[1st/5th] Week 293: Mr. Saturday Night Special (I)

Inks · Sep 7, 2013

Inkers as Rufus Allemande
Genowhirl as Raury Feybrand

Word Count - [ 5,232 ]

Mr. Saturday Night Special
Part I

It was half-past nine on a Saturday night, and Rufus was in a good mood.

Then again, Rufus was usually in a good mood. There were only three things that could really ruin his easy-going disposition, and since none of those things were currently on the table, his weekend was off to a perfect start.

What was on the table was a curvy young woman with her black hair in a bob cut and just the right amount of mascara lining her dark, dark eyes – and that was more than perfect. It was honestly impressive, how fast the woman had gone from coy (and sober) to amorous (and not). Yukio, Rufus’ sometimes partner-in-crime, sometimes partner, had been matching her shot-for-shot, and was currently somewhere below them, out on the dance floor that encompassed the entirety of the establishment’s ground floor. He’d find his way back eventually, if only for the free supply of alcohol Rufus provided during their get-togethers.

Rufus didn’t even know the name of the club in which he’d found himself tonight (the Tops? Unique? Something short and hipster), but it was quickly growing on him. He’d made a habit of trying out bars and nightclubs at random, but it wasn’t too often that the places he walked into were places he stayed; like most things, it was a hit-and-miss sort of deal.

This place, alive and thrumming with music and conversation and people, definitely felt like a hit.

A shadow cast itself over the table, and Rufus beamed up at the waitress standing before him. A trio of shot glasses stood on her serving tray.

“Three Pineapple Upside-Down Cake Shooters,” she announced, though at this point it was just for propriety’s sake. They’d been drinking the same thing for the last hour.

“Perfect timing,” Rufus said, tugging at his companion’s wrist. “Don’t mind Ume-san here, she’s just...well. Thank you, jou-chan.”

The woman with the bobbed haircut, who had earlier introduced herself as Ito Ume, slipped off the table and into the booth next to Rufus. She leaned heavily against him as their waitress placed the drinks; terrifyingly-sweet little confections in cocktail-form, three red-to-yellow gradients that were bright and cheery against the black tabletop.

“...Of course. Please, enjoy.” The waitress’s smile was professional; she dipped her head in a little bow and was gone the next instant.

“‘Don’t mind Ume-san here’,” drawled the woman slumped against Rufus’ flank. “ ‘She’s just...’ Just what am I, Ru-san?”

Rufus angled his head towards hers, his indigo-blue eyes alight and mischievous. “Adventurous. Fun-loving. Carefree. Nothing that little miss wanted to hear.”

Ume pushed herself upright, pulled one of the shot glasses over to her, and nudged him with her shoulder. “You know, Ru-san, I’m curious. How many women like me have you gotten into your bed with your fancy haircut and your tailored suit and your...pretty-boy face?”

“Women like you?” Rufus asked. He made a show of studying her; her sultry features, her bare-shoulders t-shirt, her too-short skirt, and her too-long legs. “Not a one, oujo-san.”

The woman raised one eyebrow. “Oh, sure,” she said.

“It’s the truth. If I had a hundred yen coin for every time I’ve met a woman as beautiful as you,” Rufus’ lip curled upon one side, flashing one pearly-white eyetooth, “...I’d have a hundred yen.”

That surprised a small laugh out of her. Her other eyebrow rose, turning a look of skepticism into one of amusement.

“You don’t consider pick-up lines beneath you, Ru-san?” she asked, her words only a little slurred even as she leaned into him again.

“Nothing is beneath me,” Rufus couldn’t help himself, “unless it wants to be.”

The woman eyed him for a minute, unashamedly checking him out. She took her shot and knocked it back with an exaggerated gesture.

Rufus watched the line of her throat, just as unashamedly.

“Keep it up,” Ume said as she set the glass back down, her eyes catching his. “It might even get you somewhere.”

“Oh? Well then, I’ll hold you to that.” Rufus reached for his own glass.

Which was no longer there.

Where could it be? Really, anywhere. Off on a journey to far away, previously undiscovered paradises. Out hailing a taxi. Catching a brew while watching ‘the game’ on its television, nestled in on the sofa in its comfortable but quaint apartment. Killing time at the local music shop. But not really. All of these things are silly.

The drink had, in actuality, found its way into the hands of a now very confused, yet very interested individual. An individual who so loved the world of alcohol. Its properties, its smell. Taste. Touch. And its sheer versatility. He didn’t even know what this drink was. Never seen it, never heard of it. But there he was, Raury Feybrand, crouched down beside an acquaintance's table at a loud, not-quite-his-style-but-quickly growing on him, bar. Or was it a club? He hadn’t even checked.

Raury had been out on a quick little hollow hunt. The hollow had been no trouble, if a bit odd. Hollows were weird. Who wants to come back as a narwhal? Or did they even have a choice? In either case, he’d made a mental note to ask one sometime (because seriously, narwhal?). The hunt had been short, and now the drunk had found himself with some free time. Well, kind of. He’d intended to make his way back to Seireitei quickly and resume his drinking. But when you see a certain dashing (no homo) animal man drinking with some ladies...well, what better thing to do than interrupt?

And he was dressed for the occasion and everything. Sort of. Maybe. Baggy jeans and a black tee was acceptable, he guessed. Most of these people were barely wearing clothes. He even had bling. A matching pair of silver armbands, glinting weakly against the flashing neons. And there was a tie. With his tee. You know. To add formality.

“What...what is?” Raury whispered, just audible above the DJ’s furious mixing. Raury studied the drink for a few moments more before looking up at Rufus, a bewildered joy struck across his features.

His head slowly crept up, his nose barely cresting the tabletop. Wide eyed, he held up the shot, pointing rigidly at it with his free hand.

“What. Is?”

Rufus stared down at the redheaded man like he couldn’t quite believe he was real – eyes wide, brow furrowed, and mouth slightly agape. His arm froze, still reaching for a shot glass that was no longer there.

Wha...? When...? How...?

“It’s a Pineapple Upside-Down Cake Shooter,” supplied Ume, peering at Raury from beneath Rufus’ arm. She smirked and nudged Rufus with her elbow. “Another friend of yours Ru-san?”

Still somewhat stunned, for a variety of reasons, Rufus nevertheless returned her expression. “Something like that,” he agreed. “This is Feybrand Raury. We’ve had drinks together once or twice. Raury, this is Ito Ume. Why don’t you sit down and have a drink?” he gestured at the booth across from him. “What you’re holding is sweet enough to give you diabetes, but it’s got alcohol in it too, so who knows – maybe you’ll like it.

“What...ah...what brings you here?” The blond’s tone was deceptively light, masking the underlying anxiety that he always associated with shinigami.

Raury took the invitation to sit, unceremoniously plopping onto the floor exactly where he had been crouched. “Huntin’ things.” He stated, offhandedly, his interest entirely still with the drink in his hand.

“Pineapple Upside-Down Cake Shot...ter.” He mumbled, in some state akin to awe. “Kinda long name...needs shortenin’. Mebbe...P. Pud...cs. Pudcs. Pudd. Cssss.” His mouth endeavored to enact the sounds he was attempting, but it really sounded like garble. A fact even he noticed. “Well, at least take off the ‘cake’ bit. Aint a cake at all.”

Raury tentatively brought the cocktail to his lips, quickly knocking it back as it reached face-proximity. His expression of curious awe morphed, but only slightly. The awe was still three, but sans the curiosity. Curiosity was replaced with a more distinct avidness. Sweets topped no higher than any of his other loves in the booze world. But this was a sweets he had never tried. Or, rather not in this exact mixture. And this mixture was baller.

“Vanilla Vodka, amaretto liqueur...” The drunk’s tongue played a moment in his mouth, feeling out the flavors. “And cognac. And somethin’ pineapple, presumably.” He stated matter-of-factly. He plopped the glass up on the table in front of him.

“More.”

His eyes drilled into Rufus’.

‘Huntin’ things.’

Well, as long as it’s not me, Rufus didn’t say. He wasn’t sure he could make it sound like it was just a joke.

Ume giggling at his side, the man took a long breath and exhaled, dispelling some of the tension that had appeared alongside his shinigami friend. It seemed he went through the same steps, the same routine, every time he and Raury met; initial anxiety (what if Soul Society knew about him?), some sort of self-preserving distrust (what if Raury accidentally mentioned him when he went back?), and then, given time and a few drinks, an acceptance that the shinigami meant no harm (well fuck it).

It was ridiculous, to be honest. Rufus would much rather skip to the not-giving-a-fuck bit.

“Take Yukio’s,” he said, leaning over in his seat to greet Raury with a grin. “He’s another friend of mine. But he won’t be back for another few rounds, and there’s no reason for his shots to go to waste. ...The servers might appreciate it if you relocated to higher ground, though.

“...Not the table,” he quickly added. “I don’t think the jou-chan much appreciated it when Ume did it, and I doubt her feelings on the matter have changed since.”

“You know, Ru-san,” said Ume in a slow, teasing drawl. “I’m starting to wonder about your preferences. First Yukio-san, now Raury-san...”

Rufus’ responding laugh was half-surprise, half-amusement. He looked down at her with raised eyebrows. “Raury-san isn’t a guy friend, Ume-chan,” he said. “He’s just a friend. A friend who is, admittedly, a good-looking man. Honestly, though?” he winked at the dark-haired woman. “For me, gender just adds variety. It’s not that I prefer one over the other, it’s that I don’t differentiate between men and women. I like what I like.”

Ume leaned back in the booth, fiddling with her empty shot glass. “Hmm,” she said. “...That's very...unique, Ru-san.”

Raury remained on the floor for a few beats, blankly staring wide-eyed at Rufus’ guest, before complying with the order to take a ‘proper’ seat. Dates were weird. Why did people even go on them? Well, like this, anyway.

The offered shot was in the drunk’s hand as quickly as him sliding into the empty space still left at the table, and downed just as quickly.

His eyes met Rufus’s once more, hard with intent.

“More.”

“If you keep drinking at that pace,” Ume said, “you’re not gonna last long, Raury-san.”

Like she had any room to talk about pacing.

Rufus laughed. “That,” he said, “is where you would be wrong, Ume-chan. Raury’s a heavyweight champion in drinking. I’m not even sure he has a limit.”

Rufus couldn’t help but be amused. He hadn’t forgotten the redhead’s predilection towards heavy drinking, but seeing Raury in action was still ridiculous.

“See, Raury, this is why men like you belong at the bar. Easy access. Unfortunately, if you want another, you’ll have to wait for our waitress jou-san or go hunt one down yourself.”

He paused.

“And when I say ‘hunt’, I mean ‘use money to buy something from the barman’. Other patrons’ drinks are not fair game. Here, let me--”

“Ah,” Ume said. Her voice was full of dramatic foreboding, and she straightened in her seat. Rufus glanced over at her, then followed the line of her gaze. “Uh-oh.”

“...Uh-oh?” Rufus repeated. Across the room, a decisively muscular young man with his hair in a red-tipped mohawk and a stud through his left eyebrow had caught Ume’s eyes. His glare shifted to Rufus and darkened. He started making his way towards their table with intent, shoving and shouldering any unfortunates out of his way. “...Oh. Of course. Uh-oh.”

“My boyfriend,” Ume said in response to the unasked question. “Well, sort of. We broke up.”

“Isn’t that an ex-boyfriend, then?” Rufus asked lightly, eyes not leaving the other man. ...Honestly, he looked like a rooster.

“Weeellll,” Ume said, drawing the word out. “I mean, we break up a lot.”

“Of course you do.”

Had he heard any of the exchange between his ferrety friend and his lady, it would have served to deepen Raury’s confusion as to the point of dating, for sure. However, the drunk had officially checked out on the ‘wait for our waitress’ and ‘hunt one down yourself’ bits.

The words wait and hunt bounced around in the redheads mind like a set of pendulum balls. Wait. Hunt. Wait. Hunt.

They eventually melded into a form of loud buzz, drowning out all other sound in his world, his eyes widening further and further as the buzzing grew in pitch. With a near audible click, his mind shifted into proper rhythm once more, and Raury immediately rose from his seat.

“Fuck that noise.” He stated, his eyes shifting to his surroundings, searching out for quarry. There were so many people in this place. And so many drinks.

“Plenty ta go ‘round, I says.”

Only slightly registering the presence of some bristle-headed muscle junkie, he deftly sidestepped what surely would have been a shoulder-check on the bristle-head’s part. Ducking low and around, Raury skidded across the polished floor and slid into a crouch in front of some hapless patron’s table.

And older man, seated with a younger lady, looked down with confusion at his arrival. The man said something, but of course Raury hadn’t even registered that people were even at this table at all. All he saw was Red drink and purple drink. Purple was such a lovely color. He downed that one first, snapping it up with a snaking hand across the table, and downing it in one go.

“Gin.” He pronounced matter-of-factly. “An’ somethin...schnapps? Bleh, not me favvie, but it’ll do nicely, ain’t we a love...”

Not waiting for a rebuttal from the couple he hadn’t even seen, he moved on to the next table.

Meanwhile, back at Rufus’s table, things had gotten about as stupid as expected.

“Just what the hell d’ya think you’re doin’ with my girlfriend, asshole?”

Rufus tried not to look too amused by the situation. It was hard; his expression already tended towards amusement by default, and he wasn’t sober enough to make the effort. “Look, I think this is a bit of a misunderstand—" he started.

As he was jerked out of his booth by the lapels of his suit jacket, Rufus couldn’t help but wonder if Raury wasn’t some sort of agent of chaos. It certainly seemed to follow at the man’s heel, whether or not that was his intent.

“I said,” Ume’s beau snarled in his face, “’What...the hell...are you doing...With. My. Girlfriend?” The man shook him with every sharply-punctuated word, the muscles in his arms coiled and very-nearly trembling with anger.

Rufus sighed.

Oh well. Compared to some of the situations he had gotten himself into, this didn’t even rank. He did like the establishment, though. If possible, he’d rather not be banned from it on his first visit.

“Ume-chan,” he said, shifting to catch sight of the woman. “Should I...? Ah, okay then.”

Ume was sprawled in the booth, head propped up on one hand. She watched the two men like a princess might watch two knights vying for her affections, one fingernail tapping at her lips. She, at least, seemed happy with this turn of events.

“You know what?” Rufus said, raising his hands. “How about I just go? Clearly this is a matter that doesn’t involve me, and I’d rather not come between you and Ume-chan.” Well. Under different circumstances that wouldn’t be true at all...but Rufus genuinely doubted Rooster-kun would appreciate the suggestion.

The muscled man gave him a narrow-eyed scowl. Then his gaze flicked over to the woman still seated in Rufus’ booth. “Yeah, I think it's too late for that, asshole,” he snapped, and cocked back with his right arm, his fingers tightly fisted.

Again, Rufus sighed.

And just when a fellow is hunting for someone to share a drink with, one appears. It was one of the miracles of nights of drink that astounded Raury again and again. Never a shortage of companions. Except for those nights where that wasn’t true. Those were lonely. Either way, here was a fresh volunteer, hand raised high.

Raury snatched that hand out of the air, pleased by the gung-ho attitude, and thus inadvertently defused a potentially violent situation. Well, perhaps not diffused. His volunteer was confusingly irate as Raury dragged the man across the floor to his next table stop.

“Quit bein’ a baby.” He muttered, giving the arm he held a bit of a shake.

Another lovely spot. Green, green. A beer. And something yellow. Where to start?

“Oh thank goodness,” Rufus breathed, watching Raury manhandle Ume’s sometimes-boyfriend across the bar floor as he straightened out his suit. “I’ve been saved.”

The blond swept a hand through his hair and turned to Ume. Her evaluating look had vanished, replaced with the same wide-eyed surprise her beau was undoubtedly experiencing.

“I was this close to becoming a bad metaphor,” he informed the woman, smiling. “Weasels and roosters and all that.”

She pulled her eyes from the scene Raury was making, confused. “...What?”

“Nothing,” Rufus quickly replied. “It’s an inside joke. Here, Ume-chan.” He took his wallet from the inner pocket of his jacket, counted out a number of yen notes, and laid them on the table. He set one of the empty shot glasses atop them. “For the drinks – plus a sizable tip for our waitress jou-chan. I trust that you’ll see she gets it?”

With one last smirk, and before Ume could object, Rufus was off.

He found Raury downing shots at a party-of-six’s table, Ume’s Rooster-kun’s arm still caught in some impromptu joint lock.

“Raury,” he said, waving apologetically to the pissed-off group (and doing his best to ignore Rooster-kun entirely) as he tapped at his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re living the dream, but we should probably head outside. Before we end up with our names and faces pinned on this place’s ‘Do Not Serve’ list.”

“Tequila, triple sec n’ some cranberry. ‘Sunburn’ variety of margarita.” Raury pronounced as he set his most recent glass down. Turning to Rufus, a smile spread onto his face, fully expressing his joy. The hapless bristle head struggled, yelling out when he attempted to move a locked appendage. Raury shifted his eyes to his captive.

“Man, thought this dude’d be fun. Nnnnope.” He intoned, popping his lips on the ‘p’. “Very disappointin’.”

At that, he released the man, bristle-head slumping to the floor and curling in on himself around his bruised right hand. Raury looked back to Rufus.

“Sure we gotta go now? Some folk at onna them tables over there said they’d get me more if I took my shirt off.” Raury scratched at his head. “Not sure why that’d be somethin’ they’d want me ta do, but hell, seems fair enough I s’pose. S’eem over there.”

Raury gestured off to a nearby table, where sat four men. Two were obviously middle-aged salarymen, the other two were dressed in bright neons and spandex. They waved at Raury as he gestured, a greeting the drunk returned.

Rufus turned to the table of men with a look of intense concentration. He stared at them for a long, hard moment. Looked over to Raury. Back to the men. “No,” he said slowly, reaching for his pocket. “You’re right. It is a fair enough deal.”

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Raury was out of his shirt. The redhead headed back toward his benefactors with his black tee caught on one arm and his tie still loose around his neck.

If he hadn’t been busy snapping pictures of the man’s naked torso with his smartphone, Rufus might have felt bad about letting Raury be exploited like this. Then again, Raury was a grown man. ...Soul. Either way, he was capable of making decisions for himself. Although, it felt like Rufus had dismissed something prematurely in favor of seeing sexy, muscled man-chest...

Oh, right.

When Rooster-kun made a lunge for him, it was a miracle of instinct and deeply-ingrained reflexes that had Rufus dodge out of the way. For a second he felt his stomach knot – also instinct, also reflex – and then Ume’s muscular young beau went stumbling past him and into someone else’s table, knocking another young couple’s drinks into their laps.
“What the--?!”
“Hey!”
Things escalated quickly after that, and, all things considered, Rufus was just surprised security didn’t show up faster.

--

Though he had been reluctant to leave the veritable smorgasbord of colorful concoctions available in the nightclub, Raury had been promised greater things. Naturally, he was a bit miffed. Arcade games, while fantastic little things, full of lights and colorful sound, were in no way a replacement for sampling things unavailable on his home turf. Though, it could be argued that there were no arcades in Rukongai. But damnit, he couldn’t drink arcade games. What he could drink from, however, was a flask he had smuggled into the joint.

Which he frequently did, as he observed a round of Pac-Man over the shoulder of his furry-eared friend. That sound was going to stick in his head, he just knew it.

“Wakka wakka...” He muttered under his breath as the game progressed. He really hadn’t stopped making the noise unless swigging.

Either Pac-Man was a lot harder than he remembered, or Rufus’ hand-eye coordination was a little trashed thanks to the shots he’d been drinking earlier. He hadn’t had nearly as many of those horrible little Shooter-concoctions as Yukio (who had been hanging off another guy’s arm, waving, as Rufus was escorted off the property) or Ume (who had been following them, arguing with her Rooster-kun the whole way) but he’d apparently had enough.

“Come on, you little yellow bastard. Come on,” he huffed, wrenching the joystick to one side hard enough to nearly tear it off the machine. He worked Pac-Man through the screen’s maze, ghosts threatening on all sides and the level’s last power-pellet still woefully far away – then he used the shortcut to hop from one side of the screen to the other.

He completed the level with a fist pump of victory, Raury cheering in his ear and probably far more satisfied with himself than he should have been.
He lost his last life on the next stage, mostly due to an attractive woman wandering by at just the wrong moment. It was all fine, though; there were other games. After Pac-Man it was Space Invaders. After Space Invaders it was Street Fighter.

And after Street Fighter, it was House of the Dead 2.

“See, you use these fake little guns,” Rufus was explaining to Raury, flourishing one of the arcade game’s plastic light-guns, “to shoot monsters that appear on the screen.” He aimed at the game screen in demonstration. “You shoot them by pulling the trigger, and if you’re aiming at them right, it does damage. The goal of the game is to shoot all the enemies without letting them hit your character...which is the screen. Is any of this making sense to you?”

He wasn’t sure why he bothered asking; Raury seemed entirely occupied with feeding yen-coins into the game’s slots.

And coins were fucking shiny. Super shiny. And the queer little clink-clank they made when being inserted was so satisfying.

“Yeah, I hear ya, mate.”

Clink-Clank.

“I gotta shoot all the monsters a’fore they kill erry’one.”

Clink-Clank.

“Alright,” he pronounced, taking to his feet, blue little firearm in hand and at the ready, “Time ta get to work.”

Leveling his gun at the indicated screen, Raury began to drift away, eyeballing the crowd. His gaze shifted, squinting with suspicion at the other patrons, eyes widening when they alighted upon a couple. One (the male) was quite young. Raury judged him to be no more than early twenties. The other, the female. Now she was the interesting one. Tight, shining pants, as though lacquered. The shoes, terrifying. What passed as hair looked to share genetic code with some form of swamp beast. And the face. Wrinkles. Creases. That makeup. Something carnies would shy from.

Raury’s features took on an expression of abject horror as he looked on, watching the thing cavorting as a human female as she cackled and fawned, frequently stroking the male’s head.

Surely a monster beyond compare.

His gun whipped forward as he called out at the harpy-beast.

“Die, monster! You don’t belong in this world!” He bellowed, the game gun clacking as he fervently mashed the trigger.

“READY?” the game blared at them, its tone accusational.

It hadn’t even started yet. Rufus pulled his attention from blocky graphics to see what – or who – Raury was targeting, and then stared.

Oh. Yikes.

Rufus had a brief but strong urge to aim his own gun at the frightening cougar of a woman. It would’ve been ill-advised, though; she was already looking their way, an ugly scowl further wrecking her features...and that meant Rufus needed to do damage-control.

He turned on the charm, shot the middle-aged (at the very least) woman a sheepish, apologetic little smile, and dropped his hand on top of Raury’s gun, trying to lower it. “Sorry!” he called, “Please, forgive my partner, ojou-san. He’s been drinking. A lot.” Still engaged in an unorthodox wrestling match with Raury over his gun (and, more specifically, where it was aimed), the blond added, “Please, just, don’t pay him any mind!”

“READY?” roared House of the Dead 2.

Rufus almost laughed, it was all so ridiculous.

“Raury, wrong monster,” he whispered under his breath, cutting his eyes over to the redhead for a second. “We’re shooting the monsters that appear on the screen, remember?”

“You’re a screen!” Raury bellowed, shouldering his furry friend away from him as he swung the gun wildly, still depressing the trigger sporadically. Miraculously, some of the creatures on screen began dying. Or, rather...pixellatedly. No longer. Existing?

Either way, the scene was a close cut between miraculous and ludicrous. As he swung madly, his off screen shots provided reloads (unbeknownst to the drunk), and the screen shots nearly always landed true. Including avoiding the hostages. Sometimes Lady Luck is blind. And apparently drunk. In possession of a good sense of humor.

Thank whatever gods you will, but eventually Raury righted, getting into the groove of the game. And totally staying on screen, oddly enough. Trouble, though. He might have been getting too into it, yelling boisterously and with great mirth. Or rage. Hard to tell with gamers.

“Fuck!”

“Shoot it, Cat-Man!”

“Damnit, it’s right there!”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck!”

Frantically, he whipped his head to the left, yelling directly into Rufus’s ears.

“How do I reload!?”

“Jesus christ – What?! Shoot off-screen!” he shouted back, emptying a clip into the screen and reloading his own light-gun just to show the redhead how.

Somehow, Raury’s enthusiasm had bled into Rufus as well, until both men were gunning down zombies and monsters with a sort of wild zeal that, inevitably, drew a crowd. Every time one of them took a hit, the cluster of people – young kids and teenagers, mostly – collectively booed, and every time they completed a stage, they’d cheer as one. From one corner, the arcade manager had an expression like he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or amused at the two drunk men.

For someone who never handled guns, had to squint to see the screen right, and kept snickering inexplicably under his breath, Rufus thought he was doing pretty damn good so far. Nothing compared to Raury’s...whatever the fuck that had been – but pretty damn good.

As some chainsaw-wielding abomination the game had dubbed Strength chased their characters around a huge coliseum labyrinth, Rufus’s finger blurred on the trigger of his gun. “Goddamnit you masked piece of shit—” the blond man snapped as he took a hit.

“The head!” someone shouted from the gaggle of onlookers. “Aim for its head!”

“I’ll aim fer yer head!” Raury roared, pulling his ‘firearm’ around to address whomever had spoken. He really was getting a little too into this, with the major problem of being more into the moment than the game. His attention wildly shifted from the on screen targets to the onlookers every few seconds. Oddly enough, he seemed to do better when not looking at the game, and honestly, it was something shy of a miracle that his little character was even still alive and kicking. Or...shooting.

As if on cue, as he shifted his attention back to the game, his good old pal ‘Strength’ put a chainsaw through Raury’s side of the screen, giving the Founder the ‘put more coins in me before you’re dead’ screen. With a wild bleat reminiscent of a stuck boar, Raury hefted the entire machine (“RAURY, NO!” shouted Rufus), tearing it free from its cords and hurled it full force through a nearby pinball machine. Apparently, this was the secret to winning pinball, as tickets began pouring from the receptacle amidst a cacophony of beeps and light.

“That’s what happened!” The drunk roared, turning to the crowd and raising both arms high, fists clinched. “Bakooow!”

Rufus stared at him – hands still raised in an aborted attempt to stop the redhead from doing...exactly what he’d just done.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react. Half the crowd kept right on cheering, apparently oblivious to how superhuman it was to do what Raury had just done, and the other half scattered in a mess of alarmed screaming and shouting.

The blond glanced over to find the rail shooter’s plastic light gun still in his hand; the connecting cord had been ripped from it, and a mess of exposed wiring dangled from the gun’s bottom. Rufus frowned at it.

I’m not sober enough for this.

“Uh,” he said. “Raury...” His gaze drifted over to the manager, who was hovering near the arcade exit, talking hysterically into his phone. “...Raury, we should go.”

“—just like Shizuo from Durarara!” some overly-ecstatic girl was trying to tell the drunk shinigami. “He doesn’t look super muscular either, but he can punch people out of their clothes and throws vending machines, and--”

“I’m very sorry,” Rufus said, inserting himself between the two and pushing Raury towards the door, “but I don’t want to be arrested today, so we need to leave. We’ll find another bar and I’ll buy you a few dozen drinks or something, deal?”

Once he’d gotten Raury to the exit and wrestled him outside, Rufus turned back, one hand already in his pocket.

“Excuse me!” he said loudly. “Excuse me, if everyone would please look here – Now, I can explain all of this.”

I just don’t want to.

Once he’d caught the crowd’s attention, the blond held up a Memory Chikan and quickly pressed the button.

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[To Be Continued]

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[1st/5th] Week 293: Mr. Saturday Night Special (I)

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