we're hollow like the bottles that we drink

[schnapp]

Who| beth greene and you.
What| the arena's done and she's back from a traumatizing canon update. drinking? drinking.
Where| the tribute center bar.
When| post-arena
Warnings/Notes| mentions of alcohol, natch. more to be added.



All things considered, she's surprised that the Capitol kept her new scars. It didn't seem like they would have, since she can see the billboards spanning the city that promote perfection in every physical aspect - all possible by plastic surgery, they boast. These scars weren't there the last time she was in the city, but they are now. The healed-up versions of them, remnants of Dawn's temper - being pistol-whipped across the face isn't something that just goes away.

Beth doesn't care. She doesn't know what it says about her, if it supposedly tells the world that she's weak and not worth saving like the ones hidden by her sleeves. It doesn't matter, because she's in the Capitol now, and not Grady Memorial. And it's honestly hard to tell which she'd prefer more at this point.

She'd had her first drink only a few weeks ago. Her dad used to be an alcoholic, and she'd never wanted to disappoint him. But he isn't here, and -- well. She has the blood of three men on her hands now, even though she doesn't want to admit it. Beth makes her way down to the bar with the unease of someone who is not used to being there. Chin tipped up, ready to challenge anyone who tells her that she's too young to be here.

They ask her what she wants and she replies with the first thing that pops into her head - the only other alcoholic drink she really knows, other than moonshine.

Peach schnapps.

Doesn't matter that you're not supposed to drink peach schnapps by itself. That's what she does anyway.

Comments

[schnapp]

Beth had thought his flannel-clad back had looked familiar for a moment when she'd entered the bar. His hair was too short and too grey to be Daryl's, but most of the people in the Capitol don't tend to favor old man flannel anyway. He'd been drinking the last time she saw him, too. Which is actually a little worrying.

He tells her that she's basically drinking it wrong, and she considers it for a moment before she takes a sip. It's very, very sweet. Very...peachy. Almost overwhelmingly so.

"Alright, well. What would you drink it with?"

As long as he's not admonishing her for being here, she doesn't mind admitting that she's got no idea how to navigate any of this.

[aintyourdad]

To be completely honest, peach schnapps is not really his kind of liquor. So he wouldn't drink anything with it, but Joel has a good memory. He racks his brain for a moment and shrugs.

"Fuzzy navel," he drawls. "With orange juice."

[schnapp]

Fuzzy navel. She has to laugh a little, mostly because he's saying it, as deadly serious as he is. The laughter fades in a minute though, as does her smile. Beth looks over at what he's drinking and asks for one of those.

"I've never had whiskey before," she murmurs, before taking a sip. Scrunching up her face the appropriate amount, even though the burn of it is actually kind of soothing in a way. "It's better than moonshine."

[aintyourdad]

"Everything's better than moonshine," Joel points out, his face softening just a fraction at her laughter. "The whiskey here is alright, though. Keeps you warm."

[schnapp]

"I can feel that," she mumbles, because it seems to burn its way down all the way down her chest. Beth considers it for a moment and downs the rest of it in one go. Which might seem a lot, considering her size, but she downed way more moonshine than that without any trouble.

Beth appraises him for a moment. He still looks sad and tired, and it evokes sympathy from her because she remembers seeing the exact same expression on Rick's face, time and time again.

"Y'know, you kinda look like you'd have a nice smile."

If he ever showed it, anyway.

[aintyourdad]

Joel quirks an eyebrow, not so much at her words but assessing just how drunk she is, if she's saying shit like that.

"Not a lot to smile about," he says finally, taking another sip of his whiskey.

[schnapp]

Not even a little bit drunk, okay. She's trying to change the topic so she doesn't have to think about dying, or killing people. It's just inconsequential small-talk, harmless teasing that lets her escape everything even if it's only for a little moment.

"I guess not. I'm just sayin'. That's what you look like."

Just play along, Joel. Because she's ordering herself another to replace the one she just downed, and the other option is just drinking in silence.

[aintyourdad]

Unfortunately, if she's looking for distraction, Joel isn't the greatest conversational partner.

"Thanks, I guess," he mutters. "Don't drink too much, you'll just make yourself sick."

[schnapp]

"Yeah, I know," she's not drinking this one just yet. She's just staring at it, fingers curled uncertainly around the bottom of the glass. Looking as if she's about 2 seconds away from crying, but she's not going to because that's absolutely not allowed. "Are you feelin' any better, at least? From the last time I saw you."

[aintyourdad]

"There is no 'better' here," Joel says bluntly. "Don't worry about me."

He gives her a measured look. "At least there's plenty of booze here."

[schnapp]

Beth sighs, slightly exasperatedly. And then she sips her drink - sips it, this time. But just know that you're driving her to drinking, Joel.

"I was just...tryin' to be nice. I know everything's shitty and all but that still matters, somehow," and mostly, because being nice makes her feel a little bit better. Tiny pleasantries might not mean much after the fall of civilization, but they help her forget. Like for one second, everything might turn out to be okay.

"My daddy used to drink a lot when he was younger. Told me not to do it if you're sad, it just makes it worse," but here she is, not heeding his advice.

[aintyourdad]

Joel glances at her, feeling a flash of - well, maybe it's almost regret.

She looks so much like Sarah he can't quite look her straight in the eyes, though.

"Sometimes that's all there is to do," he points out carefully. "But he was right, anyway."

[schnapp]

"He was right about a lot of things," and she wishes she could tell him that, but she can't any more. It's too late. And obviously, bringing up her dad was a bad idea. She searches for another topic, anything. The first thing she can think of.

"What about you? Do you got any kids?"

[aintyourdad]

Ugh, that is so not the right question to ask him. Especially from that face. Joel just shakes his head, avoiding her gaze as he waves the bartender over for another drink.

"No," he says flatly, and it's true enough, even if it wasn't always the case. "Do you?"

[schnapp]

She looks kind of surprised, because seriously. What's with people assuming she has kids? Or that Judith's hers. The way he replies makes it seem like this is a touchy subject for him. Which makes Beth want to ask, but she's not going to. The temptation is there, though. She likes to take all these rough and broken people and coax out the thin bits of gentleness in them, somehow.

It really isn't easy.

"No...maybe one day. When I'm older."

After a moment, Beth gives him a sidelong glance.

"Did you just wanna drink in silence, then? I'm gettin' that impression."

[aintyourdad]

To be fair - at her age, Joel was a dad. Well, he's assuming she's eighteen, or thereabouts, which - yeah. He was a dad by then.

Not that he's telling her that.

"If I didn't want company, I would've left already," he points out with a shrug. She would definitely know if her company was annoying.

[schnapp]

"Oh, good," and she's shooting him a sarcastic look because wow, that's a compliment or something, right? That's about as close as he gets, probably. He's like an older and grumpier Daryl, complete with flannel.

"I'm flattered, Mr. Joel."

He told her not to call him that but she's being glib about it.

[aintyourdad]

He sighs heavily.

"What's your favorite food to eat here?" he offers.

[schnapp]

"Everything," Beth replies emphatically, if only just to amuse herself. "It's really amazin' how good food tastes when it doesn't come from a can. Or wasn't cooked over a fire, because it all starts to taste like smoke after a while. But nothing here's as good as my mama's cooking used to be."

Past tense, of course. Way too many motherless children in a world like theirs.

[aintyourdad]

He nods a little. Makes sense, a girl misses her mother. She's lucky she got to know hers, really.

"What did she make?" he asks.

[schnapp]

"Um. She used to make apple pie --" it makes her smile a little just remembering it. "Yeah, I know. it's such a stereotype, right. Having a pie coolin' on the windowsill, it's like a movie. But she really did that."

She pauses for a moment, looking over at him. "You don't like talkin' about yourself much, do you?" He's asking her all these questions, but answers everything she asks him with brief, grudging responses. It's just an observation.

[aintyourdad]

"No, I don't," he says - no point pretending otherwise, right? It's self-evident. Ellie very quickly realized that his life was off-limits, and she'd instead peppered him with questions about the world, the world the way it was, general things he could talk about that didn't involve his own personal pain.

Even once she did start to learn about it, it was only in bits and pieces. He's not good at it.

"Nothin' like a good apple pie, though. A la mode."

[schnapp]

It's okay if he's not good at it. A lot of folks aren't good at it, and everyone seems to have their own personal tragedies these days. She's not going to press. If he just wants to talk about the superficial, then that's what she'll do.

"Right? It was great. Is it weird that I sorta miss doin' chores, lately? I'd do anything to do the dishes or brush the horses again. I never thought I'd miss that, to be honest. It's weird."

Honestly, she'd do pretty much anything for her dad to scold her on shirking her chores, or to argue with Maggie over whose turn it was. Dumb stuff like that.

[aintyourdad]

He appreciates her willingness to not push him, anyway.

"You miss the little mundane things the most, or at least I do," he agrees with a shrug. "The shit you used to worry about that doesn't matter anymore. Like laundry."

[schnapp]

"I always hated doin' laundry," though to be honest, it's probably a near-universally hated thing, so she's in good company. "And I guess I'll always be wondering what college is like. You ever go? I think it might've been nice. But maybe the world going to hell really just saved me from havin' to pay all those loans."