Another day, another example of Abbott being a pain in Ber’s ass. Earlier that day, he had seen fit to inform the soldier that he was expected at the Sour Sailboat Tavern that night, and he must have spent too much time around Woodwick because the lieutenant’s directions rivaled the captain’s in utter uselessness with regards to clarifying what exactly he could expect to do there.

Needless to say, Ber was not pleased about any of it. He was tired after a long day spent fighting with needle and thread to patch up worn down uniforms and wanted to do nothing more than collapse in bed for the night. Instead, nightfall had found him preparing to head out into the city for more work, and nine in the evening found him approaching the tavern. Abbott waited out front. “Lieutenant,” Ber said to catch the other man’s attention as he drew near.

Abbott turned away to enter the tavern, and with the other man’s back to him, Ber took the opportunity to silently run a hand down his face. After the utterly painful stakeout with Woodwick a season ago, the soldier was of the opinion that he had more than paid his dues with regards to time spent trapped in a tavern with an irritating lieutenant. He had suffered through hours of excruciating small talk because they’d needed to blend in with the other customers, and sitting in silence and glowering at Woodwick would have attracted undue attention.

Ber was not in the mood for a repeat experience with Abbott as the man seemed determined to live up to his predecessor’s standard of being an infuriating lieutenant.

Silently, he followed Abbott to the table in the back corner and sat with his back to one wall, leaving an empty seat between him and the lieutenant. Dark eyes gave the room a cursory scan, resting for a moment longer on a group across the tavern when it let loose a loud chorus of laughter, before he crossed his arms and settled back into his chair. Keenly aware of the other man seated at the table, he almost asked Abbott why he was here and why Ber needed to do this instead of some other poor sod, but upon reflection, he preferred the silence to any amount of conversation. Maybe Abbott would get bored and leave. That would be ideal.

Movement caught Ber’s attention, and he watched as the barkeep approached their table with— Was that alcohol? Oh thank the stars. This night was still shaping up to be painful, but at least he got some free whiskey out of it. Although Ber couldn’t - wouldn’t let himself - get the desired level of drunk because he was on duty, something to drink was better than nothing.

After Abbott poured each of them a glass, the soldier reached for his and swallowed some down without even recognizing the prompting. The whiskey was actually not that bad, at least one step above the cheapest fare that Ber usually purchased. Perks of being an officer, probably. Glancing at the bottle to see if he recognized it, he answered the lieutenant’s question with a short, “Yes.”

Ber blinked as Abbott threw back his glass of whiskey and immediately refilled it as if they were here to socialize instead of work. He even reached over and refilled the small portion of Ber’s drink that the soldier had already consumed. That was unexpected. Sure, sitting in the corner of the room while waiting to stop fights that might never occur was hardly the most exciting activity, but work was work. A little nonplussed, he took another swallow of the whiskey before turning his gaze back toward the other patrons in the tavern.

“It was a stakeout. Captain Woodwick was there too,” He explained briefly, mentally concluding the statement with and it was the opposite of fun. Customers sat scattered around the tavern mostly in twos or threes, but it was still on the early side for anything eventful to start happening. The loud group across the tavern laughed again. ”It was during the day though. Not at night.”

Ber nodded, mostly indifferent. While the likelihood of any fights certainly increased as the night grew longer, he figured their occurrence was more dependent on the patrons of a given night than anything else. Still, after a neutral “Good to know” and another sip of the whiskey, Ber settled in for a repeat experience of waiting in a tavern with an officer - even down to the excruciating small talk.

Abbott asked about the location of the stakeout, and he nodded. “The Drop In.” A brief pause as he tried to figure out why that didn’t sound quite right. “The Do Drop In. Something like that. It’s further out.” Located in one of the seedier parts of the city, the Do Drop In sat on the outskirts of Skia and served a stew that, to Ber’s notably unrefined palate, had been decent. Their alcohol hadn’t been that bad either, though Woodwick had only allowed each of them half a glass to drink. If he was honest, Ber was still surprised that even that much alcohol had been involved, but between Woodwick and Abbott, maybe drinking on the job was more common than he knew about among lieutenants. The soldier pondered this silently as he swallowed another sip of the whiskey.

Abbott’s words had Ber’s brow furrowing as he turned narrowed eyes on the lieutenant. “We’re on duty,” He said, his tone suggesting that the statement alone was answer enough for why he wasn’t downing glass after glass of the whiskey. With the captain commander’s reprimand and Ber’s subsequent demotion to staff duty after the arguably alcohol-related incident ball, the soldier was already on thin ice, and as both Usher and Regan had seen fit to remind him, Ber did actually need his job. Even if he was in the habit of getting too shitfaced to properly perform his duties, which he very much wasn’t, he wasn’t about to do so with a lieutenant sitting right next to him.

Despite said lieutenant apparently having no qualms about drinking while on the clock and - almost daring Ber to do the same?

Maybe the rules were different for officers. No, they probably almost certainly were - after all, that was how the world worked - but shouldn’t Abbott have been glad that one of the soldiers under him was actually attempting to be responsible? It wasn’t as if the temptation to temper the other man’s company with alcohol wasn’t there. Besides, they had all night to sit here and bore each other to death, which once more struck Ber as a bit odd. “With all due respect, sir,” He began, turning to look at Abbott. “Why are you here?” Especially because it was late at night, this kind of mind-numbing task was one that they assigned people like Ber, not their officers. Woodwick was only at the stakeout because they’d been waiting for a particular person of interest in his investigation, but as far as Ber could tell, this was just supposed to be another night making sure the tavern-goers didn’t get too rowdy. “Are we supposed to be looking for someone?”

Guess not. He still couldn’t figure out why the lieutenant would want to spend his night in a tavern watching strangers have more fun than him, but if Abbott wanted to waste his time sitting here, Ber obviously couldn’t stop him. The younger man himself would have preferred sleeping instead.

Resisting the urge to run another hand down his face, Ber held the lieutenant’s gaze for a moment before turning away to survey the rest of the room. It was preferable to looking at Abbott anyway. Sometimes the man’s face invited Ber’s fist as much as Woodwick’s did, and following through with that, unfortunately, would be no more welcome than getting drunk on the job or simply getting up and leaving.