This Ain't Firewater.

""Sure," Jason said as the third gulp of alcohol disappeared, he didn't ask for another, not yet. "Until others are ready to string you up by your laces and turn you into nothing but meat because you happen to be related to one of the most notorious gangsters in town. Suppose that's just to teach the son of a bitch a lesson, but really, they're just doing him a favor." His speech was faster now and the light in his eyes was bright, glimmering with humor. "You ever get into the real dirty work?""

Asked by jasongray-sna

Randy said nothing to that. He did, however, produce from nowhere, a glass of water, which he set down in front of Jason without a word, adding ice after the fact. 

Keeping his face solemn and continuing to polish a glass, the bartender furrowed his brows and tossed back his unsightly-long hair—out of fashion with the times and getting into his face; in dire need of a trim. He seemed to honestly think about Jason’s question before bringing his head down, blue eyes placid and face composed.

“Yeah,” Randy said finally, poker-faced. “I used t’shovel manure.”

"Laughing, the younger Gray shook his head and glanced up from beneath his fringe of dark lashes as Randy corrected him. Straightening his spine, he cringed, despite his rebellion some of those ways were still stuck in his veins. Another being forgetting to say please or thank you, though he still did, just. Sometimes it slipped his mind. "Hit me," He began anew, "Please." Saying a quick thanks, he downed the drink and licked his lips. "I just don't see why people judge me for that name.""

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“You might wanna slow down,” Randy noted aloud, but set the third glass down and made the first two disappear, blue eyes flickering across Jason’s face thoughtfully. 

Giving a facial shrug, the Southerner wandered off to motion for his brother, standing eagerly in a corner, to remove the waste of space currently sleeping on a barstool nearby. 

 ”Ain’t my place to judge. People get judged for a lotta things nowadays, though. Make what y’can out of it and laugh the rest away. Only way to be.”

"Snorting, he muttered, "My brother is a fried sap who needs to go chase himself offa cliff, he's said many things to me, you think I give a rip?" Motioning for Randy to give him another shot with a smile and a wave of his hand, he added, "Hit me." Jason glanced to the stage at the singer, licking his lips, he slowly looked back to the man who managed to swallow his irritation and serve him drinks despite his name. "That's right, it's just a name. Not a pedigree, not a title, nothin'.""

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“…Almost rhymed there,” Randy pointed out, smiling slightly from the corner of his lips as he passed another glass to Jason—then paused, hand over the glass’s rim. “Where I come from, ‘please’ is a nice follow-up to that phrase,” he added lightly, then dropped the glass in front of Jason with a slosh of liquid. 

“Suit yerself.”

"Resting his chin in his hand, Jason smiled at Randy's reply, finding his words genuine enough, he looked down into his empty glass. "Suppose it is one of the finer," He sighed, "Establishments I've visited." Cutting his gaze up, he chuckled, "Consider me the type of guy who enjoys a challenge. Most think I'm screwy for even comin' out here, guess they're right. But I like it here. I like the atmosphere, the people even, despite how few I know. Not many others appeal to me.""

Asked by jasongray-sna

At least Randy still managed to maintain his charlatan parlor tricks of friendliness and hospitality—even to bimbos who didn’t deserve them as far as their gams could carry’em. He polished his glass idly and sniffed, glancing down.

 ”You’re a funny ol’ bird,” Randy muttered, shrugging a shoulder once again. “If yer brother knew you were here, I’m sure he’d have a thing or two t’say to you. But you said yer name don’t matter t’you? Did I hear right?”

"Downing the liquor in just a second, Jason squeezed his eyes shut at the warmth of the liquid, despite how biting the taste was, it did what he wanted. Exhaling slowly, he looked back up, "What made you come to this joint as opposed to all the other ones?" There was no motive to his questioning except for pure curiosity and friendly conversation so that the bartender would not hold on him immediately."

Asked by jasongray-sna

Rolling his eyes when his back was to Jason, Randy turned back with a somewhat shallow smile and shrugged a shoulder.

“Came for the view,” he replied without a touch of sarcasm. “It’s mighty pretty up in these parts, even with the city sproutin’ up as it goes. What’s your story? You coulda picked an easier speak to mosey into, pal.”

"A wide grin brightened Jason's face and he tapped the bar in thought, "I believe I'd like a shot of whiskey, will probably want more than that, but we'll see." The day had been particularly annoying, most weekends were with family dinners and underhanded insults. Crossing his arms on the counter, he finally took a good look around and decided he actually liked it there. It wasn't as uptight or paranoia-inducing as his brother's club. "How long have you been workin' here?""

Asked by jasongray-sna

Randy debated giving Jason pure arsenic, but he figured the taste would be a give-in. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before pulling away, tone flattening out to warm neutrality and the Bayou purr, as he filled up a glass with a splash of amber liquid, setting it in front of Jason with a clink and plop of ice from tongs.

“Long enough,” he said idly, walking off to get and clean a glass. He swept the rag from his waist to do so, polishing as he went.