EPOCH: Expiration Date Series Fanfic

Erik, the Bartender

(Reference chapter: Exported, Ch.78" the Chapter in which Mikaela finally ends this Book".)
Takes place right after exposed, Amoria

Erik~~

Punching drunk people. That's my new hobby.

I say that a lot to my wife, it's a joke— a joke that's half reality. I smirk to myself, recalling the last time I did that. Last week, some drunkard tried to size me up, and he couldn't even stand up straight. Knocked out cold from a solid punch.

Why do I get the chance to slug alcoholics so much? I'm a bartender now. Why am I a bartender when I'm also husband of Madam Preeminence? Because Rydersin likes my drinks, and I should most definitely share my talent with the world—or, Amoria, at least. Also, Amorian drinks are better. She loves all the drinks I whip up for her. Though, Rydersin doesn't understand my simple liking for mead.

As I dry an already dry cup, a disheveled looking bum slumps onto a stool in front of me. The way he leans so dependently into the counter for support, I bet he's already drunk. He reeks. His purple Amorian eyes struggle to focus on mine. When he finally does focus he just stares at me. For a very, very, long time. I continue to spin the dry cup on the dry towel to make it more dry. We stare intently at each other. He opens and smacks his lips like a weirdo who thinks lip smacking is a language. Is it a language? I bet it is, though, elsewhere in the universe.

Speak dammit. His silence makes me uncomfortable but I'm not losing whatever arbitrary staring game we've already started.

He continues to uphold his silence, and I'm getting impatient. Rydersin does this enough to me at the palace. I'm beginning to think this is intentional. Should I punch him? No, he's not drunk yet— I think. I think the dude's just a lunatic who forgets basic socializing. I arch an eyebrow, trying to signal to this guy's empty brain. Something goes through his brain...

No, nevermind, he just raises a brow of his own. This dumbass, I can't- ugh.

I switch which eyebrow is raised. The dude tries to mimic, but just raises both brows at the same time. Obviously, not as advanced as me.

I can't take this stupidity any longer, "Need something?"

Abruptly, his hand shoots forward and practically in my face, "ONE DRINK PLEASE-uh." I think I liked it better when he was quiet. He's way too loud and way too annoying.

I exhale, trying not to punch him before he's drunk, "Which drink?"

He shrugs, "You choo."

Bartender special? Can I poison him? I read the date on his wrist. Oh yeah, I can definitely poison him. The most it'll cause him is some stomach inconvenience. I prepare a cheap fancy looking drink I'll definitely charge extra for. Yes, the poison is in it, 'It's pick your poison' not 'Let the handsome bartender pick your poison.'

I set it on the counter for him. The fancy and definitely not poisonous drink, gets picked up so aggressively more than half of it spills  onto the floor. The alcoholic downs it instantly, and slams the cup on the bar, "More."

I glare, raise an eyebrow, but reluctantly make the same drink. He finishes it faster than he did the first.

Aggressively, he slams the cup on the counter, and I hear the cup crack. I'm fed up with him.

My attention is pulled to the silver watch on my wrist. Wifey bought it for me. She insisted it matched my eyes then proceeded to call me ugly, so I'm convinced Rydersin bought me an ugly watch. I think it's quite nice, but Amorian standards are way higher than mine. The time on my ugly silver watch reads some time past midnight. I really want to be home with my wife, in bed, and just sleep. Maybe talk with her about how uneventful my day was and how overwhelming hers was. Anything but be here with this brainless numbskull.