Chapter Text
With the last patrons staggering off down the hall, the process of cleaning up began. Skids gathered glasses and stacked them in the sink while Swerve wiped down the counter and tables.
“I appreciate you hanging around to help,” Swerve called across the bar. “It’s, uh, it’s difficult to get everything done on my own and still have time to relax after.”
“No problem,” Skids replied, smiling over at the bartender. “I like helping.”
Swerve pointed to a glowing puddle of fuel. “Then you’ll like this! Grab the mop, would you? Jackpot purged earlier.”
“Serves him right, thinking he could outdrink Mainframe.”
“Too bad it’s you who’s cleaning up the consequences.”
“Where in the contract does it name me the designated spewed engex mopper-upper?”
Swerve tossed the mop at him. “I’ll pay you in free drinks.”
“Fair enough. If I’ve still got an appetite after.”
He did, as it turned out. They took over one of the tables with a pair of glasses and a bottle of Circuit Fry—one of Swerve’s experimental cocktails. It proved a bit stronger than expected, and though Skids stopped after two servings, Swerve giggled his way through the rest and was left clinging to Skid’s arm, rambling in a garbled fashion about some escapade or other on Kimia.
In a moment of sudden lucidity, the minibot cocked his head to the side and asked, “We’re friends, right?”
Skids shifted in his seat. “I’d say so.”
His answer brought a wide smile to Swerve’s face. “Good…” He drunkenly patted Skids’ arm, mumbled something that sounded like, “your goo fenders,” and tipped forward onto the table.
“Yeah, I think you’ve had enough.” Skids picked up the bottle and eyed its handwritten label. Wow. Were those compounds even legal? “And this stuff is officially restricted to single shots.”