and don't forget that there is someone up above

[confidenceman]

It's been a long time since Sawyer's turned steadily to drink. The Island never let a person run too far away from their troubles, not in this way. When you had to carefully pick and choose the things that were brought into your world, the conscious decision to avoid bringing vices was easier. There was no profit motive, nothing for the Island to gain from it. That just wasn't why anyone went there in the first place.

But here in Darrow, the bartenders are nothing but encouraging when they fill Sawyer's glass to the brim.

Being in the city's been difficult. He knows that his life on the Island was destroyed, razed down to the ground, and that there ain't any meaningful rebuilding of that to be had. It's the idea that there's been some other part to his life that he can't fully remember, a case of memories mostly beyond his reach, that has him drinking now. A complication that he didn't foresee, that he doesn't know how to process, and the only way to get him to stop thinking about it is to make it impossible to think at all.

"I need your keys," the bartender said, and Sawyer snorts in amusement before tossing over the keys to the truck he uses for construction work.

"Wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon, anyway," he grits in reply before downing the rest of the glass.

Comments

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt slides onto a bar stool next to a shaggy-haired gentleman who looks like he's seen better days. He orders a beer from the bartender but can't stop stealing glances at the other guy. He wants to say something because he's Newt Geiszler and doesn't know how to stay quiet for very long, not even when he's alone in the lab after Hermann has huffed away to bed.

And isn't that why he's here, anyway? For the first time in a decade, there's nobody to tell him how unprofessionally dressed he is or how poor his eating habits or that he really ought to get some more sleep because the bags under his eyes are starting to get thicker than his frames can hide. It's too quiet in his head, and he takes a long chug of his drink to try to fill the void.

He spends a full ten seconds debating whether it's a good idea to engage a guy who could probably snap his neck with just one look before leaning towards him with a wry smile. "So what are you trying to forget?"

[confidenceman]

Sawyer's pretty sure that he's had enough alcohol by now for the fumes to be practically wafting from his body, but if there's someone bold enough to chat him up through all of that, he's not going to deny them. He glances over, quickly assessing the man — glasses, tousled hair, every bit the nerd, with a couple of sleeve tattoos peeking out, as though that might be enough to override the rest. It's that part which intrigues him. Either it's trying too hard, or...

...yeah, it's trying too hard.

"A life that I left behind, only to end up in this strange city without an exit. And believe me, I know how dramatic it sounds," says Sawyer, watching as the bartender fills his glass halfway with whiskey, enough for Sawyer to tilt it back for a significant gulp. "But at least I didn't say it was a woman."

Reaching out, Sawyer tugs on one of the small crystal bowls on the counter, filled with stale pretzels, and slides it between them. "Your turn."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt pretends not to notice that the guy's sizing him up--there's really not much to size--and straights his posture, puffs his chest out a little when he sees him glancing down at this tattoos. He's used to people calling him out on them, though mostly because the people where he comes from just don't get why a person would ink themselves with creatures that caused so much destruction. Newt has never felt like he has to justify himself, it's his goddamn body, and he'll do what he wants with it. Oh, right, but the guy is talking now and Newt should probably listen since, well, he's the one who struck up conversation, and he reaches into the pretzel bowl that has appeared next to him and chews as he tries to think of the nutshell answer.

"Also not a woman," he says. Not a woman, no, but over a decade's worth of monsters. "I saved the world and now I've got shit to show for it other than nightmares and nosebleeds. So I guess we're both a little dramatic."

[confidenceman]

Saving the world, having nightmares, and suffering nosebleeds. It's a mix that Sawyer's all too familiar with, though he still isn't sure that they ever managed the first part of the three. He stares closely at the young man, wondering if he's being screwed with, then thinks better of it and reaches out for a few pretzels of his own, breaking off halves in his hands. Crunching a few in his mouth, Sawyer breaks his gaze before kicking back half of his glass, relishing the burn of the alcohol down his throat, settling warmly in his stomach.

"You didn't, by any chance, save the world from an island, did you?" Sawyer asks, brows furrowing. "Didn't happen to be on a little island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?"

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt eyes his new bar buddy, leaning back as far as he can go without toppling his stool over, beer in hand. "Pacific, yes. But it wasn't an island that was causing the damage, more like a big hole on the ocean floor." He furrows his brow, thoughtful now because saving the world from an island... "Yours sounds interesting, though. Care to elaborate?"

[confidenceman]

"Oh, jeez, you're one of them scientists, aren't ya?" Sawyer huffs a laugh, letting his forehead fall against his palm and massaging briefly before he pulls back to reach for his glass, not drinking from it yet. "Look, if I tell you, you gotta promise not to try and make me explain all those little details that I ain't ever understood in the first place. But the Island was this place with massive electromagnetic energy. Needed other people to look over it, release it every now and again, otherwise the whole damn island started shifting places and through time. Not to mention that there was a murderous, smoke-like sonuvabitch that was trapped there, and if he escaped, all hell would let loose."

He takes a deep breath, then exhales, air whistling through his teeth. "You know, saying it aloud doesn't help it make a lick more sense in my head."

[sciencesaggressively]

"It's not that obvious, is it?" Newt downs the last of his drink and signals to the bartender for another, plus one for the other guy. "I have actively tried my entire life not to be one of them scientists, I hate the stereotype. I mean, I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a smart guy, full-on genius, dude. It's just the image, it's so... I don't know, boring, with the sweater vests and the tweed." The Hermann, basically, which Newt is now realizing he actually doesn't that that much.

Anyway, he moves past it quickly enough because whoa, an islands and electromagnetic energy, and doesn't that sound familiar. Sounds like the plot of some campy movie or something, but hell, he's way past doubting anyone's story after what he's seen. "No, dude, I mean, I don't know about the whole time travel shifting thing or smokey murderers, even though that sounds awesome, I just really like to know how things work, you know? But uh, looks like you came out of it alive, so... Cheers?"

[confidenceman]

He hates how surviving is always something that people assume ought to be congratulated, as though life always has a positive value. But Sawyer knows well as anyone that that ain't true; plenty of people are more of a sink on society than an asset. That's just a fact, no matter how wide or narrow one draws the circle. There isn't as much utility in being the last one to survive, and Sawyer can't help but think sometimes that he'd give anything to pass off what he has now to someone who could have made greater use of it.

How different things would be if he were the one to get trapped on that submarine, not Sun.

Or if he'd grabbed the bomb that he'd been the one to tamper with in the first place.

Been the one to swim down into the ocean and come up with a way to communicate, even when only minutes from suffocating.

The fact that he lived isn't a cause for celebration. Sometimes Sawyer's convinced that it's harder to be the one left behind. So he ignores that part, giving it no more acknowledgment than a slight tensing of his jaw.

"It's pretty damn obvious given the way you talk. I ain't an idiot; I don't think all scientists are folks that don't know how to get along with people. Or terrible with fashion. But you just blew that outta the water and went all the way into..." Sawyer huffs an exhale, shaking his head. "Hipster territory. Them tatts and those glasses."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt frowns at the term. Hipster. He vaguely remembers that being a thing that was in vogue--at least with a lot of the college crowd--just before he got recruited to the PPDC. He'd been teaching at MIT then, and yeah, okay, he recalls the thick frame glasses with the fake lenses, the skinny jeans, the tattoos of infinity signs, anchors, skulls, stars, lyrics that probably wouldn't seem so meaningful a decade later. And sure, he can see why Texas Ranger makes the comparison.

"My glasses actually are what allow me to see, if that makes a difference. The tattoos, well, they don't exactly make me a valued guest at parties. People are sensitive about seeing art featuring monsters that destroyed their lives, isn't that funny?" He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes because he's never, not once, been bashful about his tattoos, he's never regretted getting any of them. Each one represents something very specific, a reminder of moments that changed his life and ruined others'. He doesn't want to think about it right now. "So you're diving headfirst into the booze because of crazy little island of yours?"

[confidenceman]

"No. 'Cause I managed to escape the damned place and yet landed my ass here," Sawyer says curtly, wanting to move past the topic and preferring not yet to dive into all of the reasons why this place unnerves him, with all those people who remember him from another life that he doesn't fully remember living. And with unfinished business lingering with a couple of individuals that Sawyer doesn't trust himself to handle well. He's drinking thanks to the fights he's starting to remember, thanks to a woman all wrapped up in blankets and sheets, thanks to the multiple times he remembers people sitting by his side after too much to drink.

Just like this.

"Hold on," Sawyer adds, grunting in frustration with himself before he leans in, eyes narrowing as he gets a better look at the guy's tattoos. "Ain't a single one of these things look familiar to me. The hell are they? And they ain't around here, right?"

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt can take a hint. He's not good at taking hints, but he's definitely capable of it. Texas Ranger doesn't want to talk about his island and that's fine, Newt is patient when he wants to be, when he's not a step away from becoming a full on rock star. So he lets go of his curiosity, for now, in favor of giving TR what he seems to really need-- a distraction.

He smiles into his drink when TR starts to more closely examine his arm. He wonders if he'll ever get tired of explaining what the kaiju are, how awesome they are, what it had meant for the world to drift with them. Doubtful, he decides. Most people had tended to just give him dirty looks when they saw his tattoos, not even bothering to ask him about them. At least here, he's getting a chance to explain. Not that he's ever felt the actual need to, it's just a vibe that he's realizing he appreciates.

"Definitely not from around here, unfortunately. Well, I mean, I guess it's not unfortunate, kaiju aren't exactly man's best friend. But uh, I studied them. Extensively. They've basically been my life for the past ten years."

[confidenceman]

Sawyer's never stayed in the same place for very long, nor has he ever been motivated towards something constructive for more than a couple of years running, so the idea of devoting oneself to the study of a creature for a decade goes plumb over his head. He arches a brow at the guy, tempted to ask if it was worth it. Then again, looking back on his own life, he can't say that his drifting lifestyle was any better. The three years he spent anchored to one spot might have been the best he ever knew.

Of course, having it ripped away suddenly still made him wonder if it was ever meant for him.

"Means that you might be rough on finding a job?" Sawyer asks, not waiting for an answer before he leans back and takes another sip out of his glass. "But a name don't tell me too much about them, other than the fact that it sounds like it's Japanese or something. Real life counterpart to Godzilla?"

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt waves a hand carelessly, maybe a little to close to TR's face but he barely notices because those drinks had come in some pretty tall glasses, okay, and he might be feeling just a little bit buzzed. "I'm not worried. I've got the eight million other doctorates, somebody will take me." He pauses, looks to TR because wait, is he worried? He's a little worried now. "Somebody will take me, right?"

He orders a shot because he hates feeling helpless and would rather let the feeling go numb than deal with that negativity. He does brighten a little when TR mentions Godzilla, though. "Yeah, kinda, except more real and way more badass, dude. Like... wow, I could talk about them all day, there are all kinds of different categories and sizes and they've got different traits but they're all part of a hive mind." Newt's pretty sure he's got stars in his eyes right now, espeically when he sees the expression on TR's face, but it's the guy's own fault. You don't get a kaiju expert started on the subject of kaiju and expect him to slow down at all. "They're way toxic, basically biological weapons, like their blood? Whoa, it's called kaiju blue, if you touch it, you're already as good as dead. Breathe it in, you're screwed, too. These guys are awesome." He puffs his chest out, proud. "And I'm the one who figured out how to stop them from, you know, exterimnating mankind."

[confidenceman]

"You're askin' the guy who didn't finish the ninth grade, I don't think I'm the one for you to ask when it comes to job opportunities," Sawyer tells the scientist, just for a bit of clarity. He doesn't mind having someone flaunt their education in front of others. Hell, if he had half the patience necessary to sit through class and write enough papers to earn several doctorates, he'd be parading it around too, just like he already parades the fact that he's pretty damn familiar with guns and other weaponry.

But he listens to the scientist's explanations anyway, with enough background in science fiction to paint a fairly complete picture of the threat at hand. "Right, so you've got these monsters, and chances are they're communicatin' on some level that we ain't capable of, and they hate us enough that that makes 'em band together in that hive mind or whatever," he speculates, drawing aimless circles against the counter. "So did someone push 'em to the point where they became massive living bombs against humanity, or did God just have a ball and decide to leave us some landmines deep under the sea? And, here's the better question. Say they end up swarmin' Darrow. You gonna start building up defenses for us to fight 'em now, or are you gonna let that bridge wait until if and when we cross it?"

[sciencesaggressively]

"Well, you don't look like you're the type who lets himself end up on the bottom of the food chain either, so... I can respect that." Newt thinks TR would have made a good Ranger. He seems kind of angsty and a lot rugged around the edges but he hadn't met a Ranger who wasn't. He'd never really understood why until he'd drifted himself--and his drift hadn't even been with a human the first time. Drifting changes a person, had changed Newt because he can still remember every thought and image Hermann had shown him in the drift and even though the memories of the kaiju hive-mind are fading, he can still feel how badly the Precursors had craved destruction. He wonders if TR had someone he'd been--for all intents and purposes--drift compatible with and if he'd lost that person, if that's why he's sitting here now in this bar, talking to a guy like Newt.

He figures that poking at that subject, at least right now, would end the conversation pretty abruptly and even though he's not entirely sure why, he really doesn't want that. "For someone who didn't finish the ninth grade, you're pretty much nailing it. I don't know about God or whatever but the kaiju were engineered by, stay with me, these... alien beings. Precursors, they opened this portal, the Breach, between our world and theirs because they wanted to take over. It's really quite amazing what they were able to accomplish, actually, in a matter of just over ten years, they nearly had us beat. Every kaiju that came through the breach was a better version of the last, they were evolved." He knows that it's easy to mistake his interest for admiration but damn, the kaiju were an infinitely amazing research topic. "As for them showing up here, I don't know. I guess it's possible, but there is no defense that will stop them. Not unless there's a nuclear reactor available for us to destroy any new breach, assuming the Precursors don't just come up with a better way to get at us."

And isn't that a lovely thought? "Bartender? Another drink, please."

[confidenceman]

There's every possibility that Bill Nye over here is simplifying things a great deal, but Sawyer follows the gist of it easily enough. He's always thought that anyone bold enough to presume that they were on the top of anything was really just blowing hot air, that even the most powerful and intelligent of people can be toppled in a given moment. He knows that being human more often feels like a weakness than a strength, leaving him susceptible to temptation, to loss, to grief and to anger. So he simply swirls his liquor in the glass, kicking back another burning gulp before holding it out for the bartender to refill.

"I'm pretty sure I ain't got to be well-educated to think that maybe, just maybe we ain't the most intelligent species out in the universe. Sure, we ain't the bottom of the food chain, I can appreciate that, but hell, we're sittin' pretty on a whole lotta resources that we ain't even making the most of, if you believe the liberals," Sawyer reasons, reaching out for another few pretzels to pop into his mouth. "It's a darn thing though, if you managed to stop somethin' like that. Though if they're just weapons, my guess is that it's just a matter of time until these Precursors find a way to make an even better weapon. Annihilate us in one go. Maybe they've even got an eye on us here in Darrow, if there ain't anythin' we'd be able to do to stop them."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt grins at that because okay, TR could beat his ass to a pulp, of this he has no doubt, but he's also stoked that this is a conversation he's having with some random guy he'd decided to bother in a bar. "I totally agree, dude. I mean, homo sapiens have been around for maybe two hundred thousand years, and we've already managed to eat away at the atmosphere? Way to go, us."

He sighs because he thinks TR's right, it really is a only a matter of time before the Precursors make another takeover attempt. Maybe not in their lifetime, but Newt is certain of that being a possibility in the future and who knows what they could come up with in that time? It had taken twelve years to figure out how to destroy the Breach, and it wouldn't even have happened if Newt hadn't drifted with two damn kaijus. "Yeah, well, I'd totally be working on kaiju research right now in case any more were going to pop up, but it looks like that's off the table for the unforeeable future. Cheers."

[confidenceman]

"Can't do research if they're not 'round, hmm?" Sawyer mutters, mostly assuming as he raises his own glass with a quirk of his brow. This kid's like some cross between Daniel Faraday and Arzt, but fortunately less annoying than either. Probably gets laid more than either of them; it'd explain the relative lack of tension and the ability to get on by without being too hung up on a person.

Either that, or maybe science was really genuinely pleasurable to the guy.

"You got a name?" he asks, raising his gaze before kicking back the rest of his glass, whatever it was. Maybe he's had a bit too much, but the night's still relatively young and he'll probably have sobered up by the time he gets kicked out.

[sciencesaggressively]

"Exactly, my friend, exactly." He groans, dropping his chin to his chest because it's agony. He hasn't taken a vacation that wasn't forced since he'd started with the PPDC and that's what he's considering this to be--an extended vacation except without the promise of return.

"Newt Geiszler. I'm guessing your name isn't Texas Ranger, that's what I've been calling you in my head this whole time. Not like, in that old timey Chuck Norris way, though." He's starting to not make sense, which he's okay with, but it also means he's probably had three drinks too many. He likes the feeling, though, that drifty--ha, drifty--feeling that makes him feel just a little removed. It's the distraction he's been looking for.

[confidenceman]

"Newt." A weird-ass name for an equally weird-ass guy, which only draws the Arzt comparison even further. Sawyer just hopes for Newt's sake that the guy can find something about this place to be positive about soon, else he might end up poking his nose in rather explosive and ill-advised places.

With a small breath, Sawyer offers a small grin and held his hand out for a shake. "Call me Sawyer," he says with a slight raise of his chin. "I wouldn't be offended by a comparison to Chuck Norris, though I ain't from Texas. Alabaman, born and raised. You got any friends from home about, Newt?"

[sciencesaggressively]

"Alabama, huh? Never made it there, spent most of my years in the U.S. on the east coast." He hadn't even made it out of Boston very much, to be honest, having been so busy with working on earning his doctorates, not to mention being a teenaged lecturer. Leisure time hadn't been a big thing, hasn't been a big thing probably since the age of like, eight. Though to be fair, Newt had thoroughly enjoyed his studies, so it's not like he feels like he missed out on a giant chunk of life.

"But nice to officially meet you, Sawyer." He tries to meet Sawyer's hand with a firm grasp but misses the first time and is sloppy about in the second. "I've got one, yeah, his name's Chuck. Supposed to be dead but y'know." He shrugs nonchalantly, it's at the point in the evening where he can't even question it anymore. "Shit happens, I guess, not like I'm complaining. Nice to have someone around who gets it, you know? 'Specially when there's dudes running around with faces you recognizes but they turn out to be completely different people, that is distressing." He sighs, glances over at Tex-- Sawyer. "How 'bout you?"

[confidenceman]

He snorts when Newt's first attempt at a shake misses entirely. Kid's a lightweight where liquor's concerned, but that doesn't surprise Sawyer given the story that's being painted of his earlier life. Sawyer can imagine it, a thin little gangly thing heading in and out of the lab all day, rather than actually stopping to make friends his age, never mind hitting up bars. That's where their paths diverge, Sawyer supposes. They've both been driven to learn from a young age, something that's never stopped for either of them, but Sawyer's brand involved needing to learn about people. Newt's, less so.

"Supposed to be dead," Sawyer says with a muted note of interest. Mostly, he's still wondering whether or not there was something that happened to him, something that explains why he's the only one of that handful of people who were on the plane to wind up here. Wouldn't it just be damned fitting if he had a heart attack or something else to keep him from getting properly off that island? But more importantly, hearing things like how dead people can wind up in Darrow makes his thoughts turn towards a certain woman. Every single time.

"I ain't got anyone I know from my home world 'round here, though there are a few people who claim that they knew me somewhere else before gettin' here. Been having these... memories show up, too," he breathes, throwing caution to the wind. Not like this guy seems like a threat. "Outta nowhere, and of another island. Oh, and there's someone here who shares a face with a woman I slept with, but apparently ain't the same broad. Makes me double-take every time I see her."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt offers him a silly smile even as he sets his glasses down on the bartop so he can rub at his eyes. "Hey, remind me to grab those before I leave, okay? It's my only pair, dude, do not want to be running around without them." He's so not embarrassed about his cheap date status, he's never been very good at holding his liquor but that's never stopped him from enjoying the fun that usually comes out of bar outing. They'd been rare in the past decade, but he'd hit the Bone Slums here and there with some of the more adventurous lab techs and even Tendo--thought it had resulted in at least one of them getting mugged every time. He feels like there's less chance of that here. Darrow is a strange place, but it's not even remotely like the Slums.

Something in Sawyer's tone catches Newt's attention, though, even in his alochol-infused state. He puts his chin in his hand and tries to focus on Sawyer's face. "You're not supposed to be dead, are you? 'Cause that would probably suck. I don't know. I've never had to worry about it. Your lady friend, though, or I guess she's not your friend, that sounds awkward as shit, man."

[confidenceman]

Sawyer is tempted for a second, though fortunately only a second, to play a prank on Newt somehow with those glasses. Hell, the guy called out the attention to his own vulnerabilities without Sawyer even having to pry, which is always deserving of an advantage being taken. But one look at his smiling, unassuming face and Sawyer decides against it. Something about him, stubbornly positive in spite of the risks that he's taken, and Sawyer can't help but wonder if this guy isn't someone who's seen the front lines. He's too damned positive to be a soldier.

"Why're you even takin' them off in the first place?" Sawyer snorts, before tugging the pair of glasses slightly to the side, where neither of them is liable to accidentally slam a heavy tankard of beer on top. Sniffing, Sawyer glances blearily back up at Newt with a heavy expression. Thankfully, only caused by the alcohol.

"Nah, I ain't dead. 'Least I don't think I am. Might argue that those who did are in a hell of a better spot than me right now, though. But I can't imagine havin' to be here after dying. Hell." He takes another swig of his drink. "What a letdown that'd be."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt stares at the drink in front of him because he can't even remember ordering it, but he shrugs and swallows it down. He's vaguely aware that Sawyer is doing something with his glasses, but he can't even find it in him to care right now. He's just going to assume it's for a good reason because the guy hasn't done anything super dickish to him yet, that's a good sign, right? "Gettin' dizzy," he slurs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "But now everything's blurry, so lose-lose?"

"Maybe we're all dead," Newt says, but that's a really depressing thought and he frowns, swinging his head to look Sawyer right in the eyes. He leans in a little and through his haze, he's pretty sure he looks like an idiot right now, but it doesn't matter. Does anything matter? He's not sure if anything matters. He moves a hand to clap down on Sawyer's shoulder. "Hey, man. At least there's booze here, right?"

[confidenceman]

"Wouldn't be surprised if we were," Sawyer admits, watching Newt with a distant and amused look, before deciding to reach for his glass of ice water instead of the rest of his drink. Newt's already got the look of a man long gone and just clinging to the edge of the table, and without any guarantee of his recovery time being quick, Sawyer's quickly seeing himself saddled with the task of taking Newt home.

Weirdly, he doesn't mind.

"Speakin' of booze, think we should probably cut back before you start prayin' to the porcelain gods," he points out, reaching out for a couple of pretzels and popping one over to Newt. "Do you remember where you live?"

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt heaves a sigh, nudging the now empty glass in front of him toward the bartender who shakes his head and takes it away, replacing it with a water and Newt's bill. He picks up piece of paper, ignoring the water entirely, and squints at it until he remembers he's not wearing his glasses. He reaches over Sawyer to grab at them, accepting the pretzels he's offered as he focuses back on the check.

"Yeah, dude, Dem--" He frowns, looking over to Sawyer with his tongue sticking the slightest bit out because the word's right there. "Demure... Help me out, man." He waves his hand nonchalantly because he's sure Sawyer will understand then moves to pull his wallet out of the inside of his jacket. "These drinks sure aren't cheap, man, next time we gotta find a bar for people on a budget. Or, y'know." He giggles to himself but it turns into a hiccup. "People who have jobs."

[confidenceman]

Newt has all the look of a confused puppy stumbling over his water bowl, a child-like level of coordination that Sawyer meets halfway by pressing a palm against the guy's forehead to keep him still while Sawyer pushes his glasses back on. Not that it really matters, because there's no way that Newt's in shape to give reasonable taxes, so Sawyer simply grabs both receipts and adds a twenty percent tip. The server was decent, anyway, and the city drops enough in bank accounts per month that he's not going to miss out on any meals by coughing up Newt's share.

"Dimera Apartments," he sighs, rolling his eyes slightly before he gets to his feet, holding a hand out for Newt. He's curious to see how well the other man might be able to stand on his feet. Fortunately, he also seems like a small enough guy that Sawyer might be able to handle carrying the weight all the way back.

Since that's where he's headed, anyway.

"And you're in luck, 'cause that's where I live, too. You're treatin' next time, by the way. So get a damn job," he adds, lips mildly quirked.

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt blinks up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused, but at least he can see past a general blur now. He's half-aware of Sawyer slapping money down for both checks onto the bartop, and he makes a mental reminder that he already knows he'll forget to majorly take care of his new friend the next time they're out together, what a gentleman.

"That's the one," he says with a firm nod, reaching out for Sawyer's extended hand and he feels stable enough but that's before he actually puts one foot on the ground and nearly collapses on the spot. He lets out a snort, sloppily pushing himself up off the ground. He pokes at Sawyer's chest, leaning his head back way more than he really needs to so he can look up the guy. "It's a good thing I am so very much not going to remember this happened because wow, how embarrassing."

He takes a small step forward, and it's better, but the next one is a little more shaky. "You taking me home with you? You totally got me drunk on purpose, huh, dude?" He hiccups again then stops short, taking on a deceptively sober expression. "No but seriously, man, seriously. This is really cool of you because you could totally have like, y'know, left me here so thanks for being cool, you're a good friend. Yeah, you're my friend now, okay, deal with it because I'm so not leaving you alone after this."

[confidenceman]

It looks like Newt's legs are much faster to go when drunk than his mouth. Sawyer would try to muster the strength to be annoyed, but more than anything, he's trying to figure out the logistics of getting Newt home. He could call a cab, but it just feels like such an unnecessary cost when the apartment's not honestly all that far away, and also when he can't be sure whether or not Newt is the type of guy to feel nausea when moved too far after drinking. He snorts, slightly broken out of his thoughts when Newt starts babbling on and on about friendship and not leaving Sawyer alone, which... well, Sawyer doesn't think that kind of loyalty's possible to build after one night of drinking.

He could be wrong, though. And strangely finds that he wouldn't mind so much if he is.

"If you ain't gonna remember anything from tonight, then you probably ain't gonna remember much of my name or face, either," Sawyer points out with a slightly aggravated sigh, then gives a preemptive glare to those around him before crouching down and turning his back to Newt. "Get on. You can't even walk ten steps; I ain't interested in pulling your arm from its socket to get you home."

[sciencesaggressively]

Newt shakes his head so hard that it nearly makes him throw up. He takes a moment to compose himself, taking this time to trip back over to the bar to gulp down some water. He turns back to Sawyer with a goofy smile. "No, dude, I will totally remember, okay?" He taps at his temple and gives Sawyer a look that implies that he should clearly understand what Newt's trying to say. "I'm a genius. But if you wanna like, write your name down for me or whatever, I'll swing by with a fruit basket or something." He really wants to remember, he really does. If he's not going to get out of Darrow anytime soon, he wants to be able to make friends in a way he hadn't had the luxury to back at the 'Dome. He'd been way too busy, too focused on his work to care about what most people thought about him, not that he'd ever really felt lonely, he'd always had Hermann and he got way too much of a thrill out of being elbow-deep in kaiju to cry into his pillow about not having a million friends. Still, the fact that he might be making some here, now, is... Well, it's just nice.

He squints as Sawyer crouches down and even through the hazy cloud that is his mind, he's pretty sure this is a thing that has the potential to be so humiliating. But he's wobbling in place and is finding it hard to remember how to find his balance, so he practically falls forward onto Sawyer's back with a loud oof and drapes his arms over Sawyer's shoulders. "We never talk about this ever, 'kay?"

[confidenceman]

"I lived on a tropical island for years; I'm pretty sure I can do without a fruit basket," snorts Sawyer, though he appreciates the thought. Truth be told, he almost likes the thought of having Newt stick around in whatever fashion suits him, even though he can't quite break away from the thought that Newt would probably be better off without someone like Sawyer. Sometimes he's just a disaster waiting to happen, even though he likes to think that there's nothing in the city that would drive him to where he was only weeks ago.

Never say never, though.

Else, he never would have believed that he'd be one day toting around a drunken scientist on his back. If it were Jack, after all, he'd probably just drop the guy and make him walk it off.

"Sorry, can't hear you from back there," Sawyer says, teasing, before he hefts Newt higher and starts lumbering for the door, more than a few laughs following behind the both of them.