milliways_bar | (no subject)

When Wilford steps in the bar from a loud party on the other side, he is already exceptionally drunk, and in an unusually good mood. He’s also in the mood to do something obnoxious, which is nothing new. Not quite sure what he wants to do, he heads over to the bar and grabs a bottle of whiskey to keep him company while he sits down and figures out what, exactly, needs to be done.

Once everything is left to be picked up, Wilford takes his whiskey and retreats to the fireplace to try to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, he’s kind of reaching that stage of drunk where “sit next to the fire” is about the best idea he can come up with.

Today, there are ornately-decorated envelopes waiting for the youth of Milliways up at the bar. The envelopes are each stuffed with $5000 in cash. Along with the envelopes is a shoebox full of fireworks. Missing from all this is any indication of who it is from.

[ooc: Happy Lunar New Year! Envelopes and fireworks have been left for everyone under the age of 21. Use your imagination for what sorts of fireworks have been provided. Mentions of casual drug use in the first link. Second link is a sfw image.]

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When Autor approaches the bar the next morning, he receives a rather interesting--in his opinion--and welcome present. He has no use for the fireworks, being frightened of them, and immediately negotiates with Bar a suitable price. He ends up selling them for $26.52, which he codes away in his sylladex along with the original $5000.

Wilford is not hungover necessarily. He just happens to not feel particularly at his best when he finds himself at the bar the next morning.

He pauses when he sees Autor selling his shoebox. Huh. Apparently he was included in that last night.

"Those are meant to be lit; not sold," he says as he sidles up to the bar to order the greasiest breakfast imaginable, with the blackest coffee possible.

Given that Wilford is wearing pajama bottoms with penguins on them and a green shirt with the logo of Sprunk across it, Autor assumes he's hungover. Besides, there was a lot of alcohol at that party. "You're responsible for this? Thank you for the bonus, but I don't have any use for fireworks."

"It's not a bonus. It's a party."

He takes a few moments to recognise what's on the plate that appears before him. Eggs, bacon, sausage, plenty of toast, something that's probably ham. He has just enough situational awareness to taste the small bowl of what looks like butter before he upends the entire thing onto his plate.

"Ah, I see," Autor says, even though he clearly doesn't. "The party last night, or something else?"

"The after party."

Or what he thinks was an after party. He remembers being here, but not much else. He's not even sure how he got home, but waking up in his own bed is evidence enough that he somehow got there.

"One party was enough for me," Autor says, adjusting his glasses. "But thank you for the cash. Did this go out to other people besides me?"

Wilford does not answer right away. He has to really think about it.

"Probably?"

"I guess you can always ask Bar to see how much money you're out," Autor says, shrugging. Bar materializes a cup of tea for him and he drains it in one gulp.

Wilford considers this. It's not a bad idea, but also... It could be a bad idea. Finally, he nods, and Bar provides him the note.

He looks at it, and immediately slaps it back down onto the counter.

"Holy hell," is all he has to say about that.

How drunk was he last night?

Autor offers him a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile, hidden behind his tea cup. "That bad, huh?"

It's awful.

"Where the hell were you making sure it didn't happen?"

That's Autor's job, right?

"My job is to cook for your dog and clean up after him," Autor says, sipping his tea. "Speaking of which, I'd like a raise. I keep the house clean, cook for Buster, and put up with Jim."

Well. That came out of nowhere. Wilford considers this demand while he chews on some bacon.

"What are you asking?"

"$1400," Autor says, raising his teacup to his lips again. "It would be less, but like I said, I put up with Jim."

"A week?"

He's trying to come across as needed to be convinced, but he's not feeling at his very best right now oddly enough.

"Yes," Autor says, nodding. "I've consistently performed above and beyond my duties. And I know that's a drop in the bucket for you."

Autor's not wrong. Not even a little bit. On either count.

But Wilford smells and opportunity for himself here. He just has to find the right way up for his brain first, before he figures out what to say. It takes a long moment.

"I'll make it two if you take a promotion."

"Two thousand a week? I'm listening," Autor says, leaning forward and steepling his fingers.

"Run the house. Take care of the bills and all the other bullshit. Field the calls, deal with the landscaper and the security company. You've got that German accent. Make it scary and get shit done."

Wilford can be a bit delusional sometimes, but he's perfectly aware of how not-scary he can sound, especially over the phone.

Autor considers this, tilting his head. "Seems we have an agreement," he says, offering a hand.

Wilford nods and shakes Autor's hand.

"You start today."

Autor stands, and offers Wilford a little bow. "All right, then. I'll go home and clear the mail off your table. See you later, Wilford."

Before Autor gets too far away, Wilford snaps his fingers and pulls his steno pad out of his inventory. He writes down a series of numbers onto a page and hands it over.

"Memorise it. Burn it. It's in the bedroom closet," he says, assuming Autor can recognise a safe combination when he sees one.

Autor takes the combination, looks it over, and then pulls a lighter out if his pocket. He sets fire to the paper, and watches it burn until he can't hold it anymore without the flames licking his fingers. Dropping the remains, he grinds the burnt paper underfoot until the fire goes out. "There. Anything else?"

Wilford nods and waves Autor on his way. He's probably got work to do.

Jim is very distracted when he comes in today, so it's a bit of a *blink blink* moment when he's presented with money, and a box of fireworks. Both are regarded with immense suspicion...but that doesn't mean he's going to turn them down. He could do with some loud noises to brighten things up a bit.

How best to use them, though? He has a few - dozen - ideas. For now he'll just take them upstairs while he sorts some work issues out...but he'll bring them back down in the morning. He'll have earned some fun by then.