HAPPY NEW YEAR

[paletteknife]

Who: Anyone of legal drinking age or with a good fake ID
What: A BAR LOG: NEW YEAR'S EDITION
When: New Year's Eve
Where: The Birdcage
Warnings: I think there may be alcohol references in this bar log. Also probably sloppy makeouts come midnight.



The Birdcage may have taken a hit during the destructive riots in the city over the summer, but like a majestic phoenix, it had risen from the ashes and looked better than ever with its renovations - just in time for one of the biggest nights of the year. The lights shone brighter and more colourful than ever, the bar was stocked with fresh new liquors from around the globe (and beyond), the music rang loud and clear through new speakers, the stage was more elaborate and featured all kinds of drag and burlesque troupes...

It was simply fabulous.

And on this New Year's Eve, it was packed from wall to wall with those reveling in the joy of having their favourite bar back and eager to see what the next year has in store. The patrons were brought together from all walks of life, all timelines and universes and races and lifestyles, to celebrate together and bask in the warm buzz of a good drink.

Some of them were here from Smash Academy. Why? Maybe they planned in advance. Maybe it was spur of the moment in an attempt to not spend New Year's miserable and alone while sober. Maybe it had to do with that brochure for the grand reopening that kept appearing on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria no matter how many times a certain hall monitor and other concerned folk took it down.

THE POINT IS. It's a drinking log. Go nuts.

Comments

[wassa_matta_you]

"Well, lucky you," He chimed. "Ringin' in the new year with someone special." He lifted his glass from the counter to the good news, but just barely. However there were no signs of sarcasm in his voice.
Desmond used to work in a party bar, after all, but sometimes he'd get some sad drunks. Part of him feared he was going to be one this year, but being alive to celebrate it had him feeling pretty good!

Desmond turned around in his seat to get a look at the rest of the business behind him. "I like this place," he shared. "I'd want to get drunk here - " He held his glass up again. "Plan to." And drank a little too much of that shit all at once. Oh my god.

[raced_god]

YES LUCKY HIM INDEED.

Falcon didn't know what Desmond was drinking based on the color or type of glass, but his eyebrows slowly slid upward at the rate he was downing it. Well, it was New Year's Eve after all, so who was he to judge? Heck, he could even be a SUPER NICE GUY about it.

"You want me to get you another one of those?"

Here's where all my bullshitting comes in /ROLLS UP SLEEVES

[wassa_matta_you]

Seriously? Hell yeah, that got him grinning.

"Yeah," he accepted, nodding along. "But only if you get one for yourself." Someone must've been drinking for a little while, because Desmond was one hell of a friendly drunk. "Have you experienced the Long Island?" IMPORTANT. He looked like a man's man. He must have.

[raced_god]

Ah, yes. Well. That explained a good deal.

"Yeah, I've experienced the Long Island." Despite the fact that Falcon tended to prefer his drinks without mixers (as evidenced by the scotch-on-the-rocks he was currently nursing), he'd been around the block as far as alcohol was concerned. He flagged down the bartender.

"You'll have to let me finish this first," he said, holding up his index finger and downing the rest of his current drink. There. Finished.

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm ready

[wassa_matta_you]

"Yeah, no prob - " But he didn't even finish his sentence when he saw Falcon's drink was already gone. He knew it. He could drink with this man.

Not that Desmond was necessarily drunk yet, but he still had a nice warm buzz making his lips tingle. He stared at him for a moment of processing, then asked against all better judgment,

"How many of those can you finish in a minute?"

Re: I don't know what I'm doing. I'm ready

[raced_god]

Falcon fixed Desmond with a look that clearly said the latter had made a huge mistake. This was a man whose entire life revolved around not only competition, but winning competitions, whether that meant a high-stakes hovercraft race or a simple drinking contest. You could practically see the switch turn on in his head, the one that flicked between "relatively normal albeit vaguely eccentric dude" and "unstoppable force of nature".

Desmond was going to die.

"Is that a proposition?"

Falcon didn't care if it was or not. He was going to make it one, and as soon as the bartender meandered his way over, he spoke the one word that would seal Desmond's fate forever.

"Shots."

[wassa_matta_you]

Not normally one to bait, he can't believe this guy took him seriously. However it was far too late to turn back now. They were going to drink and they were going to get smashed.

"I like your confidence," Desmond complimented, pulling his seat closer to the bar and preparing his entire fucking body for this moment. ALL THOSE YEARS OF ASSASSIN TRAINING... for this.

"Unless confidence is all you got."

[raced_god]

Falcon laughed. It was the kind of laugh that clearly said oh, you poor, sad, sad little man. The bartender, being the perceptive sort, was kind enough to line up several shots of who-knew-what. Two for each of them. To start.

Raising his first shot in a sort of mock-cheer, he smirked the smirk that, when broadcast on intergalactic TV, caused ladies the universe over to spontaneously climax.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with."

[wassa_matta_you]

Desmond picked up his glass, returning the gesture with a lesser-known charm to his smile but one he had every right to brag about if he so choose. "Well," he started, "Let's find out, shall we?" And there it went. One back. - then to the other - two back. And it certainly did burn. Got his nose wrinkling, at least, that whip of his head as if he could shake it off.

Yeah, he was going to die.

[raced_god]

AND SO, bottoms up it was. Falcon, of course, wasted no time in downing both shots in rapid succession, barely flinching between them, motioning for the bartender. Yes. Refills. Already. He was nothing if not completely serious and, at the same time, totally casual.

Desmond was doomed.

[wassa_matta_you]

WELL, YOU DIE ONCE... What else did he have to fear?

Okay, so he might not have the same levels of grace that Princess Falcon of Margarita-lot had over here but he could still certainly hold his own in this game. AND HE WILL.

He turned to the bartender.

"Get four of 'em ready," he demanded, head feeling heavy with a dense heat behind his eyes. "I'm gonna fuck 'em up."

[raced_god]

The only thing you have to fear was someone who had spent the better part of fifteen years partying inconceivably hard on the F-Zero circuit.

Here he was. Reaching for #3.

"You just tell me when you've had enough."

[wassa_matta_you]

"Don't bank on that," Desmond muttered, grabbing two shots in each fist and destroying them consecutively. He wasn't having your shit, Falcon. AND HE'D DO IT AGAIN. AND HE DID.

He was grinning despite the brain-breaking flood he was submitting his internal organs to. There'd be time to regret every life decision at another time. "'cause you'll... want to unbank that." There we go.

[raced_god]

There was, of course, no way to drink three shots in rapid succession without feeling it, no matter how hard a partier you were. Falcon was going to have to be smart about this, keeping tabs on how much Desmond was drinking and attempting to pace himself accordingly.

Subsequently, he watched janitorman crush the two shots before he went for his own round, taking a moment to breathe before slamming back the second.

"You do this a lot?"

I CANNOT BELIEVE I DRUNK TAGGED I CANNOT BELIEVE DESMOND

[wassa_matta_you]

Desmond had to reflect on his entire life before answering that. It might've taken a few seconds. Or half a minute. You know, after he got his hands on the next shot.

"Yeah! Friends like to party sometimes so I go out and get fucked up, sure." Well, it'd been a minute, if he was honest about it. "Do some... some shots at work sometimes." Professional. "Bartendin' and sssshit." Oh fuck him. The bottles behind the bar were floating and melting together.

He looked at Falcon, still grinning even though his days were numbered. He was just laughing between speaking and breathing somewhere. HOW DID FALCON LOOK SO FUCKING COOL RIGHT NOW. "Oh my God," he chuckled. "Where did you get your liver?"

[raced_god]

from space

Falcon laughed, a loud, abrupt sort of noise that ever-so-slightly betrayed how truly drunk he was. NOT AS DRUNK AS DESMOND, at least. A bartender, even. That just made it all the more hilarious.

"This comes with lots of practice."

Obviously.

i'm back from outer space with new liver

[wassa_matta_you]

"Aahah!" He pointed at him, shaking his finger like he was one of those. You know. Those. He got you, Falcon. "Liver training."

Yes.

Olympic training his liver. NAILED IT.

As did his forehead into the bar top. He was still alive, though. Still laughing. Barely.

[raced_god]

Liver...training. Yeah, that was probably what it was, when you got down to it. Sounded better than "a veritable lifetime of heavy drinking".

Falcon laughed, a loud, barking laugh, and clapped Desmond on the back. Maybe a little too hard.