Best Thing In Town -Closed/Ashton-

[Ashton Wentworth]

The behavior that the man in front of him was exhibiting was unacceptable. He needed to better serve his customers, weren't they always right after all? His eyes narrowed, his fingers gripping onto the ledge of the bar. Splinters coming off and lodging themselves into his hands, no doubt he would feel it in the morning and really regret it. The bar tender had his arms crossed over his chest. He had to be lying, that was the only acceptable excuse. He had to be lying and there was some more Sherry hidden under the bar or in a crate in the back room. He started to lift a leg to clamber over the counter top in an attempt to get to the storage room. He was bound to find something suitable as a replacement if only he could see it for his own eyes. No sooner had Ash gotten a knee up on the dirty ledge did the man place his just as dirty hands on Ashton's shoulders, attempting to keep him off. His calf was starting to burn, he was standing on one leg, on the tips of his toes to keep his knee up. In his current state it was not going to last very long, he was going to fall. And soon. Belligerently, he shoved forward. The mans grip slid and the two collided at the torso. Ashton fell forward, hitting his collarbone on the ground with a sick thud. Grimacing, and very thankful at this moment that he couldn't feel much of his body. No doubt he would really be regretting his actions come tomorrow. Looking up at the bartender who seemed to have steam coming out of his ears he grinned stupidly. He needed to stand, but was finding it extraordinarily hard. Grasping around for something to hold onto, in hopes that he would be able to gain some purchase to lift his body back into the air, he found a bottle. Squealing in excitement he brought the thing very close to his face, looking to see the label, “SHERRY!” he exclaimed with glee. Unstoppering the top he instantly brought it to his lips. Empty. Throwing it at the mans feet in anger he sat on the floor. Pouting.

Luckily, the man had brought a larger, far more sober man to wrench Ashton to his feet. Thankful for the help he tucked a coin into the man's shirt as a tip, and stood teetering. For a moment, he forgot why he was standing on this end of the bar. Stumbling over to a patron he grinned “tkeorder...you?” He cheesed, wondering why they were looking at him so strange. The next thing that he knew, the floor was coming at his face. Why was it, that every single time Ashton went out in public that he managed to be on the shit end of the stick? That he was always getting hurt in some shape or fashion. He was really starting to grow tired of it. This and he didn't have any more sweet, sweet liquor to make the pain all go away. As his face collided with the ground he let out a groan and started to writhe around on the floor. He needed to get his footing, but his feet just weren't working. It was time for a change of liquor, this was obviously starting to get him stupid drunk. Something that also wasn't acceptable. He heard footsteps, why was he on the floor? What had happened to him? Rolling onto his back he could feel peanut shells from the floor pressing into the back of his head as he moved. He could see the large sober man standing on the other side of the bar, talking calmly to the bartender. Obviously he had been thrown to the proper side of the bar. “rude” was all he managed. He couldn't sit up. He needed another drink.

“Wennie…why?” Lifting his sore eyes to the sound of the voice addressing him, he saw Damien looking at a man that slightly resembled himself at the bar. Only he was sitting, and doing everything in his power to wholly ignore Damien all together. The words registered in his head full minutes after he had said them. Why what? Then he remembered the sherry. “Nemore” he pushed himself onto all fours, only to slide back down again. “Why..heartbreak?” Damien's voice cracked. Frowning he looked up at the man. He saw tracks of moisture running down his friend's face. Was the man crying? How was that possible? A knot formed in the bottom of his stomach for making his friend cry. He had broken his heart. Grasping onto the fabric of Damien's pants he pulled himself into a standing position, looking Damien straight in the eye. “I you...avenge!” He said with a solid tone, even if the words were backwards. “Make Right” Lifting one hand straight into the air above his head, his index finger pointing up he posed. “TO SHERRY!” and turned on heel and trotted off in the direction of the storage room, not giving a damn.

[Damien Monroe]

Aside from the other times that he couldn’t remember Damien had never been this sad in his life. It obviously took a lot for him to cry. He never did when he was sober. He got depressed and sometimes sad, but never to the point where he felt the need to outwardly show it. He preferred keeping to himself when he was in that state and sitting in a corner with a sullen look on his face. That was the extent out of it. Unfortunately alcohol had a disinhibiting effect on people. Him more than anyone else. He was always very free spirited and stupid. Recklessness wasn’t an uncommon thing for him either. He liked to think that he might as well take full advantage of the effect since it was expected of him. Most of the though, he tended to go above and beyond. Like now. Whenever Damien got really drunk he became a very emotional guy. He took things far more seriously then they needed to be taken. If one ever wished to see a side of him that he didn’t normally portray to the public, this was the time to do so. If he was in a normal state, he would have realized that what Ashton did was an accident. Nothing more, nothing less. Unfortunately for his friend though, he wasn’t in a normal state and he was also feeling extremely dramatic due to the high level of alcohol coursing through his veins. Which explained why he was crying right now. The last time he had cried when this inebriated was several years back when Annaliese was being a bitch and took a full bottle of sherry away from him when he was in a corner of Mirage Lounge refusing to get up. He had been made fun of mercilessly for weeks afterwards.

For now, he didn’t care. Damien was just so upset. Sniffing, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and hiccupped softly. How did the night get to this point? It had started off with so much potential. He had been winning bet after bet of pool, met up with Wentworth, had a blast getting drunk with him and then…this. A blurry mass came to the corner of his eye a few seconds later. Looking off into the direction of it, it spoke to him. “Nemore.” He was upset enough with Ashton to pick out his voice above all others. Looking up sadly Damien sniffled again. “Wha?” His eyes followed his friend as he used his pants to grab hold of and pull himself up. As the two’s gazes met he watched as Wentworth put a hand in the air. “Iyou…avenge.” What in the hell was he talking about? What was he going to avenge him for? His hands began patting down his body instantly, making sure he hadn’t been robbed or something. Once assured that his coin bag was still there he lifted his arms up to the sides and shrugged. “Talking…youbout?!” Hopefully Ashton would provide him with answers. Unfortunately for him, the man also seemed in no state to do anything along those lines considering how much he was swaying simply by standing in one place. Damien’s head followed each and every movement which wasn’t such a smart idea considering how bad things were spinning as it was.

He was finally reminded of what Ashton was declaring he’d avenge when he then yelled, “TO SHERRY!” At the sound of the word Damien’s ears perked up. “MORE!” There was more? Pushing himself up and off of the ground he attempted to follow behind his friend but stumbled over himself after the first step, landing a few centimeters shy of the broken glass that had once been a sherry bottle. Placing his cheek against the cold tile he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of sleepiness. Besides being very emotional, weariness was another thing that set in pretty fast. The longer he stayed on the floor, the more likely he was to fall asleep, regardless of how filthy and germ infested it was. It was just so cold though, a nice change from the stifling temperature in the room. Bringing his arm upwards Damien rested his head on it. Merlin was this comfortable. “Go…sleepI.” He could feel the disease crawling up his legs and arms. The germs entering his nostrils. He would wake up in the morning with just a cold if he was lucky. Who knew what else was festering on the cold tile? Oh well, he’d regret it in the morning if he had to. For now he just wanted to sleep. Whatever Ashton was doing had completely slipped from his mind. He would worry about it whenever he woke up. Yawning he slapped his lips together a few times before nestling his head deeply into his arms. Darkness was quickly surrounding him. Images of dancing sherry bottles began popping up in his head. This was going to be a good sleep.

[Ashton Wentworth]

Pushing chairs out of his path he staggered in a crooked path toward the store room. Somehow undetected by the bar tender or the brute of a man that had thrown him over it not too long ago. He supposed that whenever he barreled his own body into the door that would lead him to the glorious amount of liquor that he was bound to be found out. He was trying to be sneaky, it just wasn't working too well for him at the moment. He really didn't understand why they were getting so upset, it wasn't like Damien or himself wasn't paying for their drinks. Sure, they were loud enough but they were mostly harmless. He didn't think that they were being belligerent were they? Allowing his hands to outstretch in front of himself for his own safety he ran into the door just as he thought he would. Looking around himself nervously he saw that more than a couple of eyes were on him. Excited for the challenge he fumbled with the door handle for a moment before deciding to just use his body as a battering ram. It was a loud noise, much louder than he would have normally cared for and yet, it led to such treasure that he didn't much mind. He felt like he should have been a cartoon, with his eyes glittering out of his skull. There were shelves and shelves of bottles. He didn't know if it would be possible to locate a bottle of Sherry in this whole mess and since he was wearing out his welcome, he just reached out and snatched the first two bottles that he found in front of himself and tucked them under his thin t-shirt, bent his body in half and did what he imagined to be a very sneaky muggle football move, but in reality could have looked like nothing at all. Either way he was out of the room.

Brandishing bottles of some unknown substance above his head in victory he stumbled his way back out to where Damien was hiding out. Only, he couldn't seem to find him anywhere around. Of course, he should have known by now that he needed to be looking down. It seemed that one of them was always tripping over something or another at various points in the night. If his foot hadn't collided with the man's shoulder he might not have found him at all. The good thing was that he found his friend. The bad thing was that one bottle rolled out of his shirt and off into the distance. “Shit” he mumbled. Knowing that they needed to get out of here and quickly if he was going to be successful in his sneakiness. His eyes widened at the sight of that strong man moving toward him with a vengeful gleam in his eye. If he had been on the outside looking in, he would have told himself that it would have been highly stupid to attempt to apparate in his current state of mind, but since he wasn't he didn't think about the repercussions in the slightest. Grasping hold of the back of Damien's neck or shoulder, and his bottle under his shit safely he closed his eyes and imagined his bar at home. It was a nice enough room. If he was lucky he would end up right next to a glass to pour the contents of whatever bottle he was holding into, then he could consume it. He might share if there was enough left whenever Damien came to. He felt the tug behind his spine and they were gone. No more loud music or the stench of body odor other than their own. He was home, he recognized his surroundings again. The smell of the lemon cleaner that he favored was such a nice change. He still didn’t feel very good, but he just assumed it was because he was drunk. Right?

Shaking hands searched all over his body. A light sheen of sweat covered most of his torso. He'd gone too long without imbibing any form of alcohol and he was already starting to feel the effects. Man, he was going to be comatose for most of tomorrow. Perhaps it was the very last little bit of drunken luck that he had managed to not splice either of them. Whenever his arms had let go of Damien, his unconscious body had managed to fall right onto the couch and let him lay on his back. Ashton would have been tempted to leave him there, except he was worried that if the man were to trow up, he could very well kill himself. It was the worst way to go, even if it was highly likely that Damien would die of a similar cause. Attempting to be a good friend he grasped hold of the mans arm and tried to pull him to be on his side at the very least. Instead, he managed to pull the body straight off of the couch and he landed on his face, on the floor. Shrugging, knowing that at least this way he wouldn't choke on his own bile he staggered away in search of water. If he didn't drink it now he was going to kill himself in the morning. He managed to make it just to the other couch before his legs gave way beneath him. There was no way that he was going to make it up the stairs no matter how hard he tried. Well, maybe if he tried crawling up them. It was a good enough idea...so he tried to crawl in that direction. He managed to make it up three stairs before the blackness consumed him and he passed into blissful sleep still on the stairs. Comfort was overrated anyway.