Best Thing In Town -Closed/Ashton-

[Damien Monroe]

“Left corner pocket.” Squeezing one eye shut, Damien stuck out his tongue slightly and bit down on it. The black ball was the only one of his that was left. He had been stuck in this game for only thirty minutes, but to him it felt like a lifetime. The bloke who had taken him up on his offer was ancient. He was pretty sure that he was blind actually. One eye kept rotating at odd angles while the other one had a weird clouding over it. Any time he had stepped up to the table to shoot, his whole body shook causing the cue stick to go every which way but in the direction of the striped-colored balls. It was out of sheer dumb luck that the man had managed to get in as many as he had. Damien was convinced the old man had been helped by sympathetic bystanders. Every time he had turned his back to take a sip of his sherry, he heard the sound of balls clanking together and then being pocketed. Of course everyone played innocent once he turned back around. From that moment on Damien kept his eyes on the table. The man was likely to die any second, but he had accepted Damien’s offer knowing full well his condition. The question was, why did the old man want to just give him a bottle of sherry?

He wasn’t about to complain. Free liquor was free liquor no matter where it came from. And Damien loved free liquor. Pulling his arm back Damien pressed his pinkie, ring finger and middle finger down on the green felt. Forming a small o with the remaining fingers, he stuck the cue stick in the middle and rested it on his knuckle. Slowly, he began to move the stick back and forth, waiting until it felt right. It took a second or two, but when it finally did he released the tip into the middle of the cue ball. The ball instantly reacted, shooting forward and connecting with the black one. The black ball shot into the right border as planned. It bounced off and hit the left. Bouncing off that edge, it went back to the right and then finally rebounded and sailed straight into the pocket he had called. “YES!” he exclaimed, punching the air with his right arm. “WOOOO!” The looks from the bystanders were priceless. They had really expected him to purposely lose to the old man. Clearly they didn’t know that he didn’t have morals.
As should have been expected, the old man fell to the floor.

Grinning, he crossed his arms as he waited for people to rush to his side. They must have been expecting the same given that none of them made any effort to help him. Looking around, he shrugged his shoulders and stepped over to presumably dead man. Bending over, he lifted up the right side of his jacket and dug into his front pocket. A satchel of galleons was conveniently resting where he had expected. Taking it out, he threw the bag up in the air and caught it. “Just taking what’s mine,” he commented, standing back up. No way would he let death get in his way of sherry. Stepping over the man Damien walked up to the bar and waited for the bartender to notice him. As he did, Damien plopped the bag down on the bar top and slid it in his direction. “I’ll take that lovely bottle of sherry behind you.” It had been calling to him all night. Now he had the chance to respond. “Make it snappy. I’m thirsty.” He frequented Procter’s enough for the bartender to know he didn’t like to be kept waiting. The hole in the bottom of the bar had been result of his foot going through it when he was drunk last week. He had asked the bloke to give him a shot of sherry and had been ignored. Childlike, he kicked in the rotting wood and started yelling for no apparent reason. Within seconds his shot was waiting for him.

Snarling, the bartender did as he was told and placed the bottle of five-year old sherry in front of him. Damien carefully inspected the binding, making sure that it hadn’t been disturbed and that he was getting the dead old man’s money worth. Once convinced, Damien smiled and hugged the bottle to his chest. All he needed to do was win three more games of pool and he’d have their entire collection resting comfortably in his arms. But first, he needed to drink. Finding a high-top off in one of the corners, Damien took a seat and set to work on opening his prize. Thankfully, he hadn’t had but one drink so he was still capable of doing it himself. The pop that came from the top being pried open was like music to his ears. Throwing the top off to the side, considering that it was an obstacle from drinking faster, he leaned his head back and let the dry wine flow down his throat. There were a few things in life that made Damien truly happy. A drunken night out on the town was grand. Bedding the witch who had given him a hard time all night was rewarding. The taste of freshly baked peanut butter and chocolate éclairs was another. None of them compared to his beloved sherry though. The brandy-mixed wine had been with him through thick and thin.

As he swallowed the final remnants from his first chug, Damien wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Making sure no one was looking, he quickly licked the few drops he had wiped off up. He was such an alcoholic. Lowering his hand to the table he began to look around the bar to size up another sap wanting to give up their money to him.

[Ashton Wentworth]

It was hard for Ashton to make it into Drear Alley unnoticed, given that he was a ministry official that was growing rapidly in popularity within certain circles. He had not asked, nor wanted the publicity but he did like the respect that it came with. He did miss his anonymity that he had before, while his choice of clothing did tend to help his case. Not many people believed who he was whenever they met him in his torn jeans and obscene T-Shirts. He didn't dare step foot into this part of town in his ministry provided garb, not that he ever donned it, but it would have been nothing less than suicidal to step foot into a place like this badge at the ready. People here liked to keep to themselves and didn't like it whenever anybody, much less ministry officials started mucking about their business. Which was why, today he was simply here as a customer. He had to be the only Slytherin to his knowledge that had gone on to be successful and honest in the ministry business. As he had pushed past the door and into the dimly lit pool hall the comforting smell of stale liquor and pool chalk filled his nostrils. Here was a place that he had frequented in his youth, they brewed their own lager in the basement, and while Ashton was not the sort of man who indulged in beer very often, he did like it on the rare occasion, whenever he was in the mood for the bitter taste there wasn't any place that he would turn to faster. Granted, the past few days had been a bit of a bender for him. There were far more people inside than he would have originally expected, while Alzubra Alley may have been mostly empty for weeks now, Drear appeared to be thriving. Maybe the Ministry needed to be a little more worried than he had thought.

He had taken a seat at the bar almost instantly, motioning for one of the house lagers, the bartender had almost instantly placed a cup under the tap and began filling it to the brim, until a thick layer of foam covered the top and he stopped, placing it in front of Ashton and holding out an expectant hand. It wasn't like the main stream clubs where a tab was an option, here people were a little bit more careful with their money. Fishing in his pocket for a sickle he pressed it into the bar keeps hand as soon as it was located, not wanting to take up too much of the mans time, he was obviously busy. Grasping the chilled glass in one hand he spun around on the wobbly stool, scanning the crowd for anybody that he knew, and to see if one of the billiard tables was open, most of them seemed to be occupied, one table in particular was surrounded with people, he had turned just in time to see the victor throw his hands into the air, whooping, taking a long drink, he didn't notice the mustache of foam on top of his own facial hair. Placing his elbows on the bar behind him his Grey T-Shirt stretched tout across his chest. Today's selection was the image of a cookie that read 'bite me' not the most appropriate given the setting, who knew what sorts of creatures were lurking in the corners. As a thud came from the direction of the excitement he craned his neck to see what had happened now, somebody appeared to be lying on the ground, there was no telling as to why, but he didn't think it was because the man had been knocked out, he could go see, but he didn't feel like sticking his nose in other peoples business unless he had to today, he was enjoying his drink. Spinning around once more in his chair, resting his forearms on the polished wood and taking another long drink.

At the sound of a money bag being dropped onto the counter his attention focused on a tall man next to him, a little too close for his liking. “I’ll take that lovely bottle of sherry behind you.” Smirking, he wondered if the man who was not in possession of the money had murdered the other man and robbed him, if so he should probably report it, duty should have been calling, but the beer and not wanting to get his rear end handed to him for a third time since he had been back decided to let it go, by the time anybody got here to do anything about it the body would have been removed and everybody would be pretending that nothing had ever happened. “Make it snappy. I’m thirsty.” His eyes narrowed, he knew that voice, it was too familiar, turning his head up, beer in hand he attempted to place the face. Then it dawned on him, Monroe, he had seen that face nearly every day for the better part o six years, he should have been able to place him faster but they had run in different circles, that and he and his boyfriend Caulfield were always gallivanting around doing something or another. He had been woken up in the middle of the morning countless times by them stumbling into the room or making a general racket. Given that they had many similar habits be wasn't sure why they hadn't gotten on better, he hadn't seen that blokes face since the reception after his wedding, he had made an appearance long enough to take full advantage of the open bar, or 'bottomless bar' as he had called it, not sure where he had disappeared to after that. Finishing his beer he motioned for a second, once it was in his hand and paid for he rose to his feet and sauntered off in the direction Monroe had headed for, maybe he would be able to get a game in after all.

Grabbing a pool cue off the wall and stealing a square of blue chalk from another table as he wound his way toward the back and the table he was perched at. There was no hope of that bottle being shared between the two of them and that was fine, setting his beer down on the table next to Damien's sacred bottle and smiled at his old school mate. "How about a game?" He suggested, hoping that he too was going to be recognized.

[Damien Monroe]

There was no one around him who could hold his interest for longer than a second. His eyes constantly wandered back and forth from pool table to pool table. They were all full and having their own wagers going on. No one ever came to Procter’s just for the hell of it. Even if you came with that intention, you didn’t leave without engaging in at least one bet. Damien could count the number of times on one hand that he had come in and had lost enough galleons to make him want to cry. His sweet nectar within reach only to be taken away because he had been too drunk to focus on the game in front of him. He could also count the number of fights he had gotten into because of it. Anyone that knew him or of him was aware of his sherry addiction. Damien didn’t care if they understood it. They didn’t need to. Besides being raised on the wine mix, it got him drunk extremely fast, which was amazing given its effect on him still to this day. Any opportunity missed that involved getting it for free devastated him. Perhaps that’s why he often reacted the way he did when someone’s smug face kept him from it. Oh well. It was their own fault anyway. Their jealous and mean-hearted intentions earned themselves a good square punch or seven to the jaw.

Picking up the bottle by its neck Damien took another swig from it. There had to be someone around here that he hadn’t weaseled money out of for the day. As if on cue, he felt a presence moving towards his direction. Although curious as to who was walking towards him, he kept looking towards the front of him. They would either be walking past his table to get to the john, place their own bet against his incredible pool-playing skills or looking to fight him. He hoped it was the first two. Damien was never much of a fighter unless there was alcohol running through his veins. Not that he wasn’t very good at it. He just preferred to keep his face bruise-free. It was his money maker after all. It had helped him gain the sickles, galleons and beds of attractive witches. There was no one here for him to impress, but he would have to walk out of the building at some point to apparate back home. Who knew if there would be a temptress walking by and see him? It was likely she would want to wine and dine him before taking him back to her place. Damien may have been thinking ahead, but he always tried to have himself prepared for best-case scenarios.

”How about a game?” A smile began creeping up on his face. He hadn’t looked up to the face of his visitor yet, but the prospect of more money to fund his alcoholism instantly grabbed his attention. “Sure mate,” he responded, slowly allowing his eyes to look up. Using his thumb to indicate at his previous table, his eyes settled on the face of the man who had approached. Damien was about to warn him of his ability to kill people by being so awesome, but was stopped when he began to take in the stranger’s face. He had seen it before. Squinting, he began to run through scenarios in which the man may have found his way in his presence. A fight? No. A gamble gone right? No. A bet gone wrong? Nope. His eyes returned to normal as he found himself still stumped by the identity of the bloke. Damien knew that he had met the man at some point before. He could feel it. Briefly cursing his severe memory loss, he decided to take another swig from his sherry bottle. Even though it took it away, when sober, the sherry had a magical ability to bring previously forgotten memories back to him. If anything was going to make him remember the man’s face, it would be his beloved bottle.

Sure enough, once he swallowed the mouthful of alcohol, it had come back to him. “Ashton Wentworth,” he said slowly, his smile turning into a grin. It was a rare thing for Damien to see a familiar face in these parts, or any for that matter, nowadays. Anyone he had once considered to be a friend had left him. After the masquerade, it was like they had all decided they were too good to be stuck within the confines of Austria. As Caulfield and Liese had shown, they had all just upped and left him without giving him any sort of bloody idea as to where they may have been heading to. The thought irritated him so he drank a little bit more. Depressing as it was to have friends leave him, Damien was still relieved to see his old dorm made standing in front of him, pool stick in hand. The two had never been close friends. Damien had been attached at the hip to Caulfield for several years straight. Any intrusion of another on their friendship was not received well by the other. Also, they were usually very arrogant. If someone didn’t bother to come up to them, they weren’t about to take the initiative and introduce themselves. The pair had been two of the cockiest s.o.b’s in the entire bloody country. They expected everyone to know of them and want to associate with them. If they didn’t then they had no interest in them.

Wentworth had been an interesting character. Damien had never gotten along badly with him. Their meetings were usually just casual. He had the misfortune of rooming with him, Caulfield and McBain. The latter was usually not as bad as himself and his best mate. He knew they were a pain in the ass to live with. If he hadn’t been stirred awake by their arrival, then he was almost always subject to their drunken pranks. Damien wasn’t sure of where they were, but there had been an occasion where they had placed Caulfield’s teddy bear Harold into Wentworth’s sleeping arms. How he had woken, they had no idea, but they managed to take several incriminating photos for their own amusement. There had been other things their intoxicated selves had done, but that had been one of the most notable. He hadn’t been sure why, but Wentworth had also invited him to his wedding reception several years back. Damien didn’t know the bride, or anyone else for that matter at the wedding, but once hearing of something called an open bar, he had accepted. He remembered he had been rude. Damien wasn’t one for weddings, so he had completely eliminated himself from that part, instead choosing to come once he thought the thing was over. It was there that he had discovered what an open bar meant and how it seemed more acceptable to be called a bottomless bar. They never stopped serving you no matter how hammered you were! It was incredible!

Extending his hand in Wentworth’s direction, he shook it when it was received. “How the hell are you mate? See the old ball and chain let you out for a bit. How’d you manage that one?” Laughing, he stood up and grabbed his bottle of sherry. Looking around, he saw that there weren’t any tables open still. Damien had his ways though. “I’ll get us a table mate, if you’re sure you’re ready to dance with the devil of course.” He was confident enough in his skills to make such a warning. Leading the way to a table, he first grabbed his own cue stick from the rack. Fortunately, no one had grabbed his lucky one. Edging his way towards his lucky table, he saw two blokes that frequented the pool hall as much as he did. “Hey! Old boys!” They turned their attention to him. “Your sisters told me to tell you that they thought I was incredible last night,” he said, grinning, “and they want me back for round two tonight.” The looks on their faces were priceless. Dropping their sticks, they began advancing towards him and stopped when they were only a foot away. “What’s the matter? You don’t like me sticking it to them?” As expected, they charged at him. Calmly stepping towards the side, he let them pummel past and go headfirst into the wall behind him. A smug look came upon his face. “I’ve had better,” he told Wentworth before moving in front of the table.

Raising his arms to the side Damien looked at Wentworth. “So what’ll it be Wentworth? 8 ball? 9 ball? Quick shoot? Pick your poison.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

“Sure mate,” Damien hadn't even bothered to look up before accepting, no doubt he was here to make some easy money. Almost all of the men from their year tended to be creatures of habit it seemed, Ashton may have changed, but he could still go on a bender with the best of them. Whenever it came to Alcohol Damien Monroe was one of the best he knew of. Ashton had come here often in his youth to do just the same as he assumed Monroe to be doing now. Making money off of any poor sap that he could squeeze a sickle out of. Smiling he lifted his glass to his lips once more, he would need another refill sometime soon he was sure. He could handle beer with a lot more tolerance than he could most other things due to the low potency, but this draft was one for the taste, and he did savor it. Since he seemed to be the more sober of the two, he waited with some patience as Damien stared vacantly into his eyes and took another drink straight from the bottle. Rubbing the small square against the tip of the pool stick he rubbed the excess off with the meaty bit of flesh between his index finger and thumb of his right hand. It had been five whole years since graduation, and therefore six years since they had been living together, if he was going to be recognized, it was going to take the man a minute, if he hadn't drunk his memories away. “Ashton Wentworth,” There is was, smiling he clapped Damien on the shoulder, not hard due to the fact that he assumed if he hit too hard Damien just might topple over. “How the hell are you mate? See the old ball and chain let you out for a bit. How’d you manage that one?” Shaking the man's hand whenever it was offered he smiled at the question.

"I've been alright, working. How about yourself?" he took another drink from his own glass as he motioned toward the open bottle of Sherry "Aside from the obvious" He couldn't be doing too bad to be able to afford something like that. As for the ball and chain comment, he wasn't surprised that he didn't know about the death in the family, not many people from Austria or Galaxia for the matter had been informed. Her family had wasted no time in inviting the whole school and more to the wedding, but they didn't feel the need to keep people informed, it had definitely made some things very awkward for him. As the beer was sliding down his throat he lifted his left hand to show that there was no wedding ring to keep him from doing what he wanted anymore, the tan line from where it had been was almost gone, the skin only slightly glossy from lack of wear. Swallowing the lump of liquid down he shrugged, hoping that there wouldn't be too many follow up questions on the matter. Given that they didn't know each other he didn't think that there would be. "Speaking of ball and chain, where's Caulfield?" glancing around the bar once more to see if maybe they were tag teaming somebody on a game of pool. It was strange indeed to see one without the other, like the weird curious feeling whenever the dryer eats the left sock. “I’ll get us a table mate, if you’re sure you’re ready to dance with the devil of course.” It appeared that the formalities were over, nodding once he snatched his pool stick from the wall where it had been resting for the last few moments and pockets the chalk. not caring that it was going to leave blue splurge marks all on the inside of his pocket. Grabbing his mug and heading quickly to the bar for another refill he turned back just in time to see Damien approaching two other men. “Hey! Old boys!” Crossing back in time to catch the rest of the conversation he placed his cup on another small table, this time far closer to current pool table.

“Your sisters told me to tell you that they thought I was incredible last night, and they want me back for round two tonight.” If he had still been drinking, it would have come out of his nose. Good to see that some people never really change. “What’s the matter? You don’t like me sticking it to them?” Ashton found himself wondering if that little story was even true, he didn't doubt it, but how would he know if they were even related, it would be awkward to talk about that sort of thing whilst undressing. A very unwelcome image bounced into his head of Damien asking about their family tree while unbuttoning his shirt. Squeezing his eyes shut he missed the two men charging, but he did see them slam into the wall. Some people really were just that stupid. Ashton found himself walking around the table, dipping his hands into the pockets to extract any of the balls that had already been knocked in and putting them back on the table “I’ve had better,” Laughing under his breath he began searching for the black triangle to rack the balls together. Pausing at how horrible the thought was he glanced up, the two men who's table they had taken were slumped up against each other on the floor, not a soul in the bar made any movement to help them up, whenever they came to it was going to make for some interesting conversation, but they should have a little while before that happened. “So what’ll it be Wentworth? 8 ball? 9 ball? Quick shoot? Pick your poison.” Contemplating he settled on the first one offered. "9 ball" picking out the numbered balls he began placing them in proper order within the small triangle until the balls themselves formed a diamond and placed the remaining stragglers into the corner pockets so they wouldn't be in the way. "So what about you?" He said placing the white que ball on the side that Damien was standing at, motioning that he was free to have the first shot as Ashton added yet more chalk to his stick. "Please tell me that you didn't become a teacher" While it would have been amusing to see Damien in the potions teachers robes, using the schools supplies to turn the basement into his own sherry producing company, he didn't think that it was very likely.

[Damien Monroe]

Damien had heard Ashton’s question about his best mate before they had walked to a table but had chosen to say nothing. The fact was that he had no idea where Caulfield had run off to. Him and Liesey had just upped and left without saying a word to anyone, especially him and Kea. They hadn’t even left a bloody note. Thinking about it troubled him. He was sure they had probably run off to get married and now had a family of eight, but he had been extremely hurt that they had just left them there. They hadn’t had any sort of fight that would cause the two not to at least tell them where they were going. At least none that he could remember. Damien and Caulfield had always been close enough for one to not know where the other was or what he was doing. They had met back in London ages ago and transferred to Galaxia. They had been through thick and thin together. They were the icing to each other’s cake. How the bloke had just left without bothering to notify him was something Damien couldn’t comprehend. He had heard about how badly people were affected when someone of importance had dropped from their lives. Damien had experienced it himself years ago, but he had forgotten about how much it hurt. Now that the thought was on his mind he hoped Ashton wouldn’t bring it up anymore during their game. If he did, and Damien had the amount of liquor coursing through his body, then he couldn’t predict what would come spewing out of his mouth.

He chose instead to focus on the ring-less hand Ashton had showed off. Damien was a jerk, but he didn’t always get off on a couple splitting up, not unless they shouldn’t have been together in the first place. He knew Ashton more than Georgie even though that wasn’t saying much. Ashton had been his dorm mate who was subject to many unknown drunken pranks of himself and Caulfield. Georgie had been seen in passing a select number of times. Honestly, the only reason why he even attended the wedding reception was because he knew there would be liquor and beautiful women so swayed by the blissful thought of marriage that they’d be easy to woo. Besides his selfish intentions, Damien never had a problem with Ashton during the few times they spoke and he had been happy for the man on the happiest day of his life. The lack of emotion shown on Ashton’s face seemed like he wasn’t too devastated about it. Damien was happy for him about it. Marriage would never be a high priority on his list. Damien enjoyed his carefree nature and lifestyle so much that he knew no woman would ever be able to understand it. The thought alone of having to support a family sent shivers down his spine. He had made it a habit to express his disdain of nuptials to any poor sap who was even considering such an option.

“Good for you mate,” Damien finally said, congratulating him for the lack of female in his life, “women are only good for two things anyway. Looking at and sex.” He was very chauvinistic. “You stick with me and I can get you girls willing to bow down at your every beck and call.”He lifted his arms up to his side. “I’m that good.” Expecting him to be modest was laughable. Damien took another swig from his bottle as Ashton racked up the balls. Releasing a satisfied “Ahh,” he set the bottle down on a table close to their pool table. He had to keep an eye on his priorities. Picking up the chalk square after Ashton had finished it, he rubbed it on the tip of his cue stick. He inclined his head as he watched the bloke set the cue ball near him. “Thanks for that mate,” he said, grabbing the ball and placing it in the middle of the table. Positing himself in the front of the table, Damien leaned over and got in his shooting stance. He placed four of his left fingers on the table and pressed down. Placing the stick in between his thumb and index finger, he reared his right arm back and began swinging it back and forth. He kept at it for a few seconds before finally hitting the ball. The ball shot straight into the middle of the rack, causing a clean break. Nearly every ball went in different directions with two going straight into the bottom corner pockets.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face. “Stripes,” he called, noting that two balls that went in were different colors. ”So what about you? Please tell me that you didn’t become a teacher.” Damien laughed out loud. “Nah mate, you really think they’d let someone as unpredictable as me teach at Galaxia?” He paced around the table to mentally set up his next shot. “Though I wouldn’t say no to those cute underage girls in their school robes.” If the school had ever been stupid enough to offer him such a position he would probably lose it within the first few days due to inappropriate one-on-one detentions with female students or showing up drunk on the job. Merlin he was so predictable. After settling on a spot to shot from, he lowered himself back into his shooting stance. “Been living the dream mate. Drinking and socializing twenty four seven. Make my money off of poor saps like you and manage to stay afloat…somehow.” In all honesty, he did wonder how he hadn’t ended up on the streets yet. He was so careless with himself and his money sometimes that there were times he was surprised he wasn’t dead. Grinning, he shot and sunk another striped ball into a pocket. “What about you Wentworth? What have you been up to these past few years?” While waiting for his response, Damien moved towards the left to aim his next shot. Instead of sizing up his next shot as well as he had previously, he shot again and missed. Extending his arms to the side, he moved back towards his sherry. “You’re up.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

Both hands clasped around the pool stick as he backed up to a point where he was leaning against the far wall. It wasn't a smart idea given who knew what sort of filth was breeding on the wall but he didn't worry too much about it. His eyes dropped to the spot on his hand where once a plain silver band had lived so long ago. It was weird, he had spent almost all of his life without it and only a couple of years with it and already it was as if his hand was made for it, its presence was missed on a daily basis. Even if it was something that he would never admit to, he wasn't sure that he much cared for that quality within himself, the one that wanted to have somebody who was forced to spend time with him, to put up with him under almost any circumstances. He hadn't expected to like the stability that marriage had brought him, but he had. Even if he didn't like the person that he had tethered himself to most of the time. While he didn't imagine that he was ever going to wed again, he was unlikely to find somebody who wanted to tolerate him like Georgie had. If some poor unwitting woman did come back around, he couldn't truthfully say that he was going to be wholly opposed to the situation if it arose. Damien had offered to get him all manor of sorty wenches and Ashton hadn't felt that it was necessary to refuse at the time. Company wouldn't be unwelcome, but he did think that he did a fair job of finding women on his own. He had managed to ind one recently that was going a good job of making him want to rip his hair out by the handful on a nearly daily basis. While, not ideal but it was enough for him at the moment. She didn't seem to mind very much either, if she did he didn't see why she wasn't kicking him out more often than she already did. Taking a long drink of his beer as Damien took his position he turned back and set the glass back down just in time to see two of the pool balls disappear into their respective pockets. Nodding once he couldn't deny that he was impressed.

It had been a very long time since he had played pool. The last few times that he had been in this particular building he had been playing cards or something, he couldn't remember exactly because he was more than hammered. It was a very good memory, he knew that much. Something good had happened that night, even if he couldn't remember what exactly it was. “Stripes,” It wasn't how he remembered playing 9 ball, but he didn't much care if they played incorrectly if Damien wasn't to drag money into it, then he could just point out that they had been playing the game incorrectly since the beginning, thus voiding the game entirely. Either way he guessed that he was stripes. He watched as Damien started to circle the table, no longer looking at him. “Nah mate, you really think they’d let someone as unpredictable as me teach at Galaxia?” Smiling to himself another image of Damien causing daily explosions from the dungeons and half crazed shrieks as he attempted to perfect his brew or somehow make sherry inject able so longer drinking or something of the sort. “Though I wouldn’t say no to those cute underage girls in their school robes.” He couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up through his lips as his image turned to exactly that, he couldn't deny that he did have a pretty valid point. “Been living the dream mate. Drinking and socializing twenty four seven. Make my money off of poor saps like you and manage to stay afloat…somehow.” While it might not of been his definition of a dream, he could see the appeal. Not having anywhere to be, nor anybody to report to. Literally being able to do whatever one wanted at the moment they wanted with whomever and however they wanted. It must be nice to have such a simple existence. He could have been happy spending the majority of his days bar-tending. He might have even been alright once Georgie had passed living in that mutsy old house all alone, throwing parties as often as he could and having his own band of rotating women to help himself to. Aside from bills and the occasional day in a bar working, it would have been just like school. He would still have no purpose in life, and would end up most likely remembered by a few, and once they were gone it would have been like he had never existed.

No. He loved what he did, he liked that he was changing the course of how things were done, that his name was spoken in certain circles, that he was starting to build a reputation for himself in a positive manor. “What about you Wentworth? What have you been up to these past few years?” Watching as the ball missed the pocket he sighed, mulling over exactly what to tell him. "Working mostly" He admitted, it was very non-committal. Pushing off of the wall be slowly started his small circle around the table, looking for the best possible shot given the position of the balls versus the cue. Settling on a spot he paused, judging the distance. "Been on the straight and narrow actually" which was strange for his to admit, given the sparse past that the two of them had. They might not have known each other very well, but Ashton had never been 'most likely to succeed' by any stretch. Maybe most likely to succeed in the bedroom, but that had been the limits of his expertise at the time. Aside from pouring a wicked drink. Bending in half he placed one leg behind the other, wiggling the end of his stick in the direction of the pocket he intended to mean that he was going to be hitting that ball. With a swift strike he sent the white ball sailing into the little orange one, and with a lucky shot the blasted thing actually went him. His smile widened as he stood again and attempted to find another shot that he could take, but the odds didn't look like they were going to be in his favor, there were only six of them left on the table now. Sitting on the edge of the table with one foot still on the floor he placed the pool cue behind him in attempt to hit the only shot that he had seen, but no luck. He managed to rearrange the rest of them though, and with some luck there would be a couple of nice shots left for him on the next turn. He would have made a comment about fighting the good fight, but he had no way of knowing exactly who was listening in on their current conversation. The two men still seemed to be slumped over in the corner but that didn't mean that they were actually knocked out, or just contemplating on weather or not they should get up or sleep. Returning to his perch on the wall he glanced at the sherry "Where did you happen to find that bottle?"

[Damien Monroe]

”Working mostly.” Damien couldn’t envy him in the slightest. He hated working. Anything that required him staying sober for more than two hours out of the day wasn’t appealing to him. Hell, it was hard enough for him to do Darren’s bidding when the man had no one else to turn to. He was surprised he wasn’t dead yet from the lack of enthusiasm he showed in his job. Damien was positive that Darren knew he didn’t have it in for the half-bloods and everything that came with destroying their race. So why he even kept him around was baffling. He didn’t have much of a choice lately though. All of his followers had basically disbanded from him due to his lack of attacking against the Ministry. Anytime he had sent him out on an errand Damien always found some way to mess it up. Whether it was getting lost or getting too drunk to remember why or where he was even at, it was always something. Isis had refused to go on any more missions with him because of that reason period. He didn’t try to purposely make himself such a screw-up. He convinced himself that he was just born that way. He believed that you only had one life to live so you needed to make use of it doing whatever it was that made you happy. Getting obliterated, eating freshly baked pastries and seducing women were what made him happy.

“That’s all you mate,” Damien responded, watching Ashton line up for his shot. ”Been on the straight and narrow actually.” His comment sparked Damien’s curiosity. He always found it strange whenever he heard of a Slytherin not turning out to be a DeathEater, a politician or taking up business in black market activity found in Drear Alley. From what he could remember of Wentworth, he had never done anything to make himself stand out or even show what house he was in. The sorting hat supposedly never made mistakes though. There had to have been some reason for his placement. “Straight and narrow?” he repeated, nodding at Ashton’s ball went sailing into a pocket. “What do you mean? You work for the bloody Ministry now or something?” Damien was halfway joking, but was interested in how he would respond. Usually when someone mentioned their life had turned around, they chucked away old habits or became involved in something for the greater good. Wentworth didn’t seem the type to sit behind a desk, slaving away at papers that made him sign his life away. Nor could he picture him saving innocent civilians from Darren’s forces. He wondered what path Ashton had chosen and hoped that he didn’t mention the government. Damien had his own vendetta against the Ministry and did his best not to associate himself with its members. Besides, knowing his luck Darren would set him on Wentworth if he ever did hear of the former Slytherin’s involvement.

Damien was amused when Ashton sat himself on the table in attempt to make a trick shot. Behind the back shots were the hardest, luckily he was a master at them. Putting his cue stick between his chest, he crossed his arms and watched with a smirk on his face. As he could have expected, the shot missed, but fortunately opened up two for him. He mockingly slow clapped as Ashton moved away from the table and back to a position on the wall. “Impressive. I might have to give it a try for myself.” Instead of sitting on the table, Damien arched his back and placed his left hand to steady the stick on the green felt. He took hold of the end of the stick with his right arm and maneuvered it behind his back so the tip was resting between his index finger and thumb. Keeping his back arched, he reared back and shot. The white ball went gliding over the table to the solid purple and smacked it in. Smirking, he shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll be in the league with the big boys one day Wentworth,” he mocked, staring at the table to see how he’d approach his next shot. He had tried to warn his former dorm mate that he was a pool shark. It was probably the only thing he did extraordinarily well when sober.

The thought of being sober saddened him. Before going up to take his next shot Damien walked over to the table he had rested his sherry bottle on. Picking it up, he drank until the bottle was half-empty. He sighed, satisfied. He could feel the wine mixture slowly finding its way up to his brain, which was fine with him. He hadn’t gotten drunk yet today so he was jonesing for his next fix. ”Where did you happen to find that bottle?” Stretching his arms out, he pointed towards the presumably dead man. “I killed a guy for it,” Damien told him. “I think. He hasn’t moved in almost thirty minutes so I assume he’s done for.” He walked back towards the table and set himself in position for shooting. “His last wish was very generous. He wanted me to have his coin bag and enjoy the last bit of wealth he had left.” He brought his hand to his chest and pretended to look touched. “I have that effect on everyone whether they’re young or old.” Chuckling, he shot at his cue ball and sent another solid color ball into a corner pocket. Merlin was he good. “Tell you what,” he started, leaning on his cue stick, “after I win our little game, I’ll ask him if he minds that I use a couple of his sickles to get you a shot or two, just to help you accept defeat.” He did know how to share, it was rare, but this was a special occasion.

[Ashton Wentworth]

More than once he had wondered why exactly the sorting hat had chosen him to be in Slytherin, since he was not inclined to just go out and hurt anybody or to follow the ‘Dark Lord’ he could only guess that it was due to his temper, lack of respect for most people and affinity for drinking and bedding women. Pair that with years of angst and anger that he was happy to aim in the direction of just about anybody he should have fit in just fine. While he never did make too many ‘lifelong friends’ like his roommates had, it was like stepping into a clique, he was sure that the majority of them had grown up together thus why they were all so close. Though, he couldn’t deny that he had wondered at the exact nature of why Damien and Caulfield were always attached at the hip. It was weird for two men to be so close; then again he might think that only because he only had one real male friend, the rest were women. That one friend lived a good distance away from him and didn’t speak on a regular basis. While he knew from personal experience that Caulfield wasn’t strictly gay, he still wondered if he swung in both directions. He had slept with his wife before their wedding, but he never had forgiven him and was very glad that Monroe wasn’t still clinging to him. The fact that his earlier question had not been answered didn’t slip his notice, but since he wasn’t brought up, Ashton was just as happy not talking about him and having to relieve the fights that were caused in his relationship because of it. “Straight and narrow?” Glancing up from the pool table he nodded again, glancing in the direction of their table as the bartender weaved his way over and dropped off a second beer for Ashton on the table, nodding once to make sure that Ashton was watching and knowing that he expected to be paid not too long after he took his shot. . “What do you mean? You work for the bloody Ministry now or something?” Standing his eyes never left the pool table, he didn’t care to divulge too much information about the fact that he was working for the Ministry, and he really didn’t want to tell him what he did for a living, not here at least. Chances were Damien wouldn’t remember their conversation in the morning so there wasn’t much harm in telling him, but he didn’t have any way of knowing who might be listening in.

Instead, he held his arms out to the sides in an innocent manor, his face stating ‘why not’ before he moved back to line up his next shot. Despite Damien’s obvious objections to the Ministry he liked his job, and he liked the money that he got from his job even more. It was a damn good living. At least he wasn’t resorting to hustling pool to support his life style. Keeping his comments to himself as he missed the shot he rose to his feet and headed straight in the direction of his half-finished beer. Hoping for a little liquid courage and talent to emerge. When in doubt, drink. “Impressive. I might have to give it a try for myself.” He almost snorted beer as the shot that he had just so horribly failed sailed right into place, directly into the pocket of Darren’s choosing. At least he was damn good at what he did, and drunk to boot. He had a lot of practice to endure before he wanted to try pulling a trick shot again. “You’ll be in the league with the big boys one day Wentworth,” “Apparently” He mumbled under his breath, followed by a stream of beer. Finishing the contents of one glass and leaving the second for later the taste sat on his tongue for minutes after. “I killed a guy for it,” At his comment, he reconsidered, starting in on his second beer. He had no intentions of saying anything to Damien about killing a man, in a place like this it was almost common place. Reputations weren’t really built on rumors. “I think. He hasn’t moved in almost thirty minutes so I assume he’s done for.” Glancing over at the man he was pointing at, he could have sworn that he saw a fly land on the man’s still open eyeball. Shuddering he took another drink, hoping that he was going to have another beer brought to him soon. Placing enough coin on the table for three more not including the glass he held in his hand he hoped the bar keep might even bring them all at once. Easing himself down onto the stool that he had been standing in front of all this time he waited for Damien to take his shot, but didn’t mind talking instead. “His last wish was very generous. He wanted me to have his coin bag and enjoy the last bit of wealth he had left.” Laughing deeply he watched the old man for a moment longer, glad that it wasn’t him. . “I have that effect on everyone whether they’re young or old.” His laughter died down as he shook his head “I have no intention of losing any of my coin to you”

He almost felt like sticking his foot into his mouth as he watched yet another ball go flying across the table and into the pocket. Heaving a sigh he used his pool stick to support a portion of his weight as he faked a dramatic blow to the chest. Three balls left, his chances were not looking good, even if they weren’t playing the right game. “Tell you what, after I win our little game, I’ll ask him if he minds that I use a couple of his sickles to get you a shot or two, just to help you accept defeat.” Tipping his glass in the direction of Monroe, old drinking rules be damned. He was not going to turn down a free shot no matter what order he drank his alcohol in. It was all going to the same place. The bar stunk, but it was the kind of smell that thankfully one got used to after a while. Unfortunately for Ashton, he was not yet at that stage. The smell of drunken unwashed men and regurgitated alcohol was too overpowering for most folk, but he hoped that after a couple more beers be might be in a place that he could tolerate it without wanting to toss his cookies. The sounds of pool balls clanking together as well as Damien’s voice and breathing were the closest to him. The soft hiccupping from the patrons sitting and watching the games in progress, if only there was a shady poker table in the corner or in the back room everything would have been perfect. Hell, there might be a game going on and he would never know since he wasn’t often invited to events like that. No matter how long he worked for the Ministry, he hoped that he wouldn’t become blind to his roots. Places like this, where he had ended up after many a pub crawl he knew that there was likely some people in this room that were something less than human, others more. He would rather wait outside than cause an investigation on something that was so pivotal to his history. He picture of Damien talking to a dead man was almost too good to pass up. Closing his eyes, he chugged the rest of his glass and slammed his hand down on the table, hopefully getting the attention of the bar keep to bring him some more, not making a move to help otherwise. “Forget defeat, we can celebrate your landslide win” he joked. Hopefully if it was presented in a more positive light, he was likely to buy more but he wasn’t going to just come out and press his luck. Sadly, he watched as Damien started to line up for yet another shot. At this rate, there was going to not be more than the one turn for him in this game.

[Damien Monroe]

Damien didn’t mind that Ashton chose not to pursue his question any further. He was not one to talk when it came to professions. If he even mentioned any sort of hint into what he did, then he’d be done for on both ends. The Ministry would take care of him first and then Darren next. He had already had a brush with the law after the masquerade as it was. He didn’t need another one coming so soon. Actually, he had been surprised that Darren hadn’t found out about the raid at Juliet’s mansion. Damien had been staying with her there after graduating from Galaxia. He had never opened up to her about what he did in the time he wasn’t drinking, gambling or seducing women, but the Dark Lord hadn’t been happy with his whereabouts. It was after Juliet had disappeared that he had gone out one night drinking. To make a long story short, he got drunk, joked around with the wrong person and came home the next night to find the Ministry searching through Juliet’s house to find any sign of the DeathEater he had mentioned to be hanging around in the particular part of her neighborhood. Damien had done some pretty stupid things in his life, but that had been up there with the worst. Since then, he had been a wandering soul, living out of various inns that that Austria had to offer. It wasn’t the life he pictured for himself, but somehow it worked for him.

”I have no intention of losing any of my coin to you.” He chuckled. A bold statement coming from a man who still had all but two or three of his balls on the green felt of the table. It was even more so since he had just successfully nailed the trick Ashton had just tried to do himself. “If you want to think that,” he responded. “Forget defeat, we can celebrate your landslide win.” He shook his head as he continued lining up for his shot. He wouldn’t let him get away from his bet so easily. It would have been a different story if money hadn’t been involved. Biting down on his tongue, he reared back and shot, sinking in another ball to the middle pocket. Grinning, he looked over to the high top table where his lone sherry bottle rested, cheering him on. All of a sudden, it was like the bottle had a backdrop of bright lights behind it, calling for him. And he wanted to answer. Dropping his pool stick on the table Damien went to it and took it in his hands. Letting his head drop back he chugged the rest of the bottle within seconds. Another advantage to being such an alcoholic was his ability to win chugging contests. Was there nothing he wasn’t good at? He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Drinking sounded much more appealing than playing pool right now. His pocket was still weighed down with coins he had won earlier in the day. He could take a break for a few hours.

“Alright Wentworth, I’ve had a change of heart,” he announced, shaking his empty sherry bottle at him. “I will let this be your one free game against me. Next time, I won’t be so nice.” Damien shook a finger at him as if scolding. “Now come on. Let’s go to the bar so we can drink your sorrows away.” He led the two of them back to the bar. The bartender didn’t look too pleased to see him, but the bloke usually wasn’t. “You got your ears open old boy? I need another bottle of sherry, four shots of whiskey and two twenty two ounces of your finest brew for my friend here.” He clapped Ashton on the shoulder and shook at him lightly. “I’ll get this first round, only because we haven’t seen each other in a long time. And because I’m buying you two beers, you have no choice but to chug them as fast as you can so we can move on to the next round. Deal? Good.” Turning back to the bartender he made a motion with his fingers to indicate that the man was moving too slow for his liking. He knew how much he disliked waiting. The shots came first which was fine with Damien. Never being one to not take advantage he took both of his shots and indicated for Ashton to do the same. He knew how to party. He just hoped Ashton could keep up. “You ready for a whirlwind Wentworth? This is gonna be an interesting night.” Raising up his glasses, he clinked his with Ashton’s and brought back glasses up to his mouth, tilting them and letting the contents flow down his throat. Slamming the glasses on the counter he held up two more fingers. “More!”
---
Damien wasn’t sure of how much time had passed. All he was focused on were the colored blurs in front of him. Biting down on his tongue, this time drawing blood, he threw the white blue into the pile of other ones at the end of the table. “Wooooo!” he yelled to no one in particular, kneeling on the green felt of his lucky pool table. “WENTWORTH! ITMADE!” He had managed to sit himself on top of the table and was now playing pool with his hands instead of pool sticks. Grunting, he crawled down the table a ways until his knee grazed one of the blurs. “DAMN! MISS!” Realizing how tired he was Damien lay down on the table and placed his hand underneath his chin. Using the other one, he proceeded to roll the white blur towards the others. “Makewant..one.” He hiccupped, proceeding to nudge in a blur with his forehead. Grabbing his fourth sherry bottle from the side, he turned on his back and drank the alcohol. Even in his current state he still managed to successfully spill not one drop of his sweet nectar from the Gods. He wouldn’t dare to even dream of it. He burped and looked around his spinning surroundings. “WENTWORTH!” he yelled, remaining flat on the pool table. “KEEPUP!”

[Ashton Wentworth]

It was strange, how easy it was to slip back into his old life, the drinking and the games, it was almost therapeutic. He almost felt like he was seventeen again, placing bets to make up the shortness in his rent money, drinking until he was one of the men passed out in the corner of the room. He could remember the night whenever he had met Georgie, in this very bar. She had been dancing on one of the tables, a man harassing her, he was in a brawl of his own, and just so happened to go tumbling into the man harassing her, thus leaving him with her almost unwavering gratitude. The memories brought a smile to his face, tilting his head back he allowed the contents to slide down his throat; he was hardly even looking at the table any more. Damien didn’t comment anymore on his words, and he didn’t mind. Ashton never had been much of a talker; he preferred to use his mouth for more interesting things on various body parts of women. He felt the table next to him shake as the bottle of sherry he hadn’t dared to touch get snatched up, no more cups for Monroe it was straight from the neck. It was empty in just a few minutes as Damien chugged loudly “Alright Wentworth, I’ve had a change of heart,” The bottle was being shook in his face, he considered taking it, and would have had it not been so empty. He wanted to comment on the fact that there couldn’t have been much of a change of heart considering they weren’t even playing the right game, it was possible that Monroe had finally realized that and wanted to back out as soon as possible. Then again, he might have been giving the drunk too much credit. . “I will let this be your one free game against me. Next time, I won’t be so nice.” At this, Ashton found himself laughing, not just because the outlines of Monroe’s face were starting to become the least bit hazy but the slur in his voice was coming back out. He had heard that same slur countless times in his life, more often than not it was between two and four A.M as Damien was trying to crawl into bed and sleep it off. Most of the time he could ignore the ramblings coming from him and fall back asleep, but the other times whenever Damien would try to crawl into Ashton’s four poster, mistaking it for his own bed that was next to Ashton’s in the dorm, were not so funny. He remembered kicking him out of his bed one night, Damien falling down and calling him ‘Lucy’ it had been funny to watch his face as he retold the story the next morning at breakfast. The fact that he had been called ‘Lucy’ for the next month because of it wasn’t. He considered bringing it up again, but didn’t want to risk that awful nick name coming back up.

. “Now come on. Let’s go to the bar so we can drink your sorrows away.” He allowed himself to be lead away from the empty bottle and the empty beer glass that he had set on the table, protesting only long enough to gather the coin that he had placed on the table, once he had scooped it into his hand, he was pushed onto a bar stool next to a more than impatient Monroe. “You got your ears open old boy? I need another bottle of sherry, four shots of whiskey and two twenty two ounces of your finest brew for my friend here.” More than generous and he wasn’t going to complain, his show of gratitude was not shoving Monroe for shaking him, he normally didn’t like to be touched by other men. The bartender was taking his own sweet time, since he was on the opposite end; Ashton raised to his feet, leaning over the bar and grasping the first bottle that he could, rum. Crinkling his nose he put it back into position, ready to grab a next bottle whenever he was spotted, and the man came bustling over. “I’ll get this first round, only because we haven’t seen each other in a long time. And because I’m buying you two beers, you have no choice but to chug them as fast as you can so we can move on to the next round. Deal? Good.” This would be their first time drinking together, he had avoided most of their invitations before because of Caulfield and his personal vendetta against the man, but since he was out of the picture he was determined to enjoy himself. Laughing, he nodded once to Monroe and obliged as quickly as possible. He toasted Damien, hitting the shot glass onto the counter top once before tossing it into his mouth, the second one followed as soon as he could get it into the air. This was one skill that he honed and practiced at every chance he got. “More!” Ashton had his finger in the air, making a tiny circle to signal that he wanted more at the same time that the noise came out of his friend’s mouth. Shortly after a few more rounds, his vision went black. --

He could remember bits and pieces, dumping a good portion of coin on the countertop, Damien sucking a shot off the counter and another off of some wench’s stomach, at least he thought that it was a woman, it might not have been. Cheering loudly, burning the roof of his mouth with one of the flaming shots that he insisted they try. Luckily the actual shot had numbed a good portion of the pain. It was just a slight tingle whenever he accidentally hit it with his tongue. He had been surrounded by shot glasses at one point and time, stuck his foot through something but he couldn’t remember what exactly. He was only sure of his immediate surroundings, the room was spinning, but he could see well enough if he focused. He had blue marks on his hands, no doubt from chalk but since he didn’t know how long they had been drinking, and he didn’t mind. “Wooooo!” Turning away from the woman that he had been talking to, leaving his arm draped around her he matched his cheer with one of his own, pumping his hand into the air once, and almost losing his balance because of it. “WENTWORTH! ITMADE!” Letting go of the woman and dragging his body toward the table, pausing for only a moment to grab a shot from out of a passerby’s hand and down it, letting it fall to the edge of the pool table whenever he was done. “DAMN! MISS!” He smiled, it was lopsided but there, he was humming something under his breath “WENTWORTH!” Raising his hand, to signal his presence, he couldn’t keep Damien’s head still, it seemed to be nodding, or maybe he was the one who was nodding. He couldn’t tell. “KEEPUP!” Holding onto the light fixture above their heads he brought one knee up to allow himself to swing softly, While he was in motion, the room seemed to stay still, counteracting motions. Grinning whenever he noticed that Damien had stopped shooting, he collapsed to the ground, rising to his knees he grasped the ball closest to him, their demented second or possibly fifth pool game was drawing to a close. Sliding the ball slowly into the corner pocket he laughed, but it came out deep and slow. At least in his head, grasping the bottle near his ear he went to take a drink, he wasn’t used to Sherry, it was an interesting change and he could definitely see why Damien had such an attachment to it. They had been buying bottles all night, whenever nothing hit his tongue, he shook the bottle upside down and grew intensely sad inside “Damngone” he shot to his feet, bottle in hand waving it like a flag to Damien “Needget more” He started to stagger toward the bar, bumping into various people as he went. It was lucky he was so tall or else they might have considered pushing him back. Slamming the bottle down on the counter, angry at the barkeep for allowing him to run out he hit the bottle again, wanting attention, he was sure that with another crack bottom would give out. The barkeep shoved another bottle in his direction, ignoring the dirty look he spun too fast, almost tripping over the body of some passed out man on the way back to Damien and their game. Bear crawling back the rest of the way, with one hand on the ground, and the other clutching their new bottle to his chest he used the pool table to right himself whenever he reached it “BitcchTripp..me” he stuttered, fumbling to open the bottle carefully, shooting a glance over his shoulder. The man wasn’t moving, and he had no desire to see if he was breathing or not.

[Damien Monroe]

It had been a long time since Damien had this much fun drinking with someone. He was always able to keep the part going himself, but it was a nice change to have company. The women that flocked to him were always unable to keep up. They’d go down after the third round of shots or head to the bathroom as soon as they tried to drink his sherry. He had quickly learned never to offer a woman some of his treasured alcohol after being sickened seeing it go to waste so quickly. Sherry was for the strong-willed. The drinkers who were near alcoholics. It was rare that Damien found anyone who could resemble his drinking equal. Even some of the blokes he had challenged to drinking games had gone out after a nasty round of firewhiskey pong. He had never been able to fathom how he managed to always be the last one standing when it came to drinking. It took skill, he knew that much. Also, the fact that he did drink everyday helped out tremendously. He had built up a tolerance so high that he should have been in the record books for being able to consume so much liquor without needing his stomach pumped to get out of an alcohol coma. It may not have been the most impressive skill to have, but it was what made Damien who he was and why people constantly felt the need to try and challenge him.

Wentworth was reminding him of Caulfield so much that if he hadn’t known the man he was drinking with before he had gotten this hammered, ol’ Cauliflower would have been making an appearance. Everything he did resembled something his best mate would have done. Yelling in response to his yelling, cheering him on, wooing woman with charm, the challenges to see who could take a shot the fastest, everything was there. Except for the teddy bear. Harold was the only reincarnation of Caulfield that Wentworth hadn’t displayed himself to be. Though it was probably a good idea he hadn’t. Damien had much so much fun of Caulfield over his beloved teddy bear that he had almost brought him to drunken tears one time. It was unnatural for a grown man to sleep with a stuffed animal no matter the attachment. He remained on the table as Ashton fell to his knees and took a different colored blur he had shot with earlier. His eyes widened, taking in every movement his friend was making. He was tempted to slap the blur out of his hand, but he preferred Ashton to lose the old fashioned way, a result of the fourth or fifth ass-kicking of the night. He had tried to warn the man about his pool skills yet he continued to ignore him. It was fine though. Even in a drunken stupor Damien never forgot his wins.

The ball went in as he rolled it in the direction of the pocket. He’d be nice enough not tell him that the colored blur he sent into the pocket was not the white blur that needed to send the colored blur into the pocket. Ashton would probably try to argue with him that it was and a fight would ensue. Damien hated wasting time that could have been spent drinking. ”Damngone.” Quirking his brow, he looked over at his friend who was shaking what had to have been their tenth bottle of sherry. He looked so sad, but he could understand why his friend was wasting time complaining instead of going up and getting another bottle. Balling his hand into a fist, he slammed it down upon the green felt of the table. “MORE!” His order was heard and Ashton stood up with the bottle in response. ”Needget more.” Shaking his head, Damien pushed himself off of the table. “Duh.” He was extremely proud of his friend once hearing the bottle slam onto the bartop repeatedly. “After…ownmy heart,” he said to himself, running his hands along the edge of the pool table to see if there was any excess liquor to slurp up. Upon finding a small pool of what smelled to be rum he scooted over to the area and smelled it slowly. Once convinced of his findings, he looked around and licked at the pool of rum. It was disgusting, but Damien had no morals. Plus there really wasn’t much he could do that could disappoint himself. He always blamed it on the alcohol.

“BitcchTripp..me.” He looked up at Ashton’s arrival. “Who?” He couldn’t understand how someone would dare to mess with him in the state he was in. Squinting in the direction his friend was pointing Damien’s eyes settled on the old man from earlier. “PISSED!” he yelled, jumping off of the table. “Mad…beathim!” It couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was more dead from beating him, not wanting to exert his revenge on Ashton for his irritation at Damien being such a pool shark. Rolling up his sleeves, he stalked over to the man laying on the floor. “SITUP! BASTARDYOU! FIGHT…MAN!” When the man made no move, he lowered himself to the ground and took the old sissy by the collar. “DON’TTRIPFRIEND!” He still said nothing. Damien was angry that the sore loser had the balls to try and trip Ashton, but when he came over to defend him, nothing was done. Rearing his arm back, he gave the man a solid punch to the cheek. He could hear the bones breaking underneath his knuckles. Suddenly grossed out by the sound, he stood up and ran over to Wentworth, grabbing the bottle to drown his sorrows. “Good..friendme,” he told Ashton, a proud smile finding its way onto his face. “Killedhim…prolly.” It would have been the second time he killed the old man that night.

Using the bottle as a guide Damien beckoned Ashton to follow him towards a table. He suddenly had a desire to for a game of sickles with sherry being the liquor of choice. “ROCKSGLASS...BAHTENDER!” He ignored the eye rolling that resulted. As soon as a table was selected, the bartender followed and placed the glass in between the two. Grabbing several sickles out of his coin bag he placed them on the table. He took hold of the sherry bottle next, taking a sip before pouring it into the glass. “FirstIgo.” Without waiting for Ashton’s response, he bit down on his tongue and bounced the sickle off of the tabletop. Unfortunately all it did was hit the rim of the glass and bounced back off. Huffing, Damien waved Ashton on with his fingers. “Go’head.”

[Ashton Wentworth]

The main reason that Ashton was good at anything was his persistence. His blatant refusal to give up or to roll over and die. Even whenever his body was begging him to stop, his liver threatening to give out on him he couldn't stop. He was fiercely competitive in certain respects, and even though he was well past his stopping point, and his vision was darkening every few moments, he just couldn't stop. While Damien's tolerance was clearly higher, and his liver was far stronger, Ashton wouldn't give up and let him consume for Alcohol than he was. It was why he had switched over to Sherry with him in the first place, to make it a fair little game in his eyes. He had to use all of the strength in his arm to pull him into a sitting position against the pool table where Damien had been laying. The cork was zooming in and out of focus, making it hard to see it properly, he was misjudging the distance over and over again, hand grasping in the wrong place. Whenever he finally managed to get his hand on the top, and opening the bottle, he brought it directly to his lips before it could be snatched away by his drinking partner. He couldn't even taste it anymore, he couldn't feel it going down into his stomach, he didn't feel any residual heat coming from the liquid, it was how he could tell that he really should stop drinking but he couldn't. He swallowed on swig after another, stopping only whenever he needed to really take bigger breaths than what he was inhaling in through his nose. Bringing his legs up under one another he placed the bottle in the small triangle that was formed by his legs. Rolling the top around in his hand, it was cool and still damp. He hadn't been this intoxicated since his wife had died, it was wonderful. This time, it was a good drunk, not a miserable depressed drunk.

Ashton did like to drink, and he drank often. A god portion of his paycheck went into purchasing cases of alcohol to keep his house completely stocked on the verge of overflowing, however it was normally just enough to get him nice and sleepy, he would pass out on whatever soft surface he could. Whenever he drank out in public, it was for his attempts at being social. He would take home whoever bought him drinks, at least half of the time. “Who?” His head turned so fast in the direction of the sound that his head hit the pool table he was leaning against with a thud, Rubbing at he spot that had hit the table an frowning, he swore softly under his breath out of reflex. Holding out a wobbly arm in the direction of the man he hoped Damien would understand that was what he meant. Taking another long drink to make himself feel better he replaced the bottle and belched. “PISSED!” He found himself very amused at the fact that he had jumped off the table with surprising amounts of elegance given the state that he was in. He watched the spinning version of Damien head in the direction of the fallen man close to the bar. This place was getting better by the minute. “Mad…beathim!” Grabbing the bottle and rotating his torso to put it on the table behind him, he struggled to his feet, not liking the dizzy feeling that washed over him the second he stood up straight. No matter his state, Damien was getting his back, and he needed to back him up. Ashton was always itching for a fight.

Now, a normal person would have been able to smell the man on the ground and knew he didn't stand a chance against anybody but the ground. A sober person would have noted that there was a small fly circling his head and that he was unnaturally still. Anybody who didn't have bottles, and bottles of liquor coursing through them in place of blood would know he was dead. These two however, did not. “SITUP! BASTARDYOU! FIGHT…MAN!” He managed a childish "Ooooh" in his state, but he couldn't get much closer to the man Damien was challenging than the end of the pool table, any further and he wouldn't have anything else to hang onto. “DON’TTRIPFRIEND!” He nodded in agreement, starting to feel belligerent, he needed to sit back down before he started to swing at people just for the hell of it. It was his go to boredom killer. He wasn't bored at the moment, just beyond drunk. He flinched whenever Damien ran back over because his depth perception was gone, and it seemed like Damien was coming right for him, he didn't even notice he was fine until after the bottle had been taken from his hand. He didn't feel whole without it. Glancing at his empty hand longingly, he wasn't upset with Damien for drinking it, he just wanted more before his throat had a chance to even begin to feel dry. He hated how quickly his body processed alcohol and the headaches that it brought about. No doubt, he was going to be completely useless tomorrow and dead to the world. “Good..friendme,” He nodded stupidly again "Showed him" he tried to fold his arms across his chest unsuccessfully “Killedhim…prolly.” He hoped so, nobody needed to be messing with a drunk man. Much less in a place like this were everybody should be drunk.

“ROCKSGLASS...BAHTENDER!” For some reason, Ashton found this very funny and snorted softly before breaking into laughter. Whether it was because the Bartender was so very fed up with them, or the strange accent that Ashton was hearing in his head whenever Damien said the words, but it was amusing. He struggled to follow his friend over to the table. He didn't feel confidant walking on his legs, they felt like rubber beams, whenever he was able to slide into the chair though, he was instantly grateful. He felt so much more stable, the fact that the chair had arms was even better. As soon as the sickles were on the table he slid one over to his body, wanting to make it spin, but failing to even lift it off of the table properly. Cupping one hand just under the ledge of the table, he slowly slid the coin off of the table and into his hand, then he started to roll it over his fingers. “FirstIgo.” That was when it started to make sense, he wanted to play a game. The only drinking game that Ashton was good at was anything that involved stripping, and any form of pong. Preferably something with Whiskey in the cups. That was normally his choice of poison with the exception of tonight. He smirked at the sickle bounced off the rim of the glass and hit the table with a soft clinking sound. Finally something that he might potentially be good at. Sliding the bottle closer to him, he was glad that he was sitting in a comfortable chair, it made him much more stable. Lifting the bottle to his lips he took a swig. Pulling the sickle from his fingers, he closed one eye and attempted to make the glass stay still just long enough to bounce the coin. Dropping it with force onto the table, it hardly bounced at all before falling still on the table again. Frowning he started to curse the coin, wanting to blame his bad luck on it before letting Damien take his next shot. This was a game that he wanted to win, most of all because winning would mean more drinking, and the more drinking, the longer he got to put off sleep. Meaning the world would just stay paused like this for a while longer.

[Damien Monroe]

Damien had been confused as to why Ashton found his request so funny but shrugged it off. There was no point in ruining the good time they were having by being upset. Plus he wasn’t even sure if the bloke had been laughing at him. Maybe he had suddenly thought of something hilarious and had simply chosen not to reveal it to him. While he wanted in on the joke, he ignored it. Wentworth was so sloppy drunk that he doubted he’d be able to understand his explanation. Damien was usually superb at decoding drunk talk, considering that was how he usually spoke, but his friend was reaching a point of intoxication that he wondered how much longer he’d be able to take before passing out face first into the table. He smirked to himself. If Ashton didn’t want to let him in on his little joke that was fine. He’d take the satisfaction of knowing that he would ultimately outlast his fellow drunk. “I…member…firstmybeer,” he said to himself, focusing in on the glass as he waited for his friend to shoot. He prayed that the time would come soon, preferably while he was still in Ashton’s presence. He frequently was unable to remember things that happened when he was this obliterated, but things happening to his friends that gave him the edge always seemed to stick in his mind. If Wentworth passed out and Damien was still wide awake, which he guaranteed himself he would be he would make sure not to let the man hear the end of it when he woke up. In the meantime, he would pass the time by drinking some more to also prove that he could go above and beyond Ashton so he could really sock it to him when he awoke from his drunken coma.

He smiled devilishly to himself at the image while Ashton made his first shot. The smile got even wider when he heard the coin hit the table twice instead of once. He had also missed. This was a very good thing to Damien considering how competitive he was. He did his best to master any skill or sport that could be challenged. Just the other week he had played a round of putt-putt with Kea to hone up on his skills for that. He doubted they’d ever be put to use since blokes didn’t just go around challenging the other to games of miniature golf, but he could never be too sure. He had a reputation to live up to after all. His name was well known around these parts for being a betting man who put his money where his mouth was. As he had shown Ashton, pool was his specialty, but so were drinking games. He had been tempted earlier to demand the bartender give the two some plastic cups so they could get in a few rounds of flip cup, which was his favorite muggle drinking game he had picked up from an American tourist a few years back. It was difficult to play with only two people, but Damien was confident the two could go at it as long as they both set out a few cups to drink and then flip. This was one game that he only got better at the drunker he got. Ashton wouldn’t have stood a chance. Fortunately for him, he had been distracted when another bottle of sherry appeared in his friend’s hand and he had embraced him for being such a sport.

“Nicry!” Even in this state Damien was aware of how drunk he was. He was reaching his own level of potentially blacking out and doing things he couldn’t remember. Not often did he combine two words into one. He normally just slurred them together. “Showyou..howmen it do!” Sticking his tongue out again, he aimed up his shot and once assure that it would make it in, he flicked it down to the table. Sure enough, it bounced once and landed promptly in the glass. “UHHHH!” He cheered in victory, fist pumping the air. Pointing to the glass, he wiggled his index finger at it. “DRINK!” Little did he know, he had once again started the game off wrong, but Damien was too drunk to notice and figured that Ashton was the same. Even if he did, he doubted he’d reject more alcohol into his system. His friend slammed the glass back on the table, urging him to refill. He didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing the sherry bottle, taking a sip for himself of course, he brought it towards the glass and filled it up a little bit higher. “Sooo….Wennie,” he started, reaching for the sickle the man had nearly swallowed with the sherry. “Whichone…of…luckygirls…these homegoing?!” Before allowing Wentworth to answer, Damien took the liberty of scanning the bar for himself. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to land on a slim figure off near the front of the door. Looking off to it, he winked and waved over in its direction. “I’vegot…thatone!” He turned his head and once again pointed his figure at Ashton, more accusingly this time. “Don’t…thinkeven about! Taking from…me’er!” He couldn’t even see what the girl looked like, but he had his sights on her and he refused to let Wennie commit the robbery.

Damien flicked his wrist once more and sent the sickle into the glass. “DRINKUP!” He brought his arms to his side with his palms facing forward, raising them up to encourage him to drink. His hand was on the sherry bottle before Ashton could even oblige and he drank two large mouthfuls by the time his friend had. The glass was back in the center of the table and Damien turned the bottle to the side. Unfortunately, his aim was off. The contents spilled onto the table and formed a pool that began dripping off to the side. “WASTE!” His eyes widened and he dove from his chair to the floor, opening his mouth to let the sherry drop into it. He really was so pathetic sometimes. Damien remained there until the drops lessened to one every five seconds or so. As he lifted himself, his eyes landed on Ashton selfishly chugging from the bottle of sherry. “HEY! NOTURNOURS!”

[Ashton Wentworth]

He couldn't be sure if it was the alcohol, or just plain bad luck but something wasn't going right with him. Perhaps he had just finally met his match whenever it came to drinking. It was a miserable thought. Normally, Ashton was the type that was the show off. Granted, it was just out of a carnal need to win, the desire to want to be superior to people got the better of him sometimes. That, and he just didn't handle losing very well. So whenever the coin went in on Damien's first try, it started to irritate him. His brow furrowed, and he grasped at the fabric of his jeans, balling as much as he could into his fist. He either needed to drink more, or they were going to need to do something that wouldn't lead to him being confrontational. He really was attempting to keep himself in line since they were what Ashton would have to consider friends. Since he didn't have many of them, he didn't want to shove them away so quickly. “I…member…firstmybeer,” The comment wasn't making things better, taking a much longer drink than was smart he slapped the bottle back down on the table. “Nicry!” Whenever Damien hugged him, even though it was innocent and because he was drunk, Ashton flinched. He wasn't a toucher, not even a little bit. He tolerated it from Kay because that was his woman, but he didn't want to have to put up with it whenever he was already upset. “Showyou..howmen it do!” Leaning back against his chair, he motioned that Damien would have the floor, to do what he liked. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and started to lean back into his chair, only to quickly realize that it was a horrible idea in his intoxicated state. He could feel the chair teetering backwards slowly, and his arms jutted out to the sides to regain balance. Whenever all four legs of the chair found the ground again, he grasped onto the table like it was his lifeline, laughing nervously and waiting for Damien to shoot.

He pounded his fist against the wooden table top whenever the coin flipped into the cup. He was fairly certain that they were playing the game wrong once more, but he wasn't going to complain, at least there wasn't money on the line this time. Meaning he didn't have too much to worry about. The glass shook on the table from the residual waves. Damn him and all of his talents. At least he was fairly certain he could think of one area that he would he better at, not that it was an area that would easily be proven to the other man. “UHHHH!” He wanted to punch that look right off his face, he was having to remind himself that Damien was not his enemy. “DRINK!” And this was why. It was an adaption of the game that he was more than happy to comply with. All of a sudden, this version was much, much better than the other one. Grinning he snatched up the bottle happily. Downing the contents of the glass like a shot, he had to spit the coin back into the glass before he swallowed it. Whenever he slammed the glass back down on the table, Damien was already poised and ready with a refill. They might end up getting along very well if he kept that up. Beaming, he did the second glass like the first one, not even feeling the contents entering his mouth, much less his stomach, but the pleasant spinning of his vision was telling him that it had already had the intended effect. “Sooo….Wennie,” He recoiled, the chair threatening once more to tip over with his jerky actions “Wennie?” It was an adaptation of his last name that he had never heard before. He could remember a muggle cartoon from his youth that would come on the television early afternoons, it was a little stuffed bear and all of his friends, the toys of a small boy named Robin. He was even fairly certain that he had owned a replication of the little stuffed pig whenever he was a toddler. What was the name? Wennie the something, he certainly hoped that it wasn't where Monroe was getting the name from. Ashton looked nothing like a bear, and he obviously wasn't stuffed. He didn't understand, but he didn't feel like he could properly articulate any sort of rebuttal, so he stayed silent.

“Whichone…of…luckygirls…these homegoing?!” This was a subject that he was more than happy to discuss with anybody, at any time. His conquests were certainly not few. He also doubted that had they not already discussed that he was no longer married, Damien would have stopped himself from asking the question anyway. This time, he spun too quickly, and the chair gave. He toppled to the floor indignantly. He fell on his shoulder and hip hard, but he couldn't feel it. Alcohol was wonderful that way, he was certainly going to feel it tomorrow, but for now it was just like he was back in school. Not caring about anything other than having a bed to crawl into, preferably with a warm bodied lady to share it with. Forcing the chair upright, he used it to pull himself upward again, snorting a laugh once before crawling into the chair like a child would, knees first. Whenever he had righted himself, he started to scan the bar, not much caring if Monroe was doing the same. “I’vegot…thatone!” His eyes narrowed to almost a squint, his eyes darting from Monroe's outstretched hand back to the figure. Was that a beard on the person's face? Could Monroe not tell that it was a man? If he couldn't there was no way that Ashton was going to tell him, if Damien went home with a bloke, Ash would have no choice but to never let him hear the end of it. “Don’t…thinkeven about! Taking from…me’er!” He shook his head, attempting too hard to deny the accusation, in truth there was no way that he was going to make that mistake, the dude would have a P where Ashton would rather see a V. “DRINKUP!” Besides, with him beating Ash so efficiently, he deserved a little humiliation. However, he didn't mind the drinking, since it meant less for Damien. He had reached for the bottle but Damien's hand had gotten there first. “HEYNO” it was his turn wasn't it? He had just said! Yet, his friend was past hearing him, in fact he must have been a little more tossed than he was admitting to, because instead of filling the cup, he filled the table.

“WASTE!”Whenever the Alcohol started to slide toward the edge, he instantly grasped the cup, and started attempting to scoop the spilt liquor into the glass, and then drank the few drops that he had manage to save, he didn't know what Damien was doing, perhaps sucking the drops out of whatever liquid had gotten onto his shirt. Giving up on he glass, he wasn't desperate enough to drink the Sherry up off of the table, so he just grabbed the bottle instead, thinking that if he drank it all, then there would be nothing left for the other man to spill. In truth, he needed to walk away from the bottle all together, he was well past the point of no return. He was already fighting off the cold fingers of unconsciousness every few moments, he could see it tugging at the edges of his vision but he didn't want to surrender to it, not yet. “HEY! NOTURNOURS!” He wasn't expecting Damien to pop up so suddenly, nor to yell quiet so loudly, but it startled him, the bottle that had been attached to his lips fell from his grasp and fell to the floor, the remaining amounts spilling to the floor in the fall. His eyes widened and he shot to his feet, his chair flying out behind him and hitting somebody but he didn't know who. He could see a crazed look in Damien's eyes, and he wanted to get more liquor before Damien had a chance to do anything. Stumbling over the dead man on the floor that had tripped him earlier and ran straight to the bar, well, more or less straight to the bar. The bartender met him as soon as his hands slapped down on the counter with an agitated look. ”No More.” He wasn't actually attempting to cut them off was he? They were paying patrons and in a place like this, he certainly needed all of the money that he could get “NO OFFCUT!” He protested and the man held his hands up in defense, shaking his he head. ”No, Theres no more Sherry” The bartender obviously needed to be arrested. He was itching for a night in Azkaban obviously, he wanted to whip out his badge and threaten the man with his freedom unless he produced more sherry, and state. He didn't feel like switching liquors this far in. “THE GETGO MORE!”

[Damien Monroe]

It was happening in slow motion. Damien was there, and he knew what was happening, but he was unable to do anything. The only thing he was capable of was widening his eyes to the point where they were basically bulging out of his head. His fingers were embedded into the table top as his eyes followed the bottle of sherry falling so slowly to the floor. Why couldn’t he do anything? It would only take him a second to reach out and grab the thing. He couldn’t move. He could feel the wood splintering underneath his nails the harder he dug into the edge though fortunately for him, he was so drunk that he couldn’t feel the pain. It was going to be one of those pains that was going to be even worse in the morning and would probably require a trip to see that pretty little Healer of his. It would be worth the lecturing and making fun of to receive proper treatment. Honestly though, the pain would be nothing in comparison to the terror running through his heart as he bottle continued to drop. Nothing hurt Damien more than seeing liquor go to waste, especially when it was his beloved sherry. It was a sin as well as a one way ticket to the top of his shit list. The longer the bottle was allowed to drop, the worse off Wentworth was. Damien may have been hammered, but he was still very much in touch with certain aspects of reality, even if it took him a good minute or two to respond to it.

Then it happened. It was like all other noise in the pool hall had stopped, forcing the sound of the bottle shattering into a hundred pieces to echo throughout the entire building. Damien wanted to close his eyes and cover his ears with his hands. Instead, he watched as sadness flooded over him in an instant. There wasn’t too much sherry left in the bottle, but that didn’t matter to him. The fact was that there was valuable alcohol in a small pool wasted on the floor in front of him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Even with his blurry vision he could see shards of glass glistening back at him, making fun of him for being unable to do anything about licking the alcohol off of the floor since they were entwined in it. The last thing he needed was his tongue caked in glass. Perhaps if there was more spillage it would be worth it. Damien’s eyes remained fixated on the floor as he heard Wentworth’s drunken footsteps head quickly away from him. That was probably for the better. Once the full extent of the situation sunk in, he was going to be very upset. He had thought that Ashton was the life of the party, like him. Not the one who ruined all of the fun. Had he mistaken Wentworth for being someone he thought he wasn’t? A lightweight? Speaking from experience, those who truly knew how to handle their liquor protected it at all costs, regardless of the extent of their obliteration. A good drunk always knew how to keep whatever they were drinking safe. Even when he had ounces of tequila in his system Damien still knew how to keep the treacherous liquid from giving the floor a bath.

His body finally decided that it was ready to react. Taking a sharp breath in, Damien fell to the floor as he exhaled out just as fast. His breathing quickened and his hand went to his heart as it felt like it was getting ready to beat right out of his chest. He had never had a panic attack before, but he was convinced that if he did this was what it would feel like. His vision was getting hazier and his eyelids were feeling heavier. The sadness was quickly becoming overwhelming. He was too drunk to deal with this right now. All he wanted was to get up, head to the bar, get a new drink and laugh this all off. Damien had a feeling it was too late for that though. His eyes wouldn’t stop gazing longingly over to the sad sight. It was then that he realized that his vision was not just blurring because of all the alcohol. Water was slowly being added into the mix. He was getting teary-eyed over the sherry. The corners of his lips were pulling themselves downwards, causing a very pitiful look to form on his face. His sight was getting cloudier. There would be no stopping it. His hand was still clutched to his chest in hopes that it would stop his heart from beating so damn fast. But it was to no avail. The organ had no intention on slowing the pumping. The combination of everything was suddenly too much for him to bear. Leaning his back against the leg of the high top Damien gave in to the heavy feeling from below his brow. He started crying.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how ridiculous he must have looked. A grown man sitting on the floor of a dirty old pool hall crying over spilled liquor. Yet he couldn’t explain it to people if he wanted to. Sherry had been his poison of choice for years now. It had been with him through the best of times and the worst of times. It had been his only friend through years of not having one. Now here it was, lying on the ground, seeping into the cracks of the wood flooring and meeting a dirty grave. It just didn’t feel right. Sniffing, Damien wiped his nose with the back of his hand. How had things come to this? They had been having such a great time. He was winning at everything. Maybe that’s why things had taken such a sour turn. Maybe Wentworth was so jealous of him being so awesome that this was his sick and twisted form of revenge. Well if it was, he had accomplished exactly what he wanted and then some. Granted, Damien probably wouldn’t have been crying if he wasn’t so drunk, but it was cruel to make a drunk so upset. He wiped a few tears away only for them to be replaced by more. He was sure that he had heard laughing in the background but that didn’t even matter to him. Nothing could make him more upset then he was now. His thoughts were solely on the spilt sherry to try and think of anything that could be. Allowing his eyes to lift from the ground briefly he looked around the place to see if he could find Wentworth. There was an oddly shaped mass by the bar that could have resembled him but he wasn’t sure. “Wennie…why?” he asked himself, in between tears. “Why..heartbreak?”