Afterburner (SS Mini-Series)

Episode 3-1: Feather Flight

Detroit, Michigan: Athenian Bar

    "You okay, big guy?" I ask Clyde. He looks nervous around alcohol. He always gets like this in bar scenes, he's not really supposed to be around the stuff for too long of a timeframe. Sometimes the job will send us to places like clubs or bars, and Clyde always seems distracted during his investigative time spent.

    He's not recovering by any means, he thought putting a label on him easing off a little would turn it into a whole thing not deserving of attention. Instead, he just wants to consciously make an effort not to overdo it on the sauce, which is why he only drinks when I'm around. He wouldn't trust himself to count his bottlecaps alone.

    "Yeah, I just...maybe one or two beers or something. You know, I think I can stop myself from getting out of hand.?

    "One or two isn't going to do much to you with your body weight."

    "I should get more?"

    "I'm here with you, babe, I'll keep a close eye on you."

    He taps his claw on the bar counter waiting for his turn. The bartender has a busy lineup tonight, and we entered last, so we get served last. "Pretty cold out, huh? How are you holding up?" he asks. He's using small talk to calm the nerves.

    "I love the cold, it's you that grew up in the hot sun. How are you doing?"

    His beefy arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me closer. "Stay close, you'll keep me warm."

    "Cheesy."

    "I thought you liked cheese."

    "Didn't you hear? I stopped watching romcoms. I'm all grown up now. Say something poetic instead."

    "Your incandescent compassion radiates with the luminescence of mercy."

    "Too far."

    "You're hot as fuck?"

    "There you go."

    Clyde orders a regular human beer and gets me a more Primendian cultured mixed drink swelled with sugar and flavors. His face looks curious, fearful, worried, everything but relaxed. Once he takes his first swig, his shoulders slump as he sinks into his seat and smiles. My drink disappears at only a fraction of his first sip; it must've been a long time since he's had his last.

    "Are you comfortable getting slammed while we're on the hunt?" I ask.

    "We're not going hunting until tomorrow morning anyway. A drink is what I need if we're going after another relic victim. I'm not looking forward to finding out what power they have this time, it's all been extremely painful tracking down these creeps."

    "Hmm...you've had your side torn out and your tongue was bitten off. What else could happen?"

    His tongue slithers between his lips; it looks normal and unscarred. "Soon enough, I'll rival Frankenstein's Monster with as many body parts Dr. Nivans keeps making me. I don't even have my original liver anymore."

    "And here you are tainting the brand new one he synthesized with cheap beer."

    "Cheap? This bottle is seven dollars. But if it's cheap, you can pay the tab."

    One drink is all I need to feel fine. Clyde orders three bottles, I make sure he only drinks three tonight. Outside is around twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and even though I like the cold, that's freezing and dangerous to be out for long periods of time. Opening the bar doors causes the people nearby to shoot angry glances at us for exposing them to the rushing, biting winds.