Drinking Buddies?

I looked down at my rum, and held back a tear as I thought about Bell once more. I like this bar, Salamanders, for its quiet, dark aesthetic. Nobody shouting, nobody partying, people just drink and stay quiet, for the most part. I take another sip of Rum, and it helps me calm down just a little bit more. I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw her. Our wedding was so close...

No. I can't think about it anymore. Dad would kill me if he saw me like this. I should be out there right now, searching up and down for her. I take another sip.

Haha, I say that... but what can I really do? All I've got is a rusty revolver and a shaky mind. This world is such a joke.

"Give me another, bartender". I don't care if I die. The second I get even half a clue, I'm going to pursue it. I've felt like a shell of myself ever since she went missing. Then the great divide happened... can it really be such a coincidence?

You know, as much as I come here to be left alone, maybe a friend wouldn't be so bad. I need to start making social networks if I ever want to learn more anyways. There's no point in living my life like this. Hopefully somebody sits near me soon, I haven't had a friend, or even an acquaintance, in years.

A gruff Asian gentlemen, a small mountain of a man, sporting slick-backed black hair, a short, neatly trimmed beard, a stone face, and a black apron scoops the melancholy man's empty glass from the countertop of the bar.
"You look like you've been through hell, pal," he rumbles, turning his back to him to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf. He digs a pair of ice cubes from a bucket with his fingers and plunks them in glass, sloshing the amber liquid to flow over them.
"I'm gonna guess bad breakup..." he ponders aloud, planting the liquor in front of him with his meaty fist. His hard, grey eyes were hard to read, but seemed almost sympathetic.
"You want me to leave the bottle, you just say the word," he waves off, clomping away to attend his other patrons.

Chris's case wasn't unheard of at The Red Salamander, or Salamander's as the regulars called it. The bar and restaurant was infamous as the skeeviest dive in all of Little Tokyo Strip. Even though the walls were lined with authentic scroll paintings, fixtures decorated with statues of warriors and Shiisha dogs, and Japenese lanterns lighting the dogwood floor below, the tourist trappings couldn't drown out the overwhelming sorrow that radiated throughout the establishment. This was the best place for the down and out to gather for a hard drink at the end of a hard life and get a cheap order of gyoza and yakisoba to choke down the burning sting of alcohol and failure. The atmosphere was as dark as the outlook of the alcoholics that gathered there, and while the bar was moderately populated a somber silence permeated the air. It was always like that, which is why most lost souls enjoyed it there. Misery loves company.

"Hey Kano. Gin martini."

...with a few exceptions. The rough-looking bartender breathed a heavy sigh and deliberately approached his most troublesome customer. A small, Japanese women sporting a punk look to the nines in a long-sleeved shirt/vest combination, plaid skirt covering black leggings under buckled tall boots. A knit cap adorned her long, messy raven hair that flowed onto the bar counter like an ink stain, a nose stud and earrings made from some sort of coin refusing to glint in the oppressive mood lighting and a guitar case resting against the bar. Her head was rested on her folded arms resting on the bar, her eyes puffy and red from crying her way halfway to Little Tokyo, her brow furrowed with a grimace of conflicted emotional pain. She was flanked by two other empty glasses already as the bartender brought her a third.

"You're not fuckin' around tonight, huh Ris?" the bartender commented as he gingerly sat her requested martini glass down by the base.
"I'm not in the fucking mood, asshole," she growled in return. Her tone was sharp but quivering, the rage intermingled with grief. The burly barman seemed unfazed. Apparently, this was a regular occurrence.
"Incredible. You? In a pissy mood? Heh, never thought I'd see the day."
"I told you Kano, I'm not in the mood!" The tiny woman snapped her head off the bar and bared her teeth to the stocky barman. The bearded man stared at her for a second before calmly collecting the empty glasses she had stockpiled, dismantling her booze fort before it really had time to shine.
"...just don't go overboard this time, aright? I don't want you getting arrested out there," he'd relent as he carried the glassware back through the doors to the brightly lit kitchen.
"...mind your own damn business..." the woman seethed under her breath. Her small hand would grip the glass by the stem and she would take a long, extended gulp of her strong drink, downing half of it in one swig before laying her head back down on the bar.

I take another drink, as I observe the scene playing out in front of me. This woman is clearly wild and has problems. But she seems interesting.

"You know what, sure. Just pass me the bottle. I appreciate it."

I give the bartender a sad, but optimistic look as he hands me the bottle of rum. I look back to the small, upset woman beside me. She's got strange clothes, but they're interesting. What's the worst that could happen if I talked to her? People who have issues tend to relate well, and lord knows we've both probably got an unfair share of them.

"Hey. What's your name?"

I'll keep it short and simple--she seems to be the type of person that'll be straight to the point anyways. That's not such a bad thing, either. As I'm pulling out my cigarette to light it, I leave one slightly outside of the pack, and point it in her direction. Hopefully this'll win her over a little.

That's the other reason people love Salamanders; one of the only bars around that allows heavy smoking. Drinking without a smoke is like having peanut butter without jelly, as I always say.

"No problem, pal," rumbles the bartender as he returns from his dish run, grabbing a bottle from the low shelf without looking and setting it in front of his patron with a hard clink.
"It's going on your tab, I don't do halvesies after last night. Fifteen bucks even, we do cash or yen, the tourist's really go for that authentic crap." As Chris took the bottle with him the stony bartender would shake a little and give an amused chuckle as he wiped down the counter space his customer had just freed up. He had seen this movie before, it was a classic. But he'd let the man walk his own road.

Ritsuko was too self-absorbed too notice the tall, burly man approach. She was frankly quite busy. Killing every brain cell in her skull was a full-time job, after all, and she certainly put in the hours for it. Almost every night she'd come back to Salamander's to try to self-medicate. It was cheap, it made her feel better, and it ate up time. The less she could remember about the day the better. It wasn't filled with anything good. The delinquent wanted to stop feeling things period. She let her emotions get the better of her that morning and was bullied by a group of shitty teens, her boss chewed her out at work, and she spent the rest of her day trying and failing to take some time to herself with mixed results. One girl scared her outright, but not your typical sort of fear. Ritz was afraid she would make her feel things she didn't want to and ran away. And when she had gone out later that night to correct the mistakes she'd made all night she had been proven right. People were terrible. Now she was terribly sad. Rejection was a bitter pill to swallow and booze made it a little more tolerable. Risuko wanted to stop feeling so down. She wanted to go back to hating everyone again.

At the newcomer's question watery brown eyes would dart up to the older guy. They held a pained sort of anger, like a wounded tiger. Ritz had been here before. In the same night no less. Some interesting stranger approaches the delinquent, her having piqued their curiosity, she gets flustered and taken advantage of and now she feels like shit. She wanted to crack him upside the head with her guitar to even think about trying to do what she thought he was going to try... but that wouldn't be very wise. He was a lot bigger than she was, she'd be picking strings out of her throat after her crammed it down her neck. It was also illegal and maybe sort of mean. But she'd learn after the last time. She wouldn't open herself up like that again. Ritsuko didn't need to feel sorry for herself. She'd turn the tables instead.

Don't get get sad, get even.

"If you're over here to hit on me, you can fuck off right now," the tiny woman seethed. She'd take the cigarette any way and greedily lift it to her lips. Free was free. It tasted terrible, not her brand, but she didn't care. She could barely taste it at all. Three strong drinks in was enough to dull that sensation. Four years of alcohol abuse just made that level of intoxication easier to focus in. After getting the flame going she would close her eyes and tremble a little, trying to shift gears from weeping alone in her comfortable little lonely corner to going back to reliving the heartbreak earlier that night. This time would be different. Her eyes swam up to his, dull and emotionless above their tired black circles.
"I'm Ritz. I live here?" she joked darkly as it was a well-known fact. It might have well as been the case. She spent just as much time there as she did her hotel room. Her demeanor was still bristly, but less so as the dark-haired sulker reached for her drink once more.

I'm slightly surprised by the assumption that I'm over here to hit on her. This isn't exactly the type of place for flirting, at least in my mind. Those clothes, while interesting, aren't exactly what I would call "attractive" either. In fact, it almost seems like they're worn with the opposite intention; to scare or repulse people. The anti-social look on her face isn't the type that I would usually jump into a conversation with, let alone a relationship.

Still, clearly, it must happen often enough for her to be so dismissive. Regardless, this bold accusation isn't enough for me to be put off from her--in fact, in a stubborn, crazy way, it makes me more intent on getting past her barrier.

"Nice to meet you, Ritz. I'm Chris. I guess I just haven't seen you around, I spend a lot of time here too. Oh, and I'm not here to hit on you. I just thought you looked interesting. Like you've got a million stories to tell. I've got my fair share, so I can tell when somebody else does.

I think to myself if I've made a mistake, but quickly shake my head no. What's the worst that can happen? Even if she tells me to fuck off, it'll be fine. After all, she's just a tiny girl. Maybe I can cheer her up a little. Probably not, but maybe. As I take a puff of my cigarette, I stare straight in her dark eyes, to show her that mine aren't that different. She should get the idea very quickly that we have more in common than not.

The raven-haired alcoholic eyed the taller man with a scornful, distrustful gaze.
Nooooooo! Of course I don't want to hit on you! You just looked [b]super interesting so I couldn't help myself but to come up and talk to you! What's your life story, how about a cigarette? Pshya right, gimme a fuckin' break.[/i]
Ritsuko wasn't in any sort of position to trust people at the moment. She'd learned that lesson the hard way. Technically. But it kept fuckin' happening and she kept on getting her heart broken so slow learner it is. Every single time she tried to open up she'd get her feelings hurt, and every single time after that she promised she'd never do it again. And then, without fail, she'd try to relate to people and find out they were self-serving assholes. Ad. Infinitum. Ritsuko would much rather play the part of the former. She was a lot better at it.

She took a disgusting drag from her off-brand smoke and another large swig of her drink, unconsciously kicking the wood of the standing bar in rhythm to vent her displeasure and unease to interact with any new faces. Especially this guy. He was pretty damn big. The more she thought about it the more off-put she was by him. A guy his size could lift her over his head throw her across the restaurant if he felt like it. Not that he would. Probably. Ritz couldn't be sure. She could get pretty mouthy and aggressive even when she wasn't drinking. Kano would... probably not let that happen, though...
"What's there to tell?" she challenged, her voice sounding warped from finally releasing her smoke cloud. There was something about holding onto a cloud while taking a drink that was so satisfying...
"I'm at a fuckin' bar on a week night gettin' shitfaced 'cuz I've got nothin' better to do. Nobody likes me, I don't like nobody, and I don't give a shit. The hell's your excuse?" she accused, downing the rest of her martini. The alcohol burned her throat, but not as badly as the tears had stung her face hours ago. She leaned in closer to the man with eyes like a snake's.
"You're a loser. I'm a loser! Everyone here's a... fucking... waste of oxygen 'cuz life sucks, then you die." Ritz flipped her martini glass on its end with two fingers without even breaking eye contact in some miniature statement. Or tantrum, it was hard to tell. Ritsuko didn't think she'd be feeling it like this, but she was hitting the bottle pretty hard and hadn't filled her stomach yet.