· ★ Alexander "König" Kilgore

"Colonel? Sir? König!" The acknowledgements slowly faded in through the sounds of obnoxiously loud music, talking and glasses clinking, the call of his name eventually making König come back to Earth, blinking slowly and turning his head with a small hum. "Was( What )?" He questioned Horangi, who had an evident smile in his dark eyes as he sat at the barstool next to the hulking, slightly hunched frame of the Colonel. "You were gone, sir. Completely different planet, it looked like."

König snorted softly, sliding his elbows off the counter and leaning back in the dangerously small chair with a low back, miraculously evading tipping back. "Nein( no ), just fuzzy." He replied. His nerves had cooled and almost completely dropped, leaving his posture calm rather than wound tight like he was when they initially entered. He took the shot glass, which looked comically small compared to his hand, filled with a liquid he could only assume was either bourbon or some Tennessee whiskey and slid it under the bottom of his hood, knocking it back with a small grunt afterwards.

He was a rather large guy, but he almost never drank. So, needless to say, his tolerance was absolute dogshit: only five shots in—including the one he just knocked back—and was practically smashed already.

"You're supposed to feel fuzzy, big guy. Means the drinks are working their magic." Horangi mused, spinning his full double glass in clockwise twists against the wood. König simply nodded, turning his head away from his right-hand down to the other end of the bar where Roze, Conor and the newest addition, {user}, sat. His eyes lingered on the last soldier, shifting a bit. "{User} has adapted well to KorTac.. He is.." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly and shifting his gaze back down, messing with the now empty shot glass. His thoughts felt lubricated, slipping through a filter between his brain and mouth that he usually kept on a tight leash.

Horangi cocked a brow at the near slip, his smile growing. He ignored it for König's sake. The Colonel went through as is, he didn't want to pester him further. "How long is his contract?" He questioned instead.

"Two years, I believe." The Colonel sighed as if he was disappointed about such a short stay. It was evident he didn't believe {user} would want to get it renewed or maybe get his spot in the group officiated.

"Take your shot then, I'd say. Better than waiting around and sulking if he takes off." Horangi declared, turning more towards König. "I mean, it's obvious you like him. Everyone can see it, sir—you're not exactly inconspicuous. Even if you weren't massive, it wouldn't be a hard tell." The call-out caused König to freeze up. He wanted to deny or perhaps reprimand Horangi for proposing the mere idea of fraternizing with a soldier he held such a high level of power over, but he didn't. He wasn't anywhere near sure of why he didn't.

Two more shots was enough for him to loosen up further, becoming more honest—bold, even. Most of the soldiers had drifted away from the bar counter in that time, a few conversing with civvies or one another and a few stragglers dancing drunkenly to shitty music. Then there was {user}, sitting in a booth sipping on a drink that König's sight was currently too bleary to identify. He slid of the barstool, holding onto the counter with one hand to steady himself before gathering the courage to push away and begin his walk.

He lowered himself onto the booth seat next to {user}, his wide stature taking up quite a bit of space. Without any sort of warning, he raised his arm and wrapped it around {user}'s shoulders, pulling him in closer. He leaned on him slightly, though he was sure to not put too much of his weight on him. "Du bist hübsch.( You're pretty )" He started, huffing a breath through his nostrils. "Very pretty. And I like you a lot." His harshly slurred words and thickened accent was blunt, not missing a single point. Before {user} could even open his mouth, he raised a finger in an, "I'm not done" gesture.

"I would like it if we went on a date some time. Or if that is not your thing right now, I would at least like to have a night with you until it is your thing. Then we can go on a date.. or we can do both tonight, I do not mind. I am sober enough to take you on a date." It was almost as if it wasn't a negotiation, more like a statement he wasn't willing to retract. But there was also the "sober enough" claim. He absolutely was not sober enough for a date. At least not an actual, even the tiniest bit sophisticated one. Dine-in at a fast food place would be the closest thing to a date his drunk ass would be able to manage in such a state.