Last Call

A Word: A modern AU setting where I will be applying various texts from the TFLN web site to people. Collected in a way that sorta makes sense, they were mostly incomplete and scattered before.

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(304): I tried to cut him off and he said "I was the president of a fraternity for 3 years, I could outdrink God."

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"No," Desmond says.

"I'm good."

"No," Desmond repeats with more emphasis.

"Seriously!" The drunk man shouts. His speech is impeccable for how much alcohol he's poured down his throat, but his gaze is still firmly fixed to the left of Desmond's head. "I'm good!"

"Like hell you are," Desmond's starting to get annoyed. The man isn't getting violent about being cut off -yet- but his persistence is almost worse. A violent patron can be forcefully evicted. An annoying one just has to be put up with. So sayeth Lucy Stillman who signs Desmond's paycheck each week. "You're cut off for the rest of the night, buddy. I'm not changing my mind."

"You don't get it. I was president of a fraternity for three years," the man says, face deadly serious even as he clutches the bar a little too hard. "Three years! I can out-drink God himself!"

"Well, he isn't here," Desmond finally catches Malik's attention and points at the patron who is starting to sway alarmingly even with the bar to support his weight. The bouncer nods and quickly makes his way to the bar. Screw Lucy's rules, Desmond isn't up for dealing with this type of drunk tonight. "So be nice while Satan here takes you out to find a cab."

"Sir," Malik catches the man as he almost falls. The respectful title, as always, sounding odd when said by the unsmiling man. "Come with me."

"Hey," the man says as he's easily pulled towards the door. He stumbles over his feet but Malik doesn't let him fall or stop. Not even when the man actively tries to pull away. "Hey, hey! You got one arm."

Desmond winces as the door slams shut behind them. He goes back to serving the dwindling night crowd, keeping a wary eye on the door. Not five minutes pass before Malik comes back in looking scarily satisfied as he walks back to the bar.

"How'd it go, Lucifer?" Desmond asks as he fills a coffee mug with the strong brew Rebecca had made earlier. Not bothering with any sugar or creamer he pushes it across the bar. The other man likes the stuff black. As black as his own heart, or the empty space where one should be.

"Aside from the bruising he's safely on his way home," Malik smiles slightly as he takes the mug. "You should have cut him off earlier. He was too drunk to use the stairs without tripping even with my help."

There is no special inflection or emphasis on the word 'help' but Desmond hears it anyway.

Kadar says his brother deals well with questions and insults about his amputated arm, but Desmond doesn't believe a word of it. He's noticed a pattern among the patrons who mention it within Malik's hearing range. Noticed that in one way or another they all seem to have a bad night at the bar.

The bad nights tend to range from Malik throwing a man through his own windshield to an entire group of giggling women getting mysteriously locked in the tiny ass cleaning closet for most of the night. All courtesy of Malik, though Desmond hasn't been able to get any solid proof of it. With a few very notable exceptions the man is never even near the patrons when they run afoul of their bad luck.

Kadar says Desmond's being paranoid, that there is no way his brother could or even would do petty revenge. Desmond hasn't bothered to mention the unholy light that always seems to enter Malik's eyes when bad things happen to people. He hasn't had the heart to break Kadar's obvious denial over the fact that his older brother is the personification of pure evil.

"Devil," Desmond says, not fooled even a bit by the seemingly innocent event Malik's telling him. Malik simply smiles before leaving with his mug. Probably going to look for souls to devour.

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