confidenceman | and don't forget that there is someone up above

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and don't forget that there is someone up above

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.

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"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.

"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?"

"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?"

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."

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."

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."

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?"

"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?"

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."

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.

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."

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."

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?"

"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.

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and don't forget that there is someone up above

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