Chapter Text
The bar had somehow gotten even louder. Incoherent cheers, babbling flirtation, and drunk patrons shrieking like hyenas grew in volume, sending the young man's headache pounding. He nursed his now lukewarm bottle of higher-than-normal-quality beer than he was used to. Why join a celebration at a pub if you would just drink the same cheap alcohol? No, he needed the good stuff, and not just because it was a special occasion.
In the crowd pushing against his back, forcing the booth's rim to stab into his midsection, he knew his companions were living it up and were no doubt adding to the noise. Groaning, the man just managed to bite back a nasty curse aimed towards the person who smacked his head with their own bottle. Now the headache felt even worse, and his mental buzz did nothing to help.
This was, hands down, the worst party he'd ever joined. It didn't start out like that, he loved parties, he loved beer runs with his friends, he loved getting drunk and flirting with the less than favorable women who constantly smelled like booze. The others had forever said the drinker girls were easy going, and didn't have many qualms about quick fixes. And yet, again, and again, he found no such luck. Not like the others. And they were quick to remind him of that which was why he ditched them in the first place, now sitting at the booth alone, nursing both a bottle half drunk and a migraine, and all the while growing more sour by the minute.
This was supposed to be fun, but of course they brought up his bad luck, of course they whooped and howled in laughter at his misfortune with the fairer sex, of course they decided that the one time the entire team all joined in the merriment, they'd find some way to ruin it for him. He grinded his teeth, feeling the backs of them with his tongue. There were a lot of things he had wanted to do with all them having fun for once. Jokes he made himself, completely true stories that did actually happen, some even more true stories about his family and his own younger conquests. But now, well, they seemed to enjoy themselves fine without him around.
Jerks.
He took another long, large swig from his bottle, the ceiling lights beginning to spin. That brazen, lingering stench of bile and hot breath filling the air wasn't helping. At all. In fact, it was just making him sick. He let his head fall on the wood stained countertop, the spinning growing a bit too much, even for him.
It was always mean spirited. Always. No matter how many times his closest pals said it, those weren't just "giving hard times". It was not teasing, he knew what teasing was, he knew the large spectrum that teasing fell under. Jeers, teases, sneers, jokes, all of those were fine, he could handle stupid teases. No, they just mocked him. Mocked, insulted. About him being a lightweight, about him being a virgin, a greenhorn, inexperienced, annoying, immature, childish, and so on and so forth. Well who was acting childish now?
He looked over his shoulder and over the others of the crowd. Somewhere in there he knew a certain demolitions expert was hammering down shots like nobody's business, no doubt the others following suit. Drinking away without a care in the world, having their own fun without him there. Fine by him, he was having fun by himself.
Even though that fun was quickly turning back into boredom. And dizziness. Maybe he was a bit of a lightweight.
Another jostle from behind sent an elbow ramming right into his ear, a hysterical cry of laughter filling the bar. The murderous instincts he saved for the battleground flared up.
"Hey, watch it, Buster, some of us have drinks 'ere!" A spunky voice cut through the gross white noise and plopped itself down right next to him. Through the smell, the noise, and even the blurry dizziness his eyes made, the man forced himself to look at the sudden company.
"He got you good, huh. Right in the ear. Hate it when that happens." It was a chick. A blonde chick. A blonde chick with heavy mascara and fishnet stockings. The voice she used was loud, accented with something that sounded close to his own version of English. It was blunt, but nice. Nicer than the guys. Nicer than anyone else in this d*mn place.
"Yeaaah," he said, tongue feeling more like a thick rope of taffy than an actual muscle of his, "place's fulla b*****ds soooo, y'know."
"Oh trust me, I know," the chick said with a huff, looking at the crowd thicker than a flock of birds. "This place gets downright nasty on the weekends." She turned back with a smile that showed both white teeth and pink gums. "'S probably why people are so eager to come here." He felt himself smile along. Finally someone who knew what they were talking about.
"Uhhuh," he nodded, head lolling around, "iiis why my- me and my ff-riends, we came here, and, to get wasted."
"I can tell, but I don't think I recognize you," she tapped a long, painted nail on her cheek. Looked like she was thinking. Right now, thinking for him felt wonky, so he didn't do it much. "Ya new in town, Hotshot?" The nickname was what he recognized first, smile widening. Then he realized she'd asked a question, and hurried to answer.
"Naahhh, 'm just." He swallowed. "This's the only bar in the area, right now. By the basess and… come mostly in, in the evenin' like, earlier than this."
"Bases?" She asked, "you live in bases?" He nodded again. She was being nice, only proper to be nice back.
"Mhmh, 'm a mercenary! An' fight tons, win tons a dough, is' a good gig." The chick's brown eyes widened.
"A mercenary? You kill people?"
"Sometimesss."
"Sounds dangerous," she noted, sitting closer. He only sat up straighter, puffing out his buzzing chest.
"'M a dangerous man, dollface."
"Well, it must be my lucky night, then," he sat up even more at her closing the gap. The blonde hair had dark roots, the eyes had heavy eyeshadow that shimmered in his vision. Everything was shimmering. "Ya tipsy, baby?" Hand on his shoulder, making something spark, igniting something in his chest. He rapidly shook his head, the spinning, shimmering world swaying as he did.
"Nope, just a lil' tip. Tipsy, s'all." The low, dim lighting made her look really nice. Nice in a way that the others would be super jealous of him right now.
"Oh, good to hear. Ya came alone? Or didja come around with friends?"
"Friends, er, nah, they're bein' mean," he pointed towards the crowd, words coming out even more slurred but his mind feeling clearer. "I left cause they's bein' jerksss. Makin' fun a me, 'n bein' lightweight, and never gettin' chicks." The chick looked sad, taking his hand again.
"No chicks? Not one?"
"Never." He admitted before his brain could catch up. But the chick didn't laugh. No, she leaned in so close their noses almost touched. Her breath was cleaner than everyone else's.
"Well that's not fair." No, it wasn't. "A handsome stud like yourself could gets loads of them." That's what he was saying! But no girls ever seemed to understand that. And boy, did the guys ever make him the butt of the joke for that. The chick's eyes were mesmerizing, and he wanted to just sink into them until the buzz faded.
What if he could? His eyes narrowed as he himself leaned in and on the counter, giving her his best smile yet, even as the world around him grew fuzzy and muddled. He said something to her, but couldn't remember what. Though he knew what he was doing, and what exactly he wanted.
The chick fixed her eyes on him, telling him something too. He nodded, agreeing, accepting whatever she wanted to get this party started. The buzz was deafening, and his fingertips tingled, the world vibrating in place.
She smiled, stood, and winked. Then, she slipped into the crowd like a mirage, him right on her heels. The guys could have whatever night of drinks they wanted. They could have all the fun they wanted without him around. He was going to have his own.