Drunkard

a/n: Frye is drinking at the Repenta. INSIDE at the Repenta. I know, right? Things will not go smoothly.

Swears, angst, problematic stuff.

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft, except Arya was named by ChronoBlader (see their stories for a much sweeter NLA, so much fun to read!). The booth full of OCs that could wreck house are mine. The behavior by Arya is thanks to a blog by a waitress, I'll see if I can find the source.

It was a good night to be inside, drinking. A cold snap had settled on New Los Angeles, temperatures dropping a good 20 degrees, and the moons were barely cutting through the threatening clouds. No one was hoping for snow, but everyone was readying themselves for icy rain. All in all, he should be happy that he could be back inside, enjoying the bar in the Repenta Diner instead of the patio furniture by the parking lot. Happy, not grateful, since he'd served his full two week ban for brawling, but still glad for warmth and light and dampness only in the form of droplet rings on cocktail napkins.

Frye lifted his shot glass in a toast to a passing bartender, who understandably ignored the gesture. There were disadvantages to officially sanctioned drinking. The staff at the Repenta were under strict orders to pour out drinks only one at a time for Frye, with an intervening buffer that always seemed to grow longer when what he really needed was another shot right away.

His gesture really had been one of contentment, not an ask. More of a request for acknowledgement, and it hadn't worked for that either. That was another bonus of drinking in the parking lot. People knew to find him there, and if somebody walked up to him, he knew it wasn't luck of the draw. They really wanted to talk to him. Sure, it was usually followed immediately by an offer of a mission; he wasn't that vain to think that there were many people in NLA that just wanted to shoot the breeze with him. But still. No awkward chit chat with someone whose eyes were flicking around the bar as they desperately searched for a reason to move away. Besides, a few of the other parking lot kids were funny, when they weren't too wasted.

He scanned the room, wondering who might be up to talking to him in a friendly sort of way. He didn't want any drama though, so he'd have to be careful who he picked. People kept nagging him about how he acted, in the bar and out of it. Irina had chewed him out just yesterday. She'd been doing that more and more now that she was gunning to be a leader in Interceptors. He could see how she'd be a good choice, if they were moving towards ranks and roles again. Inevitable, and he didn't mind the end of equality too much, because that had also looked a lot like chaos when they were first stranded here. He could ignore dressing downs, no worries, even if they got backed up by punishment duty or whatever, and he knew Irina wasn't angry at him, just at all the trouble that followed. "Don't you ever get tired of being trash, Frye? I'm telling you, buster, you need to control yourself. If you could just avoid starting a bar fight during, what, every freaking night? Every time, Frye, and I don't know why Arya hasn't kicked you out of her parking lot at that. Something about your dumbass makes her go soft."

Buster, heh. That was a new one. Irina was wrong though. Arya was the last thing from soft. Frye looked past the laughing, chatting people, until he spotted the slim figure of the manager/owner. She was swerving just a bit too fast through the crowd, directly towards him. Not soft at all. She slowed momentarily and twitched her head a fraction towards one particular patron, her eyes locking hard onto Frye's.

Frye drained his glass and made a face like his drink was nasty medicine. He'd noticed that guy already. Dirty, mumbling at people that tried to speak to him, shifting from table to table but never staying long. If he'd ordered a beer, Frye had missed it. Still in his gear but thank god unarmed, at least as far as Frye could tell. Arya's bouncer was getting pretty good at that part of the job, patting people down and making sure they'd hit their lockers before coming inside. Not doing anything inappropriate, not yet, but Frye would bet an order of egg-rolls that Arya wanted him out without officially asking him to leave. Frye didn't know who might be vouching for this waste of skin, but he understood that loyalties within teams, within whole divisions, could protect even the worst person in NLA. Irina's heart-to-heart with him was proof enough.

Funny, his brother had asked him almost the same thing today. "Don't you ever get tired of it, being outside? You have a choice, you know." Frye didn't mind that nagging either, especially because Phog knew more than Irina. He knew Frye had a choice to step in or not. Honestly, tonight it was cold enough that maybe he'd let Arya use her own damn charms to get that guy to switch to black coffee and an early night.

Then the guy slammed into a table at a booth filled with women, and leaned into the girl sitting on the outer seat. Frye watched her freeze, refusing to look up at the figure that had grabbed her shoulder. The other girls were squawking, raising a protest that would make the bum move on if he knew anything. In a minute, the bouncer or Arya would step in, or the booth would unleash an unholy mess of hurt on the dude (Frye had teamed with a few and had seen them take down indigen that could eat the entire bar if left unchecked). Or the woman who was being pawed would turn her baby doll eyes towards her assailant (eyes that Frye knew were green like sea glass, like leaves, like the ribs of Sylvalum), and a second later the hobo would drop to the ground, clutching his throat or groin or something.

Or more likely, Frye would be getting another two week ban, because he was already within arms' reach of the dude and he had momentum on his side.

hiseyeswerebrokenbecausehehadseenherhehadseenherhehadseenherhehadseenher...
hehadseenherfallingandtherewassomuchblueandherhead...
somuchblueonthesandsoshewasdeadandmaybeifshewasherehewasdeadtoothiswashellbutwithtableservice

a/n: Hmm, which female OC has remarkably green eyes? That would be Case the Headcase. We'll hear her next, hopefully. And remember, if something is going scary for you at a bar, the waitress and bartender want to help, so send them a signal. That is not something I'm making up for a story. Write SOS on your bill, tell them when you order a drink or step out to the restroom, let them know, okay?

Next up: Case has been trying to relax, okay?