This Ain't Firewater.

"Jaw flexing in annoyance, Jason sighed and looked up at the ceiling with a smile before telling himself just to be polite. Glancing back to Randy, he said, "I managed to get into this juicebar, didn't I? I wish to drink here. And I would prefer it if the night did not end on a low note such as being thrown out." Leaning forward, squinting, he asked, "What can I do to convince you?""

Asked by jasongray-sna

Stiffening his shoulders slightly and hitching a thumb into his belt loops, Randy pulled his trousers up marginally—then swung around to stare at Jason once more. In the right light, he could’ve been a devilishly handsome actor.

But he was in the wrong light, and he was, quite frankly, getting on Randy’s nerves.

Working his jaw and slowly leaning back against the bar, Randy asked himself what Zeb would do. Aside from shoot the obnoxious bastard, he seemed to be drawing a blank, so he smiled thinly and inquired through gritted teeth,

“What’ll it be?”

"Jason tilted his head as he felt the sweep of those deep blue orbs taking a gander at the Gray that had arrived in territory he was not welcome in. Oh well, they would have to deal with him for the night. Nodding along as the rules were set down, he laughed and looked down, "If you knew me, you'd know that Gray is just a name to me, not a lifestyle like my brother has tagged. Now," He pulled out a couple dollar bills, "Skip the hooey and serve me a drink, please.""

Asked by jasongray-sna

Blue eyes went cold as he was ordered around. Zeb was the only one who gave Randy orders. Other people asked nicely and hoped for the best. His lips curled a little more and the smile went tight as a strained gun spring—then dropped completely.

“Ah don’t think so, son,” he said snidely, pulling away from the bar with a scoff. “This is a respectable establishment. Don’t try’n be a big ol’ bimbo. I don’t buy it for a second, greaseball.” He jutted his chin at the door. “Maybe I ought to call our doorman down to show you out.”

"Many people wondered why Jason Gray decided to wander into the Orchard instead of into his older brother's own bar. Some people could call it rivalry, others just saw it as just plain disgust between the two of them that kept the little Gray far away. It had taken a while to even get into the speakeasy, he had to prove himself to not be his brother's spy or own little terrorist. The green eyed male wanted nothing to do with that. Going to the bar, he chimed "Some of ya finest hooch, please.""

Asked by jasongray-sna

Slowly dragging his cloth across the brass surface of the bar, Randy paused when he heard the faint murmuring of the crowd die down. Or maybe the canine-esque bartender caught a whiff of something charred and rotten. Either way, blue eyes lifted from the bar and a friendly smile rested on a gently-weathered face. Rolling up one sleeve, then the other, Randy slowly but surely slouched against the bar in front of Jason with an appraising look, up and down—before widening his smile.

“We’re cut off from certain parties,” Randy drawled idly. “Don’t serve no Chinks, Cath-o-lics…” His grin turned feral.

“Or Grays. Seek yer varnish elsewhere.”

"Laurie and Jason are alive, you just can't give up hope."

Asked by Anonymous

Go to hell.

";A; -latches onto the other side- shhhhh. bebe no."

Asked by Anonymous

*punches in the face.*

just leave me alone.

";A; Do you need a hug?"

Asked by Anonymous

Get the fuck out of my house.

"Baby, sshhh. It's okay. It's all gonna work out just fine."

Asked by Anonymous

I SAID FUCK OFF!