"You're going to The Dusty Nail? And this isn't another one of your stupid jokes? You're serious?"
"Yeah, that's why I asked you about it."
"And you're taking one of those American pilots there? One who knows next to nothing about Remnant?"
"So… how is it?"
"Yang I am not the kind of lady that goes to dive bars for dates!"
"Maybe if you had a real drink or two you'd loosen up a little."
"Yang you don't drink," Blake pointed out.
"I have a drink every now and then."
"You don't drink," she emphasized, glaring at her team mate. "The last time you drank as hard as you're talking about was at the graduation party."
"Three shots and you blacked out completely," Weiss reminded her. "Jaune and Pyrrah had to carry you away."
"Hey I learned my lesson from that! Besides what else was I supposed to do? Dinner or a movie? You girls heard the stories about these kinds of guys. Really rowdy, hard drinking, love fighting kind of guys."
"Most men who are that loud and brash tend to be full of themselves. All talk."
"Can't be these guys though. They're already good at what they do, fighting and all that."
Yang gave a her brush a few more runs through her hair, and a few more pointless tugs on her clothes to straighten everything out. Ruby came down the stairs and joined the three, not really looking to get involved in the conversation. Unlike the other two, she had no real concerns over where Yang was going, though this may have been from having grown up with her, as she had come to understand her ways and trusted her in decisions.
"Hey Ruby, how do I look?"
"Uh… the… same as you always do?" her sister answered in honest confusion. "Great, I mean you look great! Like you always do!"
"Oh come on, I put a little more effort into it this time!"
"Oh yeah… you put on lipstick?"
"Just a little, I thought this shade of red really helped the rest of my face stand out. Like it goes well with the eyes and stuff. What do you think?"
Weiss leaned over the countertop of the kitchen's island, studying the specific shade closely.
"Yang, did you take my lipstick?" she scowled.
"H-hey I didn't steal it! Just borrowed a little bit, it wasn't that much!"
"Do you know how unsanitary-"
"Oh hey look at the time only a couple of hours before I got to go bye girls!"
Yang was out the door before the other girls could react, leaving only a dust cloud behind her at a speed that even impressed Ruby, followed shortly by the sounds of her bike's engine as she took off.
"Oh no," Ruby sighed, watching her sister leave. "She took her bike."
"Doesn't she always?" Blake asked, not seeing the problem.
"Not to go drinking."
"Oh… well… she's smarter than that, right?"
"I got to admit I'm happy we didn't start a betting pool for dates."
"Why, you didn't expect the choir boy to get action by the first night?" joked Jackson to his wingman.
"Nope, not in the slightest."
"And you sure you don't want to come with us?" another pilot asked.
"Yeah sorry Jim. Made my commitment already."
True to his word, Jackson had made himself ready for his rendezvous as many of the others planned to go to a local club in town. Sometimes it was considered rude for a pilot to abandon his wingmen in their festivities, especially for chasing a girl, but this time was forgivable. It was not often this pilot went out on dates, meaning it was more serious than skirt chasing, and he already had a good history of attending gatherings with his friends, and getting them home safely to boot.
"Did you tell Robo already?" Lieutenant Mathers asked, referring to their squadron commander.
"Yeah of course, he gave me the rundown but I already knew the rules. The whole 'don't do anything stupider than you've already done' stuff. Glad I'm not the squadron C.O., I'd never be able to deal with dishing that out to everyone."
"Yep, but really try not to get in over your head, you know?"
"Yeah you know me; I don't want to get that far anyways."
"You know I used to hear stories of the old geezers from back in 'Nam and Korea, back when I was helping at the vet's homes when I was young," Ram started. "They'd talk about how they'd send hot girls as spies to hit on American guys, to get information out of them and stuff. Even ice them while they were sleeping. Real James Bond shit you know?"
"Well, it's hard for me to resist a blonde," Jackson admitted. "Especially that one, I swear her hair, must've been made of gold it was so bright."
"Jesus is that all you southern guys like? Every southern guy I met, every time, I'm telling you, 'ohh shucks I love blondes'. Do you guys have anything else down there?"
"None that I noticed. What've they got in Buffalo?"
"Mostly brunettes."
"Seriously, how did you get a date so fast?" his own wingman, Lieutenant Hutchinson asked.
"I've got that kind of magnetism Salt. Just because I don't go hunting for one-night stands doesn't mean I can't get a date."
"Yeah that southern fried charm huh?"
Truly, none in the squadron had figured Jackson as a tail chaser. A good boy scout, for the most part as every man had a blemish to his record. But still most believed him when he said it was just a formality, a date for the sake of it with the local. Most of the pilots in the squadron actually had wives or girlfriends themselves, and the old stereotype of going after girls was left to the small handful of bachelors, a group Jackson had never really been part of. As he threw on his jacket and said his farewells to his wingmen, he intended to keep it that way.
However, in truth the good-natured Saint still held plenty in common with the characteristics of that type of man that had to make up the ranks of fighter pilots. The kind of man with true red-blood that ran hot and fast, and drove him to a fight with a focus honed by the desire for one, and many other desires that came with it. You could find many the same kind of man filling the positions of boxers or matadors, sports players and hunters, though the increased danger of sudden death added a vital dash of realistic humility to this particular breed. And, in the end, he did not want to be alone forever, and everyone had to start somewhere.
"Alright I need to pull chocks, you guys take care of yourselves," Jackson told the others as he threw on his jacket to leave.
"Yeah you too man!" Salt returned the favor as his wingman left them to their own night.
"Wait, so who's going to be the D.D. this time without him?" one of the pilots asked.
"Oh crap yeah. Hey where's Slappy? Maybe we can bribe him into doing it."
The cab dropped off Jackson at the bar while the twilight was still lighting up the sky, giving a gleam to the entrance of an otherwise unremarkable bar. Rather than being a spacious bar, it was rather narrow, with the bar itself running from the entrance to the end of the wall, with table and chairs spaced out where room could be found. The first thoughts he had were of a shotgun shack, though the inside was much cleaner than he initially thought, to his relief.
Inside the bar was already occupied, about half full with locals, but after a quick scan none of them matched the one person he was here for. It would have been hard to miss her with how she looked. He was a little early, not by much, it being a habit among the service to be early, but he did still feel a bit let down. Was he stood up? It was not like girls did not abandon their dates at the last minute without telling the man, he had seen it happen to a few of his friends before. But, in the end, he only ever saw it as a one-off. No love lost over this.
"Hey dude, how's the night going?" the bartender asked without much emotion as he took a seat.
"Just started man."
"That's cool. I guess you're not local huh?"
For a moment Jackson had forgotten he'd been wearing his squadron's t-shirt and his flight jacket.
"Oh, yeah no. I'm an American, one of the pilots of the squadron that landed here recently."
"That's pretty cool, haven't had any Americans yet."
"I hope I make a good first impression for us then."
"Yeah you'll be fine. Things usually get rowdy around here so, like, you guys probably won't be anything new actually."
"Rowdy? Is it that kind of bar?"
"No, I mean not really. Not rowdy for lack of rules or crime or anything, just that the Huntsmen like to come here to drink, especially after missions. They can get weird sometimes."
"Oh you get a lot of Huntsmen here?"
"Oh yeah, we uh, we get them here all the time. Most of the time they just act like total idiots."
"I can believe that. A lot of the tough warrior guys like to get messed up and do dumb things. I think it's just the way to enjoy life, when you're always risking it, you know?" the pilot theorized to an ambivalent bartender. "So uh, got any stories of that you'd want to share?"
"Well there was one time, there was this one Huntsman who came in while we were painting that mural on the wall there. He was a faunus, a dog faunus right?"
"Those half-animal people right?"
"Yeah something like that. Anyways we were painting, and I guess he like, sat a little too close because he started getting woozy. But no one really notices and he starts ordering some pretty hard stuff. So now the guy is high on paint fumes and drunk off his ass… and I don't really remember what happened after that but I'm pretty sure someone nailed him in the head with a huge rum bottle."
"Damn, did you have to call an ambulance or anything?"
"No, no, I mean… I didn't."
The sun was now setting, filling the interior of the bar with its gilded rays, giving it a rather warm and pleasant feeling. The bartender departed to serve another, leaving the lone pilot sitting dutifully near the entrance seat, guarding the door as he watched the tepid evening bustle of the streets. Well, if he was going to get stood up, so be it, but he'd at least find something to do so it, it could not be a total waste. He had to have some story to tell when he got back for the guys.
"So, uh, what kind of local drinks do you guys serve? I'm a whiskey man myself, but I'm looking for something a little exotic since I'm in a whole new world," the pilot requested of the bartender as he returned from the opposite end.
"I could make you a Vacuo Sunrise, if you want to try something simple to start with that's still pretty strong."
"What's in it?"
"It's pretty hodge-podge, like everything from there. A couple of whiskeys blended together, some sand, a little-"
"Wait, sand? Is that like Dust? Like, some resource you guys can eat?"
"No, it's uh, sand. Just… sand."
"Sand?"
"Yeah sand."
"What the Hell, sure."
"Hey, there you are!"
Jackson felt a hand come down hard the back of his jacket, looking over to find Yang taking a seat on the bar stool to his left.
"Hey, how's it going? Glad you showed up!" she greeted him with her usual upbeat energy.
"Huh, hey. Hey! You made it."
"Yeah, sorry I'm a little behind, traffic," Yang lied, having actually spent a good amount of time in the park to get her courage up before heading in. "It's Jackson… Allen right? Allen Jackson? Captain?"
"I'll give you permission to call me Saint, if you like."
"I'm honored."
"And its Yang… actually you never told me your last name. Mind if I ask?"
"Nah of course not! My full name's Yang Xiao Long."
"Really? It sounds kind of Chinese," Jackson replied, not thinking much as he did so. "I guess China never really existed in Remnant huh?"
"Nah, it's from my dad's side. It's Mistrali I think… I never really looked into our family history that much. Not past our parents."
"I always heard that my family had some distant relation to one of our old presidents that came from my state. One of the best ones too. But I'm not sure if the family really got hard proof for that."
"Oh, that's pretty neat. Where do you come from?"
"America."
"Duh dude, we're not that new to the planet," Yang stated the obvious. "I mean where in there."
"Oh, uh Tennessee. Gatlinburg, in Tennessee. Near Gatlinburg anyways. It's kind of a resort town, and Tennessee's a state in the southern half of the country."
"And what's that like?"
"Lot of mountains, forests, lot of hunting, outdoors-y activities, you know?" Jackson gave a simplified explanation. "What about you?"
"My family's actually from Patch. It's a little island off of Vale's coast."
"I think we flew over that coming in. Still looked pretty rural, must be nice."
"Yeah, I'll admit I kind of miss it. Well, my dad mostly, but at least our dog's with us."
The conversation was interrupted as the bartender returned with Jackson's drink; there had been some delay for the simple shot due to being sidelined by some complaining customers.
"Man, you're hitting the booze pretty hard already, aren't ya' flyboy?" Yang whistled, pretending to actually know what the shot was in a wall of bravado.
"We're in a bar. You have any better ideas?"
"Maybe, but I want to have a good laugh by watching you shoot that first."
"Oh so I'm going to make you laugh? I'm a clown now?" Jackson replied, deciding to call Yang's bluff. "Well you can laugh at the tourist, but I'd bet money that you wouldn't be able to match me blondie."
"Match you?" Yang repeated, partly embarrassed at being called out, and more galvanized by the challenge being thrown down at her. "Oh I bet I could. In fact I bet I could shoot it better than you too!"
"Then let's shoot one together. Hey, man, can I get another one of these."
And so that was how it started. Two hard headed, hot headed fighters, both looking for a challenge and neither wanting to back down from one. Neither quite as much of a hard-charger as they really were, but neither wanting to let on that they were softer than the other, and both in over their heads. And that was how, on a countdown to three, the two took their shots in fully for their honor and pride. Jackson hunched over the bar slightly and simply stared ahead, giving a long grunt and biting his lower lip hard as he felt he'd swallowed a sun. Yang next to him, made no noise but nearly doubled over before bringing her head back up, her long hair covering the pained expressions on her face.
"Not… bad… once it's down," Jackson mumbled, just trying to keep his head and calm down. "You? You good?"
"Nnnggg… mhmmmmm," Yang groaned, dragging herself back up before resting her head on the bar. "Oh maaaan…. That was rough… like drinking fire dust… and a hundred peppers… and it was so rough… coarse… just, ugh, just how I like it!"
"Y-yeah? You're pretty crazy girl. Want another drink? I'll… ask for something smoother."
"Yeah, yeah, just to wash that down."
The two then partook in another round of a much softer drink, but followed it with another and another. Both still wanted to keep up with the other, and with the alcohol flowing as it was, the two lightweights were fast approaching their inevitable intoxication. Still, it had its advantages, and slowly the drinks began to soothe things over, slowing their thoughts, calming the nerves, and the initial anxiety both held melted away like water to the open sun.
The conversation continued as they did so, rolling along in whichever direction they pleased. The topics were of the natural sort that two new people held; their histories, their opinions, their personal lives and hopes, all restricted under the wraps of privacy in what they were comfortable to share with a drunken stranger, or at least what they were able to control themselves saying as the drinking went on. As Jackson once mentioned his rather sparse training in hand-to-hand combat that the Air Force gave him, Yang inevitably turned the topic over to fighting, not something he was opposed to.
"Yeah yeah I could totally knock a guy out with a punch, one good punch, right here in the head, you see?" the pilot boasted. "Ya think you can do that little girl? You like fighting right? How hard's your punch?"
"Puh-leeeese, I'm a Huntress dude, I bet I can take your best shot," Yang declared, much more sure of this claim. "In fact, come on, take a shot at me."
"Huh? Oh, Yang, I'm don't want to hit a girl."
"You're a real gentleman huh? But I'm not a little girl Saint. And my Aura's going to tank whatever you throw anyways," she assured him, presenting herself to him and pointing at her torso. "C'mon, don't be a wimp, hit me."
"Ah, if the lady insists," he agreed, taking a basic stance and doing a couple of slow shadow punches to aim at her torso.
"Hey, aim a little lower mister, at the stomach. Your hands don't get to go there yet," she ordered him, hoping to fluster him and throw him off.
It worked to a degree, leaving the good Captain a bit surprised, though not much and not for long. Satisfied with his aim, he drew his arm back and gave a hard right straight into Yang's midsection. The girl staggered back a little bit, to her surprise she had actually felt it, she had not expected to move at all, but still it felt more like a push, and she was not hurt. There she stood triumphant, reaching her arms out above her head to pose in victory.
"Not a scratch bro."
"Damn, I mean, I held back a little. But yeah, you weren't kidding. Guess I'm next up huh?"
"Wha- dude if I hit you as hard as I could my fist would go right through you."
"Then just give me a little tap," he insisted. "Not too low."
Yang did not bother with the preparation that he had gone through, and quickly gave him what she considered a 'gentle' punch to the abdomen. It was powerful, just as she'd claimed, and made him stagger back and almost topple over. But, holding on to the bar, he brought himself back up again, and with a deep breath smiled at what he considered a victory. He took it much better than she expected, she was half worried he would suddenly get sick and fall apart on the floor.
"Not bad, not bad," she admitted. "Still think I won, between the two of us."
"Ah, maybe, it was close though… and you might've left a mark… think I might need another drink after that. You up for some bourbon?"
"Yeah, totally."
Things seemed to go smoothly from this point. Both were thoroughly relaxed by drink, no longer anxious, each happy they were keeping up with the other. The night rolled on, hours ticked by unnoticed, patrons came and went, and these two kept their spot, enjoying each-other's company. Sometime around midnight, Yang excused herself to the restroom, partly needing to freshen up and take a moment to herself to think. She left Saint there, and turning back before going through the door to see him eyeing something at the other end of the bar with great thought.
There was no one else in the lady's restroom, all the better for her. Before she went out again, she took a moment to splash some cold water from the faucet on her face, followed by another and another. She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror; she could tell she was drunk, a little disheveled but not too much, and still looked good overall. It was fortunate she had not dolled herself up too much as the water had washed away some of the lipstick, looking a bit messy but in a way fit with the rest of her appearance now. She thought she still looked very good, and the guys liked this kind of look, at least she assumed so, wondering what she would think if she were a man. But did Jackson like it? That was all that mattered, and as such her thoughts turned to him.
He had something to him, that something, a thing she was not articulate or sober enough to name or describe but could recognize. It was a thing that men had, in their mannerisms, in the way they moved and talked and the words they used, the different stories and feelings his eyes gave in the different situations, the physical look, the lines in his face. It gave off that mystery that men with life experience had, one that was enticing, one that told others, or those few that bothered to look closely and pay attention, that there was something deeper to them hidden away, more to them than they were willing to speak of without admitting first. Telling of a much more complex story without him saying anything.
Once she felt more in control of herself, the cold water having shocked a bit of the inebriation away, she marched back out into the bar. The seats the two had occupied were empty, and Jackson was gone. For a moment, only briefly, she felt worried, though she did not know why, and then angry, before looking up and down the length of the venue. Her new friend was still there, tucked away in the far corner of the bar on a stool, fiddling with a wooden acoustic guitar and some of the locals. She could not make out what they were singing, due to the noise and poor acoustics of the rest of the building, but it slowly filtered in as she moved closer.
"mis-ter blue skyyy-eyyy~"
"I swear the actual song is better than that," Jackson assured the others with a chuckle and the usual dumb grin of a drunk. "Mine's trash man. Totally bad. ELO though? Magic, I'm telling you!"
"Jeez, I thought you abandoned me! It's not nice to just leave your date like that," the blonde said to him as she sauntered up past the miniscule 'audience' he had attained.
"Hey Yang! I'm just, y'know, strumming this a little. Singing some tunes from back home," Jackson explained happily, picking away randomly at the strings. "Take a seat, join us!"
"Aw, but you took the best seat. Where's a girl supposed to sit at huh? All the way in the back? I won't be able to hear your singing."
In some flash of mistaken brilliance Saint, for once, decided to issue the challenge to her, moving the guitar to his side.
"Don't know what you mean Yang, I think there's plenty of room right here," he answered her as part of his mind suddenly jolted himself. "What'd I just say?"
Yang's eyes went wide for a second, and she could feel the heat rushing into her cooled head. For all her toying and prodding she had only expected him to prod back; he did not seem like the kind of guy to be as forward as that. But her brain recognized it as another challenge, and really in a way this could be the most fun one of the night, better than getting punched and shots of hard liquor. A different kind of challenge and the only one that made her stop for a noticeable amount of time, but not one to back down from.
She strutted up to him with an exaggerated sashay, and slid onto his lap sideways, perpendicular to him. She leaned back a bit and rested into his left arm which was already extended out to the guitar's neck. He rested the arm, and her, up against the wall for support, though keeping his hand on the instrument meant she was especially close to his face as she stretched out her legs in the opposite direction. The guitar was awkwardly dragged back in, with him pulling it closely and sandwiching her between himself and the acoustic. The heat felt almost unbearable and their blood seemed to be running with neither able to notice.
"Is this a sin?" Saint thought to himself, and a voice in the back answered. "Not yet."
"Nice of you to offer me a seat."
"S-sure, of course. It's nothing."
"So… uh… what were you singing?" she asked, awkwardly redirecting the conversation.
"Oh nothing. Nothing, just… music I listened to. From back home."
"It sounded nice. But I only heard the end of it."
"It is, not really the best for a bar though."
"Don't you know any bar songs from where you come from?" one of the Huntsmen around them interrupted, having almost been put to sleep from the last song's hymn.
"Huh? Oh uh… a bar song. A drinking song."
"Yeah, sing us a drinking song!"
"Alright, a drinking song, a fighter pilot drinking song, I know that!" Jackson agreed, welcoming anything to distract him from the blonde in his lap. "I'll need some help from you guys. You think you can help? Job's easy. When I point at you, just repeat what I just said, that's it. Sound easy enough?"
The immediate crowd around him nodded.
"Nice, now let's get singing!"
He began to strum out on the guitar, a simple song of Gs, As, and Ds that were still occasionally missed in his drunken state. But he knew it enough by heart to make it sound passable, and outright good to the many dazed patrons, and even to the girl he had with him.
"When I was a young'un,
My daddy said to me!
'Son I wanna know,
What it is you wanna be?'
I said, 'I'll never wear a tie,
But I like the color green!
I think I'm gonna wanna fly,
The fucken' F-16!'
"Well I heard my momma scream,
Cause I said it right out loud,
So daddy had to wash me mouth,
I knew that he was proud.
He gave me a shot,
It was somethin' in-between,
Lysol, alcohol, a touch a gasoline!"
"Fox One!"
"Fox One!"
"When you got nothin left, Fox Two!"
"Fox Two!"
"That's that heater in yer chest, Fox Three!"
"Fox Three!"
"The only friend you'll ever need!
That cock-sucken, motherfucker,
Jeremiah Weed!"
"Now if you drive the Eagle,
Then you drink it all for show!
And if you drive the Hog,
Then you gotta drink it slow!
And if you drive the Viper,
Then you gotta drink it fast!
'Cause this ain't the time to loiter,
And we ain't got the gas!
"Now if you drive the Stinkbug,
Then drink it all yer own!
And if you drive the Mudhen,
Then you can't drink it alone!
And if you're stuck in UAV,
Then my advice to you,
Is to drink the fucken' bottle man!
There's nothing else to do!"
He motioned for Yang to pass him another shot of drink to moisten his throat as he strummed away. The drink hit him hard, again, clenching his eyes and enough to make him forget the following verses and almost lose his rhythm. Once recovered, he elected to simply charge straight to the ending of the song before he botched it entirely.
"Now everyone is curious,
They all wanna know!
Does it make you smarter?
Will it make your weiner grow?
Well it won't bring ya women,
And it won't bring ya luck!
So why do we drink it?
CAUSE IT TASTES LIKE FUCK!"
"FOX ONE!"
FOX ONE!"
"When you got nothin' left! FOX TWO!"
"FOX TWO!"
"It's that heater in your chest! FOX THREE!"
"FOX THREE!"
"The only friend you'll ever need!
That cock-sucken motherfucker,
Jeremiah Weeeed!"
There were some drunken claps among the small crowd that listened, and looking over he saw Yang giggling a little. He was a bit surprised that she had reacted so well to a strange and vulgar song, but it was a positive surprise, and now his attention was focused almost solely on her. Even as he held the beautiful blonde in his lap, all the tension from before seemed to be gone. The anxiousness, the tight feeling, the heat was still there but it had been more of a literal heat from the two being so close, and he did not mind it. Looking at her all of that tension was replaced by something, he could not tell what, but it was a feeling of content. Like he was looking at a close friend, but not the same.
In the end he was too inebriated to comprehend what he felt like, and he was happy with that. No more tension, no worries, and still a little bit of an ego trip from having the lady with him at the time, looking at him with such a warm face. He could not think of anything else; all seemed to be right in the world, for them at least.
"That wasn't too shabby, I didn't think you'd be a musician," Yang complimented him.
"Every squadron needs a bard. Title for ours, that goes to my man Gator. He's the best on guitar. I just strum for fun."
"Yeah, I had fun. That was what I expected when I heard about fighter pilots being all vulgar and stuff," she continued. "I don't think I could tell the girls about that one. Ruby might not like all the naughty words and stuff."
"A real shame," he lamented, thoughtlessly strumming the guitar with his thumb. "I guess she prefers clean songs huh?"
"Yeah she's just that kind of girl."
"Well there ain't many clean fighter songs. At least none that you'd really, like… get, y'know?"
"Hah, dude I didn't understand half of that song."
"Well, I think I've got one more in me, if you're up for it."
"Oh totally! Let's see what ya got."
"Ah… just a little back-and-forth tune."
Saint started strumming out a simpler, relaxed and tempered rhythm. This time, he largely ignored the other patrons, and looked only at Yang. Her large, purple eyes flashed like two fine-cut amethyst stones, and he continued to watch keeping a loose, small-talk feeling the whole time, but never losing his grin.
"Sooo Yang, tell me, were you ever worried when you were growin' up? Thought you'd never be a Huntress?"
"Pft, nah."
"Ah you're a bad liar, every fighter gets worried over their jobs. Especially fighter pilots. Worst thing in the world for a fighter is to get sent to a UAV."
"UAV?"
"A drone, friggin' robot. Worst job in the world. You're stuck in a booth for ten hours, chugging coffee or energy drinks or some crap, starin' at a screen."
"Oh man, that sounds like it sucks."
"Yeah there was a time back in the day over in Southern Watch. When the U.S. was fighting Iraq? They shot down one of our Predator drones. Now that was a good day!"
"Oh really? Getting one of your own planes shot down was a good day?"
"That was the good day for every pilot in the world. So good they wrote a song about it. You want to hear it?"
"Oh yeah I have to hear this."
"Ok let's go!"
"They shot down a Predator,
That's one less slot for me!
They shot down a Predator,
And it filled my heart with glee!
I had a smile on my face,
At the AFPC!
They shot down a Predator,
That's one less slot for me!"
"And you know what the sad thing is about this blondie?" he asked, still strumming the guitar as he finished the verse. "It's that the Air Force will just build more of 'em."
"Sounds like a waste of money."
"Yeah those pieces of crap, cost like a dollar a piece as they roll 'em off the line. And now they got those Atlas guys with the robot soldiers? Whole world's gone to Hell."
"Hah, I could tear open those tin cans no problem! Drones aren't even worth the dollar I bet."
"Hell yeah they're not. In fact, they wrote another verse about it. Want to hear it?"
"Yeah, yeah!"
"Alright here we go!"
"They shot down a Predator,
I say let's send some more!
Let's fly 'em over Bagh-Vacuo,
And then see what's in store!
Yeah cause I heard that the Air Force wants,
Another twenty-four!
They shot down the Predator,
I say let's send some more!"
"So Yang."
"Mhm?"
"What do you think happens when you get your Predator shot down? Do you just go grab a drink and cry into your pillow or what?"
"Hah, they sound like my sis when she'd break a toy as a kid! They should grow up!"
"Hahaha! Yeah I like the sound of that, too attached to their toys!"
"Well they shot down a Predator,
And I wonder how that feels!
For that operator,
Who lose his set of wheels!
Yeah it must feel so defenseless,
It's like clubbin' baby seals!
They shot down a Predator,
And I wonder how that feels!"
"Let's hit that first verse again, what do you say blondie?"
"Sing for more baby!"
"Yeah they shot down a Predator,
That's one less slot for me!
They shot down a Predator,
And it filled my heart with glee!
Yeah I had a smile when I logged on,
To AFPC!"
"Last line, sing it with me Yang!"
"THEY SHOT DOWN A PREDATOR, THAT'S ONE LESS SLOT FOR ME!"
"THEY SHOT DOWN THE PREDATOR, ONE LESS SLOT FOR ME!"
The song concluded, and after the last lines the two found themselves staring at each-other again, their faces having gotten rather close in the last bits of the song. They both looked at each-other, in deep eye contact, not blinking, the smiles still running along their faces. The grins grew bigger, followed by some suppressed giggling. Finally, both broke and fell into sniggering and chuckling like children at the absurdity of their staring contest, breaking eye contact and looking away as they looked away and recomposed themselves; the two leaned back so far that they would have fallen off of the stool if they did not rest against the back wall.
"Was that part of the song too?"
"Oh yeah, totally!"
The guitar playing stopped after that, and the crowd returned to mingling among their usual circles, leaving the two to continue drinking with each-other's company. The hours streamed by into oblivion, matching the blanket black of the night outside, unnoticed by the patrons there. The denizen drunkards of the locals shifted in and out of the bar, its wooden walls creaking as they soaked in the noise. The artificial light was dimmed as the evening continued, and after some time Jackson, having found himself sweating from the heat of the building and desperately needing fresh air, excused himself and stumbled out the open doors onto the street, leaning up against a lamp post to his right.
The sudden change of the environment struck him hard, the shift from the heat to the cool night air hit him but soothed his lungs, the relative quiet of the outdoors cleared his head, the space of the open street, the dark shade. He was drunk, but not drunk to the point where he could not realize he was drunk, and after the initial shock he began to feel much better. It was just past two in the morning, and he groaned looking at the time. None of his wingmen had bothered to contact him as his phone was clear of messages; at least they trusted him, or simply did not care about what was happening, likely the former for him.
He certainly could not go back on to the base like this, at least he did not think it proper, and he was on leave for now and through tomorrow, or today rather. Staying at a hotel would do fine. There was no way he could drive but he had not driven here to begin with. He wished to himself that he had something to eat, to counteract the alcohol, as the bar's appetizers had not been sufficient. He found himself wishing for bread specifically, yearning for it even, and remembering the loaves his family would make back home, how nice they were especially at dinner. The cool night here was similar to the cool nights in a Tennessee Autumn. Though the town here was more crowded and active than his. Maybe more like in Nashville.
"Heeeey!"
He dragged his head up to see Yang stumbling out of the bar, much more drunk than he was.
"Jaaack! Jacky-boy! You weren't leaving yet were you? Without telling me goodnight?"
He pulled himself up, off from the lamp post to face her, and she immediately grabbed the zipper sides of his jacket and pulled him in, partly out of her own instability. Even after she stabilized herself, she did not let go, tugging on the jacket as she stared at him. He brought his hands to her arms but could not pull her off, he did not want to. He looked at her pale face, shining between the light of the lamp and the bar on either side, her long golden hair, and her eyes, deep purple. She was giving him that look, the devious, loving look with half-lidded eyes.
"Wasn't thinking… yet. But it's pretty late Yang. Really late for me. I think I've had enough too."
"Aw, really?"
"I think we've had enough."
"Maybe, maybe too much to drink. You haven't had enough of me yet have ya?"
"Huh? No… no I'd… never get enough."
"Well we can do stuff other than hang out at a bar."
"Yeah, maybe, but I'm… getting pretty worn out. You had something in mind?"
"That's fine, there's… other stuff to do that's not around town… why don't you can come back to my place."
Jackson felt his heart jump and blood rush. Part of him wanted to say yes immediately but he held back. He enjoyed spending time with her. But he could not do that. He wanted to, but he wanted something else more. And then there were his oaths, to his officer status, to God, his own morals. He shouldn't do this. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Not like this, he didn't want it like this.
"Yang… no."
"W-what?"
"Yang don't."
"What do you mean don't?"
"Oh fuck I said the wrong thing."
"What do you mean don't? Don't what?" Yang demanded, her smile vanishing.
"I just don't think I should go to your house."
"Why not? Is something wrong with it? Wrong with me?"
"Nothing, nothing's wrong," Jackson responded, keeping much better control over his emotions as he thought to himself. "She's drunk, she's just drunk. She doesn't mean anything. You're drunk too. Keep calm. Either way just do the right thing."
Yang's hands dropped from his jacket and she stepped back. There was a scowl on her face and Jackson could see hints and flashes of red in her eyes. It actually worried him; he had no idea of what else she was capable of as a Huntress.
"If nothing's wrong then why are you going all, like… 'don't Yang don't'. Don't what?"
"I just… don't… want to do anything if I do go to your house."
"What? Come on, I'm not that easy! Trying to… get you into bed or something."
"But why did you invite me to your house?"
"Because I- I, wanted… I just wanted to make sure you got somewhere safe to sleep!"
Despite the instant response, Yang was quiet after that. It was a quick reaction but a dishonest one. What exactly did she have in mind? It's true she was not loose like plenty of other girls, but she was inviting him home for a reason, but it was one she did not even think about when she said it. If it was just for rest, she would not have gotten upset, and she realized she why she was upset. Because it felt like rejection. Rejection from someone she could not handle being rejected by, for some reason she could not identify.
"Look I don't know, like, you're new here and I don't want you to get into any trouble. I care ok!? And I don't get what the deal is and… I don't get it. I like being fun, I'm trying to be cool and stuff. Seriously is there a reason you don't want to come back to my place? Like, did I do something or-"
Yang felt the pilot's hands come down on her shoulder, stopping her rambling and moving, and felt his hands connect behind her neck. His face was much more stoic, a little sad, but earnest in trying to calm things down. He had decided to stop her there, and try his best to explain himself in his inebriated stupor. Being as direct as he could seemed like the best option now.
"Look, Yang, you're great. Ok? Really, you're awesome. And yeah, I like… spending time with you. And I want to do it more, yeah. I'd love to. I don't think you're a tramp or something either. You're great. I just… don't think… this is a great idea. I'd like to go home with you but I can't," he explained. "Do you understand. I want to. Honestly, I really, really want to. But I cannot."
"You can't… why can't?" she blonde slurred in her daze of intoxicated frustration and sadness.
"I have my promises. I made promises... to act a certain way. As an officer and gentleman they told me. And promises to what I believe. I keep my promises, always do. And, I just can't go home with you, not like this."
He could tell she did not believe him, at least not fully. Jackson's arms weighed on her shoulders some, keeping her attention. He looked her deep in her eyes, locking them to his, trying to keep her attention, and show he was honest about it, even if he explained it poorly.
"Yang, I will call you tomorrow, ok? I promise."
"Call me?"
"I will… call you, tomorrow. Promise."
"You'll call me?"
"I want to spend more time with you. I promise."
"You promise?"
"On my life."
As the two settled down, it was agreed that the night had lost its luster, and there was no desire to go back into the bar. Cabs were called for bother of them, and the two sat alone on the street in an awkward air. Neither was particularly upset at the other, it was simply and odd way to end the night, and the two attempted small talk but neither was sober enough to seriously hold a conversation. The first taxi arrived and Jackson allowed Yang to take it.
"You swear you're not… you're gonna call right?"
"I swear, on the good book."
"What? What's that?"
"Means I promise to God."
"Oh, sounds… pretty serious… alright," Yang opened the door and hesitated before looking back at him. "Uh, good night Saint."
"Good night Yang. And thank you."
"Oh, thanks… thanks, you too. For the fun."
Yang got into the back of the cab, gave the driver an address, and fell sideways onto the long seat. There was finally silence, total quiet, and she felt like the exhaustion of the entire night hit her all at once. Even sitting here she was dealing with a barrage of varying emotions. Frustration was foremost, at the night not ending how she'd preferred, and some sadness over it, but not as much. But there was a lot of happiness too, recounting the fun of the night, the singing, the fun they both had, something she had not enjoyed in a long time. And in the back of her mind there was a twinge of worry that she would not get the call, that she would not see him again.
Laying down on the seat the light of the passing streetlamps gleamed in at perfect intervals, almost every second. She berated herself, for inviting him home at all while getting frustrated at herself for not being 'easy', for contradicting herself, for complaining and rambling and getting angry with him. She worried herself that she had driven him away, that she would never get the phone call. Certainly if that had happened to her she would not have accepted it, but he had remained calm the whole time, strangely calm.
She retold the words he said to her in her head. He promised, 'on his life' and 'on his God', and he seemed serious about the whole thing. They were serious statements. And she felt better thinking that, with those words driving the worry from her head. She recalled the rest of the night backwards from then. The ballads on guitar, the punches, the drinking.
"Oh… man… my bike."
Saint got into his cab not long after. Feeling he was too drunk to return to the airport, and not wanting to bother the people there, or be bothered by them, he asked the driver to take him to a good, nearby hotel with a reasonable price. He did some thinking as he sat there as well, the only sound being the radio playing some local music, some melodious and saccharine rock song. It was a rough end to a good night, but he thought it had been salvaged pretty well. He hoped that Yang was not too upset with him, or that her interest in him had not been diminished. He prayed it to be so, in fact. He did like her, and he did want to spend time with her, and go however far fate would have it go. He prayed for it, and he prayed that she would at least answer the phone call tomorrow. He would have to do that, he made a vow and he intended to keep it. She just had to pick up her phone, or scroll as it was in Remnant.
"Fuck. Oh fuck me… I never got her number."
Note:
The two songs in the chapter are done by the band Dos Gringos, I found them while I was doing research for this story. Needless to say I don't have any involvement with the band or songs or claim the songs or anything like that. If you're curious the two I used here, respectively, were Jeremiah Weed and The Predator Eulogy.
Like I said on the first chapter, this is mostly for archival purposes. When and if the story continues at all is unknown. Still, I am curious to see what people think, so let me know. Either way I appreciate it if you got this far in the reading, so thanks!