Chapter Text
Tad Strange is starting to lose hope again. Humans are such baffling and fragile and self-destructive beings. No matter how many different angles he tries to approach a project, no matter how bright his stars shine, they always burn out hot in the end. Humans can be SO ungrateful. Why does it always go wrong in the end? What is he missing ?
He takes a glance over at the bar’s slogan printed on one of their napkins nearby the round of shots he still hadn’t touched. ‘You’ll be back’. Tad can remember the first time he had mentally scoffed and told himself he wouldn’t come back to this pathetic dive bar of wash ups and losers. Yet, there he was once again, feeling sorry for himself.
It makes a guy think. Was.. he the problem? ..HAH, good one! No, no, no. Tad had just…he made a bad investment..okay..he’s made more than a few bad investments. That’s all. It’s not his fault. The entirety of the 1970s was just one big shit show! In hindsight, Tad should have been prepared for this when the gentlemen started to wear their hair long and the dames were suddenly fascinated with fake eyelashes and mini skirts. Goddamn. Hippies. Dirty beatniks. Don’t EVEN get Tad started on the potheads!! They called it a variety of names, dope, reefer, devil’s lettuce? …Okay. That was actually a very fun experience when Tad was off the clock but on the job this stuff was nothing but a liability for his work! He tries not to get irate remembering all those times humans would stare vacantly at him with reddened eyes and make a wisecrack about his hat and suspenders.
As much as Tad hated to be reminded of failed ventures, he also knew he had to take inventory of everything that went wrong in order to avoid repeating the same mistakes. He flipped through past human files he categorized as project flops. There was always a disturbing trend Tad could no longer deny anymore. Humans were hellbent on imploding themselves when they’re under the false impression that fame gives them invincibility.
Jane Fonda. When Tad told her to broaden her horizons he did NOT mean for her to go touring Vietnam. Noooo, what does Tad know? He knew enough that she could have avoided that whole debacle of almost being charged for high treason if she just listened to his advice and stayed put in America. Unfortunately, he had to drop her after all of the negative backlash on at least TEN radio shows. That was really too bad. He liked that woman.
Bruce Lee was nothing short of a tragedy. If Tad had known what he knew now after the results of his autopsy were made public he wouldn’t have told the man to sleep off what he thought was exhaustion at the time. Dead at 32 years old. He was practically a baby. He still had so much to give and never got a chance to show it.
Tad isn’t really ashamed to admit that one of the better highlights of that miserably filthy decade was putting the idea into Cher’s head to go ahead with her counter divorce from that shabbaroon husband with a horribly groomed mustache. Those two were bad for each other. Tad barely had any skin in the game and could see that with his singular eye. If Tad had to do anything differently it would have been to fight harder so they wouldn’t have dragged out that ugly custody battle and stressed out their poor kid.
… …Charles…Man..so- OOOHMYSTARSNOOO . Tad immediately ripped out Charles’s picture, all of his personal notes, made sure no one was looking before he tore it up into just enough small pieces to crush into a ball and consume it. He knocked back one of his drinks to wash it down and grimaced. Oh, that’s strong . Nobody can know. Nobody will ever know. Tad closed his eye for a moment and shuddered hard. It doesn’t matter now. He’s in prison and if the humans are smart they’d keep him rotting there until he croaks. Good riddance.
Tad knocked back another drink to steady his nerves before moving on to someone else. Aha, Tim Allen…goddamn moron. Tad gave him all the tools he needed to be on the steady climb to fame as a tv star. What brilliant idea does Tim have? Two words: cocaine possession. Tad crumples the picture of Tim in the palms of both of his hands imagining if he could strangle the man for such stupidity HE WOULD. Last Tad heard from the gossip rags, there was a parole hearing coming up for Tim. Tad won’t be there to hear the verdict. He won’t be taking Tim back as a client.
Tad gently touches the pictures of a man and a woman. Janis Joplin. Dead at age 27 from a drug overdose. Jimmy Hendricks. Also dead at age 27. Those, and so many others, died from the after damage of drug abuse. The worst blow of all was the sudden, completely unexpected passing of Elvis Presley. He died of heart failure. Tad was devastated at the news and still genuinely misses that fabulous king of rock and soul. Many of his fans still mourn the loss even a few years after his funeral. Tad can’t help but repeat the last thing the man said to his adoring public on his last tour, “Til we meet again, may God bless you. Adios.” He raised a shot glass to the picture of Elvis, “The stars in heaven above are your stage now, my friend.” Down the hatch. Tad still didn’t believe in that concept but it was something that brought humans comfort in dealing with their mortality. Who was Tad Strange to judge?
He goes through a few more files, lost in his reminiscing, losing track of how many drinks he’d be nursing. All the while, he felt continuously worse on his perceived missteps, overthinking things he wished he could have done, that he hadn’t noticed the bartender of O’Sadley’s themselves had been trying to get his attention.
“Ey!! … Blockhead!!!” Tad jumped high, that was so loud , looked up and gave the enigmatic shape shifter what he hoped was a sober AND a dirty look. They had the nerve to smile down as they peered down at him. They weren’t intimidated at all by Tad’s dour facial expression. “Ah. I see you’re not too drunk yet. I was starting to think you were in so deep in your pity party that I should start getting concerned you’d have a repeat performance that tops the last time you threw a crybaby fit.”
Shit. Tad was really hoping nobody would remember what had happened the last time he visited this dump. The surprise on his face was apparently evident enough for the bartender to chortle before raising an eyebrow, “You really think I’d forget the guy that busted my only jukebox AND busted a window after I was so generous to let the bum sleep it off on my perfectly nice cot in the backroom?”
Tad really wasn’t in the mood for this bullshit. Also, “perfectly nice” was a gross exaggeration of that lumpy, misshapen, musty, stained monstrosity passing itself for a bed. He may not have a complete memory of those events but he can clearly remember the bartender had tossed him none too gently onto that thing before leaving him alone, completely drunk, emotional and surrounded by the dim lighting only coming from the window above. Of course his first thought was to escape! What kind of lunatic just traps a drunk guy in a room?! This bartender apparently. Lastly, if this was only about the property damages, Tad had all of the ammunition he needed to fire back a scathing retort. Unfortunately he was cut off before he would even point his finger accusingly at the bartender.
“So what happened this time, Taddy? I vividly remember you said you’d never come back to this dump . Those were your exact words right after you ran out on your tab.” They don’t sound particularly angry nor at the notion Tad skipped out on payment. It’s hardly the first time someone has skipped paying for their drinks or dined and dashed. However, the tone and the manner of Tad’s own words being thrown back in his face to clearly wound his already bruised ego was enough to make Tad’s eye well up. Tad balled his hands up and pressed them hard against his face.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you DARE cry, Tad.
He took a deep, deep breath, collecting his composure firstly before he calmly lowered his hands. Next he clasped them together cordially on the bar counter. There’s so way he’d give the bartender the satisfaction of watching him break down, “Well. For starters. I would prefer it if you called me Tad or Mr. Strange…you…” Tad extended his hand, rotated his wrist in a circular motion and paused for a long while. He hoped if he waited the bartender would just tell him their name. Even now, Tad couldn’t identify any gender specific details to tell if the bartender was a he or a she. When the silence just stretched on until it was awkward he put his hand down and exhaled. “Okay, look, whatever you are. Don’t call me Taddy.” Did he accidentally tell the bartender to call him Taddy the first time he visited or was the shape shifter just being a jerk? Regardless, Tad didn’t really want to dwell on this subject. It’s a sore spot.
The bartender didn’t seem to take offense nor did they seem to want to push Tad’s buttons further. They just shrugged, “Follow up question, I suppose you want me to charge everything on your ‘tab’ again.” It wasn’t phrased like a question. It carried the implication that the bartender knew Tad didn’t have the money nor any intention of paying what he owed. That pissed Tad off.
“I thought this was happy hour, not pester me specifically hour.” he replied, although there was something a bit ironic about an establishment like O’Sadley’s having a happy bar menu to begin with. Tad said nothing else. He wanted to drink alone. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The bartender watched him for a moment..before shrugging nonchalantly. He had another customer waving them down to take a drink order. If Tad didn’t consider himself above it, there might have been a certain hand gesture aimed at the bartender’s back as they were busy preparing one of the bar’s famous cocktail drinks. Asshole .
Fantastic. Now Tad’s sobriety was a mess AND he was cranky from that interaction. If only there were an easy target to take his mood out on. He began to stack his empty shot glasses into a neat little triangle. As he was just about to place the last empty shot glass on top, Tad was given another startle when a large, bright green hand with what looked like pointed, clawed, finger tips reached to start dismantling his carefully constructed pyramid of empty shot glasses into a smaller cart with other glasses and dirty plates. “What are you doing ?” Oh, god. He can hear the slurring in his words. Maybe he overdid it with the drinks. He narrowed his gaze on what he assumed based on the obvious busser’s uniform was a new hire at the bar. He may have been too drunk to remember if this guy was there the last time he got drunk.
A pitch black humanoid creature with a spikey head in the shape of something similar to a star. Their eyes and coordinating with their hands with the exception the eyes were glowing. They look like a black cut out, surrounding light bouncing off of them and making them stick out like a sore thumb. Their behavior on the other hand is easily described as wanting as little attention as possible as they seemed taken aback by Tad’s question. “I-..uhm. I’m just clearing the table for you…sir-” Tad held up a hand to stop them right there.
“No, I mean. What are you doing here, kid? I didn’t ask you to clear my glasses. You can’t possibly be old enough to work here.” Did he actually care about that? No really. He was just in a bad mood and watching someone else be uncomfortable and squirm felt gratifying. “You’re supposed to ask a customer if they’d like their table clear first. Is this your first day or something?” There was a voice inside telling him, okay maybe that’s too much but this wasn’t sober Tad in control right now.
The kid looked even more uncomfortable about this situation. Ah, one of those types that hates confrontation. Too bad. They should learn if they’re going to insist on working at a bar of all places, “You look a little young. Don’t tell me you actually signed on to work here as an intern?” He watched the kid’s reaction. That wasn’t it. He snapped his fingers, “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re one of those broke college kids. Let me guess. Your major can’t be communication because right now it's kinda lacking in that department.”
The kid just seemed too stunned or unsure how to react to this. The boss told him not to engage with the customers but especially not if they’re slurring their words. “I didn’t mean-..I’m just trying to do my work.”
Tad turned fully to face them ready to say something but a large shadow cast over both him and the busser put that thought on hold. One thing people find out quickly is when the bartender is starting to get mad they change forms to reflect this mood. “...Oh…” fuck.
“ Cut the BULLSHIT, Tad . I gave you a fuckin’ break when you came in here, never paid for your drinks, I was willing to look the other way when you broke my property and bailed but I won’t tolerate anybody being rude to my employees. Especially not the kid.” They only gave their employee a look, “And you. Void. Quit your gawking and go get the cleaning supplies. There’s a mess calling you to clean it up” And that was all the permission needed for the busser to leave this obviously tense and uncomfortable situation. Although their face fell when told they’d have to clean someone’s…stomach content off the ground. “And this time don’t leave the teeth on the floor! Pick them up! I better not find you kicking those teeth under the tables or any corner of this bar! I’m not barely paying you to do a half-ass job cleaning!”
Yeeesh. Tad thought he was having a rough time. Is this what working at this bar is like?
“Aye, sir, will do…” They said, before they disappeared into the kitchen presumably to take care of the dirty dishes first.
Once the kid had safely retreated into the kitchen, the bartender rolled their shoulders and exhaled, “...Good kid.” They cracked their knuckles and turned to address Tad once again. “Are you gonna be cool.” It wasn’t a question. There wouldn’t be a courtesy of addressing Tad or giving him another warning if he was disrespectful again. He’s treading on thin ice.
Nosy folks were watching. Maybe they were hoping Tad would shoot his mouth off and really piss off the bartender. That would be a show. Tad shrank on his stool chair like a petulant child being asked if they were going to be mature and behave in public now. “Yes. I’ll be cool.” he said, quietly but no longer in a mood to pick a fight. He didn’t want to get banned from this bar despite his initial feelings. This was so..embarrassing. He couldn’t even look at the bartender directly. Tad is not used to being the one that gets scolded.
“Hm.” That answer was satisfactory enough for the bartender to get back to their job. They calmed and shrank down again to what Tad assumed was their standard form. He didn’t know how it was to function as a shape shifter that changes based on a mood. Tad couldn’t even be sure if that’s how their power functioned just on the whim of emotions. What he did know was right now he felt shitty and for more reasons than one.
Į̷̗̃͝ ̴͍̄́̚͝ĉ̷̟͇̘͗͜a̵̩̝̪͇͋͑n̸͔̟͈̓̅͂͊'̷̼́̾́ṯ̶̏̊̃͘ ̵͕́ķ̸͖̣̀͊e̸̛̬͆̈̎e̷̡̳̎p̴̮͇̩̈͊̆͝ ̸͓̰͖̓̑͝g̶̻͓̈́̉̅͝o̷̺̭̞͛͗͘͜͝į̵̈́n̸̖̱̍g̴̝͎̬̒̈́̕ͅ ̵̢͖̞͎̔͒̋ỏ̶͉͉̦̻̌̃͆n̵͛͜ ̵̩̫̌͛͝l̸̛̝̈́́̅i̴͚̞͒̂̚͠k̷͖̾e̴͓͋͝ ̴̟̲̟̣̐͊t̶͓̜̃h̸̢͈͇͝ͅi̴̩͈̾s̶͔̮̥̉́̋
“...Hey…” he called out to the bartender. He took his hat off and pulled out some money. “...Can you make sure the kid gets this?” He put it on the counter, got up and started to float away. The bartender watches Tad go, saying nothing, but takes the money and stuffs it into their apron pocket.
Tad, old sport, that was pitiful. Picking a fight with a college student now?
What next? Are we gonna slap the dentures out of a little old woman’s mouth?
Nawh. We’re going to steal candy from children. Obviously.
Tad held his face in both hands for a moment. Those self deprecating thoughts were back again. In a way though, they were right. The moment he starts to feel bad he can’t handle it and behaves poorly. He knew it was shitty and still did it. What Tad also knew was something needed to change. Tad Strange is not a quitter. He’s not a piece of shit that lashes out at easy targets. He’s better than that. Right now..he’s just had a lil too much to drink but Tad Strange isn’t out of the game just yet!
“Yeah.” He said to himself after he gave himself an internal motivating talk. “Yeah!!” he threw both fists in the air, “Oh god..dizzy..” Okay, sober up first. Afterwards he would tackle the next part of his plan. There’s like..a billion something humans on that dirt ball they call Earth. He just needed to dig in and find a diamond in the rough. The first steps of a really good plan were coming to him even in his slightly inebriated state. He started to feel good again. Confident, even. Yet somehow. In space. A traveling miscellaneous pile of someone’s floating garbage bags flew right into Tad’s path. He had no time to dodge nor brace for the impact. One of the cheap plastic bags exploded on impact with his sharp edge and it only got worse when Tad struggled. He got tangled up in what felt like lots of paper, bits of rotten old food, goop, and the cherry on top? A piece of paper flew right into his eye. The sharp pointed edge going in first. “ aAaAAaAAAaaAAH -” Tad screamed. SON OF BITC-
He screamed, whipping his trusty and handy magic umbrella to combat the trash and unleash his anger. OF COURSE. WHY NOT. He feels like trash. He gets hit WITH trash. Haha!! The universe sure has a sick sense of humor. When the last piece was shaken off he pulled the paper out and was going to tear it up but the picture stopped him. It was a business card of some kind? From…an oracle? …Right. He rubbed his stinging eye. Oh..OH..just..OH, that’s wonderful!! There was something coated on that card. Because why wouldn’t the universe give him a pink eye on top of everything else?! He crammed the card into his tiny hat and pulled his umbrella out again. Hopefully he’s still sober enough to work this thing to take him back to the motel. An oracle may not be a bad idea to consider once he’s sobered up and gotten his hands on some antibiotic eye drops.