451 Out of Control (1/2)
It was dim inside the tavern. The bartender smoked behind the bar. The smell was pungent. Under the faint light, he looked down at Charles who was sitting outside the bar. The light illuminated his bald head, casting a shadow under his brow bone. His expression was hard to see.
Crash! A fist-sized glass was slammed down before Charles. He jumped at the loud sound. The liquor sloshed, almost splashing onto his collar.
While he was freaked out, the bartender pushed the glass over expressionlessly. He bent down and said, ”Shall we drink?” Beside him was a bottle with the label scraped off. Charles froze and looked back. He saw a few men in the corner staring at him coldly. Gulping, he looked up for help. However, there was nothing upstairs save for muffled arguments.
”What?” the bartender asked. ”Don't like it?”
”Uh…” Charles plastered on a smile. He was not stupid enough to say that he did not like drinking.
”Don't make the others think that the headquarter treats people badly. Since you're Constantine's man, you have to drink with us now that you're here.” The burly bartender cracked his neck. When he looked at Charles, his tone changed. ”You'll humor us, right?”
Flinching, Charles nodded forcefully.
”Great.” The bartender grinned, showing his sharp teeth. He glanced up. ”They'll need some more time to discuss. We can become closer. Come, rookie, let's drink.” He stuffed the glass into Charles's hand and forced him to clink glasses. With a bitter expression, Charles downed the cup.
He almost blacked out.
-
After a few days of house arrest, the Revolutionaries seemed to have finally come to consensus. Changing from their previous indifferent attitude, they voluntarily contacted Constantine. Both parties came to this secretive bar to talk.
Constantine brought Charles but after arriving, they only allowed Constantine up. He was powerless and could only leave Charles with the group of terrifying men. Before thirty minutes was up, Charles was pushed into the trap by these prepared men. The pungent hard liquor poured into his throat. He inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. It was the familiar recipe and familiar taste.
There was a unique type of private liquor from Avalon's downtown. The craftsmen would put industrial alcohol, various pigments, and snake bones soaked in flavoring agents to the liquor, creating a 'local specialty.' It was known as kerosene. The poor ruffians of downtown all called it that. Apparently, you had to avoid candles after drinking a glass because you could light yourself up.
Other than drinking, one could also pour the liquor on a corpse for a combustion agent. After burning, not even the best forensic scientist or their own mothers could tell who it was.
The liquor in Charles's hand was comparable to it. In fact, there seemed to also be…
”Drugs?” Charles murmured.
The men in the corner burst into evil laughter. The bartender arched an eyebrow. ”You know the ropes? I didn't expect this.” Squinting, he picked up the liquor and grinned. ”Seems like I'll have to treat you even better.”
The order was to make Constantine back down voluntarily and embarrass himself but without losing face. The man he brought with…naturally had to be treated the same.
The bartender was starting to get curious. How many cups could this rookie drink before the ingredients burned his brain?
”Have another.” He poured the overflowing cup before Charles. Seeing the youth open his mouth to speak, he pulled out a dagger and stabbed the pocketed bar. ”I'll drink with you.”
Watching as Charles paled, he leered. ”Today, we must drink to our fill!”
In silence, Charles stared at his glass. After a long while, he nodded. ”Okay.”
Under the bartender's shocked gaze, Charles threw his head back and drank. For some reason, the bartender felt panic. Perhaps he had made the wrong choice.
-
After who knew how long, the door upstairs opened. The tavern's owner brought Constantine to the door and bid farewell.
”Constantine, I'm sorry. You came for nothing.” The man shook his hand. ”Mr. Gaius has his own plans. I truly cannot help you.”
”It's okay. I'm satisfied as long as you all are willing to see me and listen to an old man like me.” Constantine sighed and put on his hat. ”Thank you for your hospitality.”
”I won't see you off, then.” The man nodded. ”Buck, help him out!”
It was silent downstairs.
”Buck! Buck! Where the f*ck did you go?!” The man froze, embarrassment creeping into his expression. ”I'm sorry, Mr. Constantine. Those *ssholes don't understand respect. Recently, they had heard some rumors and have misconceptions of you. Hopefully, they didn't do anything to your man…”
Constantine's expression quickly darkened. He rushed downstairs. Not many would expect for someone as old as Constantine to move so quickly. Anxious, he stepped onto the stairs as if wanting to shatter the rotting boards. Before he got there, he could already smell the alcohol and the disgusting odor of vomit. Stunned, he sped up.
Hopefully, Charles was still in one piece and not torn apart by those f*cking b*stards from the sewers of the Sacred City. But when he turned the corner, he froze.
The room was silent.