Kamchatka Vodka
Kinoshita Kristanite
DISCLAIM'R: DISCLAIM'D
…
Matt couldn't say he was proud of the road his life had taken him down, but he couldn't say he wasn't comfortable, either. Bartending suited him, he thought, especially when one considered the girl he worked with. Liz was fiery, startling, rambunctious, and just a bit intimidating, perfect to cook, and occasionally act as impromptu bouncer, with mellow, unflappable, calm Matt tending the bar, serving Asshole Bill or Joe Monday. They also attended the same university and generally meshed well.
He'd originally taken the nightshift here at Louie's because it was the only place he could find with decent wages and worked with the classes he had, especially that killer from seven to nine.
It didn't matter to Matt what he did, so long as he could pay for his games, the payments on his truck, and the occasional round of paintball with Ole' Leathus. Its not like Matt actually had the money he went to college on; it was all scholarships or… questionably attained money. Do not doubt the thought police. Robin Hood was right, after all.
Matt was surprised when, at the beginning of his five-o-clock Monday shift, someone new came in, doubly so when that person looked barely eighteen, let alone legal to drink.
The blonde sidled up to the bar as if s/he owned the place. With that hair and face, Matt's first instinct was that he was looking at a girl, next that he was looking at a really hottie, but something about the glare, the clothes, and the posture told Matt that while upper-crust eurotrash (who else could walk like that?), this was definitely a guy, and one that Matt, under no circumstances, would mess with.
Then again, anyone who injures the bartender is a moron.
Curiously, Matt ambled over to the newbie. "What'll ya be havin', pardner?" It was Matt's strict belief that whenever possible, a bartender should speak with a thick Texas drawl, as a matter of principle.
"Vodka," the blonde sat thusly.
"Lucky you, Attitude Adjustment just started," Matt noted the special behind the blonde's head. "Gonna need t' see some ID."
It was pulled out of the wallet in his back pocket lazily, and flicked at Matt's chest as if fully extending one's arm had gone out of style a long time ago.
The quality was good; all the seals shined in all the right places all the right ways, the signatures were all correct—that Matt knew what a California Drivers' license was supposed to look like was another issue entirely. Matt could appreciate the piece of plastic for what it was:
"Didn't Liz call you Mello, freshie? When she pulled you into our office, I mean."
A high-quality fake.
'Mello' blanched, pushing away from the bar out of reflex. "Unfair! You should have just said you wouldn't serve me!"
"I was curious," Matt handed the useless bit of plastic back, shrugging. "How the hell did you get something that high quality?"
It was Mello's turn to shrug. "Hacked the University's ID machine. Who are you again?"
"I'm Matt," the older man laughed. "Have a coke?"
"I'd rather find a place where my… unique talents are appreciated." Mello was already standing.
"Come on, one soda. You're the first non-asswipe to come in today." The glass was already full of ice. "Please?"
…
Now that Mello had met Matt, he saw him everywhere. The redhead was there when he got on the shuttle bus, or when he got off. He was there when Mello bought his books, lunch, even Starbucks, although Matt apparently strongly disapproved of Starbucks; he just happened to be recruiting. Matt was there when was dragged into the BASH office (a student organization Mello still had no clue as to the purpose of) by those psychotic girls n his Lit class, oh God was Matt there. They were even in the same Psych class! If Mello had noticed Matt before meeting him, he would have though he had a stalker; it was no wonder Matt had recognized him.
That was it though: he would have never noticed Matt if he hadn't been bartending. On campus, Matt was quiet, asocial: his only 'real' friend, Liz, was the elected president of BASH, but Matt was their emperor. When he spoke, everyone listened, but he hardly ever spoke. He just played his DS, or doodled in his notes, or pwnzed n00bs at Mariokart on the BASH office TV (Matt, Mello noticed, could actually say 'pwnzed n00bs' out loud without sounding fake).
Behind a bar, with that God-awful green hat on, Matt was a completely different person. He was funny, laid back, smart, a bit of a flirt. He could trounce any of those asswipes he served in any type of verbal banter and had frightened them by flirting with Mello as the night went on… Matt was lucky he had left work that night with a broken nose. It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but Matt made Mello curious.
So it was curiously that Mello entered Louie's Bar and Grille a second time.
…
A/N: Unfortunately, I fail too hard to pick this story back up. Real life sucks. However, I am happy with how this chapter stands on its own and am leaving it up. So there.