tampered | irish drinking song lyrics, get!

irish drinking song lyrics, get!

When; During the Titanic Curse.
Rating; ? TBA
Characters; ~~Those of you who are about to die, we salute you~~ Cowboy Bebop crew.
Summary; ~~... Oh, christ.~~ This log has been pwned by schedule conflicts, SO. What you see and do not see: The collective Bebop is cursed to believing they are five parts traveling gypsy Irish wtfever pickpockets in the third class, and our two leading ladies go and snatch the one abstention in first class, and proceed to lure him down to the party where they proceed to liquor him up, hit on him, and otherwise instigate things that are going to make Faye shower in bleach tomorrow. Surprised that they all get on as well as they do, there is much shenanigans to be had. Needless to say, Vicious is going to need aspirin and therapy ice cream in the morning, and Spike is never going to let anyone live this down, ever.
Log;

He shouldn't be down in holding, not with this riffraff! Right? Vicious looks in his reflection in some shiny bit of hull. No, no he shouldn't be down here. His fancy clothes are proof of that. Why does he suddenly feel so confused? Why is he thinking of himself as Vicious? What an odd thing to think for a man of his stature! Businessmen were not vicious. Ruthless, sometimes, but -- but then again, he's down here in third class, with his newfound friends, who were all completely brilliant and unrestrained!

Or something. He's clearly had too much to drink already, his head's clouded.

"Faye?"

((ORDER: Vicious, Faye, Julia, ~~Jet~~.
Spike will snipe in when he wakes up.
Skip as needed due to afk.
Ed and Andy, you'll have to snipe if you'd like to join in since we can't find ya'll on aim.))

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She's sitting with Julia, kicking one heel impatiently against the wooden front of a crate, the other leg crossed over her knee. Faye doesn't have a pocket watch on her, but she thinks that Alfred (that's his name and she's sticking to it) might be late, which has never been kosher with Faye really, but she's willing to look beyond it. This time. He should consider himself lucky.

When she hears her name, she looks up and hops off the crate, elbowing Julia a little in the process - friendly camaraderie or something - and she crosses her arms. "We were starting to think you'd completely stood us all up," says Faye, tapping one toe expectantly now. Her tone is a little haughty, but teasing as per usual. "That's really bad manners, you know. Just because you're first class. Sheesh."

A sidelong glance and a barely-there smile are how she acknowledges Faye's elbow.

Alfred -- she's not even sure that's his name, but they keep calling him that -- is a nice-looking guy. First-class and everything: it's enough to turn a girl's head. But...

She can't shake this odd feeling that she prefers Irish men, and for the life of her, she can't put her finger on why.

Still, she pushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder and gives Alfred a gently teasing smile of her own. "First class is no excuse for keeping a lady waiting. Much less two of them. You should know that."

Alfred? Really, guys? There will be vengeance.

"Certainly you aren't all that put out if you waited anyway," he says smoothly. Low class or not, they were beautiful women - and Julia's blue eyes strike him somewhere deep.

"So what's this you wanted to show me?"

Please don't be some Irish disease.

It's better than Bruce, and everyone knows it.

"Something better than all those stuffy, upper-class idiots you hang around," Faye covers up, just as smooth, or so she thinks, as she brushes her hair back from her face - which she does do elegantly, thank you very much.

She skips over and around Julia and hooks her arm through Alfred's, making to tug him back along the way she and Julia came. Faye winks coyly and then says, "It should make all this waiting worthwhile, at least." She really doesn't mean all of this the way that it sounds. They just really, really all think that this guy could use a good drink or five or ten. That's all. "Come on, quit wasting time."

Julia falls into step on the other side of Alfred, but she doesn't follow suit and hook her arm through his free one. Any brush of their arms as they walk along is completely unintentional.

One thing they all agreed on -- without him around -- was that Alfred was the type of man who needed to loosen up a little. They don't have a lot of money, but they know the right people in the lower decks. Showing him how to have a good time shouldn't be hard.

"Alfred, what exactly is it you do, anyway?"

There's something so familiar about him, but she knows she can't have met him before.

"I'm the leader of a worldwide crime syndicate which I forcefully took over from the previous bosses, and I kill people professionally," he informs them with no small amount of grace, Faye's arm comfortably with his. Something about her is pinging on his This Woman Is Obnoxious radar, but he's suitably distracted by her hanging all over him. Plus, cleavage.

"Or I'm a banker."

Surprise flickers over her face, and her eyes dart sideways to look at him.

He's either unreasonably bold or he has much more of a sense of humor than any of them suspected.

Either way, the answer manages to coax a low laugh out of her. "Maybe we were a little bit wrong about you after all."

(She just wishes he didn't seem so familiar. The sharp angles of his face, his eyes, the way he carries himself: she could swear she knows it.)

She's been spacing, trying to remember, exactly, which door it is they're supposed to take to get here and then which hallway and then what flight of stairs and, you know, if something terrible were to happen to this hunk of junk, they would all most likely end up trapped.

But that kind of negative thinking isn't entirely allowed in a situation like this. They've got booze coming, which, despite her obviously very ladylike mannerisms, is one of her favorite things. So really her mind is busy on these Other Things and therefore doesn't register this cleavage factor. Because she would completely slap him if she did.

"Bankers are boring," she says eventually, chiming in as if she'd never been distracted in the first place. "You should think about a career change."

He IS a banker, right? That seems right. Though the joke bit came really easy. He almost wants to check his pockets for proof that he is, indeed, a banker, but he figures he's just having a weird moment from having a drink and the moving boat - because he'd have to be a little buzzed to be down here in this labyrinth of a boat with third glass girls who might be turning tricks and waiting to rob him.

Oh well.

"And what's your career, Miss Faye? You never did introduce me to your friend, by the way..." He looks over at the blonde and gives her a little half-smile, because she's truly just fascinating in a way that makes him almost nervous. It's a good nervous, though.

Meeting his eyes through lowered lashes, she smiles demurely.

"My friend Faye is an aspiring entrepreneur, Alfred. You'll be hard-pressed to find a more enterprising mind than hers no matter where you are."

Their shoulders bump, and she just barely steps sideways to correct it as they walk down the corridor.

"...And I'm Julia."

He raises an eyebrow at that. So he is getting robbed.

"Julia. A lovely name." He'd offer her a hand, but, you know, he's got the mouthy one on him.

Okay kids, where's the booze?

Faye thinks that Alfred is such a ridiculous sounding name. Who ever even thought of that?

"This has been real great and all," Faye begins, leading them down yet another hallway. At the end of the corridor there's a room where the atmosphere is heavy with cigarette smoke and music and - yes - booze. "But pointless conversation is just that. Pointless."

So she rolls her eyes, makes a sound like 'tsk' in the back of her throat like she's extremely irritated (and she probably is, for no good reason), and opens the door. Lo and behold, the first thing they're going to be greeted with is booze.

She hardly bats an eyelash at Faye's irritation -- she's used to it (she's used to it?) -- and she can hear the music before the doors are even open.

The smoke is thick and it smells rich and boozy, and people just looking for a good time rub shoulders here with the kind of people you wouldn't want to meet anywhere else.

Somehow she feels right at home.

It's easy enough to snag drinks for all three of them, and soon enough she's gotten her hands on some cigarettes as well.

"Faye?" She offers one to each of them. "Alfred?"

"My name's--"

But someone shoves a drink in his hand so he shuts up in favor of putting his mouth to better use. It's loud, dingy, and he feels more at home here. Why? Doesn't matter. He realizes Faye still has his arm, but doesn't move.

She thinks she hears him start to say something, but Faye's too caught up in accepting her cigarette with an up-nod to Julia - actually she takes two and slides one behind her ear for later - and looking for something to drink herself that she doesn't notice nor does she particularly care that much.

"Was he saying something?" Faye half-shouts to Julia over the dull roar, hooking a thumb in their boy's direction. She doesn't exactly give her friend a chance to respond, however, as she uses her advantage of having close contact and immediately makes to swipe whatever it is he's drinking for herself.

No one puts 'em back like Faye Valentine, after all.

Smiling in spite of herself and giving a subtle shake of her head, Julia promptly helps their new friend Alfred -- that was his name, wasn't it? -- to a second glass as soon as the first is snatched away.

Faye's entitled to her drinks, but they'll never get anywhere if he doesn't have any.

She slips a cigarette between her lips and takes a moment to light it, glancing at Alfred. "You'll have to speak up in here, I'm afraid."

He takes the drink from Julia, their fingers touching as he does, and gives her a smile that seems dark but somehow isn't, mixed up in a casual shrug.

"I prefer the voices of women, and they seem so much happier to go on without the interruptions of men."

Yes, that's some intentional playing to you, ladies. He knocks back his drink like an old pro.

"Look at that, Julia," Faye says, over the lip of her glass, her eyes leveled and perhaps just a touch knowing, "he might actually have a brain." She downs her drink with an old fashioned, challenging smirk. If she can find a deck of cards, she'd like to gamble against this man and just win his money the easy way, but, for the moment, showing him up with alcohol works just as well. Besides, Faye loves a challenge - no matter the time period, really.

"But I doubt it," she finishes. From behind her, she produces three more drinks - someone is obviously pouring - and saves one for herself but hands both of her friends, new and old, one for their lack of troubles. Something in the back of her mind tells her this is completely wrong, but Faye's learned to ignore her conscience since 1905.

"Well," she offers diplomatically, barely done with the first drink before she's presented with a second, "if nothing else, he's charming."

Charm won't get him everywhere, but she has an appreciation for it.

It's discreet, but she keeps an eye on him.

It has nothing to do with the odd chemistry that's tugged on her every time they've touched and everything to do with the need she and Faye have for him to keep drinking.

This drink he just holds. He's more or less caught on by now - if they were after company, they'd be wanting him to show them around on the upper decks, and if they were after a good time, they'd be somewhere private. Instead, they're trying to get him hammered.

He doesn't really mind getting robbed, he's just curious how far they plan on going. He wonders just how much money they think he has on him.

"Tell me, what's luring you two to the Americas?"

"My family has a business," says Faye, taking her time with this round, pacing herself. How is she supposed to slip her fingers into pockets and pull out cash and coin if she's too drunk to function? It's such a pity, too, he's not at all bad looking. A little cold and he's not at all Irish, which she prefers, but if, for example, this ship went down and she had to be trapped with someone, he wouldn't be a bad choice remotely. In fact...

She shifts and comes to stand just next to him, under the guise of glancing into his drink, as if it's different from hers. "Julia's being made a partner, I guess you could say. I got to bring her back to New York. Lucky me." Her tone has a sort of arrogant flare to it, like she could and would rather be doing something else, but Julia and Faye have known each other long enough that the act is logical and familiar.

She averts her eyes for a moment, looking sideways and away from them almost as if she's uncomfortable with Faye's attitude.

She's not in the least, though, and she stops and savors a slow sip of her drink before saying anything.

"It's a good opportunity for me. I've never been out of Europe before. What about you, Alfred? What's your trip to New York for?"

"I'm--" but then he's distracted by Faye sliding up next to him. It's a polite reflex to shift and move his free hand to the small of her back, though he looks back up at Julia.

"That sounds very enterprising indeed..." he takes a tiny sip, eyes sliding momentarily to the dark haired woman, before he looks back to Julia to answer. "Business."

"What kind of business? Banker business?" asks Faye, very, well, business-like, but there's a tinkling little laugh to go along with it. She actually knows something of the subject, if conning and cheating and gambling is a business. There's also a tone to her reply that suggests she's trying to make this as impersonal as possible.

After all... business.

But Faye would be lying if she said that they'd just randomly sat down, put their heads together, and said, 'He's the one.' No, there was definite interest on both their parts - he was entertaining, for one, and seemed to have a good tolerance for alcohol, which Faye always appreciated in a person - probably more so on Julia's part than Faye's but as long as their pockets were heavier by the end of the night, no harm, no foul.

"Yeeees," he drawled, tilting back to look at the woman at his side. "Banker business." As that's what he is. He has this odd feeling at the back of his head like he should really not talk about his business. At all. Ever.

Damn, has he had this much to drink already?

"I mostly spent time in Russia, over the last few years. Where do you come from, Miss Faye?"

Faye's told this story a thousand times, but usually she has a different answer for each person she tells it to. Once she was from South Africa. Another time she came from a family of traveling gypsies. Another time, her grandfather was old money. Her favorite is the gypsy tale.

Tonight she goes with the truth. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's because it's so believable no one would ever believe it. "My family is originally from Singapore. My father relocated. We operate out of New York."

Well... two-thirds of it is true at least. On a good night, that's as good as you're going to get with Faye. Lose a few games of blackjack, and then perhaps she'd speak more on it.

"You said you spend time in Russia, but that's not where you're from, is it?" She uses her most charming voice, this time.

"But you're not all Chinese."

It's not a question - and even buzzed, he manages to sound educated by leaving out one of the wide array of potential slurs.

"No, it's not." One side of his mouth curls into a smile, almost teasing.

"Not all, no," Faye replies, as if that's all there is to it. And she's not at all surprised when their tones and clipped replies are nearly the same. Faye takes a drink. It seems like everyone in this world has things to hide these days.

She smiles as well, much the same, and says, "Another drink? The Irish know their alcohol."

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irish drinking song lyrics, get!

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