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It all started with a passing comment about blowjobs.
Robert wasn’t usually the type to boast his sexual prowess. It had been a joke, really. Just him matching Courtney’s energy.
She had recently joined the anti-recidivism program at the time: a twenty-six-year-old with a shit-ton of emotional baggage and theatrics that could rival a teenager at the peak of their rebellious phase. She’d been moaning about the world being unforgiving and how “you could line people up and blow them one by one and they still wouldn’t think you’re worth their time.” And he’d said something about how people didn’t really manage to think while he was blowing them.
It had been a stupid comment, one that had successfully gotten a laugh out of her and eased the way for the more sincere part of his pep talk.
So, yeah, just a passing comment… That had somehow snowballed into shameless speculation over his sexuality (with an active bet involving real-life money), led to them finding out he had never really been to Pride or any event of that sort, and culminated into the team planning an impromptu outing to set the record straight once and for all. Two dicks, one hole.
(“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” he said.
“Whatever, man. Do you or do you not get it?” Malevola argued.
“...Fair point.”)
Obviously, Robert had not agreed to any of this. They had dragged him over against his will under great duress and now there he was, left to his own devices in a gay cabaret.
Victor was very obviously shooting his shot at a guy in sunglasses daisy dukes who’d been gyrating on stage when they came in; Malevola was standing off the side of the stage with a woman with bright-coloured hair and clearly having a more successful attempt at flirting than Victor; and Royd was engaged in a lively conversation with the bartender. Courtney, the catalyst to this entire ordeal, had initially been all up his ass but had gone out for a quick smoke to chat with the bouncer (a brickhouse of a guy named Bruno who was actually super chill and definitely high on the job). Not too long after, Mandy had gone out as well, citing the need to “check on her” and well… Neither had returned. Someone else would likely have something to say about their supervisor and mentee being this egregiously involved in a potential HR violation. Regardless of what some might say though, Robert was neither a bitch or a snitch. As long as it wasn’t hurting anyone, it was none of his business.
Robert looked to his left and to his right.
He could make his exit if he wanted to. No offense to gay bars, they were just not his scenes. Sure, he had explored his horizons a little (just to be sure, you know) but it didn’t make him any less into women. He was very aware that he tended to stand out like a sore toe in such crowds and not keen on overstaying his welcome, and he wasn’t about to kiss the cutest man here just to get people off his back. Victor was already ahead of him in that regard and Robert respected him enough not to violate bro code. Definitely not for Sunglasses At Night Guy, no matter how good he looked in those tight ass jeans.
Plus he missed his Beef. He bet his Beef missed him too. He couldn’t think of a better reason to ditch this place.
He slid along the perimeter all the while tracking the others’ whereabouts: Vic was still shooting his shot, Mal pulling her conquest closer with her tail around that slim waist, Royd toasting with the bartender (who swallowed his shot like it was water), Courtney and Mandy were MIA…
No one was paying attention to him. It was now or never.
Robert made a sharp turn towards the exit, worming his way through the throng of people with severe lack of spatial awareness. He was no more than five steps away from freedom when his foot suddenly slid on something slippery.
“Ah, sh-shit!”
He was fully prepared to eat absolute shit in the middle of this bar…
…and he did. Lost his footing, knocked his head on the edge of a table and fell flat on his face.
A cloud of murmured concerns surrounded him as he laid there, cheek pressed to the sticky floor. He couldn’t find within himself the dignity to stand just yet. It wasn’t too bad. Frankly, the coolness of the tiles was quite pleasant. Suddenly, a shadow fell on him, a pair of crocs entering his vision. Robert fought the urge to close his eyes and pretend he had lost consciousness. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, he would pass for dead and they would haul him out into the nearest garbage bin. Wouldn’t be his first time.
Resigned to his fate, Robert groaned out, “Please tell me no one recorded that,” and looked up towards the person crouched in front of him.
He momentarily blanked out at the sight he beheld.
Strong cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Dewy skin that not only glistened but honest-to-God sparkled under the dim lighting. Auburn hair so thoroughly soaked it was flattened along the scalp, with short bangs swept to the side and a few strands curling along the temple and the contour of a defined jawline. Yet what stood out the most were those expressive grey eyes which overrode those angular features with their softness.
The guy looked like a fucking runway model.
“What the fuck?” Robert whispered, causing the beautiful stranger to physically recoil. “Not you! I was just… My head’s all fucked.”
The redhead seemed only slightly relieved, brows raised in concern as he pointed at Robert and made an ‘okay’ sign, head tilted to the side.
“I’m okay, yeah. Not concussed, as far as I can tell.”
His answer clearly didn’t inspire confidence, for the stranger reached out and grabbed him by the bicep without a word, carefully guiding Robert to his feet by a firm but gentle grip.
Once he was vertical again, he nearly toppled over with the pounding headache that made itself known. “Oookay, maybe a little concussed.”
Robert was ushered to the nearest table with an available chair. Ironically, it was the one he had smashed his head against. His protests that he was fine fell on deaf ears as the stranger forced him to take a seat, and he was pinned down with an adorably stern look and a wag of a finger, ordered to stay put.
All right. Since he was so…insistent. As Robert followed with his eyes as the stranger hurried to the bar. There, he spotted Royd sitting with his back to the counter, raising an amused brow at him. Another quick look informed him that Mal and her friend were also glancing at him from their little corner, probably cracking jokes at his expense as part of their foreplay.
Half the venue must have seen him eat shit. Awesome. He loved his life.
Before the humiliation could overtake him, the stranger made his way back. So he had to be on staff, right? Everyone who worked here dressed to the nines, so the average patron with a mullet cut and a sleeveless top was distinguishable from the server in clickety stilettos that announced their arrival. He sure stood out but it had nothing to do with clothes. He was stupidly tall, all elongated limbs; although the stool granted him an additional four inches, the stranger towered over Robert. He had to be six-feet-something. However, he wasn’t wearing anything indicative of staff member status. No apron, no name tag. Not even an outlandish outfit, though Robert’s gaze caught on the necklace of pearls that peaked from the stretched collar of a worn band tee. Maybe he was just a well-liked regular?
He stopped in front of Robert, eyes downcast as he hoisted up the yellow caution sign tucked under his arm and meekly handed over a bag of ice.
“Thanks,” Robert said, accepting it.
The instant relief it provided to his throbbing temple had him shut his eyes momentarily. When he opened them back, the staffer (?) was still standing there, hunched over and wringing his hands uneasily like a child expecting punishment.
“Relax, I’m fine. Not like you tripped me or smashed my head yourself, right?”
If anything, his words made the contrite look on the kid’s face worse, and he gestured at himself from the top down with such emphasis that Robert allowed himself to actually stare this time. He was actually dripping wet, from the top of his ginger head to his bright blue crocs, clothes clinging to his body like a second skin. Man, Robert pitied him. He could’ve sworn the weather broadcast had predicted only a drizzle for tonight, not a downright pour.
Robert lingered on the slowly-forming puddle of water beneath him and eventually looked back up to a sheepish grimace. “Listen, at the speed I was going, I was bound to crash land into someone or something. Don’t even sweat it.” He shrugged. “Far from my first stunt.”
The redhead exhaled a quiet laugh at his lame humour and Robert, although he wasn’t the type, found himself hoping it was more genuine than put-on. The tension that had released from those broad shoulders seemed real enough. Gingerly, he shimmied around the table to set up the caution sign and as he came back around, paused there.
Robert quickly lowered his eyes down to the crocs with the silly mix of aquatic and superhero charms, trying not to make it too obvious he had been staring, until he realised the guy was actually staring at him too. So Robert sat up straight and affected an open expression. “What’s up?”
He opened his mouth and closed his mouth in successions, seemed to change his mind, and jabbed a finger over his shoulder towards the bar and at the bag of ice.
Robert’s shoulders dropped. “Oh, you’re just- You want me to bring it back? Sure, no problem.”
Sparing him one last glance and a lopsided smile, the young man walked away. Robert watched him make another stop at the bar, where he exchanged a few words with the bartender, and rush through the guarded door on the side of the stage.
He really worked here then, Robert thought to himself. He was probably part of the waitstaff. It now occurred to him that his tall stranger hadn’t spoken a single word to him, but he had clearly said something to the bartender. With his mouth. Not that it mattered. So why did it feel like it did? Robert pressed the ice bag closer to his head, letting the cold seep into his skin be a distraction to his confusing emotions. Had to be the whiskey and not-quite-concussion speaking.
“The fuck happened to you?”
Robert yelped, the ice bag jumping from his grasp.
Mandy swooped in just in time to catch it before it fell to the floor then turned a disapproving look on Courtney. “What did we say about sneaking up on people?”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s a valuable member to our organisation and we can’t afford to lose him to a heart attack… But it’s fun, how jumpy he is.” Courtney elbowed Robert, who elbowed her right back.
“I knocked my knee on the underside of the table because of you, asshole.”
“And you also definitely knocked your head sometime when I was gone, so I’d say you’re just a klutz.”
“That’s right.” Mandy handed Robert the ice bag, eyeing him up and down. “What happened? You okay?”
Robert took the bag from her and pointed over his shoulder at the caution sign. “Slipping hazard.”
Mandy’s eyes widened in concern. “You hit your head on the floor?”
“Table first, then floor. But I’m fine.”
Disregarding his words, Mandy held him by the chin to check his eyes. Courtney huddled close and Robert cringed at how little space they were giving him. “We brought you here so you could trip and fall on a dick, Robbo, not to get concussed.”
“I’m not concussed,” he insisted, gently pulling away from Mandy’s caring hands and pushing Courtney out of his personal space.
“If you say so,” Mandy said, a hand on her hip.
“And I won’t do any tripping and falling on anyone’s dick tonight. I’m not that easy.”
“If you say so,” Courtney echoed, smirking. “Night’s still young though. Might change your mind and decide to do the split on someone’s crotch. And when it happens? I’ll be right there. Watching.”
“Uh-huh.” Robert narrowed his eyes at her, pressing the bag higher on his head. “And where did you two run off earlier? That was a pretty long smoke break.”
The pair of women reacted at the same time, but in opposite directions: where Courtney leaned her weight on leg and crossed arms, feigning nonchalance as she replied, “Smoking, what else?” Mandy stiffened like a board, her spine going ramrod straight and shoulders rounding back into an almost too perfect posture as she explained, “Oh, y’know, just chatting.”
His eyes shifted between the two. “Riiight… If you say so?”
With that said, they silently agreed to not pry into each other’s business. Robert knew the truce would last only as long as Courtney cared to remember, which could mean anytime between thirty seconds and an hour. Which was why he was grateful for Mandy’s initiative: “I could go for another drink… And a snack. Do they still do Taco Tuesday Nights?”
“Yeah, but it’s nachos instead. I’ll get it for you. I’m also craving a cheese-stuffed pretzel. How about you? Want anything?” Courtney asked Robert.
“I haven’t gotten the time to check their menu,” he admitted. “Are the pretzels really cheesy?”
She leaned her forearm on the table, got real close to him, and said in a breathless voice that could easily be misconstrued as flirtatious if he didn’t know better, “They’re stuffed so full of cheese it’s like the most depraved, fingerlicking cream pie. Food porn right in your mouth. So cheesy they’re worth a diabolical post-digestion diarrhea.”
“Oh, wow. So, like, extra cheesy,” Robert replied, ignoring the disgusted looks Mandy was sending them. “Is the diarrhea a guarantee or…?”
“Meh. Depends on your lactose intolerance. I’m one of God’s favourites, so it doesn’t faze me. But I once saw a dude endure excruciating stomach cramps to finish his serving then immediately book it for the shitters.”
“Did he make it?”
“Almost didn’t. We all cheered for him.”
“Damn.” A playful smile curled on Robert’s face. “All right, I’m up for it. I’ll have a whiskey as well, please.”
As soon as he said this, Courtney extended a hand. Robert looked at it for a long second, awaiting some cool trick or something, but nothing happened. “...I’m not giving you my wallet.”
“Tch. Jerk.”
She slapped the ice from his hand and vanished in thin air before the bag even touched the ground. Robert let out a guttural sigh that came from the soul and slumped over the table. Just when he thought he had gathered one third of the energy to stand up and pick it up, he felt something cold nudge his open palm. “Thanks, Mandy,” he mumbled, curling his hand around the plastic bag.
“Sorry about her,” she said, taking the seat across from him. “And for ditching you. It’s your first time here and we just…left.”
“I’m sooo hurt. That really did a number on my abandonment issues.”
“Oh, I’m sure! Feel free to transfer me your therapy bill. It’s the least I can do.”
“Careful. I’ll hold you to it.”
Mandy laughed. “But really, how’s your evening been?”
“Eh, you know me: not a big party guy.” Robert shrugged. “Ambiance’s nice though.”
Mandy hummed, face twisting in sympathy. “I should’ve told them to leave you alone. I could call you a taxi if you want?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just walk.”
“Fine, but!” She laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the warmth of it through the layers of his long-sleeved shirt and jacket sleeve. “If you’re no longer having fun and you’re itching for an out, you just let me know, okay?”
It was a good thing he made sure to keep to himself the fact that his not-quite-concussion happened because he was too eager to get the hell out of here. She would have found a way to feel responsible over it.
Robert gave her a genuine smile and hoped it perfectly communicated how much her attentiveness meant to him. “I will.”
Mandy smiled back and squeezed his arm affectionately.
“Didn’t know you guys were getting it on.” They jumped apart, heads turning to Victor. “I’m not judging. You two keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll be thirty-four dollars and fifty-six cents richer by the end of the night.”
Robert grunted. “That’s the amount you’re betting?” That was how much his sexuality was worth to these people? He didn’t know if he should be flattered or insulted. They hadn’t even thought that far to come up with that number.
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Mandy asked him.
“Of course I’m choosing to ignore the layers of bullshit in favour of focusing on the easy stuff. How else do you think I maintain my cheery disposition?” he deadpanned then turned his soulless eyes on Victor. “Mandy and I are not getting anything on.”
“Huh. So that stupid fall you took wasn’t a ploy to get the innately caring and maternal attention of a lady?” (“What the fuck,” Mandy mouthed at Robert, who grinned stiffly.) “Figures you’d be the kind of dude to value morals over a good time. Can’t say I agree, but I respect it.”
“Hey, by the way,” Robert interrupted before he could dive any deeper into…whatever he was saying, “Weren’t you trying to woo someone over there?”
“Yeaaah, but he was playing mad hard to get.”
“So you gave up?” he guessed, hopeful. It would be a great improvement for Victor to learn to catch a hint.
“Nah, his break was over and he had to get back to work. Fine by me, to be honest. I needed to cool down from the negging anyway. You know how it is.”
No, he did not.
“‘Sup.” Courtney reappeared with the goods and looked pointedly at Victor. “Mind moving out the way?”
“Cheesy pretzel. Nice.” He backed off as she almost bit off his finger. “Woah, the hell?”
“What do I look like, your crypto wallet? Go get your own.”
“Ouch. You wound me, Courtski,” he said as she shouldered him past him to set the food and drinks on the table. “Oh, I see how it is. It’s a three-way type of situation.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Robert groaned.
“Wouldn’t you like to see that, huh, batcreep?” Courtney retorted.
But it was the sound of his name hissed between Mandy’s teeth that reined him back to order. “Kidding! It’s a joke. Obviously. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find Mal. Big Batty needs his bump. …It’s Mal and I’s slang for a pep talk. Swear,” he hurriedly added at the pointed look their supervisor gave him. “You go and get some action, Robbie! I believe in you!”
Victor clapped him on the arm, finger-gunned both women, and left.
Mandy reached for the beer Courtney had brought her. “Remind me to put him through another sensibility course.”
“I suggest having someone in the room to keep watch. Wouldn’t put it past him to have the course tab in the background while he’s got bat porn on main.” Courtney shook her head and held up her greasy pretzel to her mouth. “I wonder how that works. Do they only ever fuck in the dark? Or upside-down? Or both.”
Of course, you’d ask that, Robert thought as she bit down on the pretzel, the soft crumb splitting to reveal thick cheese that stretched into beautiful strings. The sight had him salivating.
He looked down at their orders and faltered, frowning. “Where’s my order?”
“You didn’t give me money,” Courtney said, like that explained anything.
“So?”
“So you’re not getting anything. What, you thought I’d pay for you?”
“I pay for you all the time.”
“Then why didn’t you just now? I gave you the chance.”
“Ugh, asshole.” Robert slid off his chair, waving a hand over his shoulder in dismissal as Mandy called his name.
He wasn’t actually pissed, just mildly irritated at best. Hangry, to be more accurate. Though his head wasn’t hurting half as much as it did earlier, he didn’t think he could stand another hour tolerating all that noise, especially on a near-empty stomach. He’d return the ice bag to the bar—he owed this much to his good samaritan—and grab something for the road. God knew there wasn’t anything fit to human consumption waiting in the fridge at home.
Royd raised his half-empty Long Island iced tea in greeting. “Howzit? Nasty fall ya had dere.”
“Well, I’m not seeing double,” he answered, crossing his arms over the counter.
“Oh, shite. That was you?” asked the bartender in a noticeable Irish accent. He was a short gentleman with traditional tattoos peeking from his rolled up sleeves. His name tag read ‘Colm.’ “Ye’re okay?”
“Aye, no worries, cuz,” Royd said, “Ma man Robert a tough one. Take a lot more to take him down.”
Robert huffed at the familiar way Royd was addressing the man. This was also his first time at this cabaret club, but given his naturally gregarious personality, Royd was having an easier time blending with the crowd. It was no surprise he was already making himself a new friend.
“Yup, that’s me, Fallguy. Thanks for that, by the way.” Robert slid over the soggy bag of melting ice. “Could I get one of your infamous pretzels to go?”
“Sure, lad. Comin’ up!” Colm said and hopped off his bench to relay the order to the kitchen staff.
Royd’s thick brows met in a disappointed scowl. “To go?”
“I’m kinda over tonight.”
“But brah, you gonna miss da show!”
Robert huffed out a short laugh. “You make sure to enjoy it for me then. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”
“Aye, I no big storytella, so best I can do is phone footage, a’ight?” Royd said, gesturing with his drink in hand, ice cubes clinking together and straw swirling around. “And if ya hear me yell in da back, ya deal. Yanno yo boy get loud when he havin’ a good time.”
“Sounds perfect to me. It’ll be like I never even left.”
They knocked their fists together and Royd tossed back the rest of his iced tea. Colm returned then, tipping his chin at Robert. “Oi, got a favourite drink perchance?”
The question gave Robert pause and he shared a brief look with Royd who set his glass down and wiped the drink from his mouth. “Like most people. I’m leaving though?”
“No problem. Have this then, for next time.”
Colm fished out from the pocket of his vest what looked like a business card. Robert hesitated a second before accepting the card which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be some sort of carnival ticket. Blue and yellow, professionally laminated, with a simple print of a mermaid in a bathtub (interesting choice) and the bar’s label and logo written in bold letters. On the other side of the ticket, it read, ‘As a token of my affection, you shall receive: 1 free drink on me! Courtesy of yours truly, Puddles,’ with a doodle of a smiling fish.
“Thank you?” Robert turned the ticket this way and that, and even tipped it for Royd to inspect. “If you don’t mind me asking—”
“Attention, please!” boomed a voice through a microphone, cutting through the din of the bar. “All eyes on me!”
A dark-skinned woman in a colourful bob stood on stage. From her outlandish pink and blue attire, Robert instantly recognised her as the woman Malevola had been flirting him. The demoness wasn’t too far from the stage herself, joined by none other than Victor. The two of them had their heads turned on the host, as did most people in attendance.
She commanded attention in her latex leotard and sparkly stockings, heels clicking as she walked from one edge of the stage to the other. “Ladies, gentlemen and freaks in-between! Y’know who it is: it’s your girl Prism, your host for tonight, and I am so, so thrilled to see y’all showed up in such large numbers for yet another night here at The Poundcake,” she said, metallic blue lips pulled into a wide smile. “How were the queens and kings? Round of applause for our performers, please!”
Everyone clapped. Royd, too, very enthusiastically. Robert joined in briefly, for the sake of being a polite audience member, and turned back to Colm to whisper, “Who the hell is Puddles?”
One end of Colm’s mustache quirked up mischievously. “Quiet. The Madam’s speakin’.”
The curiosity was eating at him, but sure. It could wait. With a sigh, Robert turned his attention back to the stage.
“Thank you, thank you,” Prism said as the applause died down. “Hope you haven’t drunk yourself stupid yet because we’re just getting started, baby! Now the performances will continue but before that, a short interlude with a new queen who’s quickly become a fan-favourite… I see some of you already know who I’m talking about. Those who don’t… Eyes up, baby. You don’t wanna miss this pearl…”
Prism walked off to the side just as the red curtains behind her parted. A luxurious-looking white bathtub came into view just as the melodious tune of a flute flowed from the speakers. It thrusted forward onto the stage by some unseen force. Slumped over the rim was the end of a fishtail, azure and iridescent with golden and pink hues, like reflections from a sunset.
“She is morning dew, she is rain, she is the sea,” Prism recited, “She will sweep you off your feet and knock the air right outta your sails.”
The fishtail swayed in a lazy back and forth and slid out of sight inside the tub, then water stirred from inside, splashing over the rim and onto the floor of the stage. A few audience members giggled and shrieked as they were hit with a few droplets. An army of bubbles fizzled in from the sidelines, the sheer volume amplified by the thrill of flute-playing and the rumble of drums.
“Everybody, please welcome our refreshing queen who serves absolute raw fish…”
Right as it seemed the stage was about to be engulfed in the soapy foam, a figure shot up from the tub.
“Our own Little Mermaid, Miss Puddles!”
The venue erupted with cheers. The queen raised her arms high over her head, arching her back in an overexaggerated yawn, then did a full-body jolt at the sight of them, like she hadn’t expected an audience. She quickly recovered from her surprise and waved enthusiastically, flashing pearly whites that were visible from the other end of the establishment.
The flute tune transitioned into a remix of a light-hearted pop track Robert didn’t recognise with tropical yet jazzy undertones that matched Puddles’ late-20s aesthetic: the beaded headband showing through the side-swept curls of her wet bang, the gaudy starfish drop earrings, the smoky green eyeshadow and the dark red lipstick that accentuated her cupid bow, and the layers upon layers of pearls pooling around her neck and shoulders like a cowl.
Oh my god, the pearls.
Robert’s body moved on its own, weaving through the crowd and bringing him just that much closer to the stage so he could have a better view. Those sharp features and soft eyes…
It was him. The redhead. Robert hardly recognised him at first, what with the one-eighty he was pulling, but there was no doubt they were the same person. Those lanky arms halfway covered in fingerless gloves and those endless legs that glistened under the spotlight as they carefully climbed over the bathtub to set bare feet on the stage. It was clear she was no dancer, but she lended a whimsy to her moves that was no less charming, her energy contagious. She built the world around her through miming and signing some of the lyrics, giving a performance that was at once reserved, elegant, seductive and playful. From the tips of long, manicured fingers that cut the air in fanciful shapes to steely eyes that seemed to look through your soul, her presence was captivating.
At the end of her performance, Puddles had crawled back inside the tub, her arms folded on the rims and eyes peeking at the audience like she knew with utter certainty she had them all under her spell.
Prism returned on stage. “If anyone was wondering where she got her stage name…” she said, tip-toeing over splashes of water, causing laughter to spread around the room. “Hi, Puds baby! How are we doing tonight?” She bent down to peck Puddles on her cheek. “No stain! See that, everyone? Waterproof lipstick.”
She started walking along the edge confidently.
“Now, now if you’re new here, I know what you’re thinking… What are we doing, endangering us all by bringing on stage this captivating creature that could bewitch us all with her siren song? Rest easy, she will do no such thing. She’s not here to hypnotise or drown nobody.” Puddles gave a head shake and wagged a finger, lips all pouty. “That’s why she is silent—to spare us mere mortals. Like Ariel, she’s visiting the land to learn about us humans and find her one true love… But in the meantime, a girl’s gotta have fun, am I right?”
There was some whooping and Prism held out a hand for the queen to high-five.
“Puddles here is taking part in Drag-Pro Beatdown, a LGBTQ+ charity event where the public is encouraged to challenge a queen or king in their discipline of expertise. This week at The Poundcake, Puddles challenges anybody to beat her at a card game. ‘But Miss Prism, which card game?’ I hear you ask? Girl, just name it! Name a game and she’ll know it. Hell, if she don’t, she’ll learn and still beat your ass.”
The people ooh-ed.
“Yup, homegirl’s one tough player. Eleven consecutive wins and she just got started yesterday! No one’s come close to taking home the grand prize: a one-year token for one daily free drink on the house along with a Poundcake badge of honour to immortalise your victory. Maybe this’ll change tonight? My girl Puddles plays fair though, and she’s a generous soul: the second winner gets a free drink on her as a ‘token of her affection.’ Ain’t she lovely?
“Y’all better tip her ‘cause a hundred percent of her game gains will go directly to the Association for The Silenced and Unheard, a support group for hard of hearing and mute individuals. Anybody here know a little sign language? ASL, precisely? … Hell yeah! I see a couple hands more than last time. I’ve been learning too. She taught me some stuff. Here’s what I remember.”
Prism tucked her mic in her cleavage to free her hands and signed something. Whatever it meant, it pulled a loud cackle from someone in the audience and had Puddles slapping a hand over her mouth. “Did I do it wrong? My bad, y’all! There ain’t no kids tonight anyway, right? If you’re a minor and you somehow made it in, by God, keep those lips sealed! …And if any narc is here, that was a joke, thank you.
“Anyway, that’s the program for tonight. Everybody’s welcome to participate in the Beatdown. If you don’t know ASL, do not worry, we’ve got our interpreter Coupé. Don’t be shy, come say hello! Puds is sweet as pie and always happy to have a chat, and she’ll be here all night ‘til closing. Whether you want to register alone or as a team, all you gotta do is come up to the front, we’ve got our list here…”
“...even listening? Hellooo? Anyone home?” Robert’s surroundings came back to him with the sound of snapping right by his ear. He whipped around to see Sunglasses At Night Guy in his deep V-neck giving him the stank eye. “About time. Now pick your fucking jaw off the ground.”
Robert’s teeth clacked as he shut his mouth, the impact rattling through his skull.
“I’ve got your order. Triple-cheese pretzel?” he asked in his heavily-accented voice.
It had three different cheeses? “Uh, yeah.”
“Mmyeah, that’s what I thought. Here you go. Enjoy.”
A cardboard bowl of steamy hot food was unceremoniously shoved in his hands then the waiter was walking away and my god did he have a wagon on him. Nothing gay about it. Just an observation. “...Moving on,” Robert said out loud and spun on himself to get his bearings. He was just realising he had ditched Royd without so much as a word and was standing in the middle of the venue with a pretzel in one hand and a token in another.
He pocketed the token and slid up to the nearest wall, uselessly holding the bowl to his chest as he revisited the last fifteen minutes. The buzz in his head, the shift in the air, the fisheye focus on the performer on stage…
“Hey, babes. Good to see you.” Malevola sauntered over from his right, closely followed by Victor. “I thought you’d already- Woah, are you okay?”
Robert resurfaced from his existential trance. “Yeah.”
“Yeah? You look like you’re gonna pass out. You should probably eat up. Have some water, too. Want me to grab you a bottle?”
“Or if you’ve lost your appetite and wish to be freed from your delicious burden, it would be my honor to– Hoooly fucking shit!”
Malevola threw her head back in laughter, pulling Victor by the shoulder away from Robert’s teeth. “Jesus, mate! You should’ve seen the look on your face! Second time’s the charm, huh?”
“Nah, that was nothing like Courtney.” Victor tucked his fingers in his trousers. “He was really about to do it. I could feel it. Not cool, Robbie!”
“Let it be a teaching moment. Don’t mess with a stray dog’s food,” she told him.
Robert looked at Malevola sideways. “Did you just call me a dog?” he asked, taking a bite of pretzel and almost immediately moaning. “Oh, fuck. Thish ish amajeeng.”
“I bet,” Victor whined. “Can’t believe I already capped my budget for the day. Being fiscally responsible feels beta as fuck.”
Robert swallowed his mouthful and said, “Explains why you’ve been so needy.”
“He always does this. Gets on my nerves.” Malevola sighed. “Just go get yourself something or quit bitching, Vic.”
“Can’t. My wallet’s in a safe at home and my digital cards are locked behind a three-step combination.” The two looked at him like they didn’t see the issue. “I don’t know the codes. If I knew I’d just crack it and then what’s the point? I’ll wait until it automatically unlocks itself at seven a.m.”
Malevola slowly shook her head. “Why?” she could only ask.
“I am very vulnerable from seven p.m. to seven a.m. That’s prime cocaine time.”
“What about seven a.m. to p.m.?”
“That’s just a normal day. It’s what happens after a hard day that gets to you.”
Robert hummed. “That…actually sort of makes sense.”
“Thank you, Rob. I knew you’d get it.”
“But now you’re missing out on a dish from your favourite server.”
Victor’s ears went on a swivel. “Come again?”
“Your guy’s working the kitchen right now. He’s the one who served me my pretzel.”
As blank as those milky white eyes appeared, they served as a canvas for the emotional journey that information sent him through.
Then, with the sober conviction of a man who had his mind made, he said, “I’m gonna blow him for a pretzel.”
“...Dude.”
“And his number, duh! A pretzel and his number. What do you take me for, some amateur?”
“How about we don’t do that?”
“I’m an opportunist, Mal. You have to see it from my point of view.”
Robert slipped away as Malevola took on the job of convincing Victor out of blowing an admittedly attractive man for free food and a phone number. This battle was between mentor and mentee, and therefore not for him to intervene.
“Where the hell were you?” Courtney greeted him as he returned to their seats. “I thought you’d fucked off without telling us. Sucking a guy off in a washroom so he can buy you a drink?”
“Ha. Funny you’d say that,” Robert replied.
She blinked. “What?”
“You were right.” He held up his pretzel. “This is worth all the shits in the world.”
“It really is,” Mandy agreed, “I only had one bite though. Those nachos were very filling.” She waved her fork at the remains of tomato sauce and sour cream on her plate.
“Were they any good?”
“Pretty freaking good, yeah! Something about the cheese… You should try them sometime.”
“So we’re just gonna gloss over the implication that he sucked a guy off for a drink?” Courtney glared at Robert. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? You don’t have the balls to do that.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He dodge her swiping at him and he proceeded to stuff himself with leftover pretzel so she couldn’t get another go at sending his meal to the ground.
“Don’t piss me off right now.” Courtney reached for Mandy’s beer glass for a good sip. “I need to keep my cool so I can beat that fishy bitch at UNO.”
Those words activated Robert like he was some sleeper agent, spine going ramrod straight as he nearly choked on his mouthful. He swallowed it down with some difficulty and cleared his throat. “Puddles, you mean?”
Courtney was biting her thumb. “I can’t stand her. She beat me four times. And she’s such an annoying winner.” She slammed her fist on the table. “All she does is smile and go, ‘Good job! Great game!’”
“So she’s nice? That’s your beef with her?”
“She’s not nice, she’s happy to win. At least when her guard dog snarls at you until you fuck off, I know it comes from the heart.”
“Her guard dog?” Robert questioned, twisting in his seat.
Even this further from the stage, she was impossible to miss. The lights shone on her like beacons as crew members finished setting up the table for the card game session. She took a seat at the head and flicked the hair from her face, then turned ever so slightly to speak to the person on her left. They wore a tuxedo suit and a top hat, with heavy eyeshadow and a drawn-on mustache with curly ends. On paper, such a dapper character shouldn’t be threatening—were it not for the obvious dagger sticking out of their pocket and the way they held their cane like a sword.
“Coop’s her assistant. Interprets for her, shuffles the cards for her, wipes the cards for her… Probably even wipes her ass too. Out of drag, she’s usually cool, but in drag…” Courtney braced her chin on her hand, shaking her head. “Straight up hemorrhoids.”
“Every time you sit down to play, you spend the round trying to rile up their protégé,” Mandy brought up with an incredulous look.
“That little mermaid is a cheating little bitch and I can prove it! If you’d just back me up so I can sneak in from behind and…”
“We’re not doing that.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
Robert was tuned out of the conversation, too focused on watching Puddles give a bright smile to her first opponent of the night. They—including Coop as the interpreter—had a brief back-and-forth to establish the ground rules. He wasn’t very well-versed in card games but by the looks of it, they were prepping up for a round of Gin Rummy. He’d played this a few times with Chase when they were younger. It was a fast-paced game, with each player dealt ten cards and having to build up to a hundred points by drawing from the deck or discarding a card to the reject pile. Robert noticed Coop drew the cards themself for Puddles every time and the gratitude on her face did something to his insides. They played two rounds that lasted about fifteen minutes or so and Puddles wiggled her fingers goodbye.
When they were gone, she turned to Coop and they leaned in close as she held a hand to her mouth. Whispering to them.
He wished he could hear that voice.
Robert turned back to the table. “I’ll play UNO with you.”
“Oh. I can’t say I saw that coming,” Mandy said with a small laugh. “But hey, why not? I’m in.”
Courtney, on the other hand, began to smirk like he had agreed to robbing a bank and splitting their earnings in half. “All right, team. Let’s make some fucking sushi tonight.”
They were not, in fact, “making some fucking sushi.”
Robert had fifteen cards in his hands. He didn’t know you could have that many cards at once playing UNO. Mandy wasn’t faring any better with her nineteen cards. She was having a hard time keeping up with the rules and restrictions…and making sure Courtney would keep her cool. She was down to three cards—again—and she looked about ready to explode. Puddles had switched up the colours and smacked them with mandatory draws so many times, one was wondering if she was more than your average elemental supe. Maybe Courtney was right and she was using X-ray vision to cheat her way through the games. If not, the reality was that she was that good at strategy, which did not help Robert’s whole…situation.
She kept glancing at him then away, rapid-fire, like the eye contact burned. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He had a feeling her ‘guard dog’ was taking offense in her stead. Hopefully, his behaviour wasn’t misinterpreted as some tactic to throw her off. Not that it was working in his favour if the fifteen damn cards were an indicator.
Because Robert wasn’t here to play. He was investigating. Trying to figure out what it was about her that reeled him in. Was it the effortlessly elegant way that she tucked a wet curl of hair behind her ear? Her grey eyes that fluttered from one target to the other, gentle gaze turning calculative in a blink of an eye? Her restrained smile that grew into a full-blown grin as she placed down yet another ‘+4’ card down on the centre of the table?
“God fucking dammit.” Courtney picked her four cards from the pile and added it to her hand. Seven total for her.
Puddles had four—so close to victory but in no rush to get to the finish line. Unlike Courtney, who put down as many cards as she could in one go and had Coop intervene to stop her after the fifth, Puddles would put two at a time at most then surprise them with an offensive card. It almost seemed like she was taking her sweet time, letting the game stretch out longer than needed.
More often than not, she would place her card and bat her eyes at the next player. Right now it was Mandy. Robert wished it was him. He felt sick in the head.
Despite this being a very low-stake game, Coop was no less attentive. They had a plunging view of their protégé’s hand. Robert wished he was good at reading people or rather had the ability to do it, if only it could give him an edge. He wondered how Puddles would react to losing. (Would she be a sore loser? Or a frustratingly humble one? Which reaction would possibly dim her glow in his eyes?)
Coop’s brow furrowed ever so slightly and she bent down to whisper something in Puddles’ ear. Whatever it was made her everpresent blush spread to her ears. It was shockingly charming.
Then her eyes fell on him and he inhaled sharply, focusing back on his cards.
Real subtle, man. What the hell was wrong with him? He must be making her uncomfortable. God, he was no better than Victor. Just because he was kind of maybe sort of into this gorgeous person didn’t mean that… Well, it didn’t mean anything. Why had he suggested playing in the first place? What was he expecting to get out of this?
His spiral was broken by something nudging his leg under the table. Robert went rigid, gaze immediately cutting to Courtney. It would be like her to try and cheat by distracting him. However, there was something a little too authentic to her scowl. As for Mandy, she cared a bit too much about impressions to try something like this.
So that left none other than…
Robert’s throat went dry.
He gulped harshly and very slowly looked across the table.
Puddles was just as timid as she always was when their eyes met but she wasn’t looking away this time. She was holding his gaze. Her foot—bare, he remembered feverishly—knocked his leg again again. Right where his jeans rode up and the skin of his ankle was exposed. He could feel the water. It was cold. Refreshing. She mouthed words at him but he couldn’t decipher them. His eyes blindly tracked the movements of her lips, losing himself in the taint of dark cherry red—
“Will you quit the eye-fucking and get on with your turn?”
“Courtney!” Mandy admonished. “I’m sorry. She’s just joking.”
Robert shot a bewildered look at Courtney and at Puddles, who had turned a mighty shade of pink.
Holy fuck.
“Sorry. I was, uh, in my head.”
Holy fucking fuck. A bit more and he would’ve popped one. What the fuck.
He didn’t have the brainpower to think, so he drew a card. Mandy set down two, Courtney dropped to three cards yet again, and when came Puddles’ turn, she flashed a quick smile and put down all of her cards except one and paused for dramatic effect.
“UNO,” Coop declared.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Courtney gritted out.
Puddles placed down her final card and steepled her hands under her chin, grinning at them.
“Yep. You’re really good.” Mandy placed her cards down. “I’m never playing this game ever again.”
The chair screeched as Courtney stood up from her seat and Coop stepped forward, handing out a single yellow token. “One drink of your choice under twenty dollars. Courtesy of Puddles.”
“I know,” Courtney grumbled and reached for the token but Coop retracted her hand, staring her down with cold amber eyes until she groaned out, “Thank you, Puddles.”
Only then did Coop loosen their hold and Courtney snatched it, stomping away petulantly. Probably to get herself a dry martini, Robert guessed. Mandy thanked both performers for their time and left a five-dollar tip.
Robert was the last to stand, on account of fixing the crotch of his jeans to make sure he wasn’t indecent. “It was a fun game. Thanks for going easy on us.”
Puddles’ pale eyes widened at him, seemingly surprised that he bothered to talk to her. She gave a quick headshake, touched the fingertips of her left hand to her chin and tipped them at him, mouthing the words, ‘Thank you.’ She followed this up with a light tap to her temple, brows raising in question, and curled up her hand in a ball and rubbed circles over her chest.
“Sorry, I don’t know what that means. Something about my…head?”
“Sorry about your head,” Coop’s cutting voice interpreted.
“Ah. Thanks.” Robert nodded in acknowledgement and said to Puddles, “I told you not to sweat it. I feel good. I mean, I look good, don’t I?” he asked, cocking his head in a way he knew showed off his best angle.
Fishing for compliments, much?
‘I guess so, yes,’ Puddles replied, giving him a subtle up-down. ‘You look pretty good to me.’
Robert barely contained a self-satisfied grin. “By the way, you were amazing up there. I almost didn’t recognise you.” He paused, thinking, “Wait, that came out wrong… What I meant is your energy’s just so…” He wracked his brain for the right term: ethereal, magical, effervescent… “Different.”
Definitely not his best work, yet it still earned him a giggle. It was easily drowned under the cacophony around them, but Robert was close enough to catch it: soft and airy, like a breeze. ‘Do you like it?’ she signed with slender fingers, looking up at him from under stupidly long lashes.
The words were pulled out of him, rendering him breathless: “I love it.”
Easy, Robertson. You’re coming off strong. Remember, this is nothing but a casual conversation.
Puddles smiled at him, flushed and radiant. ‘Thank you. That makes me really happy.’
Coop’s neutral tone did not honour the twinkle in those grey eyes yet his heart fluttered nonetheless. He wished he could have heard those words directly from her. In her voice.
Shit. So much for a casual conversation.
Robert exhaled shakily and subtly cleared his throat. “I won’t be taking up more of your time…” He fished out his wallet, picked out the first bill he came in contact with, and placed it on the table. “Goodbye, Puddles. Sir.” He nodded stiffly at the both of them and stepped off the stage, leaving the floor for the next players.
It was the hardest thing in the world, forcing himself not to look back as he rejoined the girls at the bar, where Courtney was sipping her dry martini alongside Mandy and Royd.
“Dat cannot be true,” the latter was saying.
“I’m telling you, she did it on purpose,” Courtney insisted.
“Nuh-uh. You are lolo.”
“How could one possibly stretch out a game of UNO strategically? And to piss you off of all people?” A pause. “ Also no offense, but you’re very easy to piss off.”
“Whatever, Amanda.” That got her a frowny face, which Courtney absolutely delighted in. When she spotted Robert from the corner of her eye, she beckoned him over with a head tilt. “Took you long enough. Be a dear and get Mommy another martini, will you?”
“First of all, ew,” he replied, pulling up next to her, “and second of all, I’m all out of cash.”
“Useless broke bitch,” she scoffed, signalling the bartender for another martini.
“Robert’s not useless,” Mandy said after a sip of beer. “...He is broke though.”
He looked to Royd, hoping he would say something, but all he did was shrug. “Is true. You penniless.”
“Gee, thanks for defending my honour.”
Courtney snorted from behind the rim of her glass. “Glad we all agree.”
Well, yeah, Robert was broke as shit. Anyone who knew him could tell you that. But worse than that, he was down bad. Severely. Over a stranger he had just met. And a drag queen to boot. Not a real person—a character. A costume someone put on to make a buck. Jesus wept.
He was the pathetic patron who fell for the stripper’s sweet words. Emptied his wallet because she had made pretty eyes at him.
He was metaphorically blowing Puddles for a free pretzel.
“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He’d get a gin if he could afford it. He wondered if he was the first sad fuck to fall for the act. How long had it taken to perfect it? Hit the right balance between virgin and seductress? Her powers lended wonderfully to the water nymph theme, too. Maybe there was more truth to it. Maybe Robert was well and truly under a spell, succumbing to impulses outside of his control. It would explain a lot. Would explain why, even now, he found himself looking in her direction, hoping to catch her eye again.
Unfortunately for him, her attention was taken. A new card game had started and this time, the stakes were higher. Puddles yet again surprised him, revealing a new facet he hadn’t seen before: her poker face. Brows relaxed and lips flat, she appeared bored, as if this was all beneath her: the game, her opponent, the room of people, Robert. Her eyes were glued to her cards, assessing the value of her hand, determining her next move. Occasionally, she would meet her opponent’s eye and smile but soon after that impassive expression would fall back. A contrast to the coyness from earlier, where it was clear they were having a friendly game. No, she was not playing around right now. She was playing to win.
Robert wished he knew the first thing about playing poker, so that he could sit at the table and let her crush him mercilessly.
“You’re new.”
He yelped, facing the newcomer with raised fists. Seeing it was Coop, he lowered them, but not his hackles. “...Sorry?”
“I know most people here, but not you. You’re a new face.”
“Yeah? You’re a new face to me too. Guess that makes us even.”
Their sharp eyes flitted over his face, down his body and up. Seizing him up. Robert fought the instinctive urge to square his shoulders.
“You were distracted during our game.”
Robert’s jaw clenched, feeling self-conscious. “So I was. That a crime?”
“It distracted her.”
That gave him pause. He pondered the implications. He had distracted Puddles? By being distracted himself? “...Sorry,” he repeated, meaning it in a totally different way this time.
Coop shook their head. “It’s not a bad thing.”
If that was true, why did they say it like it was? Or was Robert just particularly shit at reading their tone?
“Look who’s taking a break from making people piss their pants.” Courtney saddled up to them, arms crossed over her chest.
“Look who’s nursing their wounds at the bar,” Coop replied without missing a beat. “Did Milady’s expertise hurt you badly?”
“Milady- You’re still- Oh, I could kill you, you pompous fucking—”
“Nice seeing you tonight, Coop!” Mandy chimed from over Courtney’s shoulder a tad too cheerily. Looked like the four beers she had ingested in the last half hour were starting to have an effect on her. (Was that why she was playing so poorly? Robert kind of felt bad for assuming she was naturally untalented at card games.) “You’re looking real sharp. Drink with us?” Behind her, Royd did a shakah in greeting.
Coop clicked their tongue. “Drinking on the job? Why, Miss Mandy… That would be unprofessional. Chéri? One Vieux Carré, please.”
Colm looked over from where he was pouring a row of tequila shots, face splitting into a lovestruck grin. “On it, darlin’.”
With one last appraisal of Robert, Coop glided over to the other side of the bar, where Colm greeted them with a kiss to their hand. Coop looked so much more approachable from this angle, eyes warm as they spoke with Colm. How did someone this amiable become friends with such an intimidating person?
“They’ve got this on-off thing. Little man’s totally simping for her,” Courtney provided. Could she read minds? “For two people who keep on denying couple allegations, they sure act like one. Gross.”
Mandy sighed dreamily, slumping close to her. “I think it’s sweet. They look good together.”
Courtney snorted. “Yeah. I mean, if PDA doesn’t give you nausea then I guess you could say that… They’re not exactly… Gross…”
Her argument gradually lost in conviction as Mandy leaned into her way unconsciously, their bodies touching from shoulder to elbow. Robert and Roy shared a knowing look.
The interlude was lifted and performances started up again, the game relocated to a corner at the foot of the stage. The juxtaposition of the energetic lipsync to Michael Jackson’s Beat It and the stone cold sit n’ go game of poker was interesting. Mandy moved to the open floor with Royd when ‘her song’ started playing, and Courtney simply had to follow. Robert was never much of a dancer so he stayed behind. Not that he minded being alone again. He was plenty entertained.
Two more people had inserted themselves to the round. Puddles seemed to be giving all three a run for their money, if the looks on their faces were any indication. One of them dropped his cards, shaking his head, and walked from the table despondently. The remaining two looked determined to see it through.
It was only thanks to Robert’s obsessiveness that he noticed the shift. Coop, who had returned to their protégé’s side minutes ago and was surveying the game like an eagle, approached the man on the left and said something. The man turned red, visibly offended, and reacted with an exclamation that caught the attention of the few people closest to the game. There was a terse exchange between Coop and the man and though he couldn’t make out any of it, something about the uneasy look on Puddles’ face pushed Robert to intervene.
Robert made his way through the crowd and to their corner. Coop had began to reach for their pocket. “I will not repeat myself again. Take your money and leave.”
“I wasn’t fucking cheating! You can’t ban me, you have no proof!”
Ah, so that was the problem. Just a sore loser unable to admit he was a sore loser. Robert was familiar with that sort.
Robert came up from the side, not wanting to surprise the man and get hit. He looked quite agitated. “Hey, man.” He clasped a hand on a sturdy shoulder. “You might wanna pipe down. I don’t think this is nece—”
A collective gasp passed through the room. Robert hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. He pulled himself up on his forearms with a groan. “All right, that was definitely unnecessary.” Man, that fucker had a mean right hook. Robert swore he was seeing double. He blinked several times to clear his vision, enough to see Coop pull a dagger on the sore loser who was—yep, he was two guys now. Then three guys, four…
A duplicator. Fuck.
By the time he had fully risen to his feet, there were a total of five copies. Three surrounded Coop and the other two, well…
“Boys, boys. Wait.” Robert held up his hands. “Hear me out: do we…have to?”
The doubles looked at each other then at him. Seemed they were not too keen on hearing him out.
“Fine, if you insist. But if anyone asks…” He craned his neck, feeling a satisfying crack, and adopted a fighting stance. “I’m doing this in self-defense.”
Somewhere behind him, Robert heard somebody (Mandy? Royd?) call out to him, but he paid it no mind as he dodged out of the way of a punch aiming for his head.
It all quickly escalated from there: punches were thrown, glasses were shattered—some of them right on skulls. Most of the other patrons had ducked under tables or escaped through the entrance and exit door for safety. Robert was hoping none of his own were taking part in this. He thought he saw glimpses of Royd body-slamming a copy to the ground, Courtney vaulting over a table to drop-kick another, and Victor stomping a third with Sunglasses Guy.
Shit, they weren’t supposed to get in trouble. Bar brawls should be above them. What kind of example was he setting by jumping headfirst into the chaos? But the duplicator was off the rails. These assholes were a pain in the ass to beat. Like cold sores, they just kept coming back. You would knock one out cold and it would blink out of existence for less than half a minute only for another to take its place, gnarling like a rabid animal. Not even his friend, the second player, could talk some sense into him. He was attacking anyone in sight, duplicating at the same rate he was taken down, terrorising the venue with the sheer power of five really angry assholes.
Robert slammed the head of a double on the edge of a table and it vanished from his grip. That only gave him about fifteen seconds to assess the situation, before the next copy was made. Coop was holding her own, slicing through copies with the knife-sharp end of her cane. Then across the room, backed into the corner between the stage stairs and the wall, he saw Puddles shakily brandish a dagger at the double advancing on her.
She spat a stream of water, sending it stumbling back, then Robert had it in a headlock before it could find its footing. Its neck was thick but he didn’t let up, persisting even as the double thrashed around. “What the- Get off, you jerk! Argh!” It thrusted its body forward and Robert fell off of his perch and flat on his face with a grunt.
Before he could get up, the double pounced on him. As they tussled for dominance on the ground, Robert began to feel dizzy, the split-second of weakness aiding in sending him on his back. His opponent wasted no time pinning him with a knee to the chest and going for the neck. Robert spluttered, clawing at its hand. He brought a knee up to get it in the rib or throw it off, but the asshole squeezed harder. Robert’s vision began to blur at the edges as a second pair of hands joined the hold.
‘You’re wasting two of your clones on me? Isn’t this a bit excessive?’ he tried to say but all that came out as an indecipherable rasp.
So that was it then? His last moment on this planet spent pining for a beautiful stranger only to go out at the hands of two (arguably, one) piece(s) of shit with anger issues?
It seemed his thoughts were miserable enough that the universe took pity on him, as his assailants were propelled away from him, one landing on its side with a moan of pain and the other dematerialising on impact. Robert was gobsmacked. A divine intervention?
Someone fell to their knees before him and as he looked up to see his saviour, he had a wild sense of déjà vu.
Strong cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Dewy skin that sparkled under the dim lighting. Soaked auburn hair flattened along the scalp and bangs swept to the side. Big, expressive grey eyes that looked at him with soft concern.
‘You okay?’ Puddles mouthed, signing as well.
“I’m great,” he replied with a stupid smile.
She helped him shove the dead weight off of him and pulled him up. At their feet were scattered bits and pieces of a wooden chair. Splitters stuck to the back of the groaning supe, who was very slowly recovering from the strike.
“You did this?”
Puddles’ arms fell away as she nodded, wringing her hands.
As if possible, his smile went that much stupider. “Wow, my hero,” he crooned.
She squawked at this. Loud and parrot-like, an ugly laugh that caught them both by surprise. Her face turned a bright shade of pink and she avoided his eye, bouncing shyly on the balls of her feet like she didn’t know what to do with herself, and Robert thought, Do it again. Please. I want to hear you.
His thoughts must have been loud; she looked back at him with intent in her steely eyes. Robert held his breath, forgetting the sound of fighting around them. Everything else fell into the background, nothing existing outside this moment between them. Her chest trembled with a fortifying breath and her lips pursed. She was gearing up to say something, he could feel it. Could practically see the words sitting right on the edge of her mouth, predict the exact millisecond of their fall.
Go ahead. Talk to me. Do it. Do it, do it, do it!
“FLASH WARNING!”
Puddles snapped her eyes up then back, and she reached out to cover his eyes with a large hand.
“Whu?” Robert went to pull it away but she held on fast, and from the small gap he had managed to pry open with his wiggling, he had a glimpse of a blinding light. It was quick, there and gone, but it had colours dancing behind his lids long after.
Around them, people winced and wailed.
“Ow, ow! My eyes!”
“I can’t see… I can’t see!”
“I think I’ve gone blind!”
“Everybody quit moaning, damn!” Prism snapped. “Acting like I didn’t warn you! It’s only temporary anyway. Now get the hell outta here!”
Colm was holding up the (temporarily) blind troublemaker for Coop to capture with her phone and add to their blacklist, Mandy speaking to the authorities that were called, Royd volunteering to clean up the mess with Bruno, and Malevola assisting in healing the few injured (cuts and bruises for the most part, nothing she couldn’t handle). Robert was relegated to fresh-air-time on account of being mildly concussed. For real, this time.
He sat on the sidewalk some feet away from the bar entrance, uncaring for the dried residue sticking to his ass. Wherever it came from, he was certain he’d sat on much worse. The streetlights looked extra bright tonight and he didn't know if it was just the astigmatism or his vision getting poorer from one too many hits to the dome. He sniffled, his nose feeling runny. It wasn’t that cold out though.
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. It came away bloody.
“Of course.”
He wiped the blood on his jeans. He would wash them…when he remembered.
The sound of footsteps scraping on pavement alerted him to someone’s approach. Puddles stood over him with a lopsided smile with a proper ice pack.
“Ooo, an upgrade. Fancy.” Robert took it and held it to his bruised cheek. He wasn’t feeling anything right now but tomorrow… Yeah, it was going to hurt like a bitch. “Do I have to return this one too or is it on the house?”
Puddles swept her hands towards him, as if saying, ‘Have at it.’
“My lucky day. I always dreamed of owning one of those.”
She huffed, scrunched up the end of her dress and crouched down next to him. Robert glanced sideways at her, trying to stare without actually staring.
Her headband was pulled back to push her bangs out of the way, leaving her face open. The glitter had been washed from her skin and the lip stain was finally starting to show wear from its battle against constant moisture, some of its boldness lost. The eyeshadow was lasting, but the eyes didn’t have that same glow. Not in a bad way, more like how it felt to turn off your computer after a long day. No more work, no more acting. The nymphette aura had been replaced by something more ordinary. Something no less charming.
It wasn’t Puddles sitting next to him. It was the timid redhead from earlier.
“Bet you weren’t expecting all that when you clocked in today… Unless bar fights are part of the show. Like a flash mob but…violent. With collateral damage.” He scraped a nail over the dried blood of his thumb. “Makes you crave some Five Guys, am I right?”
In his defense, Robert had suffered a lot tonight, so he could be excused for being a bit of a shit conversationalist. Yet that got him another huff that was more of a chuckle this time, something soft that, despite the quiet of the night, couldn’t go unnoticed. An odd sense of victory swelling in his chest, and Robert thought, Fuuuck. Shouldn’t the spell be broken by now? The dude wasn’t even in full glam anymore. Even the crocs were back on.
God, but he made a gorgeous woman. Not even the piss-coloured sickly glow of streetlights could dampen that beauty. No wonder he couldn’t bear to look away. Never mind that he had first caught Robert’s eye in plain clothes.
A sopping wet piece of paper entered his peripheral. The guy was handing him a twenty-dollar bill. Robert blinked bleary eyes at him, brain working overtime to comprehend what that meant.
Once it belatedly caught up, Robert shook his head. “No, man. I gave it to you, it’s yours. Keep it.”
Pouting, he tucked the bill back in the fold of his top’s cleavage. Good thing he’d refused it. Robert didn’t trust himself to be normal about that. Even now, he was overcome with this urge to know more about this beautiful stranger. It was so weird. He didn’t understand it. Was it curiosity?
“Name’s Robert, by the way,” he said. Because if anyone was going to break that ice, it would be him. “I figured, after all we’ve been through, you and I… Exchanging names feels like the next step.”
A beat of silence passed, in which the guy’s face went about as red as his hair and Robert worried that he was putting him in trouble by ‘fraternising’ with a patron.
“It’s fine if you’d rather not share your name. I can keep calling you Puddles. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Obviously, the last thing Robert wanted was to make him uncomfortable. He hoped he wasn’t. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sitting outside with him on a dirty sidewalk, right? That had to mean something, no?
The redhead hesitated for another beat before bringing a finger to the space between them and tracing shapes on the pavement. He went slowly, leaving plenty of time for Robert to piece the word together.
“H-E-R-M… Herm.”
Yep. Not Sam or Alex…but a name that was very undoubtedly masculine.
“Nice to meet you, Herm.”
He held up a fist and immediately felt ridiculous. What was he doing? A moment ago, he would’ve tripped over himself for the chance to hold Puddles’ hand and give it a kiss, and now he was going for a fist-bump?
Herm only slightly hesitated to bump their fists together. His knuckles were wet and bony, and a little cold.
“Aren’t you going to be sick? Out in the cool night air when you’re all…”
Herm smiled in reassurance, tucking his legs closer to his chest. He looked cold to Robert, or maybe he liked to make himself small. Nothing like the drag queen he had seen taking up space on stage. Robert took off his jacket and draped it across his shoulders, shushing and waving away his frantic hand gestures. Herm ultimately allowed the kindness, blushing furiously.
They sat together in contemplative quiet for a bit, only the distant sound of engine revving and chatter from around and inside the bar. Robert looked over as the two officers loaded in the two troublemakers who had started the fight.
“Good riddance,” he mumbled, to which Herm hummed softly. Robert was stunned by the fact it was one of two sounds he’d heard from him all night. Stunned by how much it bothered him.
“Do you not…talk? I know you can, I saw you talk to your colleagues. Is it a contract thing or, uh, stranger-danger thing?”
Or maybe he should mind his fucking business? What was he doing, asking such invasive questions?
“Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. You shouldn’t let me bother you like that. You’re allowed to tell me to fuck off, you know? Hell, you can punch me about it. I’ll take it.”
Another hum, this one in a disapproving pitch. Although the question had evidently unsettled him, he didn’t seem on board with Robert’s proposition. A lesser man would’ve gone for that punch, but not him. Herm rested his chin atop his folded arms, staring ahead. His jaw clenched and his lips pursed again. In that same manner as before, when Robert had started praying for a voice to come out of that pretty mouth. He felt the same now too. His heart was beating just a bit faster, the anticipation shortening his breath.
Could you die from suspense?
Brown eyes zeroed in on the movement of Herm’s Adam apple, how it bobbed as he swallowed audibly. On the parting of his lips, how they quivered. The curl of his tongue as words finally fell from his mouth, “I…do talk.”
Robert’s breath hitched.
Of all the voices he had imagined—sweet and airy, deep and sultry,—none of them had come close to this. It was boyish and light in timber, with the potential for a deeper resonance. It was a voice he could bear to hear more of.
“Then why don’t you?”
He realised the question came off sounding accusatory and he reformulated:
“I mean… When you’re Puddles, I get it; you’re in character… But right now, it’s just you.”
Was it shyness? Part of him was flattered at the idea, the other plainly frustrated. Because why not? All night, Robert had been driven mad by Herm’s silence, having to watch from afar as others got to hear his voice.
Herm sunk his fingers in his calves, grinding his teeth. “It’s just… When I’m talk- use my voice, people act… They feel different. About me.”
Robert’s eyes softened in understanding.
“Because of your stutter.”
Herm shrunk in on himself, nodding.
“Isn’t that just a confidence issue? You can work on it.”
That was the wrong thing to say, as evidenced by the flash of cold fury that ignited in Herm’s storm grey eyes. “It’s a sssp-speech impediment. Not a-a thing that can be solv- fffixed. I had to- They made me go to th-therapy for this a-and still…” He forced himself to calm down by releasing a sigh and buried his face in his knees, mumbling, “You wouldn’t unders- get it.”
Robert was a bit taken aback by the depth of emotions he was witnessing. A far cry from the Puddles who looked like she shat rainbows and barfed sunshine. He was ashamed, too, to have not considered the multifaceted person with their own struggles and experiences.
He dropped his hand holding the ice pack and turned his body to properly face Herm. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m talking out of my ass. Believe it or not, I motivate people for a living. Clearly, I’m the one who needs to work on my speech.”
Herm shifted, peering up from the safety of his folded arms. “You’re a talk- m-motivational ssspeaker?”
“Ugh, no. I know we’re in LA but even I have my limits.”
“Wh-why not? I can see you- p-picture it. Doing a TED talk in fffront of an audience or- or doing ruh-radio.”
Robert chuckled. “Really? You do?”
“Yeah. You sound- your voice is nice.”
“Oh?” He leaned close and purposely lowered his voice to a deeper, rumbling tone. “You like how I sound?”
The trick worked like a charm, Herm avoiding his eyes as he blushed harder. “Y-yeah,” he said, or more like squeaked. His voice did that a lot, going up and down at random. Like a kid going through puberty. It had no business being this adorable.
“Could you say more for me? Just…say something more.”
The redhead made a confused grimace, a cute addition to his pink flush. “You want- ‘More’? Or do you want a comp- a full se-sentence? Is that- What should I- Anything? You want me to say anything?”
Robert could feel a smile grow on his face. “Is it bad that I like your stutter? Can I say that?”
Herm gasped. “Don’t–! You’re just making fun- being mean!”
“No, seriously. I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I saw you,” he said, grinning. “You just made my night.”
“Wh–? I… You’ve… Really?”
“Yeah! All night, I was just…” Robert froze up. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he’d actually admitted to this. Was it too late to chalk it up as a joke? “I mean… Yeah, really. Is that weird? To you? …You should tell me if I’m making this weird.”
Herm gave a headshake but it looked very unsure. It was as if he had lost his voice again, his ability to communicate reduced to rapid blinking and restless fidgeting. Robert didn’t think he could trust him to be upfront about it. He was a sweet kid. But Robert was self-aware: he’d been acting weird all night even by his own pretty tolerant standards. Just now, hadn’t he been…flirty?
Replaying the previous moments back to himself, it was undeniable. He was coming across weirdly flirty. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to! (Had he not?) Plus that stutter comment had to be offensive, right? Fuuuck.
He dug into his eye sockets with the heels of his palms. “Shit. Sorry.”
This was stupid. He was being stupid. A laugh came out of him unbidden, more bark than anything else, and winced at the startling pain that bloomed in his bottom lip. It stung like hell, no doubt split open from one of the dozen suckerpunches he’d received tonight alone and exacerbated by all the smiling he’d been doing.
“I could- If you- Can I?” Herm asked out of nowhere.
Robert blinked at him, following the trajectory of his gaze to his mouth. He was reassured to see the redhead had found his voice again and that the progress he’d made wasn’t lost, but he wasn’t sure where this was going. Despite all the siren alarms blaring in his mind, he replied, moving his lips to a minimum, “Sure. Go ahead.”
He couldn’t believe what happened next even though he experienced it. One moment, Herm was sucking his thumb into his mouth, making it nice and wet, then in the next he was smearing that thumb over Robert’s bottom lip.
He croaked as he felt Herm stroke in small circular motions, being very thorough to cover as much area as possible and really get right in it. When he pulled his thumb away, he wore a shy smile…but all that rapidly morphed into horror.
“Um,” Robert said.
“Oh my god.” Herm went pallid then, at a concerningly fast speed, stop sign red. He covered his mouth, suffocating a mortified scream, and uncovered his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, hands hanging uselessly by his sides.
“...It’s okay.”
“No! I should’ve asked!”
“No, really. I don’t mind.”
“My power, it’s- My spit can- it heals!”
“Oh? No, yeah, that does make this… That’s good context to have.”
“I’m sorry, Robert. I’m so sorry.”
“Healing spit, huh.” Robert brushed a blunt nail over his bottom lip, where the hurt once was. “Very cool.”
Herm clearly didn’t know what to make of his response or the situation itself. Frankly Robert didn’t know either, so they were on the same fucking awkward boat here. “O-okay! I’m gonna, uh…” He scrambled to his feet, practically kicking up gravel and dirt in his hurry. “My shift’s not- It just star- began, so I’ll go. Thanks for the everything, Robert! And sorry again about… Sorry! See you next—um, b-bye!”
And then he was gone. Robert didn’t have the time to explain himself. Say that, really, he had nothing to worry about. That even without context, Robert had been completely fine with Herm lathering his open wound with saliva like a mother cat to her kitten. Because he was a weird sicko who was, apparently, significantly less straight than he’d originally assumed. Cue explosion sound.
Robert could only stand there helplessly as Herm scurried off, the skirt of his dress swishing over the toes of those silly crocs as he passed the threshold. In the wake of this monumental moment of self-discovery, he had to will his body to move—walk himself along the sidewalk to hopefully find either Mandy or Courtney to let them know he would get going. Make up a story about his whereabouts until now and his excuse for more or less escalating an altercation. He didn’t have a plausible story yet but he trusted his improv skills to do the heavy lifting.
Who he found instead was Victor, propped up against a Firebird in his tattered suit, chowing down hungrily on something crumbly and crispy. He stopped midway through taking another bite when he noticed him and chirped gleefully. “If it’s not my guy, Robbie! Guess who got lucky?” He displayed his triple-cheesed greasy pretzel like a trophy.
Robert almost couldn’t believe it. The bastard had done it. “Happy for you, man.” Surprisingly, he found that he meant it.
“Thanks! Screw whatever Mal said, it was totally worth putting aside my dignity! Real sorry you didn’t score any hottie yourself tonight. But hey, don’t let it get you down.” Victor pointed meaningfully at him. “Next time will be the one.”
An image came to mind: a blue token with the logo of a mermaid in a tub, the words ‘Courtesy of yours truly, Puddles’ inscribed on it. “For next time,” the bartender had said.
Robert licked his lips and tasted morning dew, rain, and a hint of seawater.
“How about Friday?”