whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

Remi's smile is flustered because he wants to tell Ronin to stay the fuck away from his piano, but also because there's something really alluring about having him sit there. Sort of like when hot girls pick up guitars and strum half a chord and you can't help but give them a pass for it. Or you know, some other similarly straight-man sentiment. 'Drawer—' He replies, nodding toward the bedside table that's only a foot or so away from Ronin. Within he'll find this picture taped to the lid (thanks Isla), of a box containing all the drug paraphernalia needed to answer the question why was Remi's rent late last month.

'Old family recipe.' Remi calls from the kitchen, leaving the glasses and bringing the bottle instead (it's a mason jar). On it Vai has written something about living your best life in Romani.

Returning to his seat at the window as Hallway reviews the night, Remi frowns as he holds out the jar. He isn't wrong, and the recognition of it shows quite clearly on Remi's face. "Yeah..." He agrees with a bit of a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Sunset Patrol probably isn't long for this world, to be honest. The rest of the band wants to do the stardom thing." Reaching out a hand for the drink (it's gin with additives from Vai that help prevent hangovers in the morning), Remi shrugs. "Fuck me for caring about the music."

ThE RoCkStAr