[PS] Bar/Theatre/Arcade

[Zangya]

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for the two lone occupants of the tavern to get bored with just regular old blackjack—either that, or perhaps the intoxication that they received by getting more and more drinks for themselves finally kicked in. Well, to ruin the surprise, it all began when they started betting things. Zangya had been in prime form ever since she’d stopped going easy on him. So, who was to say that it wasn’t worth betting something? Zangya sure wasn’t about to argue his offer to basically give up something for free. So, when the bartender suggested that bets be placed it got… well, a bit uglier than it had been, to say the least.

“I betcha I can beat ya,” the bartender, who, at this point, was the underdog, but not in the superhero kind of way, belched out drunkenly and confidently. Zangya scoffed at him, having become quite tainted by the influence of the bartender’s sour concoction, as well.

“Wanna bet?” she slurred, and he looked at her rather strangely, then nodded his head (although the nodding was more of a bow, and then flinging himself backwards, then rinse and repeat, at this point) and with that, the game was on. The two people put on their poker—er, blackjack—faces, and proceeded to drunkenly wager random artifacts from across the room. The list went on repeatedly, with Zangya first throwing in her stool, and the bartender throwing in a free bottle of his sour drink. Not knowing any better, Zangya chose to win the game instead of losing it to sacrifice her winning the drink, and, therefore, became even more drunk. It ended up being quite hilarious, in her eyes. “I would’ve given up my stool if I had realized that I would’ve been sober in a shorter amount of time,” she would admit.

Of course, as the afternoon went on, the drunks’ bets got sillier and sillier—until, finally, the bet of all silly bets came out. After Zangya had proceeded to bet her orange locks of hair, the man behind the counter came out with something that had never been expected—he pulled, from under the counter, a perfect, squeaking, rubber chicken.

“What the—” Zangya commented drunkenly; but she didn’t have the energy to finish that sentence. “Tell you what,” she said, wanting the rubber chicken madly, “If you let me have the rubber chicken, I’ll let you cut my hair!” The deal, however, was not set. The bartender politely—as polite as a drunk man can, mind you—refused to part with his beloved Perry, and furthermore decided that he was going to cut Zangya’s hair anyways. So, in turn, while the bartender reached for the scissors, it should be know that Zangya reached for the rubber chicken.

The resulting attack from the bartender was nothing less than hostile.

Scissors stabbed into the hand that was now clutched around the rubber chicken’s flexible body, Zangya screamed in pain and in excitement. She pulled away from the man, holding on to the rubber chicken dearly, as if it was her own child (of which she truly had none) and proceeded to skip, hop, jump, and run towards the door. The bartender, being the amazing acrobat that he was (despite his rather large waist area) progressively followed suit, vaulting over the bar and then chasing after her. However, his only victory was that when he reached for the rubber chicken, he grabbed the scissors and snatched them out of Zangya’s hand, causing her more pain.

Well, that, and the fact that as she exited he got in one little snip at her hair—one little snip that was enough to send everything from the neck down falling to the floor. A scream followed, and repeated curses in his direction came shortly after. Needless to say, Zangya and the bartender would not meet again. At least, not in an occasion where the bartender would not end up dead. Or fatally mangled.