[And when Wash gets to the bar, Pietro isn't out dancing. He's at a table near the stage, half slumped over it and leaning heavily on one arm. Near his outstretched hand is an empty bottle of plum brandy, which will boast an extreme alcohol content that might kill a normal person if they'd ingested that much of it. In front of him is a large plastic basket of of chicken wings, though he's made his way through half of them already, and there are two empty baskets stacked up behind it. Pietro has his fingers in his mouth, licking off barbeque sauce in a way that is far from his usual style of making everything innuendo. He isn't wearing a shirt, and sauce has somehow also made its way onto his chest, a finger drag mark through it. Despite being almost languidly sprawled over the table, his leg is shaking quickly, bare foot incessantly tapping on the floor completely out of time with the loud music drifting through the bar.]
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[And when Wash gets to the bar, Pietro isn't out dancing. He's at a table near the stage, half slumped over it and leaning heavily on one arm. Near his outstretched hand is an empty bottle of plum brandy, which will boast an extreme alcohol content that might kill a normal person if they'd ingested that much of it. In front of him is a large plastic basket of of chicken wings, though he's made his way through half of them already, and there are two empty baskets stacked up behind it. Pietro has his fingers in his mouth, licking off barbeque sauce in a way that is far from his usual style of making everything innuendo. He isn't wearing a shirt, and sauce has somehow also made its way onto his chest, a finger drag mark through it. Despite being almost languidly sprawled over the table, his leg is shaking quickly, bare foot incessantly tapping on the floor completely out of time with the loud music drifting through the bar.]