Synergy

Carl King cut a lone figure in the Rovers Return Inn. He still had no idea how he got there. On a train? A bus? A car? It didn't matter, he just wanted another pint.

"Same again, love?"

Carl tilted his head upward and looked at the blonde behind the bar.

She's no Chas.

"Aye," he gave her the empty glass.

There are some rare fuckers in here. Are they all staring? How can they not? I'm the best looking bloke here. The women must be trying not to come over in case their caveman partners get jealous. Animals.

"Here you are, two twenty please."

Carl handed her the money.

Cheap in here. I think I'll get pissed.

He sipped the foam from the top of the lager and swigged about a quarter of it in one swoop. Carl turned to the barmaid and tried to catch her eye, she was about ten or fifteen years older than him, not that it stopped him, he wanted attention.

"You come 'ere often then?" he flashed her a cheeky grin and drank more.

She glared back at him, noticing his slight slurring, "As a matter of fact, I'm the landlady here."

"You're not half bad looking either," he lied to himself, drinking more. "What's your name?"

She walked towards him. "You're not local, so why should it matter?"

Carl leaned in, "Because...I think you're worth more than these lot. I mean, who wants to look at these fossils?"

The landlady crossed her arms, Carl noticed that this had bestowed her with a deeper cleavage under her low cut violet top, "Because they're nice people."

"Yeah, right."

She put her hands on her waist, "And I suppose where you come from everybody is all happy and well to do, are they?"

He finished his pint, a deep cut on the side of mouth ached less now, "Nope. They're all scheming, gossiping arseholes."

"So why come here if we're the same?" she put bluntly.

"Because I don't know anywhere else that isn't."

That's told the bitch.

"Fair enough. Now that you've finished your pint, get out. You've had enough."

Carl immediately stared at her, "One more and I'll fuck off."

"Okay," she relented, seeing that he was telling the truth, "One more. Also, mind your language, the folks who are in here at this hour are those 'fossils' you so wonderfully called them."

"Yes...oh wait, I didn't get your name did I?" Carl felt as though he could have some fun with this woman.

"Stella, now leave me be, I have other customers to serve."

"Stella. That's a nice name."

Common cow.

"Thank you. Now, as I said, others to serve."

Carl watched her pour pints and make small talk with the regulars. It reminded him of the Woolpack and Chas. He hated that. He hated the Woolpack. He loved Chas.

How did I get here? Why would I come to Manchester of all places? I hate the place.

Carl drank slower this time, maybe he could get answers, maybe he wouldn't. He vaguely remembered a blurry passage of trees and street lights. Perhaps he had been driven there. Despite his injuries, he walked out of hospital and put on his clothes from the night before, he disliked wearing the same clothes over two days.

Mucky arse clothes. Covered in shit.

Nurses and doctors had failed to realise that he had left until an hour had passed. His forehead had a bandage covering the brick wound, it had knocked him out but it hadn't managed to kill him.

I'll kill you, Cameron.

He thought that maybe it had been Cameron that had driven him to the hospital out of guilt. Maybe it had been Jimmy, but why would he take him to Manchester? Surely Leeds would have made more sense? Could it have been Chas?

Chas.

The Rovers Return reminded him of his adopted home but at least The Woolpack had a fireplace, it was a bit more rustic and a little more friendly. He still hated it. He finished his pint and walked to the exit before turning to the bar once more.

"Can I give you a call? I'm stopping in a hotel." The regulars all turned towards each other, their minds and mouths chattering away with gossip. Stella stayed stony faced and waved him out of the door.

"No. Kindly get out before I force you out."

Carl raised his hands and his eyebrows arched, "Ooh! I best watch it then!" He noticed a bespectacled, balding man staring at him. Carl walked over and knelt slightly to his level, "Sorry, have you got something to say to me?"

"N-n-no, no I haven't." The man was terrified. Carl smiled.

"Don't shit your nappy you old bastard, I'm only messing."

His companion opposite spoke up with a shrill voice, her hair was an almost white blonde, to Carl, she looked ancient, "You shouldn't speak to people like that! It's incredibly rude!"

Carl sidestepped slightly to his right, "Do I look like I care what you have to say? Honestly, look at me and say what you really think." He stood. "Bunch of amateurs in here. At least back home I get a bit of banter. Terrible."

"Well then, go home!" Stella yelled.

"Y'what?"

"You heard, piss off home you miserable old git! Get out of my pub!"

I'm not old.

Carl walked to the door and turned to her once again, claps could be heard, "Fuck off you spanner faced cunt. Your pints taste like fucking shite."

The older lunchtime customers stopped clapping and held their collective breath in shock.

"Oh, come off it. Like you've never heard the word cu-"

"Get out!" Stella screamed, Carl smirked and left on to the cobbled road.

Wankers, they wouldn't know a laugh if it stood there bare-arsed and farted on them.

He could see the silhouettes of the patrons through the stain glassed windows, they had probably got their fill of gossip for the week. It had some decent ingredients: a drunken stranger, shouting, an audience to back it up. Carl had seen it all before. The Woolpack. The farm. Emmerdale.

I'm coming back for you Chas, bet you can't wait.

Author's Note: I'm thinking of creating a third one shot surrounding Carl, or possibly a full story. We'll see. Thanks for any reviews, feedback or messages in advance!