[ota]

[rawly]

Sonny has been on this ship for not long at all, but he is already behind the bar where he knows how to be. There's a sign on top of the advice that says Free Fuckin' Advice on top as he leans against the other side of the bar. He is not responsible for the sign for the record. Sonny is also not responsible for the fact that some people who end up at this bar will find themselves far more likely to share their troubles than they would be ordinarily. They'll suddenly find words for troubles they've never been able to describe before.

It's the ship's magic, and Sonny is a demon and a bartender who is over eighty years old. He's done some terrible things for selfish reasons, and he's done some terrible things for the good of others, and he's loved and had a family. Nothing's ever that fucking simple.

He has plenty to say, but he's going to say it all in his own fucking way.

Come have a drink.

Come spill the things you can't ever normally put to words. Come let someone listen or give a word or two that might set you on the right path or the wrong path or any fucking path.

It's what he's here for.

Comments

[rawly]

It can be dangerous to not tell things how it is.

People will sugarcoat. They'll want someone to feel better, but a person has to know what they are dealing with in order to handle it best. Sonny has never believed in giving anything other than the truth, and the truth is they both have monsters inside of them. No, he could never be afraid of her, of it. Never. Sonny swallows thickly as he sees her blinking through the tears, and his hand slides further over the side of her face as his chest aches tightly with it, painfully with it.

He closes his eyes against the burning there, leaning into her touch as she wipes the tear from his face, and he is quick to wrap his arms tightly around her too, pulling her into a protective hug as he presses his face against her shoulder, breathing her in.

It smells like her. There were times when he'd-- he'd swear he smelled this scent of hers, and he was always wrong. Sonny wraps his arms around her, and his expression crumples as the tears flow more freely, reliving that grief tearing through his chest like something terrible. His fingers slide into her beautiful hair as his eyes burn.

"I am so fucking sorry."

[leavers]

"Don't even start."

The words are said thickly against his own shoulder, her arms tightly holding him in place. She shakes her head stubbornly, almost like she can will him to swallow those words back before they ever left his mouth. Olivia knew exactly what she was getting into when she stepped into the Crowbar and accepted his help. She also knew exactly where she would've ended up if she had not done so, and she would choose the Crowbar, choose him, a thousand times over. He never did get that through his thick skull.

She can feel the tears, hot and blinding, form in her eyes, and she closes them stubbornly to keep them inside. It's strange. She knows that she is a ghost to him, but she does not feel like one. She feels alive and tangible; she feels the rough punch to the gut in the stomach at his words.

"Don't. It wasn't your fault. If you still feel guilty about it after all this time, I swear, Sonny - "

Olivia doesn't know how she planned on finishing that sentence, but she does swear.