BD5
Disclaimer: If you haven't figured it out by NOW, I am not telling you.
Author's notes: Yeah, I'm an Air Brat. Was thinking about some of the bases I had been on, if there were any supersoldiers I didn't see them either. Dammnit! And no, I haven't slept with Ian. I'm not saying I wouldn't, in fact if the opportunity ever ahem, arose, I would have his clothes off so fast he'd get fabric burn. If Eric Etebari ever reads this, my name is Bob, and I live in Outer Mongolia. (I would die of embarrassment if he knew who I really was, so keep a lid on it at the Con, Ianticipate! That goes double for Beck, Belle, and Rook!)
The bar was crowded, hot, and loud. A haze made of cigarette smoke and intermittent puffs from the fog machine at the edge of the dance floor hung over the crush. It seemed to add to Ian's feeling of confinement. The music throbbed like tribal drums, and really the comparison wasn't far off. The dance floor was a ritual mating display that had only seen superficial changes since the beginning of society.
Ian stood there, not really sure what to do. His beer was getting warm in his hand. Mobius had bought the first round for everyone. He could hardly be churlish and refuse, but Irons did not allow him to drink alcohol. Occasionally he would pretend to drink, and was glad of the dark glass of the bottle. It was hard to tell how much was in it, and it was generic enough that no one knew it was still the first one. The others were well on their way to third or fourth bottles now, and were showing early signs of intoxication. It was fascinating to watch really.
"Nottingham, this is not a hostile situation! Relax!" Mobius had to shout to be heard over the music, but Ian understood him.
"I cannot. There are so many people and the Noise! How is this fun?" Ian truly wanted to know, for he felt he was missing something.
"First time in a bar, huh?" One of the other members said with a grin.
Ian nodded, then wondered if he should have admitted that as the entire group looked at him speculatively.
"Ever been drunk, Nottingham?" Mobius asked, his white teeth gleaming in that chocolate face.
"I have never consumed alcohol before. It was not allowed." Nottingham replied.
"Damn, talk about strict upbringing! Well, we are going to remedy that situation right now. Bartender! Shots! Tequilla!" Mobius flagged the bartender down, and gave him a hundred dollar bill. "Keep it coming until the money runs out, this is for you." He added and gave the bartender a twenty.
The bartender smiled, stuffed the tip in his jar, and lined up the shots. He was used to military personnel barking orders like it was a parade drill. In fact, Jamie preferred it. It beat listening to sob stories from slobbering drunks at the Hilton's bar. They tipped better too.
Jamie watched as they explained to their buddy the ritual of tequila shots. After they had explained it in depth, their leader did a shot. After he licked the salt, he held a lime and a shot glass of tequila out to the dark haired man.
Ian put a layer of salt on his hand as he had been shown, threw back the shot, and tried not to choke. It felt like he had just swallowed thumbtacks! How did Mobius drink this stuff? He sucked the lime, hoping it would help. It did cool the fire somewhat, and was a pleasant flavor.
The rest of his unit went wild with approval. Buoyed up by this sign of acceptance, Ian watched the others do their shots. Several of them made grimaces as the alcohol hit their tongues, so Ian felt that he was not the only one who thought it tasted horrible. To his surprise, the bartender refilled their shot glasses. Were they expected to drink that terrible stuff again? It seemed they were. Everyone else was salting the skin between their thumb and first finger again. Wondering again what he was thinking, Ian followed suit. Everyone slammed their shots simultaneously, and sucked their limes. To his surprise, it didn't taste as bad as he remembered. Ian was glad they were drinking such small amounts, it would not do for him to get drunk. At one swallow at a time, surely he could have a few more with them. It made them happy, and Ian wanted them to like him. Where could the harm be in that?
Disclaimer: If you haven't figured it out by NOW, I am not telling you.
Author's notes: Yeah, I'm an Air Brat. Was thinking about some of the bases I had been on, if there were any supersoldiers I didn't see them either. Dammnit! And no, I haven't slept with Ian. I'm not saying I wouldn't, in fact if the opportunity ever ahem, arose, I would have his clothes off so fast he'd get fabric burn. If Eric Etebari ever reads this, my name is Bob, and I live in Outer Mongolia. (I would die of embarrassment if he knew who I really was, so keep a lid on it at the Con, Ianticipate! That goes double for Beck, Belle, and Rook!)
The bar was crowded, hot, and loud. A haze made of cigarette smoke and intermittent puffs from the fog machine at the edge of the dance floor hung over the crush. It seemed to add to Ian's feeling of confinement. The music throbbed like tribal drums, and really the comparison wasn't far off. The dance floor was a ritual mating display that had only seen superficial changes since the beginning of society.
Ian stood there, not really sure what to do. His beer was getting warm in his hand. Mobius had bought the first round for everyone. He could hardly be churlish and refuse, but Irons did not allow him to drink alcohol. Occasionally he would pretend to drink, and was glad of the dark glass of the bottle. It was hard to tell how much was in it, and it was generic enough that no one knew it was still the first one. The others were well on their way to third or fourth bottles now, and were showing early signs of intoxication. It was fascinating to watch really.
"Nottingham, this is not a hostile situation! Relax!" Mobius had to shout to be heard over the music, but Ian understood him.
"I cannot. There are so many people and the Noise! How is this fun?" Ian truly wanted to know, for he felt he was missing something.
"First time in a bar, huh?" One of the other members said with a grin.
Ian nodded, then wondered if he should have admitted that as the entire group looked at him speculatively.
"Ever been drunk, Nottingham?" Mobius asked, his white teeth gleaming in that chocolate face.
"I have never consumed alcohol before. It was not allowed." Nottingham replied.
"Damn, talk about strict upbringing! Well, we are going to remedy that situation right now. Bartender! Shots! Tequilla!" Mobius flagged the bartender down, and gave him a hundred dollar bill. "Keep it coming until the money runs out, this is for you." He added and gave the bartender a twenty.
The bartender smiled, stuffed the tip in his jar, and lined up the shots. He was used to military personnel barking orders like it was a parade drill. In fact, Jamie preferred it. It beat listening to sob stories from slobbering drunks at the Hilton's bar. They tipped better too.
Jamie watched as they explained to their buddy the ritual of tequila shots. After they had explained it in depth, their leader did a shot. After he licked the salt, he held a lime and a shot glass of tequila out to the dark haired man.
Ian put a layer of salt on his hand as he had been shown, threw back the shot, and tried not to choke. It felt like he had just swallowed thumbtacks! How did Mobius drink this stuff? He sucked the lime, hoping it would help. It did cool the fire somewhat, and was a pleasant flavor.
The rest of his unit went wild with approval. Buoyed up by this sign of acceptance, Ian watched the others do their shots. Several of them made grimaces as the alcohol hit their tongues, so Ian felt that he was not the only one who thought it tasted horrible. To his surprise, the bartender refilled their shot glasses. Were they expected to drink that terrible stuff again? It seemed they were. Everyone else was salting the skin between their thumb and first finger again. Wondering again what he was thinking, Ian followed suit. Everyone slammed their shots simultaneously, and sucked their limes. To his surprise, it didn't taste as bad as he remembered. Ian was glad they were drinking such small amounts, it would not do for him to get drunk. At one swallow at a time, surely he could have a few more with them. It made them happy, and Ian wanted them to like him. Where could the harm be in that?