Chapter Three

September 14, around the same time

Ensemble sports bar, Bristol, UK

Alice was more than a little annoyed – Norwich had gone 2-0 up. Fantastic. But she'd been on the toilet, plastic cup of cider in hand, when it happened. She didn't, really, give a toss about the football as an actual sport. What she enjoyed was the noise, the energy, the vibes when something like that happened. It was the same thing which drew her to concerts or Cops With Cameras on Channel 5. And now here she was, at the bar, with all that wonderful noise and energy dissipating. And then Manchester City made it 2-1, halving their deficit, and even more of the energy seemed to get sucked out of the room. Alice sighed and glanced over her shoulder at her friends – they were all far too busy with one of the myriad of pool tables, shooting red and yellow balls into holes, and her turn would be coming up soon but nobody was paying her any attention!

Looking one way down the bar, then the other, Alice accidentally caught someone's eye. He was tall, somewhat slender, with cropped ginger hair and a few pimples on his cheeks. Alice wasn't about to judge – she had five times as many on her chin and upper back. He smiled at her and, a bit weakly, she smiled back.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked.
"Sure!" said Alice, and a moment of silence reigned. He made an expression which seemed to say, 'well, what drink?' "Oh, uh…" Nothing too expensive. Nothing too girly. Nothing too strong. Unless it's cheap, in which case… "Majors, I guess."
"Which one? There's two, I think."
"The apple one. Whatever it's called."
"Haze."
"That's the one." He smiled – it was one of those smiles a guy has to force a little, when he needs to put on a friendly image, knowing blankness or scowling isn't going to get him anymore. Well, he wasn't really her type – he was male, for a start – but Alice supposed that all applicants should get equal treatment. She smirked to herself at the thought as the young, anxious, definitely new girl at the bar poured her Majors, giving it much too big of a head. She didn't complain – you don't need that stuff when you work at a city centre bar.
"So, who you supporting?" he asked, turning and looking at the nearest screen. Manchester City were gathering a box to receive a corner – it was played in, there was a scuffle, and the ball was cleared.
"Nobody," Alice replied, taking the drink with a thanks and watching as he tapped his card. She wanted to make a joke about them both being with Santander but couldn't think of a punchline. "As long as City lose, I'm happy."
"Oh, that's cool," he said, nodding, and Alice hoped he was a City fan. "I'm with Liverpool." Oh. "So any points Shitty City drop, I'm happy."
"My ex likes City," Alice said. "So I root against them."
"Ah, so it's a pettiness thing – I like it!" They both laughed.
"Well, it's all the revenge I can get."
"He break your heart, did he?"
"My arm."
"Oh." His face dropped a little – she really needed to remember that just because something's become a funny story to her doesn't mean it is for everyone else.
"And my credit score – got addicted to online gambling and used my card. Tried to appeal but I just got fucked about."
"Shit." He stared at her. "That's fuckin' rough. Isn't there anything you can do?"
"Probably – but I just gave up. Easier to just swallow the shit sandwich sometimes, you know?"
"I guess…" He looked away, drinking as much of his pint as he possibly could, back towards the screen. The Manchester defenders were bopping the ball around between each other, wasting time, as if they weren't 2-1 down.
"You here with anyone?" Alice asked; as he replied, she took the opportunity to down as much of the cider as she possibly could.
"Nah, just sorta vibing at the moment, you know?" she cringed – but nodded along anyway, trying to slowly inch back to her friends, when… "Oh, shit!" Alice looked up at the nearest TV – a Norwich player had mugged the ball off his Manchester counterpart and was darting right for goal! They, and the whole bar, watched, roaring them on, and Alice felt that energy again, soaked it up, as the Norwich player squared it sideways and the captain hammered it home for 3-1. Ensemble erupted.
"Fuckin' get in!" Alice screamed, as the hangars inside the Exceptional Truth began making preparations to launch dropships and Brute infantry assembled to strap on their armour. "Eat that shit, Claire!" The boy cackled with laughter.
"Where you off to, after this?" he asked suddenly.
"Oh, uh, probs Popworld, I guess," she answered. "Have to ask my friends. Oi, Daisy!" Daisy, bent over the pool table at such an angle that she as lucky there were no dogs in here, looked back at her, slapping strands of golden hair away from her face.
"What?" she mock-moaned. "Can't you see I'm busy?!"

"Where we going after this?"
"It's only half six, we're not going yet, are we?"
"I know, but when we do, where we going?"
"I don't know." She turned back to concentrating in potting the yellow. "Somewhere I can get mandy and dance."
"So, Popworld, then?" Daisy missed – her white ball bounced off the corner, a millimetre from the hole, and drifted back halfway across the table, knocking the black instead. She hit her forehead against its green fabric as the others cheered. The Fleet of Brilliant Providence was breaking off, now, preparing for geosynchronous orbit.
"Right," said Alice, holding out her hand for the cue, "my turn, then."
"That's two hits for you, I think," observed the boy.
"Oh, yes, it is, innit?" she replied, grinning. "Look at you – my hero."
"That's me," he said, trying to be all boisterous, not doing a great job of it. Alice noticed Daisy side-eyeing him and smiled as she bent over the table, trying not to go too deep, aware that he was right behind her. She hit the white halfway across the table, separating two reds, one of which drifted fairly close to a middle hole.
"Alright…" said Alice, standing upright,. She turned to the boy. "Alright, what we thinking?" She felt like she was stringing him along a bit, but so what – that was all part of the game.
"I'd say that one," he replied, pointing out a red all the way across the table, almost a perfect straight line.
"I don't trust my aim, is the thing," Alice said, staring the red down.
"Yeah, but if you manage it, you've got the white in perfect position for that one." He pointed at another red and, mentally simulating potting the first, Alice saw he was right.
"Hmm…" She walked around the table, leaned down, felt Rachel step behind her, possibly to keep her covered up from gawpers among the line of men actually watching the match from leather high-chairs, and went for it. She completely missed. "Well, I'm going to kill myself, now."
"You should call Samaritans."
"I did – they told me to do it." He laughed. Daisy leaned over.
"Friend of yours?"
"No, he's… shit, sorry, what's even your name?" Alice laughed.
"Paul Phelps," he replied. It was a bit weird that he added his surname but, well, okay.

"Alice," she said back, not dispensing her surname, pointing to herself, then, quickly, to her friends. She thought she was stringing him along… "Daisy, Rachel, Tom, Ruby."
"Hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly, holding up a hand. Over central Tanzania, a teardrop-shaped Seraph scout fighter was cutting through the dark stratosphere, reporting on topography for the coming landing parties, unchallenged, tracked by confused staff at Dodoma Airport. Manchester City scored again – it was probably too late for them. Norwich just had to hold on. Daisy made some joke about Jacob Rees-Mogg. Paul was offered a turn at the pool – he was better than the rest of them, typically, and Alice was wondering if she ought to invite him to Popworld. Would the others be alright with that? She didn't know him – that was usually for the best.

Pls review pls im crying