says, "Down th'block, you'll see a sign says 'Widderburns Motel'."

Buck gives Cook a wave. "Hey, thanks. Night, you two! Nice meeting you, Miss!" He may have forgotten her name. Anyway, he pays at the bar and makes his way out.

Faith waves once more to the departing cowboy. "He's really nice, despite his whole shooting people kinda thing. That was kinda creepy," she says, leaning on her table. "I should get home, though," she says with a bit of a sigh. She pulls out her wallet again, to find a bill for the drink. Since she didn't finish it, and all. She sets it on the table. "It was nice to see you again," she adds.

Cook waves his hands a bit at the money. "Aw no no, I said I'd invite you, an' I meant it." He blows at the table, letting the bills puft up and away from him. "My treat, luv."

Catching the bill between both hands before it flies off the table, Faith laughs. "Fine, but next time's my treat," she says. "You want to finish it? That glass is bigger than I am, I swear." Never mind it's a standard pint glass. But then, she is slim, if a bit tall. "Told you Guinness was too much for me alone. It's too much for me with Bass in it." She shakes her head a bit at her inability to drink.

Cook gives her a laugh, and then shakes his head. He reaches over, and takes her glass, tipping it and gulping the rest of her beer down his throat without so much as a wince. He's already drank his second beer that Buck got him somewhere between conversational sentences. "Light weight." He grins, and stands up. "Need me t'get you a cab?"

It's close to curfew, and the subway's not a good place for a single girl. "That'd be great," Faith says, standing up and pulling her purse around her shoulder. She smirks a bit as he downs her drink, not showing even a touch of buzz. "I don't think I got the Irish drinking genes. My mom's Swiss and Hungarian. I'm only half Irish… still like me?" she teases.

"'Course I do." Cook pats his pocket with the card. "Ain't got to drink t'be cool. S'just what I do to pass the time." That, and eat anything nearby. He picks up the phone at the bar and dials, talking a bit and then hanging up. "I'll wait fer it wid you outside."

She nods, and heads to the door, outside into the cooler night air. "Thanks for the company tonight," she says, smiling. "It seems like a good place to work… your uncle lets you do what you want and all, it looks like?" she says, leaning against a lamp post to wait for the cab.

"Well. More'r less. As long as I get the work done, I can d'whatever." Cook grins a bit, adjusting his collar again almost reflexively. He sticks his hands in his pockets, kicking up dust on the floor a bit.

Faith glances down at the curb. It's one of those awkward moments. It's not like it was a date, but she did give the man her phone number. "That's kinda nice. It must be good to work with family. If sometimes annoying." She smirks, as obviously she knows what being too close to your family can be like. It's not too long, however, before the cab pulls up. "Well. That's me, I guess," she says. "Thanks for the drink. And the company."

"Well. Me mum's dead and me dad's… someone. So." Cook shrugs. He glances at the cab and says, "Right. Right. Have a safe drive, then, luv." He takes a few steps back and grins at her.

Faith smiles and disappears into the cab. She murmurs her address to the cabbie, glancing over her shoulder as the cab pulls away to bring her home.

Cook lets out a huge belch in relief, waving. "Awgawd ah was 'oldin' tha' fer f'ever." He scratches his stomach, and heads back inside.

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