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"Thanks again for the invite, chief. You're a real sweetheart!" Axl necks the last of his third beer heartily, wiping away the froth from his mouth.
"Don't mention it." Nursing a glass of gin in one hand, Sol busies himself with one of those newfangled music devices Axl happens upon during one of his time slips. As he peruses through the albums, a small smile tugs at his lips when he spots a familiar track here and there.
"Keep it", Axl offers plainly, "got plenty of the bloody things, anyway." Of course he does.
"Think I'll pass." Sol declines, placing the device on the counter top. It's a thoughtful gesture, but he doesn't see himself getting acquainted with the flimsy thing anytime soon. Familarising himself with its interface requires more effort than he cares to afford; his collection of vinyl records do just the trick.
"Oh, go on!" Axl insists, giving him a gentle nudge. He eggs on for a bit, but his pestering quickly earns him an all-too-familiar glare from the bounty hunter.
"Ah well..." the vagabond finally relents and tucks the apparatus into his pocket.
"What harm could another one do, eh?"
Thank fucking god...
Sol gives a murmur of relief, taking a slow sip of his gin.
Axl swivels about lazily on his stool, turning his attention to the bar. It's not high on his list of good haunts, but he wasn't about to turn down an invitation from Sol Badguy.
Light pours from low hanging lamps, tinging the surroundings with a warm, amber hue. A nearby slot machine chirrups the occasional jingle and playing amidst the buzzing chatter is an oddly nostalgic track that both men find themselves softly singing along to.
"Chief, did I ever tell you how much I adore your singing?" Axl remarks playfully.
"You often do."
"Rightly so, I should say. Reckon you'd make a fine vocalist."
"Very flattering."
Time crawls as their conversation segues onto other trivial subjects. There's talk of performing arts, Queen, theoretical physics, world history and at some point Axl goes off on a tangent about praying mantises of all things which grabs Sol's intrigue.
"Such weird mating habits they've got, blimey!"
"You can say that again."
"And the little blighters have such short lifespans, too... it's kinda tragic." As Axl trails off, Sol catches sight of a snooker table not too far from where they're sitting. Completely unoccupied, no less. Axl follows Sol's gaze and immediately perks up at the sight. Sol braces himself, half-expecting Axl to leap out of his seat with glee.
"Care to indulge me, mate? It's been quite a while."
"Fuck it, why not?" Axl is already sauntering his way towards the table and and Sol grins at the pep in the other man's gait. He hasn't seen him this lively in a while and he's missed the weirdo's vivacity more than he'd like to admit, honestly. Axl hands Sol a cue as he chalks his own. Both cues show signs of wear, their handles are chipped and etched with nonsensical scribbles. They'll have to make do, though.
"Mind if I go first?"
"Sure, knock yourself out. But none of your crazy stunts, you hear?"
"Wouldn't dream of it!" He boldly gives Sol a peck on the cheek before readying his cue. He'll pay for that, Sol thinks to himself.
Axl hasn't lost any of the edge since the last time he and Sol played. He's had a mischievous streak of cheating back then, but he certainly knows better than to pull anything of the sort by now. Although buzzed, he manages to make each move with a good amount of deliberation and tact.
"Still play guitar, chief?" He lines up his cue. Just one left.
"Hardly. You?" A sharp clack follows.
"On occasion, yeah. Still need to fix one of the strings, though."
"Oh?"
"Might even serenade ya one day once I have it fixed."
"Romantic." Sol continues to watch quietly, noting the poise in Axl's form and even offers an appreciative whistle as the last few balls roll through the pockets.
"Not too shabby."
"Cheers, I think I've still got it."
"Was talking about this." Sol gestures towards Axl's backside, before giving it an emphatic smack. The time-traveler yelps.
"Wha- chief!"
"That was for earlier."
"Arse..." he kneels down, scanning the floor for any balls that would have rolled astray, coaxing a few from underneath the table. Meanwhile, Sol takes the liberty of fetching them more liquor to tide themselves over between turns and in all their wisdom, they take swigs from one another's bottle as the session continues.
By the time they decide to call it a day, Axl's bandana has somehow made its way around his elbow in his inebriated stupor, Sol accidentally snaps his cue in half with a grasp firm enough to take both of them by surprise and even more booze mysteriously materialises onto the table. They're much too sloshed to recall who won. Holding each other by the waist, they stagger towards the nearest booth they can find. Axl narrowly escapes being sandwiched between the padded upholstery as he plops himself down. He grabs Sol by the forearm as he worms his way out.
"Cripes, the bloody thing nearly ate me alive!"
"Wouldn't be the first time." Sol snorts.
They end up crashing in a tangle of limbs, relishing in their drunken euphoria. Sol cradles Axl in his arms, the latter wrapping one of his own around the Gear's neck. Sol finds himself once again on the receiving end of Axl's touches and affectionate remarks. Their little revelry goes mostly unnoticed by what little remains of the bar's patrons, not that they'd mind either way. Sol's almost forgotten how handsy Axl gets when he's had a few, but he welcomes it nevertheless. It's a little confidence booster, if anything; there's solace to be found in the fact that someone thought something of him.