Venom, Blood & Ink

Gabriel

"Line 'em up, Gabriel!" An already tipsy man's voice rang out over the noise of drunken conversations and the jukebox droning out some old, depressing country song.

The bartender, Gabriel Carter, dutifully nodded at his bellowed order as he lined up six shot glasses, filling each one with the expensive, silver label tequila this particular customer had been ordering all night for him and his group of rowdy friends. The bartender tossed six lime wedges on a small paper plate and placed glasses and all on the shellacked, wooden surface of the bar in front of the man who ordered.

After filling two frosty mugs full of Budweiser from the tap and making one more Jack and Coke to appease a few other customers, Gabriel sighed and leaned his back against the counter next to the cash register and his nearly empty tip jar. He brushed a few strands of his shoulder length, jet black hair out of his hazel eyes and surveyed he bar, Riley's Corner Pub. Nothing more than a little hole in the wall, dive bar in the middle of bustling New York City, but it was quiet for the most part and the regulars were loyal. 

He watched a group of young college kids, just barely old enough to drink, sharing a pitcher of beer and none too gracefully lobbing well worn but still semi-useful darts at a noisy, beeping, electronic dart board. the usual bar flies clung to the rail of the bar, snuffing out stale cigarettes in blistered plastic ashtrays. It didn't pay much, by any stretch of the imagination, except on St. Patrick's Day when the amateur drinkers came out of the woodwork, stuffing themselves into the tiny bar just to slam down a few beers and shots of whiskey while inevitably a few made the bathrooms an utter disaster. His meager salary was barely enough to pay his bills; rent, cell phone, internet and his enormous student debt from his stint in art school, but this job was only temporary until he got his dream job. Gabriel Carter wanted desperately to be an artist. Not just any kind of artist, but a full fledged, published, comic book artist. He had been fascinated with "graphic novels" ever since he was a young boy and his interest never faded as he went into his early 30's. In addition to his fascination, he found that he had a natural penchant for putting ink to paper and ending up with beautiful, if not macabre, elaborate, storytelling works of art. Thus, his love of all things comic book was born and nurtured, but the fruits of years of labor had not been forthcoming as most of his submissions had been subsequently rejected by most companies for being 'untested and unfounded', to his disdain.

Gabriel mindlessly thumbed through the portfolio he had nestled safely on the counter, leafing through the skillfully penned and inked pictures of buxom, beautiful, scantily clad women and the massive, muscular men that populated most of the graphic novel culture, with a heavy heart. He was proud of the way each had turned out but after all the multitudes of rejections.....

"Gabriel!" Mrs Ellis' voice pulled him back to reality from the far end of the bar. When he lifted his head to acknowledge her, she held up a glass that clinked with nothing but a few remaining ice cubes and her lipstick smeared straw. She shook it in a silent order for another Amaretto Sour, her usual, every night, drink of choice. smiling with his charming boyish grin, he nodded an affirmative and set about mixing her drink; two shots of amaretto, sour mix, four cherries and just a tiny splash of grenadine for color. Just the way his favorite customer preferred, and as she complained on his nights off...only he made it right.

Smiling a warm, already tipsy smile at him as he brought her the fresh drink, he placed it in front of her on a new, not so soggy coaster. She immediately grabbed it and took a test sip.

"Ah, Gabe...perfect as usual." Mrs. Ellis smiled, licking the sweetness from her lips. "If I were twenty years younger..." she continued their nightly flirtatious game.

"You couldn't afford me, Mrs. Ellis...I'm high maintenance... can't you tell?" Gabriel joked, gesturing to himself in his faded, ill fitting blue jeans, black t-shirt emblazoned with a retro Batman logo and cheap off brand sneakers.