HE FEELS LIKE this had been his worst night. It was never great, he never even got more than a half-hearted chuckle and one or two jokes in a ten minute set, but GOOD GOD, the silence had been deafening. Hell, he’d not even dragged his friends along to make comments and pretend that it ‘wasn’t all bad’ – in fact, Richard is almost certain one guy up and left, actually LEFT, midway through. The response earns a smile though, and a muted chuckle of his own. “Please god, yes. Something liver-threateningly alcoholic.” He smiles, swearing that he’s seen this guys face before but entirely unable to place it. It’s not like it could be from here. No person in their right mind would see Richard’s set once and then WILLINGLY come back.
“I’m Richard… you’re not the COUGHING guy are you?”
The poor guy was only doing what he loved to do. Regardless of how others might, you know, NOT? Richard was being his best self and that was what was important. So said the inspirational quote on the subway he read this morning. Whether or not it, actually, applied to the comedian’s situation? Well…. Maybe there were funny jokes hidden in there somewhere he hasn’t tapped into yet? On the plus side? He made him chuckle at the drink he wanted. “Okay then. Something that should come with a stomach pump for just in case situations. Got it.” Blaine shrugged at the bartender who lifted a brow giving him the okay to add it to his tab and his round two plus Richard’s turpentine-like mixture was on the way.
“Definitely not coughing guy. I’d point him out but he’s too busy trying not to make eye contact with you now that you’re not stuck up there. Rough crowd tonight. Sorry about that. I’m Blaine,” their drinks were slid across the bar, “Nice to meet you Richard.”
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