Tsvetan- Bulgaria

Alin- Romania

…

The tiny pub was packed full of people winding down after a long day of work, looking for a good time with friends or simply trying to drown their sorrows; just like every other Friday evening. There was a buzz in the air as people spoke loudly and freely, trying to be heard over the old 80s music playing on the jukebox. A small group were huddled around an old telly hung on the wall, watching a sports game, erupting into a sudden chorus of shouts every now and again. A pair of young children watched a game of snooker in interest, sometimes moving the coloured balls across the green table when the players weren't looking. On the other side of the room, their mother talked to a stranger about their jobs, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she flicked her hair in a flirtatious manner. A lone man sat at a table in the corner, occasionally checking his phone as a group of college students walked past, in the middle of celebrating the birthday of one of their members, who was currently trying to sip his first alcoholic drink as his mates elbowed and shoved him jokingly.

The last rays of sunlight poured in through the large, old fashioned, windows and there was a constant smell of cigarettes and alcohol in the air, as well as the faint scent of crisps and peanuts, whose crumbs were crammed into every crevice and crack there was.

Alin greeted acquaintances with a wave and cheery call as he pushed past groups of friends chatting casually, drinks in hands, and eventually made it to the bar to order drinks of his own, dragging his best friend, Tsvetan, right behind him.

"Do we have to come here all the time?" Tsvetan looked around uneasily, hand instinctively slipping into his large coat pockets and clasping his wallet and phone.

"Well I'm sorry, your majesty," Alin stuck his tongue out, leaning against the bar, "but we can't afford to go to a fancy gay bar every night just so I can sit in the corner and watch you get shitfaced whilst grinding against some stranger."

Tsvetan turned a rather unflattering shade of scarlet; "that never happened! I don't remember doing anything like… well… you can't provide evidence it happened!"

"I have grainy mobile phone footage to prove it did."

"You said you deleted that!" Tsvetan whipped out their shared phone, frantically prodding at buttons. It was an old thing that was one of the first to have a camera built into it, and seemed so high tech to Tsvetan when he had first bought it, but was now considered archaic and, frankly, embarrassing.

"I did!" Alin roared with laughter, "don't worry."

Tsvetan slowly lowered the phone, glowering though his eyes betrayed his amusement; "why don't I believe you?"

Alin shrugged. "You're so untrusting," he whined, poking his friend's shoulder.

"Maybe," Tsvetan gave a sly grin, "but I've made sure there's plenty of crap about you on here too."

"What?!" Alin tried to snatch the phone out of Tsvetan's hand, but the other held it out of his reach.

"I still don't like it here," Tsvetan slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"Don't try to change the subject!"

"But look around! It's dodgy as hell and full of freaking scandalous people. I've seen all sorts of illegal stuff go on in here."

"We're dodgy and scandalous," Alin pointed out, resting an elbow on the counter, still waiting to be served.

"You are," Tsvetan corrected, sitting on a barstool.

Alin shrugged and grinned, "why yes, I am, which is why I have no guilt in telling you of a fantastic way to make a fair bit of cash for the both of us."

"Is it illegal?" Tsvetan grimaced.

"Probably," Alin pulled a stack of tiny papers out of his shirt pocket, "trust me; this'll make us rich."

"Where have I heard that before?" Tsvetan scratched his chin, pretending to think, "oh yes, last week when you bought a load of sun screen."

"People need sunscreen!"

"Not in March…"

"Give it a few months; the customers will be snapping it up!"

"Will we still have food and a home in a few months?" Tsvetan looked genuinely worried for a moment.

"I'll work hard to make sure we do!" Alin winked, giving the other a reassuring pat.

"What'll you have guys?" asked the bartender, moving over to them, absent-mindedly cleaning a glass with a cloth.

"Oh hey Alfie," Alin grinned, "two vodka and cokes please, with the little umbrellas if you don't mind." Alfred F. Jones, student and part-time bartender, nodded and began mixing their drinks. Fresh-faced and carrying an enthusiastic air wherever he went, Alfred stood out here among the more hardened, worn down and booze-soaked faces of his customers.

"Wanna hear something wicked?" hissed Alin, nudging the teen.

"Yeah alright," Alfred passed them their drinks and leaned on the counter to listen.

"Well these," Alin waved the stack of papers in Alfred's face, "are tickets for a charity raffle. We sell these to random people on the street for, say, a few dollars each, and tell them their ticket will go into a draw to raise money for some charity and if their ticket's pulled out they'll win some wicked cool prizes, like a bike or bottle of wine. We'll take their phone numbers and say we'll call them if they win. But," Alin waved his finger in Alfred and Tsvetan's faces, "we aren't going to call anyone, or even do a raffle. We just keep the money."

"Immoral," murmured Tsvetan, "but pretty smart. I'm in."

"Not bad," Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"Hey Al, get off your lazy ass and serve some drinks! I'm not paying you to chat with your mates, you know! You can do that in your own time boy!" cried one of the other bartenders.

"Right away," Alfred called back, smiling apologetically at his boss, "see ya round."

"'Course," Tsvetan took a sip from his drink, "so, Al, how much did we make today?"

"Seventy bucks," replied Alin, downing half his coke and vodka in one gulp, "not bad for a few silly magic tricks."

"Yeah," agreed Tsvetan, "but why do I have to be your 'glamorous' assistant all the time? I wouldn't mind doing a few tricks myself every now and again. I've been practicing, I'll have you know."

"You can do that when you learn to pull a bouquet of flowers out of your sleeve without their heads and leaves coming off," Alin stuck out his tongue and the pair chuckled.

"They get caught on my shirt sleeve," protested Tsvetan, "not my fault. I'm alright with the card tricks."

Alin felt the need to avoid the brutal honest truth: Tsvetan sucked at card tricks. "Yes but you don't have my charisma," he placed a hand on his chest and wiggled his eyebrows.

Tsvetan shook his head and took another sip.

"Look," Alin continued, "here I am in a snappy red and black suit complete with a quirky little hat, and you're in scruffy jeans and some green jumper your grandmother sent you two years ago that you grew out of."

"Why am I even friends with you?"

"Because we live together?" suggested Alin, taking another large gulp; "because I'm irresistible?"

"By 'irresistible' do you mean 'annoying as fuck'?" Tsvetan raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Least I ain't a stick in the mud," Alin shot back.

"Am not!" cried Tsvetan; "you know very well that I'm fun to be around. I just don't want to end up in jail before I'm twenty-three thank you very much."

"Hey, I've never gotten you into trouble, have I?" Alin placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I always take extra care in making sure the police don't notice us, and if we ever got arrested, I'd take all the blame and do all I could to make sure you'd go free."

"Alin, I'm touched," Tsvetan smiled, "you would really go to so much trouble and sacrifice yourself for me?"

"Course," Alin shrugged and took another gulp of alcohol, "an annoying bastard like you would never survive prison; you'd get your fucking teeth kicked in the first hour you're there."

"I swear one day I'm gonna punch you in the dick so hard your children's children will feel it," Tsvetan growled.

"That'll be the day," Alin finished his drink and slammed the glass on the table, swaying ever so slightly, "hit us again Al!"

Alfred wandered over and grinned, "same again boys?"

"Sure!"

"Hey I was thinking," began Alfred, "how much you selling them tickets for?"

"Three dollars apiece."

"Three?" exclaimed Tsvetan, "who's gonna buy a ticket for three dollars?"

"I will," replied Alfred, "can I have one?"

"Seriously?" Tsvetan groaned. "Looks like someone's been drinking on the job again," he added quietly to himself.

"I've always wanted a bike," Alfred shrugged, "might get lucky."

"You know there's no-"

"Of course you can!" cried Alin, "tell you what; you can have a ticket for two dollars, seeing as you're a mate and all. Just write your name and phone number here and I'll call you if you win."

"I don't sodding believe this," muttered Tsvetan, knocking back the last of his drink.

…

"Have I ever told you you're really hot?" mumbled Alin, voice slurred.

"Yes, every time you get rat-assed," Tsvetan snarled, supporting his friend as the man could barely stand up by himself. Alin was leaning heavily on his shoulder and Tsvetan was blasted with alcohol breath every time the man exhaled. He avoided the other's gaze as he was hit by a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant to raise his voice.

"Oh, do I really?" Alin hiccupped and tripped on his own feet, "well I really mean it, you know?"

"Sure you do," replied Tsvetan through gritted teeth. He wondered why he was always snappy with Alin when the man was drunk. They were never like that normally. Maybe he was tired of looking after someone who seemed to have the mental age of a three year old when drunk, apart from the whole acting like an outrageous flirt thing. Or maybe it was because Tsvetan had very little respect for people who couldn't hold their liquor.

"You're a good friend," Alin continued.

"I freaking know! That's why I'm still carrying you after you blew most of our earnings in a few hours chugging down drinks in record time; picked a fight with the biggest bloke you could find; and threw up in the alley outside."

"I fuckin'- fuckin' beat the shit out of that bastard, didn't I?"

"Course you did," Tsvetan decided it was best not to mention that Alin had lost. Badly. Those bruises would really hurt tomorrow, along with the pounding headache that was sure to follow that much alcohol intake.

"Fuckin'… fucking showed him, fat prick; he looked at me funny, you know?"

"Yes, yes, I was there."

Tsvetan realised they'd reached their home: a large red-brick, two-storey building full of tiny, run-down, apartments; "get in, will you." He pushed Alin up the stone steps to the front porch, fumbled through his pockets to find his keys, opened the door and shoved his friend inside. He decided it was best to quickly usher his friend to their apartment on the top floor before he woke the entire building up with his noisy chatter. Some people here had real jobs, and wouldn't appreciate being roused in the middle of the night one bit. Once they reached their floor, Alin glanced around, staggering slightly.

"Hey it's fucking dark in he-"

"Shut the fuck up and get inside."

"Fuckin make me," Alin poked Tsvetan hard in the chest, stumbling as he did so. He stuck his chin out, attempting to throw a glower in Tsvetan's direction, though it only succeeded in making the other snort in amusement.

"Alright," Tsvetan grinned before he lifted the other man up and threw him over his shoulder, ignoring the drunk's protests.

"Put me down! What are you doing?" Alin thumped Tsvetan's back as the latter tried to find the right key for their apartment door, before going limp, admitting defeat. Tsvetan guessed the other was pouting. "Hey, is that my ass down there?"

Tsvetan closed his eyes and began mentally counting to ten, "no it's mine."

"Good, those jeans are fucking ugly! What were you thinking boy?"

"I swear," whispered Tsvetan, finally succeeding in opening the door, "one day, you won't know what hit you." He barged into Alin's room and threw the drunken man on his bed.

"Go to sleep," he commanded.

"But-" Alin bleated.

"Go. To. Fucking. Sleep." hissed Tsvetan, "or I'll punch you square in the jaw."

He'd reached the end of his patience now, and just wanted to curl up under his own duvet and sleep off his own intoxication. Alin would be far easier to deal with tomorrow.

"Fine, prick," Alin lay down and wrapped his duvet around him, glaring at the wall opposite like a small child. Tsvetan sighed and walked into the main room, which was a mixture of a living room and kitchen, poured a glass of water and grabbed a packet of headache tablets from the cupboard. He slipped back into Alin's bedroom, found his friend was now asleep and placed both items on his bedside table, for when the man woke up.

"Sweet dreams, crazy bastard," he whispered, before going into his own room.

…

Hello, yes I know starting a new story was a bad idea but I really like RoBul and got this idea yesterday, so I had to write the first chapter or I'd explode.

I hope I'm getting everyone in character and, if not, feel free to point that out.

Actually, any feedback is welcome… please!