Chapter Text
He finds him in the corner of the bar, pointedly studying the wood of the countertop as if avoiding eye contact will save him from people trying to hit on him. There's nothing particular about him that stands out per se, but he's got red plumage, and thick eyebrows, and Chuck thinks he'd make a good cover model of some sort.
Chuck nudges Bomb, and cocks his head towards the stranger. They exchange glances, and Bomb lets out a low laugh before waving his hand.
"Good luck with that one," says Bomb.
Chuck clicks his tongue, chortling as he walks backwards into the crowd; he shoots Bomb a playful salute. "Won't need it!"
By the time Bomb can reply no dude I think you really will need it this time, Chuck is already approaching the guy, jumping into the seat to his right. He swivels, spinning before being brought to a stop.
"Hey," says Chuck. Yeah, basic opener, but it gets the job done.
The cardinal—Chuck can see he's a cardinal now—just grunts. As if he's already decided he's done with Chuck before he can really say something else. Which is impossible! Only after one word? That's like, a bare scratch on the surface of what Chuck can do. He's not gonna let that slide. Thus, Chuck rises to the challenge—he's no stranger to abrasiveness.
"Whatcha drinkin'?"
"Nothing," states the stranger. "I'm already done with it."
"Oh? Must be good stuff."
"It's water."
"Aw, what? You can't drink water at a bar. That's gotta be illegal or something."
The stranger lets out a sarcastic huff. "Well. It's not."
Chuck grins, halfway between sleazy and actually charming—he's counting that sardonic eyeroll as an indication of amusement, which basically already means he's got this guy hooked. "I didn't catch your name," he says.
"I didn't throw it," the stranger replies.
"Ahhhh. Tough luck for little ol' me, then?"
"Hardy-har. It's—" The stranger interrupts himself with a sigh. "It's Red."
"Red. Hm. Couldn't have guessed!"
Red ignores that. "And you are…?"
"I'm Chuck. Part-time lover, full-time speed freak, yada yada, blah blah blah—I like to have fun."
Red reaches out to shake Chuck's extended wing. "Uh huh," he replies dryly. "Fun. That sure is something I get a lot of."
Chuck pulls back, and laughs over the music of the bar. "You're here, aren't you?"
"Doesn't mean I wanna talk to anyone."
"Mmmmmmmmmm…" Chuck taps his chin. "Doesn't it?"
"I just—ugh."
"You can be antisocial and still want to talk to people—probably. I wouldn't know. I mean, hey. We're flocking creatures. Birds of a feather, you know?"
"I don't quite understand it myself," Red admits. "I don't like people. But somehow not liking people loops back into… okay, the point is that I don't need to be social. I'm not here for that. I've never been social. I don't talk to people, and they sure don't talk to me."
"You're talking to me," Chuck points out; he's got this lopsided little smile on him, this down-to-earth kind of brightness to it, like a sunbeam between leaves.
"We just met," counters Red. "You'll decide you don't like me soon."
"Woah, woah, hey—no! No! Nuh uh. None of that. I liked ya as soon as I saw ya. You had this, this vibe, you know? Why else do you think I went up to you?"
"…To tell me to move?"
"Um, no! I thought you were interesting, okay? That's kinda what you do here."
Red takes a sip of his water. "Right."
It's Chuck's turn to roll his eyes—dude's clearly avoiding eye contact.
Chuck snaps. "Hey." Snap. "Hey. Look me in the eye when I tell you that you already lost this argument the moment you walked into this building. Don't need to be social, my ass. You're here, and you've entertained my bullshit for this long. That tells me a lot about you, y'know?"
"…"
"What?" says Chuck. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I might as well be Captain Obvious here."
"This conversation is getting too personal for my tastes," Red mutters.
"Sorry, hun, you're gonna have to speak up." Chuck taps the side of his head, indicating that he didn't hear. "I know, I know. It's crazy loud here, yeah."
"Can we talk about something else!" Red bursts out. "Anything but me."
"Then…" Chuck raises a brow. "You'd like to know about me?" A delighted gasp. "Aww, you wanna get to know me!"
"I never said that," says Red. "God, I think I'm too sober for this."
"You don't gotta worry about a thing, hot stuff." Chuck winks at him, pats him on the shoulder. "I can read in between the lines."
Red exhales—shakes his head in disbelief; dismissive but indulgent. "Sure. Let's go with that."