It's a matter of practicality. If you do something ridiculously stupid under the influence, your next step must, obviously, be to get so drunk that you can't remember what you did.

Everything is better when ridiculously drunk.

What was he drinking about again?

Who knows.

Who cares?

It's a quiet night, people talking, mingling, rather than dancing.

This guy, scrawny rat that he is, is sitting right in the middle of everything, watching. People approach him occasionally, to be greeted with smile and wit and then they remember something important to do, because there is something undefinably creepy about his eyes and his smile.

He's in his happy place.

Jimmy's not in his happy place. It's one thing to not get laid in fifteen days, which, I'll have you know, is a record since this guy dropped from high school. It's an entirely different matter to know that your boss and best friend is getting more action than you are.

And, if Jimmy has an opinion in the matter, he is one hundred time more attractive than Colton.

Of course, that's the thing. Jimmy does have an opinion in the matter. His opinion is that Clementine is far too hot to mess around with Colton. Colton's far too boring to deserve a chick that hot. And, on top of it all, Jimmy's empty handed. He might as well make the record stretched to sixteen days, because he's far too pissed to do anyone right now.

"Straight Smirnoff, triple, hold the ice, don't cheat it. I'm watching."

There's something creepy about the way Jimmy treats other bartenders. No, he's not in some special "bartenders only" club. He knows all the tricks and gimmicks of being a bartender. He knows he cheats people on their doubles and triples. So, in a way, he's the asshole making sure no one treats him the way he treats everyone else.

How self centered of him!

Jimmy leans against the bar, refusing both to sit and keep his elbows off the counter. He sips idly at his drink, eyeing the guy on the floor. Dude's drunk, no question. To test his theory, Jimmy taps Ratter's head with the toe of his shoe.

Curiousity killed the rat?

Ratter looks up at the man quizzically for a long moment, and is tempted to be dry and witty.

He is, however, drunk.

"What the hell, man?"

You just kicked me in the head.

Indeed, he did. And the funny part is you're too drunk to do a thing about it.

"Nothin'."

But the reaction's amusing, so Jimmy taps him again. Harder this time. Maybe he'll provoke a fight.

Y'see, alcohol is nice, but beating the shit out of someone always makes him feel better.

"Fuck off, man."

Ratter isn't in the mood.

Also? He's a bit mouthy.

"Nah."

Jimmy is. He's grinning. This beats women. Tap.

... No, it really doesn't beat women. A close second, perhaps?

"Why the fuck are you on the floor?"

Apparently Jimmy doesn't mind mouthy.

To put it in Jimmy-speak, he doesn't give a shit.

"Felt like it." He grins crookedly.

"Why're you up there?"

He grabs Jimmy's ankle. Oddly strong, for such a wiry kid.

Jimmy shrugs. To each his own.

"You look like an idiot."

It's true. He also looks like an idiot, poking his foot into the side of Ratter's head. Pair of idiots. They were made for each other.

Jimmy wobbled slightly as Ratter tugged on his ankle. He braced himself against the bar counter.

"Quit that, idiot."

Ooou. Ratter has a new nick name.

"Whatever, man. Stop kicking me in the head or I'll tear your foot off."

He probably could.

He's probably kidding.

I'm really not sure, though.

"I need another drink," on an unrelated note.

Jimmy isn't the type to argue. He crosses his ankles, looking far too realxed for a man who just inwardly declared he was pissed off and sulking.

"You'll be calling Captain Nemo if you drink yourself another round."

Bartender slang for you'll be puking your guts out. Jimmy looks over Ratter before laughing slightly. Idiot.

"So. What's your story?"

Not because he's interested. Because he's bored. He's all ready looked over all the women in the bar, and none meet his standards.

Jimmy's Standards:
1. Female.
2. Hot.

"One of those nights where you wake up next to someone you've never met before and realize, hell, you wouldn't have had anything to do with them sober."

Sigh.

"Thus why I'm getting drunk again."

He looks artfully forlorn. "There are downsides to being irresistable."

Hah. Ratter. Irresistable.

Excuse me while I laugh hysterically.

Jimmy nods and downs the rest of his drink, clicking it down on the counter with a satisfying clink.

"Had those," he declares, giving Ratter a once over.

Irresistable? Jimmy barks out a laugh. Apparently he also catches the joke. He's also not nice enough to humour the drunk guy on the floor and stiffle his laughter. Oh, no no no. Not Jimmy.

"Don't try anything with the girls here if you don't want a repeat of last night."

Oooh. Advice and a helping hand, as well as a pointed insult at one of the women who has been inching closer and closer to Ratter and Jimmy. More to Ratter, because he's unusual and attracting stares. It's not every night you see a guy sitting on the floor. Jimmy does them both a favour and sends her, looking mortified and insulted, back to two other girls further down the bar.

And he grins.

"I am so irresistable."

Really.

"Here, I'll show you."

Pause.

"'Tually, I won't. Don't want to."

Because he really doesn't want a repeat of the other night. God.

Jimmy grins cockily from his perch.

"You're not irresistable. You're drunk."

And Jimmy doesn't want him to show him, because, in case Ratter actually does prove his irresistability, that'll make Jimmy feel like shit. Colton can get laid, this striking, but not too handsome, idiot in a bar can get laid, but Jimmy?

Sixteen fucking days.

"I wouldn't want to either," he says, eyes back on the three broads (And, yes, they're all quite broad) at the end of the counter.

"Was she really that bad?"

Now that question is aimed at making him feel better. Least the last chick he did was hot.

"Eh, she was fine. But then she bit me, and that was fucking harsh."

You did kill her, Ratter.

Only a bit.

Right. Only a bit. You only murdered the girl a bit.

Jimmy shrugs slightly.

"Kinky."

Pause.

"I could go for that, if she was fine."

He'd go for just about anything, so long as she was fine.

"That's the fucked up part. I can't remember."

Sigh.

Bored now.

Jimmy's confused.

He's also bored. This place is a drag, and the triple isn't doing as much as he'd like it to.

"I can't fucking remember why I came here..."

Band sucks, women suck, guy on the floor is vaguely amusing, but not worth staying.

Jimmy pays like his usual bastard self, with the smallest of tips for the bartender.

He's only getting a tip because Jimmy doesn't have any dimes. Just one quarter. Fuck. He's out five cents.

"Later."

He ambles out slowly.

Ratter ambles after, feeling like the voices here are starting to screw their way into his brain and twisting it into pieces and making everything askew.

Ratter, note to self. Never buy from that guy again. His things screw with your mind something awful.

Jimmy doesn't notice Ratter following him for about a block.

He's none too observent, you see. Probably because he doesn't care.

He glances over his shoulder and pauses in the sidewalk.

"You got a smoke?"

Y'see, Jimmy kicked this guy in the head. That makes them friends.

Let us consider this.

Does Ratter, famed for his love of addictive substances, carry an addictive substance with him?

Hm.

Ratter tosses the guy a pack. He doesn't smoke them himself - they don't have enough kick, but he finds that carrying around addictive things comforts him.

Yes. Drugs are his security blanket.

Yes. I know.

I know, I said.

...shut up.

Jimmy catches them, looks the over, and leans back against the building they've stopped by. He tosses the pack up into the air, catches it with his other hand, and repeats.

"Bad addiction."

He doesn't smoke, you see. It's just what you say when someone's following you and you need and excuse to stop and chat.

The alcohol is also starting to set in.

Jimmy tosses Ratter the pack again. He also thinks cigarettes lack any value.

"What's your name?"

Ratter catches them easily.

"Ratt."

The shortening. The nickname he gives to friends, if he has friends.

Yes, his name is rat. Get over it.

"You?"

Jimmy arches an eyebrow and scrutinizes Ratter a moment.

"You look like a rat. Fitting."

Very. If ony Jimmy knew how fitting it was.

"Jimmy."

He gives his name just as simply.

"Why are you following me?"

He says it like he doesn't care. You win the grand prize if you know why he sounds like he doesn't care.

I bet he doesn't care!

I think there's a pattern.

"That's the logic, and why not?"

Ratter has nothing better to do with his evening.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!

"Because it's fucking creepy. That's why not."

Apparently they're not as good of friends as I hoped.

"You got an idea of what to do?"

Apparently the idea that he could be in a life threatening circumstance never made itself known in Jimmy's mind.

Like we both know, he just doesn't care.

"Drink. Flirt. Pass out. That order."

Apparently Ratter has a goal in mind.

Pause.

"Flirt with women. For th'record."

Because flirting with guys is creepy and wrong.

Who knew Ratter was old-fashioned?

Yes, yes. Vampire. It's natural. I know.

And when he says flirt, he isn't confining it to just flirting.

He doesn't sleep with them because... lots of reasons. But it's a natural part of life. Death. Whatever.

Jimmy nods.

"Drink. Flirt. Fuck. Then leave and pass out at your own pad."

Jimmy doesn't have a goal. He has a system. He's also not afraid to admit that there is more to his system than flirting. He doesn't flirt because that makes him feel good.

He's keen on sleeping with his women. That's the aim of his game.

"Don't do guys," he adds. Flambouyantly gay men give him the creeps. He doesn't like his women that peppy, so why on Earth would anyone assume he likes men like that?

It's funny. Ratter's old fashioned, but he tolerates Colton.

Loyalty's a bitch, ain't it?

"Good."

And yes. Yes, that describes loyalty very accurately.

Ratter could be so much worse about the whole gay thing. God knows he had enough experience listening to conservative ranting growing up. He could be nasty.

Instead, he makes jokes.

Colton has it better than he knows.

I wonder if Ratter will ever point that out?

Probably never.

Colton could also ferverously deny everything Ratter saw. Really, he knows he has it better than most. That's why he doesn't really press the issue. Least Ratter isn't trying to blackmail him.

Jimmy's quiet and pensive as he stares up the street. He was planning on bar hopping till he found some girl who needed the sex as bad as he did.

Heh. That would never happen. No woman needed sex as badly as he did.

"Yea, good."

He's not sounding so happy about it. Maybe it's because he knows Ratter'll follow him to the next bar and a tag along decreases the chance he'll get laid by about 70%.

It's scary. Jimmy has sex pinned down to an exact science.

Ratter shrugs.

"I've got all night."

Jimmy doesn't care, Ratter doesn't care, they're a big happy not-caring family.

Actually, not so much.

Jimmy scoffs slightly.

"Yea, whatever, man."

He didn't have all night. Far as he was concerned, he had better get some sort of action in tonight. He was off his getting laid thread. Sixteen days. He was cool with sixteen days. So long as it wasn't a month, he was fine. Play back, you know? Play cool.

So instead of sex, he needed another something to satisfy his addictions. His cravings.

"Got any ideas?"

And they're back to friends again, so long as Ratter proves useful.