Demythologize
"What are you doing here?" Buddy inquired, raising a brow.
"I might ask you the same thing," Anthaniel responded.
Buddy glanced around the bar, jamming his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I asked you first."
Anthaniel let out a snort and took a sip of his drink, shaking his head stiffly. "I thought we discussed this while we were still in the hospital. I said, first thing I'm gonna do is get to a bar." Buddy nodded, and Anthaniel continued. "I thought you said you were going to get laid."
"I own this bar. Sonny hangs out in the back. Which is where I just was," Buddy wiggled his eyebrows, "Get me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I didn't think you'd be able to move that well so soon, though." Anthaniel sighed and passed a surreptitious glance around the room, searching for a sign or symbol that could have indicated this was Buddy's bar. At first he was afraid to find something, as if his environmental alertness had decreased, but thankfully there was nothing.
"I'm pretty sure I still can't. It was a blowjob."
"Oh." Anthaniel peered back down at his beverage and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to empathize with Buddy's libido.
"Where's Marty at?"
"Back at his hotel room, gearing up for our flight tomorrow. Calling people, packing things. Suchlike."
Buddy bobbed his head as though there was something profound, something deeper to understand in what was said. "That's a shame. Hey, let me get you a drink."
Anthaniel raised his glass to demonstrate, "I've already got one."
Looking around before making a move, Buddy adjusted the lapels on his coat and then gave Anthaniel a swift kick to the shin, making him yelp and drop his drink onto the floor, thereby destroying the glass cup.
Anthaniel looked up at him, alarmed and quiet. After the momentary silence passed, a sense of playfulness came between the two men. "Cuba Libre."
"You mean Rum and Coke?" Buddy paused, imitating Anthaniel's growing smirk. "You sissy, ordering a highball." He got up on the stool beside the German, waving over the bartender and saying something to him in Italian. "I got you a scotch instead."
"Yeah," Anthaniel looked up, knitting his brows in an almost confused way. "Everybody does."
"They say people live vicariously through their drink."
"Who the hell are 'they'?"
"Fuck if I know." Buddy shrugged. "That's what I've heard. Since you got a rum and coke, apparently it means that you don't know how to try anything else. You've got no sense of adventure or some shit like that."
Anthaniel thought about it, and quietly agreed in his mind.
"But I've saved you. Scotch means you're the type who drinks several times a week." Buddy winked, eliciting a snort from Anthaniel.
"And what did you get, if anything?"
"A Bloody Mary."
Anthaniel paused, recalling the highball comment. "Fuck you," he snickered, punching Buddy's arm lightly. "I'm not allowed to order pussy drinks but you are?"
"What, do you want to be a pussy?"
"I don't know, man, I thought we were level." Anthaniel shook his head, letting the snicker finally die. "So what's that say about you?"
"A Bloody Mary means that as an alcoholic, it's my creative way of incorporating more vegetables into my diet."
"Oh, shit. That's funny."
"I know." Buddy finally started to crack up, putting his hand over his face. He looked up at the sound of two glasses sliding across the bar and then nodded gratefully at the bartender.
Anthaniel picked up his drink and was about to take a sip when Buddy placed his hand over the top, looking at him sternly, like a father correcting his son.
"Wanna have a toast?"
"To what?"
"I don't know. To getting over past sentiments. To long life. Whatever the hell you want, I'm letting you pick."
Anthaniel gave it a couple seconds of thought and then answered, "To the relentless pursuit of gratification."
Buddy arched his brow, grinning. "Not bad." He held up his glass, "To the relentless pursuit of gratification, Big Guy."
"To you too, Show-Stopper."
They clinked glasses and then downed half of their drinks, Buddy placing his glass back heavily on the counter. He shook his head but grinned again, snickering quietly. "Show-Stopper..I like that."
"Figured you would. Kind of wordy but it's like, three fucking syllables. And a lot more flattering than Cyclops." Anthaniel tapped his nail against the side of his cup, staring back down at the remainder of his glass. "Also kind of corny, I guess, which says oh so much about myself. But these days you can't really get away from that, huh?"
"Corny my ass. I like it. I'd much rather hear 'there goes Show-Stopper' instead of 'look out for Cyclops'." Buddy glanced back at Anthaniel, who nodded in agreement and understanding. "So where did you get that 'relentless pursuit of gratification' thing from? Or who? I know for a damn fact you didn't think of that by yourself, you Rum and Coke coward."
"Ow," Anthaniel put his hand to his heart as a knee-jerk reaction. "I got it from a friend of a friend."
"I'd be damned surprised to meet someone who isn't a friend of a friend anymore," Buddy sighed. "The world gets smaller and smaller the more people you know."
"Hey, Buddy," Anthaniel chewed on his lower lip before continuing, "Can I tell you something? It's nothing bad, promise. It's just something I really want to say."
"Well, out with it." Buddy made a gesture, as though it would force the words out quicker. "Don't leave me in suspense, what is it?"
"You know how there are people in our line of work that brag about being strong and brutal, and then there are people who brag about being flashy and good-looking," Anthaniel pointed to himself as an example, "And there are people who brag about being charismatic and manipulative? You know the deal. But no one ever brags about being sharp and, Buddy, you're the sharpest guy I know. Even when I hated you, even now that we get along, I've always thought that no one could ever be sharper than you."
Buddy was struck silent, incapable of doing anything except sit there and smile dumbly. He received a lot of compliments but he hardly ever met with anyone who gave him authentic praise; he wasn't sure how to respond. He surely wouldn't reject it, though.
"you're outta what's left of your fucking mind."
"I might ask you the same thing," Anthaniel responded.
Buddy glanced around the bar, jamming his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I asked you first."
Anthaniel let out a snort and took a sip of his drink, shaking his head stiffly. "I thought we discussed this while we were still in the hospital. I said, first thing I'm gonna do is get to a bar." Buddy nodded, and Anthaniel continued. "I thought you said you were going to get laid."
"I own this bar. Sonny hangs out in the back. Which is where I just was," Buddy wiggled his eyebrows, "Get me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I didn't think you'd be able to move that well so soon, though." Anthaniel sighed and passed a surreptitious glance around the room, searching for a sign or symbol that could have indicated this was Buddy's bar. At first he was afraid to find something, as if his environmental alertness had decreased, but thankfully there was nothing.
"I'm pretty sure I still can't. It was a blowjob."
"Oh." Anthaniel peered back down at his beverage and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to empathize with Buddy's libido.
"Where's Marty at?"
"Back at his hotel room, gearing up for our flight tomorrow. Calling people, packing things. Suchlike."
Buddy bobbed his head as though there was something profound, something deeper to understand in what was said. "That's a shame. Hey, let me get you a drink."
Anthaniel raised his glass to demonstrate, "I've already got one."
Looking around before making a move, Buddy adjusted the lapels on his coat and then gave Anthaniel a swift kick to the shin, making him yelp and drop his drink onto the floor, thereby destroying the glass cup.
Anthaniel looked up at him, alarmed and quiet. After the momentary silence passed, a sense of playfulness came between the two men. "Cuba Libre."
"You mean Rum and Coke?" Buddy paused, imitating Anthaniel's growing smirk. "You sissy, ordering a highball." He got up on the stool beside the German, waving over the bartender and saying something to him in Italian. "I got you a scotch instead."
"Yeah," Anthaniel looked up, knitting his brows in an almost confused way. "Everybody does."
"They say people live vicariously through their drink."
"Who the hell are 'they'?"
"Fuck if I know." Buddy shrugged. "That's what I've heard. Since you got a rum and coke, apparently it means that you don't know how to try anything else. You've got no sense of adventure or some shit like that."
Anthaniel thought about it, and quietly agreed in his mind.
"But I've saved you. Scotch means you're the type who drinks several times a week." Buddy winked, eliciting a snort from Anthaniel.
"And what did you get, if anything?"
"A Bloody Mary."
Anthaniel paused, recalling the highball comment. "Fuck you," he snickered, punching Buddy's arm lightly. "I'm not allowed to order pussy drinks but you are?"
"What, do you want to be a pussy?"
"I don't know, man, I thought we were level." Anthaniel shook his head, letting the snicker finally die. "So what's that say about you?"
"A Bloody Mary means that as an alcoholic, it's my creative way of incorporating more vegetables into my diet."
"Oh, shit. That's funny."
"I know." Buddy finally started to crack up, putting his hand over his face. He looked up at the sound of two glasses sliding across the bar and then nodded gratefully at the bartender.
Anthaniel picked up his drink and was about to take a sip when Buddy placed his hand over the top, looking at him sternly, like a father correcting his son.
"Wanna have a toast?"
"To what?"
"I don't know. To getting over past sentiments. To long life. Whatever the hell you want, I'm letting you pick."
Anthaniel gave it a couple seconds of thought and then answered, "To the relentless pursuit of gratification."
Buddy arched his brow, grinning. "Not bad." He held up his glass, "To the relentless pursuit of gratification, Big Guy."
"To you too, Show-Stopper."
They clinked glasses and then downed half of their drinks, Buddy placing his glass back heavily on the counter. He shook his head but grinned again, snickering quietly. "Show-Stopper..I like that."
"Figured you would. Kind of wordy but it's like, three fucking syllables. And a lot more flattering than Cyclops." Anthaniel tapped his nail against the side of his cup, staring back down at the remainder of his glass. "Also kind of corny, I guess, which says oh so much about myself. But these days you can't really get away from that, huh?"
"Corny my ass. I like it. I'd much rather hear 'there goes Show-Stopper' instead of 'look out for Cyclops'." Buddy glanced back at Anthaniel, who nodded in agreement and understanding. "So where did you get that 'relentless pursuit of gratification' thing from? Or who? I know for a damn fact you didn't think of that by yourself, you Rum and Coke coward."
"Ow," Anthaniel put his hand to his heart as a knee-jerk reaction. "I got it from a friend of a friend."
"I'd be damned surprised to meet someone who isn't a friend of a friend anymore," Buddy sighed. "The world gets smaller and smaller the more people you know."
"Hey, Buddy," Anthaniel chewed on his lower lip before continuing, "Can I tell you something? It's nothing bad, promise. It's just something I really want to say."
"Well, out with it." Buddy made a gesture, as though it would force the words out quicker. "Don't leave me in suspense, what is it?"
"You know how there are people in our line of work that brag about being strong and brutal, and then there are people who brag about being flashy and good-looking," Anthaniel pointed to himself as an example, "And there are people who brag about being charismatic and manipulative? You know the deal. But no one ever brags about being sharp and, Buddy, you're the sharpest guy I know. Even when I hated you, even now that we get along, I've always thought that no one could ever be sharper than you."
Buddy was struck silent, incapable of doing anything except sit there and smile dumbly. He received a lot of compliments but he hardly ever met with anyone who gave him authentic praise; he wasn't sure how to respond. He surely wouldn't reject it, though.
"you're outta what's left of your fucking mind."