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[Jackie knows where Johnny's at, so he does swing by some time later, knocking at the door even though there's a doorbell there to use. There's something satisfying about drumming his knuckles on a hard surface that won't make them bleed that's weirdly satisfying. Hell, it's been a long time since his knuckles have bled for any reason, maybe this place is making him soft.]

Let me in. I have drinks.

[They weren't technically housewarming gifts since he planned to help Johnny finish each of the two bottles he brought along. Based on V's stories, the guy could put away liquor. Jackie, not as much despite his size, but maybe he'd at least be able to keep up long enough for Johnny not to give a fuck how much he was or wasn't drinking.]

[Johnny's answering the door without preamble, though his demeanor resembles a cat that's begrudgingly been stirred from a comfortable spot; just all that casual flippancy, waving Jackie in and sauntering back into the townhouse as soon as he sees him.]

Yeah? What kind?

[He asks, as if it'd matter. As if Johnny wouldn't down it like water, anyway.

At any rate, there isn't exactly a bar in their house, but there is a kitchen adjoining the main living area, and that's as good as anything since it provides them glasses, a counter, and a kitchette table to kick one's feet up on. Johnny'll lead Jackie in there, only glancing once over his shoulder to assess the other guy. It's been a while. He looks about as good as before -- or even better, since neither of them are choking on toxic fumes.]

No idea.

[Jackie takes one of the bottles out of the bag to hold it up to Johnny for inspection. It's the closest to good whiskey he could find. The other bottle though? A decent enough tequila substitute. Maybe the chemistry of fermentation works different here?]

Earth liquor knock offs. When you've had enough you can't really tell the difference anyway.

[That's something he's familiar with first hand. With less time dedicated to work, Jackie spends an embarrassing amount of time in clubs or pubs. Most times he's just drinking to pass the time or at the very least dull the perception of time passing. The rest of the time he just watches other people live, feeling too guilty to do so himself.

Jackie takes in the sight of Johnny that doesn't seem thrilled to see him. To his credit, he doesn't seem the type to be thrilled about anything. As he looks around the townhouse he takes a moment to settle on what he wants to say. Whatever it is doesn't get said straight away and Jackie sits down instead.]

So, how you been?

[Johnny’s not exactly displeased to see him—in fact, he’s probably more preferable company than most he’s run into in passing around here—but he isn’t he kind to be open, amiable, and enthusiastic without at least one or two drinks in him. Being excitable is often reserved for one of two scenarios, anyway: fucking with Arasaka, or yelling into a mic on-stage about fucking with corpos like Arasaka.

That said, he’s playing host… well enough. Even manages to fetch them some glasses, clinking in his hand as he pulls them out from the cupboards above the counter. They clack down on the hard surface of the small kitchen table after Johnny crosses closer to Jackie, sliding one over in his direction.

His chair creaks a little as he sits down.]

Really gotta get a bigger space. You look like you’re seated at the kids’ table during Thanksgiving dinner.

[Because Jackie’s a huge dude. His lips quirk and Johnny angles forward, elbows leaning hard onto table. He reaches over and slides one of the bottles closer to him for better inspection.]

Doin’ about as well as you’d expect. This whole having-a-body thing should be harder to adjust to again, but it’s like riding a bike. Already got my training wheels off and everything.

[His eyes follow Johnny as he moves around the apartment. Even if it's just to get glasses for their drinks, there's that lingering thought in his mind that this man is a terrorist that killed hundreds of people. Rationally, he's aware he poses no threat to the guy and has no Arasaka connections to endanger him, but doesn't it take an unhinged personality to commit crimes like that?

Wouldn't be his first rodeo dealing with someone dangerous, though, so he keeps his cool, settling back agains the couch despite the creaking. Most furniture wasn't built for someone his size, or someone who sat like they had no qualms taking up the entirety of the seat on his own.]

Sounds like everything's been working out for you. Or at least you're getting there. [Jackie leans forward to take up the bottle that Johnny doesn't have in his hands, pouring that into his own glass before taking the other one from the rocker to pour for him as well. Manners and all.]

What do we drink to?

[Now, then. Johnny might debate the terrorist title if it was thrown right into his face, but for all intents and purposes, it’s true. Johnny’s a livewire and his passion wasn’t always dealt with in the healthiest or safest of ways, and the accident at the Tower is the biggest, most tragic proof of that.

For now, though, “unhinged” is all a matter of perspective. He certainly wouldn’t call himself that; in fact, he’d consider himself one of the very few people in Night City that bothers at all to use his head.]

How ‘bout to a second lease at life? Or third.

[In Johnny’s case, if this place counted. A filled glass raises eventually to make a toast to that, and the drink goes down like fire. Johnny tries his damnedest not to make a face.]

Shit. This alien stuff still takes some gettin’ used to. [The glass comes down with a thud.] Anyway, as for things "working out", that just depends on your definition. Still just a dead man waking, no matter how you slice it.

[Maybe Jackie feels the same way.]

[It hits Jackie in that moment how lucky he is to have even gotten a first lease on life that he can almost take this second one for granted for even a moment. Shit, if he's going to have this opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory again, he's going to savor every moment of it.

So yeah, he'll drink to that. After toasting he swallows down about half the contents of that glass and rubs at his face with one hand, shaking his head slowly.]

Ho-ly shit. They don't fuck around. [It's almost like the stuff was made to most effectively intoxicate a person and not necessarily provide a whole lot of enjoyment to the experience. Or, more likely, he's just got to rebuild his tolerance.]

Mm, I get it, amigo. I feel guilty about it most of the time. There's always someone who deserves it more, you know? [T-bug comes to mind first.] Maybe it's some kinda blessing, though, so squandering it would just be gonk.

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10000 years later...

please...take your time... i'm not exactly boomerang central over here lmao

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