Guy's Night Out (Planned)

A pair of shoulders appeared on the edge of miss Archer's cubicle. Attached to a head, that was smiling disarmingly. Ashton stood behind Archer's cubicle wall, arms resting on its edge.

"Hey Archer," He said, down towards the woman cleaning. "A couple of the guys and I are planning to hit the pub. You interested?"

It was something police did often. Drinkin' with the men. Something to aid in bonding, and help morale. Ashton was traditional when it came to this sort of thing. Invite fellow cops out to have a good time. While there, talk to women. Drink. So what if this blended two of those things? One could always simply call Ashton 'efficient.'

That sounded like a yes. He liked yesses.

"The Black Horse pub," Ashton replied. "I can meet you there."

As an added bonus to inviting the fellow officer, drinks would be on her! This was, of course, traditional. And as Ashton was traditional, there was no way around it. She did not have to know that. If she said 'yes', she would find out soon enough.

He took a moment to appreciate ponytails, then Ashton turned with a nod. He waved over his shoulder. "See you there." And he was off to get ready. Simple as that.

Yes, simple. The plan was simple. Bar. Men. Drinks. Archer. Fun. One wrench complicated the machinery of the plan.

Ashton didn't turn when Archer plopped down next to him. He held his beer in the tips of his fingers, slouched forward, brooding. "Wish I knew." Blah. Back-stabbing. They had said they'd BE HERE when he'd announced he was bringing Archer. He'd counted on it. They'd never done this before. 'Course, he'd never invited a woman cop along with them, so maybe... nah. BACKSTABBERS. That is what they were. Obviously.

At least he still had his drink.

Because... she was... a chick? Now, that gave Ashton a good reason to turn towards her and arch an eyebrow. Because she was... a chick? She was... a chick? And she owed him a beer.

He straightened up on his stool and finished the drink he'd been working on before. Ashton replied gruffly, "I can live with that."

He could live with getting a free drink from Archer. Her being a 'chick'? Who used that word these days to describe dames? Crazy. It wasn't like she wasn't one of the guys.

"You lucked out, honestly," Ashton added morosely, slipping into a wry smile. He bowed his head, self-amused. "I think they were going to try and get you to buy drinks for everyone in the bar. The nerve." The. Nerve. Now, who in their right mind would do that?

>>”They’d have all been sorely disappointed. You can ask the guys on the beat about that too.”

Oh? Would she have rebuffed such uncouth efforts? Ashton made a note to ask around about these 'guys on the beat'. These guys she had beat.

Was he drinking? The bartender sent one of the ordered drinks Ashton's way. He smiled and saluted Quin with the drink. "It looks like I am."

"Yeah," Ashton replied. "Sort of a tradition."

If all the others got to be in on it, he did not see at all why Archer could not. She certainly pulled her own weight at the station. "Good way to blow off steam." He noted. The detective stopped short of any further train metaphor building. Instead, he simply chugged away.

A women with a face like an angel sat down on his free side with a smile. She had long legs, red lips, and short blond hair that was practically a corona. She ordered a Corona with a single finger. Then, she glanced towards Ashton, slumping forward on the bar with her head resting in hear hands, elbows on the counter. The way she smiled at him did wonders for her lips. Shame he wasn't facing her way.

"Don't think I'd mind if you made this a regular thing," the detective finished with a friendly smile.

"Hm?" Other people showing up? Whatever point she was making, he hadn't got it. "The more, the merrier?" The more, the more likely other people would chip in and buy him beer.

A light cough came from behind his back. The five-foot-nothing blond with the red lips covered her mouth with her fist daintily. She was not used to getting no attention. She was far prettier than the redhead this man had his eye on. Well, curses she realized. Perhaps I will have to catch his eye.

Catching eyes meant being aggressive. Being aggressive was a dangerous line to walk. Aggressive women usually came off as fast. And fast, she was not. She merely had a thing for men buying her drinks. It was a fetish, really. Sick. Disgusting. But one she was wholly devoted to. She just loved free alcoholic beverages purchased by big, strong men. And attention. Attention was also good. Being an attention whore was kind of her thing.

"Excuse me," she interrupted quietly. "Do you come here often?" Because she needed drink advice. Her silly little head could not possibly figure out what she wanted. What was best. At least, that was her story. And she was sticking to it, come hell or high water. Ugh. Water. Hell or high liquor quotas being met was a far better describer for her lofty ultimatum.

She smiled a polite, slightly-embarrassed smile at the man. And attempted to charm him away from his woman.