[Fight Club] After Working Hours

Tonight's body count:

Six thrown out.

Two necks broken.

Two cigarettes, and the self-respect that came with it.

That was the deal with shady jobs. You have to kill yourself a little inside to be able to stomach it night after night. Ardos didn't love himself, but he took pride that he could do what he needed to be done, no matter the costs. He watched a man knee another man's teeth out of their face, and he felt nothing, not sympathy or disgust. All he was, was vigilant.

With another kick to the face, the last round on this ring came to a close. Ardos tapped the bottom of his cigarette case to pull out a stick and taste it with his tongue. The brief flicker of his lighter irritated his eyes for a moment, but pretty soon he was inhaling enough smoke to relax his aching muscles.

He stiffened up again when he felt an arm around his shoulders. Ardos flashed Deith a heated glare, more out of habit than anything rather than actual hatred. Also out of habit, he raised his case to offer Deith a cigarette if he wanted one.

Maybe it was the loneliness talking, but he didn't mind a pretty boy touching him.

"Taxing," he said, curt as always. "Do you need anything?"

Ardos felt his face heat up with the... rather intimate gesture. He didn't want Deith to sense that he was embarrassed as all hell, so he stiffened up, taking a long inhale of his cigarette and puffing out a tiny cloud. It wasn't that Deith was unattractive. It was just —

Something about Deith felt incredibly dishonest, really. He was a spider. Ardos didn't want to get caught up in his web. He liked to think he was smarter than that.

"I'd say you probably need food or water, and maybe a cold shower. You're tired. So am I."

Ardos flicked his cigarette to shake off the ash forming at the end of the stick, frowning at Deith.

"What kind of messed up game are you playing, Deith?"

The shit-eating grin basically just confirmed he was playing a game.

Ardos had a massive frown as he listened to him. Stupid, goddamn no-good pretty boys, what if Ardos force-fed him a bee-hive and his own ass, maybe then it'd make more sense that he was spewing honey-flavored bullshit right at him.

Ardos was too smart, too bitter, to fall prey to predatory spiders.

So, why was he hesitating?

Maybe it was because the predatory spider had nice lips, and the smart, bitter man was terribly lonely. The last fight on his arenas was concluded, and the sun was coloring the sky a lighter shade of blue. Ardos put out his cigarette, threw it in a nearby bin and sighed.

"Fine," he said, with a sharp tone to let Deith know that he was only tentatively considering this. "I could use a drink so long as you're buying."

Thanks for the company, he said.

Tch.

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively as he settled on a seat next to Deith's, telling the bartender his order — cold, hard whiskey. He glanced at Deith once. "He's paying."

The bartender, while irate with people still coming in when it's almost last call, served them their drinks with haste. Ardos downed the whiskey in one go, and felt his insides burn like fire. He shook his head, eyes closed. The burning sensation climbed up to his head because of course it did. When the alcohol settled, he exhaled, the fire being replaced with a fluttering, tingling sensation crawling around his body like tiny ants.

"Another one."

The bartender gave him a worried glance before giving him another glass. He only touched it with lightly with his fingers.

"I have a hard time believing you're lonely."

Inhale.

That was a nice face, all things considered.

Ardos smushed Deith's face with his hand and pushed it away, because Ardos' solution to everything is getting physical.

"You're in luck. The floozies outside might give you a discount because the sun's almost up."