Guns, Giggles, and...well, Grant..., A Grant/Button Myth

[Grant Gardener]

“The Swinging Door”
Open Mic Night
Santo
2215 hours

“And so I said ‘Cupcakes are totally an acceptable substitute for love.’, and then she killed me...in the face.......”

The chuckles that rose from the audience were good, but not great. Tonight had been a good show. Not great, but good, and Grant could live with good.

“......and then I died. Live...on stage...right here....tonight.” he continued, this time receiving actual laughter at each individual pause. “Audience, bless your face. Bless it right off for being so wonderful tonight. And if you sneezed during this special performance of the performance of my specialness, bless you! Peace off.”

The Grant Gardener theme song, which Grant himself had written in the shower one morning, just because he could, blared over the club’s speakers as he left the small stage to a smattering of applause. Not a lot of applause, but some. A bit. A skosh.

Grant sighed as he walked over towards the bar, where Jerry, the owner of the club, stood polishing the counter.

“Not a great set, Giggles.”

Grant shrugged, smiling as he took his seat. Jerry placed a bottle of cold beer in front of him, just like he did every night. Grant would only have one, and then it was off to the office to write more material.

“Can’t win ‘em all, Jer. Wasn’t bad, though. Had some good laughs.” he said.

“Hell yeah, it was bad.” said a strange voice.

Grant turned towards the sound of the newcomer, a tall man with a shaved head and entirely too much muscle for his frame. He towered over the not entirely short Grant, and scowled.

“That was the worst excuse fer entertainment I ever seen, monkey.” the man growled, his eyes unfocused and his stance a skosh unsteady. “You’re like a backbirth that’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

Grant glanced at Jerry, who gave him a look saying “If this goes bad, I’ll keep you from dying. That’s it, though. No thrilling heroics.”. Grant turned back to the newcomer and gave his best smile.

“I’m sorry the show wasn’t to your liking there, hoss, but it’s not my fault. See, my writer’s a bit of an idiot, and so my material is the best of a crap hill of words on the page.” Grant said, moving to clap the man on the shoulder, but his motion was deflected by a surprisingly deft shove.

“Don’ you touch me, monkey!” the larger man said, his voice raising in volume. “Wha’ gives you the right to touch me? Huh?!”

Grant stayed silent for once, and glanced around.

He needed help.

Not much, but a little.

A bit.

A skosh.....

[Button Gwinnett]

In all honestly, The Swinging Door wasn't the worst bar she'd ever been in. Not that that was saying much, but it was something. In fact, if she had any complaint about the place, it would probably be the entertainment. Whoever this guy was on stage, he was totally ridiculous. If absurdity, non-sequitor and stories that just sort of drifted off were your thing, this guy was right up your alley. Fortunately for Button, the alcohol got her drunk enough that he could be singing opera and she wouldn't have cared.

A dark-haired guy stepped up to the bar a few stools down. He was kind cute in that awkward, follow-you-around-forever sort of way. She turned her attention back to her beer. Even if she were looking for that sort of attention, she wasn't looking for that sort of attention. She started to think about where she'd be heading after Santo, and whether she'd be looking for another challenge soon.

And then the yelling started.

She hadn't even noticed the large, bald guy step in between her and Mr. Awkward. But she certainly saw him now, all muscle and bigness. And anger. A whole lot of anger. Whatever Mr. Awkward had said or done to the guy, he wasn't happy about it. And now Awkward was looking around helplessly. He probably had never been in a fight in his life.

Button slid off her stool and squared herself to the giant, all 5'1" of her. Taking a deep breath, she decided to intercede for Mr. Awkward the only way she knew how.

"Hey, Man-Mountain... Why don't you leave Mr. Awkward alone and pick on someone your own size, huh?"

Her fingers twitched, lightly brushing the ivory handles of her revolvers. Just in case...

This post has been edited by Button Gwinnett on Mar 19 2012, 08:19 AM

[Grant Gardener]

Grant was about to kick the behemoth in the shins and run away as fast as his wheeled shoes would carry him, screeching "WEEEEEEOOOOOOOO!" all the way, when another voice entered the conversation.

"Hey, Man-Mountain... Why don't you leave Mr. Awkward alone and pick on someone your own size, huh?"

Grant's slightly pointed ears perked up (or would have, if he'd been an anthropomorphic canine of some sort). The afore mentioned Man-Mountain turned his whole body around to pull the speaker into view, since his overdeveloped shoulder muscles prevented a glance over his shoulder, giving Grant a better view.

There, standing just over five feet tall, almost tall enough to comfortably rest her arms on the bar like a teenager with a fake IdentCard, was his savior. Even standing there with her hands brushing the grips on the revolvers slung about her hips like she was a serious grown up gunfighter, she was cute in an adorable sort of way. A small part of Grant's brain recognized both Man-Mountain and Mr. Awkward as instantly given nicknames and would have found that supremely compelling, if he wasn't concentrating so hard on being terrified of being murdered in the face.

Grant made a sweetly condescending face.

"Oh, honey. That's very sweet of you, but I'm pretty sure that Mr. Mountain here has better things to do than smash my adorable little face in and then eat you for dessert." he said, using a pouty girly voice. "I appreciate the offer, though. Maybe once my face is healed I can buy you a drink to thank you."

The Man-Mountain turned halfway back to Grant, a smirk on his face.

"Heh. You ain't wrong, Monkey. I'd eat her up." the man said, making it eminently clear that he wasn't talking about food as he turned back to leer at the newcomer. "Go on and take Awkward Monkey's advice, little'un. Turn around and walk away. The men are talking."

Grant saw this whole situation going nowhere good, and so he fell back to the only defense mechanism he had.

Humor.......well, Grant humor, anyway......

"Yeah, girlie. The man and the man sized comedian guy are talking. Get yourself outta here, before the big guy here eats you like a...a girl sandwich...with, uh, some sort of spicy aoli...and a side of sweet potato fries...or something. Maybe a shake to drink...gorramit. Now I'm hungry." Grant said, quickly losing his train of thought, as was his wont. "What do ya say, big guy? Wanna grab some chow after this?"

He made the mistake of clapping the Man-Mountain on the shoulder, which earned him a lightning fast punch to the nose. He stumbled back, tripping over not only his own uncooperative feet, but also stools, people, and whatever else got in his path. He wound up sprawled across a card table, bleeding and trying very hard not to burst into tears.

From behind him, the Man-Mountain spoke.

"I tol' ya not ta touch me, monkey! And I wouldn't eat with you, ever. You talk to gorram much."

[Button Gwinnett]

When Man-Mountain turned to face her, there was some level of primal fear that prickled the base of her neck and sent her heart pounding. She'd been in a scrap or two, sure. But she'd never willingly entered into one with someone so massively tall as this guy. She instinctively took a step backward, giving away a little more information than she'd intended. But she wasn't about to run away.

She did, however, expect Mr. Awkward to take that as his cue to git. Instead, he got it into his head that she was the one that needed protected, and started running his mouth to Man-Mountain. And in that rambling, questionably-wise moment, she realized, to her horror, that Mr. Awkward was the comedian.

Ti wode pigu...

After a moment of semi-patronizing bravado, Mr. Awkward took a mighty, meaty fist to the face, sending him sprawling. It also caused Man-Mountain to turn his back to her. Not a smart move. Gritting her teeth, she wheeled back a step. She then charged into a kick to the back of Man-Mountain's knee, sending him off balance. He managed to catch his fall, but not before Button drew her pistol, pulling back the hammer and leveling it at the kneeling man's head.

"Air must be thin way up there, 'cause I reckon you ain't gettin' enough oxygen to that caveman brain of yours. So I'll talk nice and slow for ya, Man-Mountain..." She dropped into a super-condescending tone of her own. "Now, you're gonna apologize to Mr. Awkward here, first off. Second, you're gonna let him go. And then, you're gonna be a nice guy, and buy all these folks in here a round for disturbing their nice evening. Or, I can cause an avalanche."

She tapped the back of his bald head with the barrel of her pistol. "Dong ma?"

This post has been edited by Button Gwinnett on Mar 22 2012, 07:27 AM

[Grant Gardener]

As Grant picked himself up off the floor, he reached down and pulled a fallen napkin from the floor. He used it to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. He began to turn, but froze as he heard a thud and the hammer of a pistol cock. It seemed to echo into eternity in the suddenly silent room, and for a long moment, Grant was sure that his amazingly successful (surely) career was about to end.

"Air must be thin way up there, 'cause I reckon you ain't gettin' enough oxygen to that caveman brain of yours. So I'll talk nice and slow for ya, Man-Mountain...Now, you're gonna apologize to Mr. Awkward here, first off. Second, you're gonna let him go. And then, you're gonna be a nice guy, and buy all these folks in here a round for disturbing their nice evening. Or, I can cause an avalanche."

Grant turned at the sound of her voice, and found her with a pistol to the back of the Man-Mountain's head. He winced as she tapped the back of his head.

"Dong ma?"

The Man-Mountain growled, but nodded his head a fraction of an inch.

Grant's face lit up. The little girl that had offered to save him...well, she had. She'd saved his backside with speed and style, and she was the best kind of talkative about it.

This was so going to be in his act...

He stood up, grinning, and with extra swagger in his step, approached the Man-Mountain.

" Uh! What now, Mo-Sack-Ruh? Huh? Yeah. You jus' got yo face handed to ya, sucka!" Grant said, putting his face close down to the other man's.

The Man-Mountain growled, and Grant realized that he was again within reach of the much larger man, and also, if the round in the pistol happened to be fired, it'd probably wind up somewhere in Grant's face.

He stood back up, and backed away, replacing the napkin against his nose, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I'm...sorry, little awkward monkey."

"Uh, thanks. No hard feelings." Grant said.

The Man-Mountain slowly stood up, careful not to jostle the gun behind his head, and turned to the bartender.

"A round fer everybody, keep." he said, grudgingly tossing a few platinum onto the bar.

He turned carefully, and walked away from the girly gunslinger. As he moved past the swinging door, he slammed his fist into it, shattering the slats contained therein.

"Well, I reckon the change'll cover that damage." muttered the bartender, scooping up the coins and moving to fill the drink order.

Grant turned and faced the girl, and smiled behind his napkin.

"Thanks, a bunch." he said, offering his hand, and then retracting it when he realized that it was covered in his own blood. "Oh. Sorry. Guess I'll have to just settle for buying you a drink and whatever else you want tonight."

[Button Gwinnett]

She kept a close eye on Man-Mountain, every step of the way. One thing she'd learned in her life on the Rim was that you could never trust folks to do what you think they ought to. It wasn't until the hulking bully was clear of the bar that she let the hammer of her pistol back into the relaxed position. She then turned her attention to the bleeding face of Mr. Awkward. It would have been funny to her how ridiculous he looked, napkin-over-face, if she wasn't so mad at him.

Mr. Awkward offered his thanks, then his bloody hand. Deciding against it, he offered her drinks instead. She holstered her pistol before she decided to shoot him, instead. "How gorram simple are you? Someone steps in and distracts the giant you're fighting, and your first instinct is to keep running your mouth? You're lucky all you got was a fist in the face! You must seriously have a few screws shook loose in the brainpan! That monster coulda killed us both with those mitts of his..." She gave the comedian a bit of a shove, but not enough to send him toppling again. "A drink? You're lucky I didn't shoot you myself. Judging by the crowd tonight, I don't think they'd have objected much. Goofy, addle-pated son of a..."

She paused, realizing that maybe she'd gone too far. The guy had been through a lot, and as dumb as it was to poke a rampaging gorilla, maybe the broken nose was lesson enough. She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks getting red. "Okay, that was uncalled for, and I'm sorry. Maybe I'm a little drunk, but..." Her expression turned serious again. "The next time someone steps in and saves your sorry ass from certain destruction, have the decency to run away, okay? That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed out here..."

She didn't know why she cared. But she did.

[Grant Gardener]

Uh oh. The girly gunslinger put her piece in its proper place with particular...perniciousness. She looked mad. Judging by her expression, Grant was the one in trouble.

From time to time, his amazing intuitive skills proved right.

"How gorram simple are you? Someone steps in and distracts the giant you're fighting, and your first instinct is to keep running your mouth? You're lucky all you got was a fist in the face! You must seriously have a few screws shook loose in the brainpan! That monster coulda killed us both with those mitts of his..."

She shoved him a little bit, enough to make him take a step back. He was, for once, was struck silent. He’d only been trying to help. To handle his own problems. To keep her out of harm’s way. How could she take offense at that?

"A drink? You're lucky I didn't shoot you myself. Judging by the crowd tonight, I don't think they'd have objected much. Goofy, addle-pated son of a..."

Grant frowned, an expression usually foreign to his face, and wiped a large portion of the blood from his face, lowering the towel so that he could speak to her without it’s impediment.

“I just...I just thought that I could handle it without dragging you into the middle of it.”

She was silent for a moment before she spoke, looking maybe just a little apologetic. Just a smidge, what with the lip biting and blushing. Grant wasn’t about to comment on it, though. Not until she was unarmed. And maybe too drunk to fight. And locked up in a secure cell. And he had bodyguards. Lots of them...

"Okay, that was uncalled for, and I'm sorry. Maybe I'm a little drunk, but...The next time someone steps in and saves your sorry ass from certain destruction, have the decency to run away, okay? That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed out here..."

Grant smiled, smirked really, keeping his bloodstained teeth from showing.

“I’ve heard that.” he said, gesturing at her barstool. “Thanks, by the way. That was...scary, in a very awesome and impressive way. Order a drink and hang out. Lemme go get cleaned up and we’ll talk. You can tell me all about how you became such a miniscule maestro of mayhem and badassery.”

[Button Gwinnett]

He was awfully persistent, she had to hand him that. Even standing there, bleeding like a stuck pig, he wouldn't let the drink go. She shook her head and huffed, but his hangdog expression was too pathetic to say no to. She held up her hand.

"Fine, okay, one drink. One drink and then you can consider us even. Just... go get cleaned up already, you're bleeding on everything..."

She couldn't help but laugh. She imagined this wasn't the first time Mr. Awkward had been on the receiving end of a beating. He probably had been dunked in his share of toilets, truth be told. The fact that a man, any man, could remain as jokey and upbeat as he was, crimson mask and all, was something to be admired. A little. She guessed.

She looked back up, bringing two fingers to the brim of her hat. "I'm Button, by the way. Savior of asses." It was only polite. Besides, she didn't want Mr. Awkward giving her some obnoxious nickname. Who did that?

[Grant Gardener]

"Fine, okay, one drink. One drink and then you can consider us even. Just... go get cleaned up already, you're bleeding on everything..."

Grant chuckled.

"Yeah, I do that, when punched in the face." he said. "I'll go do that. Get cleaned up, I mean. I'll be right back."

She tipped her hat up in very gentlemanly way, making her look slightly less dangerous, and slightly more adorable.

"I'm Button, by the way. Savior of asses."

With an elegant (or as elegant as one could be with bloody napkins held to one's face) bow, Grant spoke as he made his way back to the restrooms.

"Grant Gardener, wastrel of words, joker of jests, and singer of songs"

He ducked into the men's room, and removed the napkins from his face and tossed them into the trash. He stepped up to the mirror, and sighed. Another failed attempt at funny-ing his way out of a fight, another blood nose. Not a terribly unexpected turn of events. Most of the more violent evenings Grant had wound up being a part of wound up with him having a bloody nose or a busted lip or a black eye. Didn't change his strategy in a fight, though. He was never a fighter. Never had been, never would be.

He stepped up to the mirror, and grimaced. Blood had given him a nice red muzzle, and had stained his t-shirt. He sighed as he washed his hands, and pulled his outer shirt off. He stripped out of the t-shirt and used it, along with warm tap water, to wash himself clean, sending the blood down the drain in a sort of orangey colored swirl. He put his outer shirt back on and buttoned it up, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Grant, old buddy, you look almost respectable." he muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair to make it stick up at odd angles. "That's better."

He emerged from the men's room, and returned to the bar, raising his hand, signaling for fresh drinks for him and the savior of his ass.

"So...how does such a diminutive dame, a little lass, become such a fast moving firearm fiend?" he asked, as their drinks were delivered. "Gunfighter, I mean."

He picked up his bright blue tropical drink, with bits of fruit sticking out the top of his glass on toothpicks, and took a long swallow. For now, his nose throbbed, but by the time he reached the end of the glass, his entire face would be numb.

[Button Gwinnett]

"Grant Gardener, wastrel of words, joker of jests, and singer of songs"

She smirked and shook her head, the goofy bow and the man-of-many-titles shtick somehow sport-of amusing to her. Not that she would admit it. He turned and headed for the restroom, coming her alone to peace and quiet for a moment.

She thought about just leaving. Just heading out the door and considering the job well done. But them she thought about that pathetic, puppydog face of his, and about how eager he was to show his gratitude. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she had a soft spot for people who couldn't stick up for themselves. Like it was I minor miracle that this one managed to still be alive. He had to be at least her age, and he'd clearly ventured away from the Core. Clearly, he'd been running on luck for a while.

He came back looking cleaned up, if not exactly fresh-faced. As he walked back to the bee, she couldn't help but wonder if he, like most men she'd known, was ashamed of being shown up by a tiny girl. He raised his hand and ordered them both electric blue drinks with fruit floating in them, and wondered if it was another joke from the comedian.

"So...how does such a diminutive dame, a little lass, become such a fast moving firearm fiend? Gunfighter, I mean."

He then took a huge swallow of his drink, and she realized he was totally serious about the blue monstrosity. She suppressed a giggle, but took a sip of her own. It was surprisingly good, but she'd be good gorrammed if she was ever caught drinking a second one in public.

"Well, my parents died when I was little, so I grew up in an orphan house on Jinye. It was either learn to shoot or get used to makin' my livin' on my back. I opted for the former. Pay's lousy, but the hours are much better. Plus, I can be picky about who I let in the old pants." She patted her belt buckle for emphasis, grinning. Maybe if she was crass enough he wouldn't get any notions of romance in his head.

[Grant Gardener]

"Well, my parents died when I was little, so I grew up in an orphan house on Jinye. It was either learn to shoot or get used to makin' my livin' on my back. I opted for the former. Pay's lousy, but the hours are much better. Plus, I can be picky about who I let in the old pants."

As Grant kept drinking, his face slowly stopped throbbing in time with his heartbeat, a fact he was grateful for. Jerry was a true master of medicinal mixed drinks. He set his glass back down, and sighed contentedly at the general numbness in his face.

"Well, I can see how it'd be difficult for any gentleman to try and get into those particularly petite pants. I mean, they're tiny!" he said, grinning. "Also, I'm pretty sure that they'd have to get past the gunbelt first, and I doubt that'd happen easily."

He took another drink, reveling in the sweet flavor. Those guys who refused to drink girly drinks on the basis that they were, in fact, girly, were nuts. These things were delicious! He did, however, have enough wherewithal to look appropriately sad when he spoke again.

"Can't imagine how tough it must've been to loose your folks. Mine are back on Paquin. Mom's a dancer, dad's a stage manager. Pride and joy of the New Bayreuth Opera Company. Love at first sight, blah blah blah. They're sickening, really."

He took another long swallow of his drink, draining it completely, and then began munching on the blue stained fruit pieces. Then, like the slightly inebriated complete and total idiot that he was, he began speaking to her pants.

"Who's an ol' bitty baby pair o' pants? You are! Yes you are." he said, catching himself slowly, realizing he was basically talking directly at he crotch, before any other idiocy could work it's way past his lips.

He cleared his throat, incredibly awkwardly, and made a point to look her in the eyes. He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Heh. Um...sorry. Would you, uh, believe.... concussion?" he asked.

[Button Gwinnett]

"Well, I can see how it'd be difficult for any gentleman to try and get into those particularly petite pants. I mean, they're tiny! Also, I'm pretty sure that they'd have to get past the gunbelt first, and I doubt that'd happen easily."

He was grinning like an idiot, clearly enjoying himself. The guy sure loved listening to the sound of his own voice. Maybe it wasn't really that simple, though. She'd been through her share of hardship, and decided to shoot her problems from then on. Maybe he turned to that mouth of his to keep him steady. Not exactly a strong demonstration of his abilities today, bit who succeeds all the time?

He took another drink of the blue... thing, and she followed suit. It was a bit sweet for her tastes, but maybe she was just a bitter person. He looked at her with a frown and continued. "Can't imagine how tough it must've been to loose your folks. Mine are back on Paquin. Mom's a dancer, dad's a stage manager. Pride and joy of the New Bayreuth Opera Company. Love at first sight, blah blah blah. They're sickening, really."

Of course, his parents were arty types. They probably nurtured poor baby Mr. Awkward into the motormouthed walking disaster area she saw before her. Her parents loved her, but they didn't love each other nearly as much. Maybe if they'd set the sort of example for her that Grant's had for him, she'd be some sort of bubbly debutante or musician. Certainly not a gunfighter.

Before either of then spoke another word, he picked up his drink and emptied the glass. Something told her that wasn't the brightest idea. He was picking the blue-ish fruit out of the glass, and she was taking in the spectacle, when he turned to her. He had am odd look in his eyes.

"Who's an ol' bitty baby pair o' pants? You are! Yes you are." He was doing that baby-talk thing, and directing his words right at her crotch. She felt a sheepish blush creeping in, caught completely off guard by the surreal moment. Reality sunk back in, and he raised his eyes, clearing his throat. "Heh. Um...sorry. Would you, uh, believe.... concussion?"

She let out the most awkward, nervous laugh of her life. "Wow. Just, wow. Is that your game, Grant? Because it's not exactly subtle..." She regained her composure, the twinkle of mischief returning. "That hasn't ever worked, has it? The crotch-talkin'? Ladies swoon for that on Paquin?" She laughed again, less awkwardly, and patted him on the arm. "Don't forget about the gunbelt, okay?"

[Grant Gardener]

"Wow. Just, wow. Is that your game, Grant? Because it's not exactly subtle..."

Grant frowned at her. Game? What game? He wasn't playing any games. Had he left his Corpad on? Was it playing that stupid racing game without him? He couldn't remember, and he guessed that it didn't matter. He suspected that she was speaking of his style of wooing the ladies, of which, let's face it, there was none.

"Game? No game. Just me being...me. I get a little takla...taklative...verbose, when I drink. Can't very well spend all evening talking to your face. It'd fall off." he said, nodding wisely. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Or at least, a funny one."

He waved to the bartender, ready for another drink. He was feeling very pleasant, and having someone who hadn't run away screaming to drown out the sound of his voice after a two sentence exchange was nice. He made a mental note (hastily scribbled in unintelligible crayon in his head) to make sure to keep in contact with Button.

Hehe. Button. Buttons were funny little things. The more alcohol you added to the situation, the more complicated they got. He preferred his buttons undone, on the floor, after a long night of naughty activities, but that was neither here nor there. Also, he suspected that this particular Button wasn't nearly so easy to undo.

"That hasn't ever worked, has it? The crotch-talkin'? Ladies swoon for that on Paquin?"

He shrugged.

"Usually I just keep talking until they kiss me to shut me up. Either that or I mention to some pretty ballerina who my mom is." he said, grinning with blue stained lips as he made his hand wiggle back and forth, indicating uncertainty. "Works about half the time."

Jerry placed another drink in front of him, this one smaller, but bright pink, with glittery swirls in it that spun slowly like a galaxy in a glass. Grant was immediately fascinated. He gasped in amazement.

"Look how pretty!" he said, his eyes wide. "Jerry! You're magical! A wizard!"

The bartender just chuckled and shook his head, moving off to his other customers. Grant's head began to spin as she patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't forget about the gunbelt, okay?"

He smiled, and quaffed his drink, it's sour flavor puckering his whole face up. He took a moment to let the flavor subside

"How could I, what with those pistols making you twice as wide as normal? Get it?" he asked, incredibly impressed with his own wit. "Because you're so small!"

He burst out laughing, but that made his head hurt, and so he laid it down in his hands, elbows propped up on the bar.

"I think...I think I'm drunk." he said, glancing over at Button. "Do you think I'm drunk, because I think I'm drunk. Did you get me drunk? Are you trying to take advantage of me? I'll have you know I'm not like that, Miss Button. You have to be gentlemanly to woo me. I'm not some cheap floozy. I'm lady."

The words echoed inside his head, bouncing all wrong, and he shrugged.

"Or something like that."

[Button Gwinnett]

Button took another sip of her drink as Grant rambled. This definitely ranked as one of her stranger says. Even if the comedian was awkward, goofy and maybe just a little annoying, he was a little funny and she got a free drink out of the deal. So it wasn't a complete loss.

"Usually I just keep talking until they kiss me to shut me up. Either that or I mention to some pretty ballerina who my mom is."

She felt the tips of her ears grow slightly hot at that. Was he trying to get her to kiss him? Most men she dealt with were a bit more vulgar about their intentions. Those remarks didn't get to her too much. Nothing her own sharp words or maybe some violence couldn't solve. This was almost sweet, in the dopiest way possible. She almost felt bad for the guy.

The bartender gave Grant a pink drink now, and even she had to admit that the thing was pretty to look at. Again, she'd never be caught dead actually drinking the thing, but power to the comedian if that was his deal. And clearly it was, because he drank the thing rather quickly, before making another joke about her stature. She decided to let that slide, too, as it was probably the most polite comment she'd ever heard in regards to her size. If nothing else, he was definitely polite.

She wondered sometimes whether she woulda been soft if her parents hadn't been locked up. She liked to think not, but folds with money weren't much for doing it themselves. Maybe she'd be some sort of office worker. Probably in the family real estate business. Goin' to fancy parties and the like. Certainly not sitting in divey bars, beating up thugs and drinking with bloody-faced weirdos. Which sounded like the better life?

"I think...I think I'm drunk. Do you think I'm drunk, because I think I'm drunk. Did you get me drunk? Are you trying to take advantage of me? I'll have you know I'm not like that, Miss Button. You have to be gentlemanly to woo me. I'm not some cheap floozy. I'm lady."

"Or something like that."

She looked over to see Grant with his head in his hands, holding it up, clearly. He was finished, rambling, convincing himself that she was trying to seduce him. He looked foolish, which was fitting, sice he was kind of a fool. However, like everything he did, it was endearing in the dorkiest way possible. Either way, it was time to get him out of here.

"Okay, Mr. Awkward. I think you've had enough booze and fun for one night. Better to get you home. Why don't you tell me where you're staying and I'll make sure you get there in as few pieces as possible..."

[Grant Gardener]

"Okay, Mr. Awkward. I think you've had enough booze and fun for one night. Better to get you home. Why don't you tell me where you're staying and I'll make sure you get there in as few pieces as possible..."

Grant frowned at her, confusedly, but he obediently stood up, carefully clutching the bar for support, as it seemed that his knees had gone on vacation and had forgotten to inform him.

"Punched in the face is fun for you? You've got a weird sense of fun, missy. Also, you must not be good at fun, since your face isn't all rearrange-y." he said.

Surely she was better at fun than that? She had to be. She was the size of a kid, and therefore, had the capacity for kid sized fun, and everybody knew that kids had more fun than grown ups. They didn't have bills and relationships and jobs and things to worry about.

Did Button have bills and relationships and jobs and things to worry about? He didn't know, but he decided that he could figure it out. Since she was a grown up type person, albeit a small one, surely she had to pay for her lodgings and food and drinks (though maybe not drinks, if she went around saving punched-in-the-face-comedians all the time), so surely she had a job, which meant that she must have had things, of one nature or another. The only question that remained was relationships. Did she have a relationship?

Was there a Mister Button? Surely he'd be larger than she was, since such a diminutive man was highly unlikely, and he must be more brave and daring than she, if he were to keep up with her in the awesomeness department. Would he think that Grant was trying to "push his Button", as it were? That was a scary prospect indeed. He turned to face her, apprehensively.

"Um....what was the question?" he asked.

Jerry chose that moment to step in and save the day. He slid a bottle of water over to Grant, and spoke to Button as Grant tried to focus on reading the label.

"He's staying at the Carter Hotel, room one oh eight. Two blocks down, and hang a left. Can't miss it. Just toss him inside the room and he'll be fine. He's no so great with doorknobs when he's drunk." the bartender said, turning back to Grant. "Now, you listen here, Gardener. You drink this water on your way home, otherwise those pretty pretty drinks you like are gonna cave in your skull in the morning. Dong ma?"

Grant nodded and (rather sloppily) saluted Jerry, who just rolled his eyes, again. The younger man turned back to Button and grinned.

"So you're taking me home, huh? Good. I'm not so good with drunks when I'm doorknobs." he said, marching straight for the door.