Gabe will never admit to the tension that heâs holding in his shoulders, a consistent ache throughout the night that sets his teeth on edge, but as they release when Muttâs response comes in, he realizes heâs relieved. Any modicum of ease is a godsend at this point, and he raises his glass to the man in a silent salute. Thereâs no telling how far gone Gabe will be by the time he arrives, but heâs off to a good start, in any case.
The sound of the door latching and re-latching would have been alarming any other time, but Gabe swivels to greet his guest with a half-grin and a joint lit between his teeth. âToo many questions, my friend, and I have no real answers for any of them. Pick your poison off the shelf and catch up, you have a ways to go.â As he speaks, he pats the barstool beside him invitingly, that characteristic grin widening all the more. When Muttâs settled himself, Gabe raises his own glass in a toast, the hand-rolled cigarette finding purchase precariously on the nearest ash tray. âTooooooââ He draws it out, suddenly unsure, but then quickly shrugs, too far gone to not throw caution to the wind. âTo no regrets, and the death of a shitty fuckinâ leader.â What does he have to lose anyway, right?
Downing the rest of his drink, he laughs sardonically. âCelebration it is, I guess.â
AS SOON AS HE SAW THAT JOINT ALREADY LIT between Gabeâs lips, Mutt knew what kind of night this would wind up being. âHey! I brought some of those too. Glad weâre on the same fuckinâ page here.â Sauntering behind the bar, he reached for the least empty bottle of tequila he could see, plenty of pep in his step as he moved back round and dropped himself into the seat beside Gabe.
âYeah. No regrets.â That was a tough sentence to swallow, as he raised the whole bottle and took a swig straight from it. No need for glasses when he was ready to get absolutely hammered, to forget about all his worries just for one night. To forget about his poor decision making over the past few weeks, and to forget about the nightmares heâd been having over somebody tracking down his family.
That seemed like a good enough excuse to get drunk.
âIf anything, itâs... a celebration and appreciation of some excellent fucking liquor, my good sir.â Mutt raised his bottle again, a stupid smile plastered across his face as he had another drink. His troubles mixed with alcohol were always a lethal combo and he could already hear Cyrus and Lydia berating him for it when theyâd find him hungover in his room the next morning.
