- Moderator
- #1
Dr. Hates
Jerk.
I.
The whiskey burned its way down the back of banes' throat, coming to rest in a ball of slow, pleasing warmth radiating from his stomach and suffusing his whole body with a glow that all too briefly took his mind away from the near-empty bar in which he sat. "Again," he croaked lazily, shaking his empty shotglass in the bartender's general direction. As the young man behind the bar made his way over to refill his drink, banes took a moment to appreciate the way the droplets of booze still clinging to the sides of his glass caught the dim light of his surroundings, twinkling like stars in the nighttime. His drink replenished, he knocked it back again in one go. "Again."
"Buddy," said the bartender, a youngish-looking man with an easy smile, soft eyes, and a plastic name tag that said STEVE in block letters, "I can't serve you anymore. You've had like seven of those things, and corporate says we're not even supposed to give you more than three. This is fucking Applebee's, dude--you can't get wasted here."
At that, banes' hand whipped out like a viper, his fingers biting into Steve's neck. He spoke slowly, acidly, through gritted teeth: "I. Said. Again."
Thirty seconds later, banes flew in a graceful parabolic arc through the Applebee's front doors thanks to a combination of Steve's surprising strength and less surprising lack of fondness for being choked by morose drunkards. Realizing that discretion yet remained the better part of valor, banes elected to stagger on elsewhere. He walked aimlessly from street to street, unsure of his destination. He wanted to go home; he wanted it more desperately than anything, really, but he knew that he couldn't. She would still be there packing her things. After a time, banes found a park and settled himself onto a bench. His head lolling back, he took a deep breath of the cool night air and let out a long, loud sob, wondering how it all came to this.
The whiskey burned its way down the back of banes' throat, coming to rest in a ball of slow, pleasing warmth radiating from his stomach and suffusing his whole body with a glow that all too briefly took his mind away from the near-empty bar in which he sat. "Again," he croaked lazily, shaking his empty shotglass in the bartender's general direction. As the young man behind the bar made his way over to refill his drink, banes took a moment to appreciate the way the droplets of booze still clinging to the sides of his glass caught the dim light of his surroundings, twinkling like stars in the nighttime. His drink replenished, he knocked it back again in one go. "Again."
"Buddy," said the bartender, a youngish-looking man with an easy smile, soft eyes, and a plastic name tag that said STEVE in block letters, "I can't serve you anymore. You've had like seven of those things, and corporate says we're not even supposed to give you more than three. This is fucking Applebee's, dude--you can't get wasted here."
At that, banes' hand whipped out like a viper, his fingers biting into Steve's neck. He spoke slowly, acidly, through gritted teeth: "I. Said. Again."
Thirty seconds later, banes flew in a graceful parabolic arc through the Applebee's front doors thanks to a combination of Steve's surprising strength and less surprising lack of fondness for being choked by morose drunkards. Realizing that discretion yet remained the better part of valor, banes elected to stagger on elsewhere. He walked aimlessly from street to street, unsure of his destination. He wanted to go home; he wanted it more desperately than anything, really, but he knew that he couldn't. She would still be there packing her things. After a time, banes found a park and settled himself onto a bench. His head lolling back, he took a deep breath of the cool night air and let out a long, loud sob, wondering how it all came to this.
Last edited: