Twenty-one years is what it takes to create a real adult. While eighteen years gives you the right the vote, twenty-one gives you better - the right to drink. What says sophistication better than a glass of bourbon at hand while you whisk the childishness of adolescence away? No one dreams of their eighteenth birthday unless the word "graduation" is somewhere stuck next to it. Yes, twenty-one is the golden age, the age of redemption and drunkenness!
...Is what Inigo had initially believed, until the day he found himself in a bar at exactly twenty-one years old.
He tapped his forefinger against the bar, foot shaking impatiently. Every few minutes or so he would usher over the bartender, but once he had his full attention, all that escaped his mouth were small groans followed by weeping. Everyone who approached him felt extremely uncomfortable. Why was this kid here at such a prestigious adult place filled with drunken merriment and provocative dancing? Wasn't he suppose to be carded on the way in?
From afar, Gerome watched his buddy struggle. He thought Inigo could handle getting their drinks for them, as Inigo proudly stated with a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, "First, we shall drink to our hearts desire! Then, woo beautiful women using our...our charming charms! What an exciting birthday this shall be!" before trotting away to the bar. Then again, Inigo froze up when he attempted to buy his first lottery ticket at eighteen, stuttering and pacing back and forth in order to calm his nerves. He ended up walking away with a garage sale permit.
Gerome sighed, knowing that he had to once again save his friend from himself. He figured he might as well drag Owain over there while he was at it since the eccentric friend decided to follow them there for the birthday fiasco. No one really knew what Owain did for a living; he spread a rumor that he was a badass cop who took down bad guys with ease and dedicated his life to justice and peace. In truth, he lived with his mom.
"Hey, Owain, we should go help Inigo-" Gerome had begun to say, turning to his blonde friend who was currently preoccupied with three pretty women. He had his hand over his mouth in his superhero stance while his fanclub squealed in delight. Gerome groaned.
"And there I was, in the dark recesses of downtown," Owain chimed in a mischievous tone of voice. The girls leaned into his story, anticipating every word. "The streets were quiet, the shadows of the forgotten reaching out to me. The murderer was trapped, attempting to climb the privacy fence down an alleyway. But alas! I was two steps ahead of him, for I sic my five hellhounds at his foot that struggled to find a foothold-!"
Gerome nabbed his ear and dragged him off despite Owain's best efforts to rip away (his best efforts being thrashing and whining like a child). The girls looked between each other quizzically.
At that moment, Inigo was about to cry for a fifteenth time before he saw his two best buddies heading his way. Finally! It took them long enough to realize that the Great Inigo needed, er...assistance! He rushed from the bar - much luck to those standing around waiting for him to leave - and to their sides. "Gerome, Owain!" he cried, clutching onto Gerome's arm.
"Let go of me," Gerome grunted, letting go of Owain's ear. "People'll get the wrong idea."
"What, that y'all are gay?" Owain proclaimed, rubbing his ear and wincing. Bystanders turned their heads and raised their eyebrows.
"Shut the hell up, Owain," Gerome grumbled while Inigo dried his tears into his sleeve.
"Inigo did tell you that one time that he wanted to be manhandled-"
"Shut the hell up, Owain."
"Gerome! Bro," Inigo bawled, oblivious to the gay innuendos that were being thrown at him and his curiously close companion. "Gerome, I need a favor."
"That's what I figured," Gerome replied. "Stop getting snot on my sleeve."
Inigo snorted and shook his friend, his arm still latched firmly in his. Gerome trudged to where the bartender, who was wiping down shot glasses like in the movies (why didn't they just go to the movies for his birthday anyway?), with Inigo tripping next to him. Owain followed close behind, snapping and winking at the group of girls across the bar. They swooned.
"Yo, bartender," Gerome nonchalantly called. The bartender nodded at him in response. "I'll take some beer and I'm pretty sure blondie wants some booze to impress his fan club. This lightweight gripping on my arm wants-"
Suddenly, Owain slapped his hand on the bar, making everyone around him jump, and yelled at the top of his lungs, "SEX ON THE BEACH!" Inigo finally cried for the fifteenth time that night, this time running out of the bar with red ears. Gerome sighed.
Gerome ended up moving the birthday party to the carnival down the street where everyone had a blast, but he ended up with Inigo puke on his shirt after a roller coaster ride. It didn't end there, however; they ran into Severa and Lucina, and as a result of Inigo's failed attempt to hit on the blue-haired beauty, he was rightfully beat up by the red-headed hothead.
Twenty-one years is what it takes to create a real adult...unless you're Inigo.