Closed RP You Don't Talk About Fight Club

[Phoenix]

Every Thursday night for the last month, Sam and Spork had met up at “Urban Oasis” for drinks. Sometimes, they sparred as well. For someone who had tried to kill her only four weeks ago, Spork was actually pretty chill. She found she didn’t mind them and their antics, and actually really enjoyed their company. It was nice, having a friend roughly her own age. It seemed more and more that Sam was either training and meeting teenagers, or spending most of her time with Todd now that they’d sorted everything out. She couldn’t say she minded either all that terribly, and especially given the recent turn in her relationship, she really didn’t mind it.

Still, it was nice having someone like Spork around. Someone rowdy, bold, and loud. They definitely made Sam loosen up a lot when they hung out. She still wondered if she’d ever meet this Mari that Spork mentioned occasionally. Seemed like they were really good friends. Then again, for as much as Sam gushed about Todd, she hadn’t thought to bring him along yet either.

Although maybe that was because she didn’t quite want him seeing her that stupidly wasted.

Especially when he found out how much alcohol it actually took to get her that drunk.

It had gotten fairly well known by the staff that Sam was a bit of a big-ticket spender when she came in. After all, she didn’t drink outside this, and she was pretty sure the way she processed alcohol meant she would never become an alcoholic. She was sober by the time she went to bed, most nights. The twenty-minute walk home gave her plenty of time to sober up if she drank enough water. She was also sure her stomach might be made of steel for the amount she could drink and not throw up.

Sam arrived at the bar a little earlier than usual and wasn’t surprised to find Spork hadn’t made it yet. Her hair was tied up in a pair of twin braids with little ribbons at the end. Unlike usual, she wore a cute pair of brown slacks and a turtleneck under her winter coat. Not like she needed either, but better to blend in. Normally she’d arrive in work clothes, but she had just come from a rare date with Todd and hadn’t bothered to change quite yet. Not like Spork would be able to tell the difference, she thought with a small smile. A bit mean, but then again Spork did try to commit a hit on her. So, all things even, really.

“A White Russian, please. I’ll be starting a tab.” She set her card down on the counter for the bartender– god was this the one who hit on her the first week, poor gal– who flashed her a bit of a flirty smile and nodded, getting to work on her drink. Now all that was left was to wait for Spork.​

 

[Katpride]

Thursday is a good day for bar hopping. Not too crowded, not too empty. The after-work crowd is raring for the weekend, but reigned in by the promise of one more day of work. Well, at least that’s true for the regular folks. Spork isn’t too picky about when they go partying, since they’re paid by the gig and paid well. Not that anyone would know that, from the places they haunt.

They step out of the nightclub still buzzing from the energy of the dancefloor, their heart thudding along with the heavy bassline of some nameless EDM song, and the night air is like a slap to the face. They laugh just to feel the rush of cold air sting their throat, and stumble into their ride before they can start to shiver from the sweat cooling on their skin.

The car is nice and warm, with a driver that’s learned not to push for small talk, and that’s really all they can ask for, isn’t it? They slump into their seat with a sigh, and the car rumbles off soon enough. It really was nice of Mari to arrange a ride for them. Nice enough that they haven’t been tempted to give the driver a runaround. Yet. The night is still young.

“Hey Siri, what time is it?” they ask, bringing their phone up to hang somewhere near their mouth. The British Siri voice they’ve chosen for this week reads the time for them, and they sigh again, disappointed this time. Dang, they’re a little late. Oh well. Sam shouldn’t be too mad, it isn’t the first time they’ve lost track of things.

The car ride seems to stretch on forever, and Spork amuses themself by pulling out their vape and beginning a game of window tug-of-war with the driver. When the car finally arrives, the driver practically runs to open their door, so of course Spork opens it before he can get there and unfolds from the seat at their own pace. They tip him $20 and tap their way up the sidewalk to the bar, pushing through the door with a cloud of fruity smoke still clinging to their skin.

At least their drinking buddy is a creature of habit. They make their way to their usual spot at the bar and lay a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leaning in to jokingly leer at her. “Hey there, ‘sweet thang’. Come here often?”

It’s an old joke, but if Spork can’t endlessly make fun of the men trying to hit on them then they have nothing in this world. They park their ass on the stool beside her, one foot on the rail at the base of the bar and the other dangling. Then they notice that their hand isn’t enshrouded in the usual cloud of hair they’ve come to expect from Sam, and their eyebrows shoot up. “Did you cut your hair?!”

They bat lightly at her shoulder before finding one of her pigtails. They give it a tug on principle, their eyebrows returning from orbit. “Oh, nevermind. What’s got you all gussied up today?”

 

[Phoenix]

There it was. Sam laughed at the playful imitation of the men who had hit on them since they started going to the bar together. Sometimes it was women too, but mostly it was men. She was glad Spork couldn’t see some of the men who had hit on them, because god, it was obvious they thought they were a gift from God himself onto this world. They were not. Not even close. If anyone was, it was Todd, at least to her. But that was obvious to Spork at this point, she was sure. However, their new friend had just given her the perfect excuse to gush about him some more.

Spork’s hand batted at her shoulder until they found one of her twin braids and then gave it a tug, which brought a smile to Sam’s face instantly. She laughed as her drink was served up, and she immediately gave it a stir to mix the Kahlua and Vodka together with the cream. “Hey’a, Spork. I had a date with Todd today. We went to the botanical garden, as a date. I got a little dressed up for it. Normally I’m coming here after work. Decided to see if I could still french braid my hair and shit, and it turns out I can!”

Her laugh then was carefree and full, a soft and lilting sound that was at odds with the raspy edge of her voice when she spoke. But it was genuine and happy, and there was just a touch of something dreamy to it. She really couldn’t help it when it came to Todd, especially given how things had changed after their joint breakdown on his birthday. He was happier, and brighter, as if life meant something to him now. No more fear of her, no more hiding from her- just them.

She cleared her throat with a little chuckle, her cheeks flushing a bit. “Sorry, I’m just incredibly happy. Our relationship has always been just a little tense but it got so much better in the last two weeks- I’m sure you’re sick of hearing about it after last time.”

The bartender returned, a smile still on her face as she looked at Sam. In another life, she might have been Sam’s type. Taller, with a hint of muscle, straight brown hair held back in a high ponytail, and dressed in a way that emphasized both her curves and her muscles. Her face was all sharp, with a longer aquiline nose. Lots of piercings. But now, she couldn’t even imagine being with someone who wasn’t Todd. Still, she could mess with people, and a bit of a mischievous smile came over her face.

With that, she leaned into Spork and pulled a trick they had done at least twice already. “Babe, drinks are on me. Pick whatever you’d like, my lovely rose!”

She had to bite her lip not to laugh as she put on the sappiest tone she could come up with. It was cheesy and stupid and to anyone with an observant eye, clearly fake. But to people hitting on them, or getting ready to? They looked enough like partners that they could pass and confuse people. Sam might know what Spork’s “gender” was, but no one else did. Were they lesbians? Were they straight? Personally, Sam didn’t care what people thought, as long as they let them be. And as expected, the bartender’s flirty grin started to subside as she cleared her throat.

“Right, can I get you two anything else?”​

 

[Katpride]

Spork snorts as they find a shiny-smooth ribbon tying off Sam’s braid, and they finally release it with one last swing. They’ve somewhat given up on any pretense of politeness by this point, so they don’t bother hiding their vague amusement when she starts talking about Todd. “Damn, you two are still together?”

They rest an elbow on the bar and prop their chin on their fist. At least the drama is fun to listen to, if nothing else. And Spork thinks they can be dramatic about relationships.

“Happy for you, man,” they comment, bumping a fist into her arm. She does sound happy, and they can’t begrudge her that even if they might miss the weekly gos’.

The bartender returns with impeccable timing, and Spork puts on their best sleazy grin as they sling their arm around Sam’s shoulders. Time to use their ultimate power: making any queer woman seen associating with them look like the world’s biggest lesbian. “You’re too kind, honey pumpkin sugar skull.”

Anyone who would believe Spork the sort of person to be called a ‘lovely rose’ deserves a little razzing. Yeah, the cropped athletic top and Hawaiian shirt really say ‘take me on a garden stroll’. They chuckle a little at their own joke, but place an order for “Whatever fruity cocktail you make the least often.”

At least by now they’ve learned not to go drink for drink with Sam. God, once was more than enough, both for their liver and their wallet. They don’t like the same sorts of drinks anyways, and there’s only so many pixie sticks they can add to a shot before it becomes undrinkable sludge.

 

[Phoenix]

The bartender nodded and moved off with a significantly less flirty grin. Sam couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped her lips. She leaned into Spork as she did, easy as could be. Being around them really was relaxing. There was something about them that made it easy for Sam to unwind in a way she rarely did. With Todd, it was easy to be herself, but that was different. They had something between them that made it raw, that made it all or nothing. With Spork, it was just easy. There was no judgement between the two of them, not after they had kicked the shit out of each other.

She turned her attention back to them as the bartender walked away. “But yeah, we’re still together. I’d like to be for, well, ever. He’s really everything I could have ever wanted. Which is wild because I didn’t even know what I wanted, you know?”

She pulled back a bite and ran a hand through her bangs, fluffing them away from the center of her face. “Anyway, how have you been this week? You get in any good fights or you get a good lay or two in? You always have some kind of story to tell when we get together.”

Sam slung back the drink she’d been working on and smiled softly at the feeling of warmth tracing through her throat and chest. Unlike some people, Sam really liked the burn of alcohol. It was one of the few things that for some reason felt warmer to her. She put the empty glass back on the counter and pushed it forward as the bartender came back with a catastrophe of a drink. There were gummy candies at the bottom- sharks, maybe?

“Here’s a fishbowl, for you… ma’am?” The bartender hazarded a guess and then looked at Sam’s empty glass. “And another White Russian for you?”

“Please. Keep them coming, when you can. I’ll be going through them tonight.” The bartender– who’s name badge looked like it read Kathy in the low light– nodded to her and started mixing her another drink, just slightly off to the left of them in the back of the bar.​

 

[Katpride]

Spork isn’t ashamed to admit that they kind of enjoy having Sam under their arm. Not in that way, though they’ve never had a problem being a homewrecker before. Any kind of wrecking is right up their alley, really.

But they’re getting away from their point. That being: it’s kind of nice to be close to someone without the expectation of violence or… something else. They get that with Mari, sometimes, but she’s all bones and her elbow always ends up in Spork’s kidney before too long. Sam was like that when they first met her, too skinny for the heavy blows she landed on them, but she’s not quite so skin-and-bones these days. It’s kind of nice.

They let her go without comment, rubbing their hand on their track pants absently. “Oh, you know, funny you should mention two,” they say, their grin turning decidedly cat-that-ate-the-canary. “There were these ‘totally platonic besties’ at the club the other night, right-”

Before they can continue, the bartender returns with their drink, and they slide their hand smoothly over the bar before bumping into it and picking it up, bringing it to their lips. “Sir,” they correct absently, then turn back into their tale, sipping their drink between their recount of merrily taking the ‘platonic’ out of ‘besties’.

“- and I’m like, I don’t even remember which of them is Holly and which is Molly, so I just shut the door. Like, not my problem that your monogrammed sock got stolen by the sock goblins. Who monograms a sock, seriously? Mari found it in the dryer later and I swear she threw it at the window. I heard a distinctive sock-glass slap. Worth it.”

They’ve downed most of their drink and are chewing on a gummy shark by this point. It nearly slips out of their mouth before they slap it back in, chewing vigorously.

 

[Phoenix]

By the time that Spork had finished their story, Sam had made it through two more White Russians and had started on her fourth for the night. The alcohol was just finally starting to hit her, and the tight tension in her shoulders had faded away. She gave a laugh at Spork’s mention of Mari finding the sock. Over the last few weeks, she had heard enough about Mari to be curious, if nothing else. At some point, she’d probably ask more directly about this woman that Spork kept mentioning. She assumed it was likely their partner… of some kind. Work or otherwise.

“How do you even end up in these situations? You’re just a magnet for fucking trouble, aren’t you?” She laughed as the slight flush of warmth started to settle across her bones. She cracked her neck at the release of all of the tension, the sound resonating loudly, but ultimately being drowned out by the din of music and talking. She gave her drink a stir as she looked the blonde over, a lazy smile on her face.

“Well, a magnet for fucking, and for trouble.” As she made the joke, she laughed and slipped out of her coat, deciding it had likely been long enough for her to appear normal doing so. She draped the article across her lap, leaning onto the bartop. There was a light in her eyes that seemed to sparkle to those around them, which really helped to continue convincing the bartender Kathy that they were, in fact, an item.

Happiness was a new feeling for Sam. She hadn’t been “happy” in so many years, she had forgotten what it was like. Even the first few weeks of knowing Todd, well- there had been a lot of feelings, but happiness had come later. She decidedly liked being happy. It was a feeling she could get used to if permitted. If everything kept going right.

She could think of a few things that could make things go wrong.

Even that wasn’t enough to take the sparkle from her eyes. “So you got any plans for the new year? Any checklists or bucket lists or general plans and schemes?”​

 

[Katpride]

Spork’s smile is a reply all its own, sharp and salacious. They tip their glass back, finding a piece of ice to crunch between their teeth but a disappointing lack of more gummy treats. They’ve rekindled their buzz from earlier, though, so they can’t complain.

“Ehh, I don’t really buy that ‘new year, new me’ type shit. It’s, like, why should I try to figure out a whole year in January, of all months? Nah, I’ll just be doing me.” They take a moment, then cackle at their own poor phrasing. “Fuck, not like that. I mean, maybe, but iunno, there’s too much that I want to do to make a list. I’ll just do it when I think of it.”

Their drink clinks loudly against the counter when they set it down, and they push it a little further inward so they can rest their arm there. To all appearances, they’re loose and unguarded, one foot propped on a rung of their stool but the other dangling, the slant of their shoulders relaxed. But even now, they keep their head tilted just so, one ear to the currents of the rest of the bar. Passively monitoring, letting it wash over them.

“How about you? What have you got up your sleeves for this year?”

 

[Phoenix]

Sam laughed lightly, and just as she was about to respond to the question, the flush of warmth that had started to settle into her bones flared. A sudden dizziness and lightheadedness made her tilt in her seat, and she was delayed in catching herself as she tipped into Spork. Despite the unsteadiness, she laughed. The laughter turned into a giggle, which was drawn out and left her gasping for breath. She pushed herself back up and off of Spork’s shoulder.

“Sorry! I don’t…” She paused to giggle again, her face flushing almost neon, not that Spork could see that. They would certainly, though, feel the wave of heat that started to emanate from Sam as her control slipped. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never felt this drunk before.”

She straightened out, brushing down the front of her turtleneck, making sure it was in place. The sparkle in her eyes had turned to a full glistening as she turned her attention back to Spork. “I, hehe, I don’t have any special plans. Just excited! I’m so happy, Spork. Hehe, I feel so warm. Is it warmer here than usual?”

She tugged at the collar of her sweater. She could feel herself swaying. She looked down at the glass in front of her as her mind tried to search for a reason. Why would she be getting so drunk so quickly? Normally it took more than twice this amount of alcohol to make her so off kilter. So why did she suddenly feel completely smashed? She shook her head slightly to see if she could keep her balance. That, at least, hadn’t been compromised yet. Was something… off with her?

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe she was just tired after skipping sleep the night before. After all, she was pulling more forty-eight-hour days than she used to. Maybe this was all just a side effect of that. Surely, that must have been it. So… maybe she could just enjoy it? She smiled in Spork’s direction, and with a giggle in the back of her voice, she said, “I think the biggest thing for me is just being happy. Especially now that everything seems to be going so well. I’m not used to it, you know?”​

 

[Katpride]

“Woah.” They catch her, of course, when she bumps into them. It’s second nature, almost, though Spork finds the motion surprisingly clumsy - they aren’t quite sure how she’s sitting, so it’s a delicate dance trying to support her without putting their hands somewhere where it might read as accidentally copping a feel. That is not the impression they’re trying to send tonight, for once, and the thought of ruining things here sends a bolt of something distinctly unpleasant right to their gut.

Sam seems to sort herself out after a moment, though, and they relax, sitting back with the faintest furrow creasing the space between their brows. It only grows more prominent the more she talks, until they’re frowning openly at her. Was she pregaming or something? She doesn't usually get this chatty until Spork is on their second or third drink.

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” they hedge. They hadn’t heard anyone get too close to them, but they sit a little straighter anyways, reaching out to touch her elbow. Angling so that there’s less space between them, Spork’s back a wall between the two of them and the rest of the bar, they lower their voice slightly. “Hey, are you okay? Do you think someone messed with your drink, or something? You’re kind of, uh, running a little hot there, Sam.”

If someone had spiked her drink, they were going to wreck that someone’s entire life. Heads were going to roll. Spork wouldn’t let that shit go easy if it happened to a stranger, and this is their friend. They can almost feel it already, the distant thrum of drums just waiting for a chance to beat in earnest. Violence never sits too far from their fingertips, these days.

It’s harder than they think it should be to reign it in, but they manage, dragging their hand up her arm to sit a little too heavily on her shoulder. “We can call it if you need to get home,” they offer, because that’s the important thing here. Not continuing the night, or getting revenge (yet), but making sure she’s safe. “Do you need a ride?”

The irony of the question isn’t lost on them, but they fail to find any humor in it at the moment. This is different. They aren’t trying to take her back to their place like some random hookup, though they’ll have to let their driver know that that’s the case if they do go that route. It’s different. She’s their friend. They just haven’t had a lot of actual friends, over the years, so they’re a bit rusty.

Imagine that. Spork Fuchs, rusty. If only their string of broken hearts could see them now.

 

[Phoenix]

The weight of Spork’s hand on her shoulder made Sam sway again as the flush of warmth continued to climb. The dizziness was making the room move in short spurts instead of smoothly, and everything seemed bright and spotty. She’d never been this drunk before. Not even when she had first started testing her limits. Had someone spiked her drink? No one had gotten close enough to do that, honestly. It would have had to have been… the bartender? If that were the case, Sam was sure her body would have burned whatever drug it was off. Not unless they got their hands on something really potent.

“I… I don’t think there was anything in my drink. No one has gotten close enough for that. And I… haven’t had more than usual…” Her words started to slur as she leaned into Spork’s hand, her eyelids fluttering a bit. She tried to clamp down on her heat at the mention of it, but found that she really couldn’t. The part of her brain responsible for controlling her heat must have been the same part responsible for movement. That was an interesting fact she’d think about later.

She narrowed her eyes a bit in Spork’s direction as she tried to focus in on her friend. She smiled lightly. They were taking this very seriously. It was sweet. Her face loosened up into a sappy smile, and she touched Spork’s hand with hers, holding it in place. “It would take a lot of drugs to take me out, hehe. Maybe it’s because I’ve been awake for like fifty hours, y’know?”

She giggled and covered one of her cheeks with her free hand, feeling the warmth pouring off of it. She was easily putting off at least one hundred degrees of heat, and her inner temperature was definitely higher than her usual one-o-three. There was no telling where she was at, though, without a thermometer. She sighed, heavily and loudly. Maybe Spork was right. Maybe she should head home. She tried to think it through, but found herself puttering out.

“Maybe… I should go home. But I’m not ready to yet. How about we go for a walk? Maybe you can walk me home?” She smiled and almost tossed back the rest of the drink in front of her, but paused. At least she had enough of her wits about her to know not to do that. “I don’t live far! Only about a ten minute walk.”​

 

[Katpride]

Spork whistles lightly at her admission, some of the tension leaving them. Yeah, they don’t need more convincing to believe that her biology is en-weirdened by whatever she’s got that makes her burn fever-hot under their hand. They’re no stranger to dumb metas trying to push past their limits. They live with one, for fucks sake. “Damn girl, is there even any candle left for you to burn? You know there’s only supposed to be two ends, right, not five?”

Fifty hours. That was, what, two days and change? Mari had gone without sleep for longer, when she got wrapped up in one of her science benders, but Mari didn’t drink like a fish. Not unless they swapped her energy drinks on the sly, and they’d only done that once. It was a shitty prank, but they were a shitty teen. No, drinking was Spork’s department. Even so, they weren’t sure two all-nighters would be enough to cause such a big change, but then again it wasn’t their job to solve mysteries like that. Better to just shrug and move on.

“But yeah, I can walk you,” they agree immediately, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze before letting their hand drop away. They think about it for half a second, wondering if they should maybe mention that they don’t know where she lives, but eh, that’s what Google Maps is for. If they get lost they’ll pull it up. They aren’t that drunk, they can still navigate just fine.

They slap a few twenties on the bar to pay for their drinks, then slide off their stool, snagging their cane and offering their arm to Sam in one smooth motion. “Let’s get you home, giggly-diggly.”

Damn, it’s gonna be one cold walk. Maybe they should reconsider their ‘hoes never get cold’ strategy to winter outfits. Or maybe they can just mooch off of Sam’s warmth. She’s certainly putting out a lot of heat. Does it even work like that? How close do they need to be to her, to not freeze their tits off?

Mari would know. She’d wrap it in equations and ‘ideal state’ hypotheticals, but she’d know. Or they’d be able to steal one of her five hundred jackets. They kind of miss her, in that moment, a genuine pang twisting their face into a frown for a brief moment when they reach their hand to the other side and find empty air.

Whatever. It’s probably just the alcohol making them sentimental. They close their hand into a fist, shake it off, and lead the way through the press of people and out of the bar.