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Finding glass bottles that were difficult to break and had a opening small enough that it could be easily waxed shut, proved to be surprisingly difficult. Long-neck bottles from the alleys were usually covered in filth and Dick could not bring himself to dumpster diving; particularly with everything else he had given up due to his… condition.
You see, Dick Grayson lived on borrowed time. Time borrowed from the souls he collected and had returned to their proper place. A deal with a mystic set to end with a resolution long ago forgotten, Dick was now resolved to catching and trapping the restless spirits plaguing the everyday people of Gotham City.
That is, if he can get around the need to find bottles to house the spirits until he could get the ones he’s gotten stored in his apartment. There is no one live still who knows of his curse, but he can usually find a holy man or two to help him. Even if some think he is a nutter, and are just humoring. Whatever deity they answer to still takes up the spirits for salvation or damnation all the same.
That’s what brought him to this dive of a liquor store, grabbing the cheap and obscenely colored bottles on sale for three dollars a bottle. Most of the liquid would end up down his kitchen sink, some to disinfect occupational wounds, and very little to help him sleep whenever the need arises. The bottles clink as he pushes the rusted cart to the check out, noticing the grey eyes of the cashier looking from him to the bottles to him with a questioning look.
“You got an ID for this?” The other man asked, fingers tapping on the edge of the register. He seemed impatient and Dick could not really blame him. Three in the morning was truly a weird time to be selling and buying alcohol. Though the fact that there is a liquor store open this late meant it was at least slightly profitable.
“Of course,” Dick smiled as he handed over the plastic piece of identification that for the first time in his long life had the name he was given by his father. “Slow night?” He asked as he got the card back and secured in his wallet.
The other man looked at him, Dick noticing for the first time the white streak on the left part of his ear length hair. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since the bars were supposed to have last call an hour ago.”
“Oh,” Dick shrugged.
“Yep.” The other man replied, ringing up the ninth bottle from the cart and seeming to realize there was more. “Shit, man. How many fucking bottles do you need?”
Dick scratched his head, not really having an answer to a question no one’s ever asked. Most probably thought he was some dumb kid. “They’re… Not all for me.”
“Party animal?” The cashier flashed a unreadable look before looking back at the cart. “This swill is almost too acidic for human consumption. How can you drink it?”
Dick laughed, “I don’t. Well, I drink a little on a bad night… but that’s not even a full glass.”
The cashier shook his head. “As long as you aren’t going to kill anyone with these, I can’t stop you. I guess.” He finished ringing up the last bottle, bagged the last few and put them back in the cart. “That’s going to be $56.72.”
Dick handed over the money, taking his bags. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” The cashier said, leaning on the wall behind and watching as Dick left. Dick just hoped this batch of bottles would last longer than the last. Gotham was so full of ghosts, vengeful and lost souls alike.
“You have a real problem you know that.” The same cashier said two weeks later as Dick was buying even more bottles of the same cheap brand of rain. He kind of liked the way the glass lit up his apartment when the sun hit them just right.
Dick shrugged, “I’m just buying them. Like I said last time, I don’t drink them.”
“Sure, man.” Jason, the man’s name tag read ‘Jason’. Dick was not sure why he had not looked until for the other’s name, but it seemed so strange that he had not now that he had. “$62.81 tonight, Dick.”
“What did you say?” Dick asked, staring at the man with his hand halfway into his pocket to grab the money.
“Dick.” Jason said, watching him closely. “Your name, genius. Are you drinking so much of that junk you can’t even remember that?”
Dick laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry… just a bit surprised to hear you call me that.”
“Dude, you need to get out and stop drinking that shit.” Jason suggested, handing Dick his bags.
Dick started to the door. “Have a good night, Jason.” He almost wanted to turn and see if Jason looked at his name tag to figure out how Dick has learned his name. He chuckled to himself as he left.