A/N: They have a themed "ficathon" every year over at and this year's theme was "Group interaction." Now, I was too late to actually enter the contest or even consider it, I just happened to stumble across this information later on. That, combined with a bit of caffeine, a bit of insanity, and a musical soundtrack, inspired a little bit of crack-dom on my part.
Male Bonding
Jared didn't know what the Cactus Juice was except that it was a bar, it was open, and it was considerably less crowded than the similar venues further down the street. All of these things made it ideal for his purpose that night, which was, of course, to allow Nathaniel to get pissed in a place where he couldn't damage too many intelligent people or Jared's apartment. The latter just wouldn't do, no matter how much man-love Jared held for his best friend and the former was considerably harder than most people would think—"Intelligence," in this case, referred to those possessing the mental capacity to sue. That meant that any establishment with reputation, tolerable drink and decent lighting was automatically nixed from the list of potential choices. As it was, Nathaniel arrived well on his way down the esophagus of Jack and toting a rather put-upon Zachary over his shoulder at promptly nine-twenty-six.
"Could you please convince MC Hammer, here, that I am not his personal boom box?" Zach complained from where his head was dangling somewhere around Nathanial's rear end. Jared could just make out the blonde swoop of hair grazing the ground beneath them—he wondered how long Zachary had yelled about his precious mane being ruined before he'd given up. From the slight rasp in Zach's voice he thought it to have been a fairly good while.
One ham-sized fist still squeezing on Zach's thigh to keep the slender man aloft, Nathanial emptied out the last of his bottle of jack. When he noticed it was empty he carelessly broke it against the side of the building. "Geeze Nate!" Zach yelped behind him. Nathanial didn't seem to care and neither did the bouncer nearby.
"Settle down now," Nathanial cooed to his friend and patted Zach's rump with his free hand, just as one might have a child's head. "The brandin'll be ovah soon, bess."
"Bess?" Zachary liked this even less than he did being toted about on a shoulder. His voice took on a pleading tone, "Jared! C'mon this ain't funny!"
"I really beg to differ," Jared replied with a chuckle. It was cruel of him, and he knew it. Before Zachary could be made to suffer any more indignities at the hand of their usually loveable mystic Jared pushed himself away from the grimy brick wall that comprised the front of the Cactus Juice and approached Nathanial directly. "Alright, Nate, I think it's time to put Zachary down now."
"Yeh… he's startin' t'get a little whiney, ain't 'e?" Nathanial peered down the five inches between them. Privately Jared savored Zach's protesting squeak, he could barely control the snicker that formed around his lips, but neither of the two parties would thank him if he allowed Nathanial's little joke to go on much further.
"C'mon, Kaarle is waiting inside for us." Jared turned to head into the bar with the other two bringing up the rear. Quickly Zachary caught up, green eyes blazing of fury, and leveled one of his best glares at the other man.
"Next time," He hissed, "You're picking him up."
Jared laughed, "Oh please. You think you're the only one of us that he's done that to? You should try sleeping with the man."
The look with which he was rewarded was classic. For the first time ever Jared really wished he'd invested in one of those camera-capable cell phones he'd heard so much about—until this moment he'd never seen the need for one. Lacking proper recording equipment, Jared filed the image away in his memory and brushed passed the temporarily stunned blonde to find his way to a dark corner where Kaarle awaited.
The ever prudent Kaarle Mason had already ordered their first and second rounds. That was good, since Nathanial was likely to down the whole first round by himself. Jared slipped into the booth and Zach beside him, which left Nathanial on the outside seat across from his dearly lamented "boombox." Immediately the brunette grabbed one of the mugs and chugged it down. Zachary stared in awe, his earlier humiliation temporarily forgotten. Kaarle and Jared, quite familiar with Nathanial's unnatural skill with alcohol, leaned in close to one another for conference.
"How long has he been drinking?" Kaarle asked, silver-blue eyes calmly observing the behavior of their dearly intoxicated friend who was now leveling the rest of their beverages with the same indifference he had to his own. Jared took one sniff of the nuclear waste this establishment called "beer" and was perfectly content with this state of affairs. He pushed the mug closer to Nathanial.
"Dunno," Jared shrugged, "He Whiskey with him when Zach brought him up. Judging by the accent and roper references… I'm going to guess he started after he called me."
"Which was when…?"
"Last night."
"…"
"At about seven p.m."
Both Kaarle and Zachary (who had actually been paying attention for once) stared at Jared. He shrugged. "The man has a tolerance that borders on supernatural. Besides, he probably passed out 'round four or so and started after he threw up a few times and cried himself into a shower."
"… How many times has this happened?" Zachary asked in bewilderment. Jared didn't really blame him; unlike him and Kaarle, Zachary had only just met Nathanial through their job two months earlier. His induction into their friendship had been quick—it would have been alarming had Jared not felt, somehow, that he'd known Zachary much longer than this—but this was the first time he had witnessed Nathanial as anything other than the kind, somewhat brotherly wise-ass they all knew and loved.
Kaarle rescued his mug before Nathanial could reach for it and lifted it to his nose. Jared gave him points for not spitting the garbage out, or for making a face of any sort, but one silver eyebrow gave a tell-tale twitch and Kaarle immediately relinquished the mug to their friend. "Around once every four-to-six months."
Zachary whistled lowly, eyes still upon Nathanial as he finished his fourth mug. The green-eyed blonde didn't even try the proffered beverage. He leaned back against the booth seat, arms hooked upon the back coushin, "We could sell tickets to this."
"It isn't worth it unless you know there's going to be a match," Jared explained with a shake of his head, "He's a novelty, for certain, but he tends to testy when he finds out we've exploited him in a way that doesn't involve hand-to-hand combat."
"Do I want to know why?"
"The man has an amazing drunken fist." Kaarle dead-panned.
Zachary stared.
Jared fought to keep from laughing and threw Kaarle a lifted eyebrow which quite distinctly read, "Should we tell him you were joking?"
Kaarle shook his head in response. Jared snorted faintly and a smile twitched upon his mouth. It wasn't that Zachary was unintelligent—it was that he was gullible. Very, very gullible. Perhaps that was what had allowed him to be so easily sucked into the group of somewhat older men—Zachary reminded each of them of a loveable, yet annoying younger brother… or a Chihuahua, whichever the case may be. Jared allowed his eyes to roam around the dimly lit, smoke hazed bar.
It was a typical scene, like something from a rather low-budget movie. A few tables loitered through the middle of the room, but most of the seating was in the form of booths against the two adjacent walls. A stage formed the back of the room with the bar on the wall across from it, near the door. It was your common hole in the wall, in other words, with the usual sort of seedy crowd he was gradually becoming accustomed to. …Wait a moment. A stage?
Jared sat up straight, automatically catching both Kaarle and Zach's attention. The blue-eyed man had little care for them or what they were thinking, however. Quickly his eyes scanned around the room, searching for some reason, before his eyes landed upon it—a poster. The time, what was the… Jared looked down at his wrist and pulled the sleeve back to reveal his watch. He groaned.
As if the universe had been waiting for this signal all along the lights dimmed further (was that even possible?) and a single, tattered spot light lit upon the stage. A dumpy woman with tattoos and no fashion sense to speak of slumped boredly at the mic. "And now, ladies a--… gentlemen and gentlemen," She droned, "It's open mic night for all you wanna-be song writers. I'll be opening—again— tonight with your favorite song in my repertoire, 'My Lover's Eyes."
Jared heard a 'thunk' beside him and knew without bothering to look that Kaarl's forehead was communing with the tabletop. From the sound of it they were getting along quite well indeed. No wonder the place was dead—it was a goddamned karaoke bar.
Kaarle was still beating the sense into poor, misguided Table when Jared dared a look at his companions. Zachary's face he couldn't see, for the blonde was actually turned to listen to the horror now belting down at them. Jared couldn't understand how; the girl sounded like a blender humping a squirrel while making mushroom and raisin smoothies. It didn't help matters that the song was incredibly sad. Worse yet, it wasn't even sad in the "emotion inspiring, live changing" sort of fashion.
Rolling his eyes at yet another all-too repetitive verse that droned on about "limpid pools of fire" in her lover's eyes (a convoluted phrase the errors in which Jared doubted he'd be able to beat into the woman's skull if he put in forty hours a week at it for the rest of his life), Jared shifted in his seat to check on Nathanial's progress through the toxic waste and found that he was no longer present. The song finally began to wind down but Jared had no ears for it. When had Nathanial finished all of that beer? He'd just processed that the brunette had (hopefully) managed to stumble his way to the bathroom when a scuffle erupted on the stage.
The entire barroom winced at the whine that went up from the mic when it was ripped from its rapist's hands and even the hardest of hearts present that night had to have felt sorry for it. Jared scrubbed one ear to clear it and looked up in horror at the sight of his best friend teetering upon the stage, pointing a drooping finger at the young … er… lady that had been singing. "I was trying to finish my song you asshole!" The woman protested loudly.
Her answer was a loud snort and grin from Nathanial, who shook his head. "Yer lover's doesn't 'ave eyes honeeyy," He slurred and shook his head. Nathanial looked for all the world as if he were talking to a rather dense five year old and he bent to pat her upon her matted and soiled mop, "Ee's got batt'rees an' a few ex'ra settin's if yer lucky. …or got the cash, I reckon."
Before she could recover from her outrage, Nathanial turned to address his now interested audience. Jared was only too happy (not) to note that the bouncer didn't seem to care in the slightest—about as much has he had about the bottle earlier. It seemed the execration of this drunk was going to be up to them. Jared shared a look with the red-splotched Kaarle and shoved lightly on Zachary's shoulder. The blonde threw a terrified look at his senior. "He's not going to sing is he?"
"I'm afraid so," Kaarle sighed from across the table. The three of them slid from their respective sides of the booth and began to make their way up to the stage.
"Y'All wanna know wha' REAL love's like?" Nathanial crooned into the mic without the helpful masking of music upon his raucous voice.
"No." One of the other patrons of the bar replied.
Never one to be put off, the cowboy laughed, "REAL love is GREAT! Lemme tell y'all, s'BEST thing in the world!" The wild gesture he made at this point nearly toppled him off the stage. He caught himself in the last moment and a laugh went up from the crowd.
"I'm glad someone is getting amusement out of this," Zachary grumbled. The three of them congregated at the stairs to the stage. As Nathanial rattled on they began to formlate the best plan to get him out of there—between the three of them it might seem as if they had him outmatched, but Nathanial was the best brawler among the three of them. At this point the two eldest of the sobriety club knew Nathanial's mood could easily shift at the slightest provocation; such was the effects of alcohol.
The microphone whined as it was shoved back upon its stand, and then a few light thrums sounded. Jared looked up in surprise to find that Nathanial had managed to find a guitar. Great, now he had a weapon!
"This'saa little song I wrote," Nathanial introduced, "Tha' I dedicate t'my lovely ex-fian-see."
He swayed upon his feet and then began to pluck out a staccato tune. "You. Don't. Know. How. Much. I. Need-you. While. You're. Near. Me. I. Don't. Feel-blue."
This sounded awfully familiar Jared. He watched as Kaarle, the biggest of the three of them, moved off to the middle of the stage. He'd remain on the floor to try and catch Nathanial if he tried to run. Zachary moved to the left of the stage and Jared remained on the right. He'd try first—Nathanial had been his best friend so long they didn't clearly remember when they had met, only that it had something to do with building blocks, play dough and fire ants. Alone he mounted the steps to the stage.
"And-when. We. Kiss. I-know. You-need. Me-too. I-can't. Be-lieve. I-found. A-love. That's. So-pure. And-true…"
Jared reached out a hand for his friend's shoulder.
"BUT IT ALL WAS BULLSHIT!" The scream into the microphone was loud enough to make him jump back, as was the force with which his friend grabbed the mic stand. He'd had enough sense to put on the strap that came with the mystery-guitar at the least.
"IT WAS A GODDAMN JOKE. AND WHEN I THINK OF YOU, LITA, I HOPE YOU… FUCKING CHOKE."
Then it clicked. Jared slapped a hand to his face, "Nathan you didn't write this song!"
But Nathan was back at the guitar, looking as if nothing had ever fazed him. "I. Hope. You're-glad. With-what. You've-done. To-me. I-lay. In-bed. All. Day-long. Feel-ing. Mel-an. Cho-ly. You-left. Me-here. All. Alone. Tears running…constantly."
"Nathan," Zachary tried, appearing on the other side of the singer.
"OH SOMEBODY KILL ME PLEASE. SOMEBODY KILL ME PLEASE. I'M ON MY KNEES. PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE. KILL ME."
Daring greatly, Jared reached out sharply to grab Nathanial's arm before someone took him up on that offer. "NATHAN."
"… wha dude?" Nathan blinked owlishly in the the light, then his eyes turned to slits and he leaned really close in to see Jared. The stage whisper that followed picked up on the speaker easily, garnering a twiter of laughter from the already amused crowd, "Can't'cha see I'm singin', Jade? S'my public."
"… Dude, you didn't write that song." Jared reminded him, hands going to the man's shoulders.
"… psh, who else woulda wrote'a song 'bout Lita?" Nathan straightened, "She don't gotta new fiancée does she?"
"Uh, no…" Jared replied. "It's not about LIta. It's about Linda."
"Who t'fuck's Linda?"
"It's a movie, man."
"… who's the moron namin' their movie Linda?" Jared just barely refrained from slapping his best friend. Instead, he put palm to his own face, dragging at the skin as he tried to figure out a way to get this through Nathanial's skull. Then, inspiration. "Y'know, you're right, you did write that song."
"… I did?" Nathanial brightened immediately, so drunk he barely registered the difference. The poor sap really was too trusting sometimes.
"Yeah, you did," Jared replied. Around Nathan's broad back he could see Zachary throwing him looks of utter confusion. "In fact, I think we should go let Lita hear it, don't you?"
"… Yeah! I cud… serenade her by moonlight! That's romantic!" Nathanial seemed pleased with the idea, and Jared had to admit he was rather pleased with himself for thinking of it. If nothing else, maybe the couple would finally make up their mind on remaining together or not. With Zachary's help he lead Nathanial off the stage and towards the door, accompanied the entire way by applause from the thin crowd of people in various stages of drunken stupor. Well, at least they could show their faces here again—assuming that he ever had any reason to, which was highly unlikely.
As they exited the building and Nathanial began to pull them like an ox with a yoke towards Lita's apartment Kaarle fixed Jared with a particularly mixed glare. "If we get arrested you can sell me off to the highest bidder in prison," He offered.
"Fair enough," The silver-haired man agreed and the quartet ventured on into the night.
"And by 'we' I mean all four of us, or it doesn't count."