fangednconfused (fangednconfused) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-10-21 14:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | derek mitchell, ronnie milam, ~roman skye |
Truffle Oil
Who: Ronnie/Roman/Derek
What: Anger Management Issues
Where: Las Vegas
When: 2013-ish
Ratings/Warnings: Violence, substance use, language
“Okay, okay,” Derek said, waving a hand at Ronnie. “Ten points if I can get it in that empty glass over there.” He pointed to an abandoned pint glass down the bar from them, waiting to be collected among empty beer bottles and a martini glass with the olive still in it.
The vampire held up the Super Ball he had gotten from a quarter machine and aimed. So far, he was leading against his friend by 23 points. The loser had to go outside and sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ at the top of their lungs on the busy Vegas sidewalk.
“Wait man,” Ronnie said, words beginning to stretch a bit further than usual. He turned to look in the direction of the glass as if sizing up the distance. “That glass over there?” Clearly he knew what glass his friend was talking about but this is what you did when you shit talked your friends.
Ronnie turned back to Derek. He squinted. “You make that shot, I’ll go sing. You miss, and you go sing. Deal? And no …” he said, waving his hand around as if to imply the use of powers without coming right out and saying it.
Derek had the advantage. Not only was Ronnie coasting on a good buzz from a series of YooHoo YeeHaws, he was human. But regardless he grinned and waited to watch his friend sink the shot he knew he was going to make. The vampire probably could’ve made that shot with his eyes closed.
“Guess what,” Derek said, the pink pearlescent ball poised and ready to go, “I would have sang anyway if you had just asked me. But now…” The rubber orb sailed through the air, then bounced off the wooden bar.
The vampire pointed his fingers at Ronnie. “‘Ya gonna sing.”
It landed magnificently in the still-sudsy glass. He laughed and clapped his hands. “Okay,” Derek said, looking at his friend. “Because I’m fair, and you’re paying my tab tonight, I’ll give you a chance to try to sink that, too. If you do, we’ll sing together.”
“Oh bells,” Ronnie laughed.
The ball flew nearly in slow motion, plunking down into the sudsy beverage across the bar. “Why do I make bets with you?” He quipped, amused. One would’ve thought he learned by now that Derek was inhumanly superior. But it was fun placing wagers and they were in the right town for it.
He took a sip from the cold drink in the martini style glass, trying to assess the task laid before him.
One of the other little bouncy balls would be retrieved from a pocket. It took a second of hopping around and fenegaling to get the thing out of the tiny pockets of his skinny jeans but finally he managed to work it out.
“Okay. For Cyndi,” Ronnie murmured. He set his feet and launched the ball into the air. Afterward he squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a wince, praying like the devil was setting the bar on fire.
“For Cyndi!” Derek cheered, lifting his green bottle in the air, garnering looks from the other bar patrons that he affably ignored. He watched the ball go, and it looked like it was going to make it. The vampire leaned forward with anticipation, one hand on Ronnie’s shoulder.
And it landed in a glass. The only problem was, it was not the nearly empty pint belonging to nobody, but rather a very full Old-Fashioned belonging to a suit. The liquid sloshed out in a spray, the cherry going as airborne as the Super Ball.
“Oh, shit.” The vampire slowly lowered his Heineken.
That comment was echoed.
Oh shit.
Ronnie clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. And then he was laughing as if he’d just witnessed the most hilarious thing in his whole existence to that point. He nearly tumbled out of his seat.
The man on the other end of the bar didn’t look pleased with the situation or the reaction. He moved to stand up, brushing a cocktail napkin across the front or his expensive tailored suit. “You think this is funny?” The good looking suit snapped.
Ronnie giggled, then gulped, “Nah, man. I’m really sorry. I was aiming for this other cup and…”
“I don’t care what you were aiming for, you’ve just ruined one of my better suits with your shenanigans.”
At first, Derek couldn’t help but laugh, either, but it was mostly at Ronnie’s reaction. He was about to turn and apologize to the guy, too, until he opened his mouth and that came out. The slightly inebriated vampire came to his friend’s defense.
“That’s one of your better suits?” Derek replied, setting his beer down. “My friend did you a favor, then.”
“You’re one to talk. At least my outfit matches,” Roman quipped, like a snake striking. The taller man looked like he’d fallen out of a Vine video.
Ronnie blinked. “Woah, dudes. Really. It’s just a stain.”
To that, Roman would turn and look at the shorter man. “Just a stain, hm? Are you paying for the dry cleaning? This suit is tailor made, it would cost more to salvage it than trust someone to clean it properly.”
Derek held up his hands. “Ohhh, noo, my outfit doesn’t match. You hit me right in my biggest insecurity because I obviously care so much!” His eyes zeroed in on the guy’s jugular, he couldn’t help it, even with the abundance of cologne and bad attitude.
He turned to Ronnie. “Truffle oil. Big time truffle oil.” It was their code word, named after the one ingredient Gordon Ramsay hated the most. It meant an asshole was testing the vampire’s patience and teeth were about to come out. Ronnie had picked it.
Roman only looked amused by the rebuttal but that faded as quickly as it had appeared. He hadn’t come over here for fun and games.
Ronnie put one hand on his friend’s arm, and the other up in the air as a sign of peace. “Hey man. Really sorry about the suit, for real. My friend here and I don’t want trouble. How can I make it up to you so you can go back to enjoying your night? I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to chat with my pretty face, so…”
A hard look and a sigh would escape the man. “Pay for the suit, and we can call it even.” He was going to have to replace it now.
“Cool, man. What’s it cost? Like five hundred?” Ronnie was already fishing through his pockets for cash when the laugh startled him.
“Try three grand.”
“Fuck you.” The words were out of Derek’s mouth before his brain caught up with it. He knew Ronnie was trying to smooth things over, but it was ridiculous. Three grand for a stain? “You’re just being a dick because it looks like you pissed yourself,” the vampire added loudly, gesturing to the guy’s pants.
Part of him was also angry because it felt like people were always trying to step on Ronnie, and he was so friendly right back. Derek didn’t understand it. He had been a vampire for about three years at that point, had met a lot of people, and no one was as amiable and turn-the-other-cheek than his human friend.
“You wish,” Roman scoffed. And then a casual shrug of a shoulder would be given. “Three grand or I’ll take you to court for more.” A large grin crept over his face as he waited.
“D-man? You got that ten I gave you a second — wait,” Ronnie mumbled, holding a wad of cash in a fist. He counted out a few Benjamin’s, throwing them down on the counter next to his half-consumed drink.
Like it was nothing, the wad went back into his pocket and he shoved the stack at the suit. “There! No court fees or headache.”
“Smart move,” Roman murmured, placing a hand on the stack of bills.
Derek stared at the money as it changed hands. “You have the most punchable face I’ve ever seen,” he told the stranger, before grabbing his beer and taking a long, frustrated drink. He was about to sit back down on his stool defeatedly, then changed his mind.
The vampire held out his hand. “We’d like our ball back. You got your money. Our property is still in your drink,” he said coolly.
Roman ignored the loud, tall one and offered the short, ugly one a nod. “Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.” But before he could get too far, the ball was brought back into play.
“Oh, of course, let me get it for you.” The cash disappeared and Roman went to fetch the tainted Old Fashioned. Ronnie watched with interest as the suit picked up the glass with the ball and brought it back.
The glass was then upturned onto Derek’s shirt and the ball went flying. “Oh, silly me. Guess I’m clumsy. But there’s your ball.”
And then the man turned and walked away.
Ronnie was already getting a pile of napkins, nearly falling over the bartender’s side of the counter trying to get as many as possible.
Derek swiped at the tiny ice cubes and remaining alcohol that covered his Supreme hoodie. He walked around the retreating douchebag, intercepting him so that they were face to face. “Hey, look, I’m sorry,” he said. “We realized we were idiots. We wanted to give you something else for your troubles.”
Ronnie nearly leapt off the stool.
He knew how his friend could get and knew he also wasn’t fast enough.
Roman looked at the tall man with expectation. “What else could you possibly want to give me?” He already looked bored with the whole thing.
The vampire knew just how hard to punch without doing permanent damage, and Derek gave him a notch above that with a right hook across that smug, chiseled jaw. The bouncer was already pushing his way through the crowd, yelling above the din.
Ronnie made it over just as Roman was falling over onto the ground from the punch. “Gotta go, buddy. Come on. I can’t bail us both out,” Ronnie said, ushering his friend along.
Roman hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. By the time the bouncer would arrive, the suit would still be on the floor holding his jaw and throwing the word lawsuit around.
“Time to sing!” Derek laughed as Ronnie pulled him out of the bar, throwing one arm around his friend. “‘Oh, mother dear, we’re not the fortunate ones…’