Chapter Text
Gabe, Nate, Alex, and Ryland sat in the deli, fixing each others' hair before they went clubbing that night. This was something that Gabe suggested they do together every night, unless it was Shabbat— Gabe didn't work long enough to go club with the boys, nor would he club that night.
"I'm probably going to head home a bit early," Gabe muttered, looking at a text on his phone. It was from his current girlfriend, Victoria. She was asking when the boys would come, since he'd convinced her to come clubbing with them. He replied with a simple 'soon, mi amor <3' and turned off his phone.
"I just don't want to stay up that late, since Shabbat's tomorrow, you know?" He continued. Gabe wasn't the most observant Jew ever, but he wouldn't work on Shabbat or agree to club on the day. Usually, he'd stay home and catch up on sleep. He had a few non negotiables, you could say.
"Did we go to the Apollo yet?" Alex asked suddenly, interrupting Gabe's current train of thought.
"Oh, I don't think—" Gabe said, stumbling over his words and thinking for a moment. "Which one?"
"The Apollo Creed," Alex replied. They had, in fact, been there. It was popular for its' open mic nights.
"I have, yeah." Replied Gabe. He'd been a few times, brought his bass and his guitar to open mic. He never drummed up much interest, but he did go a few times.
"Did we ever go to the Fragile Capricorn?" Nate asked, chiming in for a moment, his nose ring catching the light. Although the light was very dim, his silver nose ring still caught a bit of the light.
"Nate, I haven't heard of it-" said Gabe, tying his lime green shoelace and fixing his hair for the last time.
Gabe's car pulled up in front of the Fragile Capricorn, with Alex and Nate in the back seat and Ryland in the passenger's seat— although he had agreed to drive everyone home later. Gabe opened his phone to text Vicky a quick 'we're here, mi amor <3' before he got out of the car.
"Nate, are you sure this is the right place? It does look a bit as if people don't really go here," Ryland asked as the four of them stepped inside the club.
"I'm plenty sure, Ryland!" Nate quickly spat in reply.
"It is quite dark in here, isn't it?" Said a woman's voice, laughing. It was Vicky, but it was a tad bit too dark for anybody to notice her.
"Vicky, mi amor!" Gabe exclaimed.
"Not dark enough for you, hm?" Vicky asked, jokingly.
Gabe rolled his eyes. "Whatever, amor." He was looking for the bar so he could get himself shit-faced drunk again, with Vicky rolling her eyes but betting on how many drinks it would take him to get that badly drunk and Ryland driving him home, waking up hungover on the couch the next morning.
"Oh shit, are you looking for the fucking bar? It's over there, maybe ask the guy to up the light?" Said Alex, gesturing over to a corner.
Walking over to the corner, Gabe sat on a bar stool while Vicky groaned.
"Turn up the light, will you?" Muttered Gabe, leaning on the countertop.
The bartender chuckled. "Sorry 'bout that. Yeah, I will." He said, turning over and flicking a switch.
"That's better, yeah." Replied Gabe.
"I ain't never seen ya around 'ere before," said the bartender.
"Name's Gabe Saporta. Never been here," he replied.
"Well, nice 'ta meet ya. I'm Travis McCoy, friends call me Travie." Said the bartender— er, Travie.
"Alright then, Travie— can I get a drink?"
"Sure, what would ya like?" Asked Travie.
"Bloody Mary." Answered Gabe.
Travie nodded, starting to make a bloody Mary for Gabe.
"One bloody Mary comin' up, 'ere ya go." Travie said, handing Gabe his drink.
The hours had passed by. Vicky, Nate, Alex, and Ryland had been betting on how many drinks it would take Gabe to get him shitfaced drunk for hours. The betting pool had 20 dollars from Nate and Alex, a 5 dollar bill from Ryland, and Vicky had offered 32 dollars.
"Travie, can I have another fuckin' bloody Mary?" Gabe asked, his words thick and slurred together.
Nodding, Travie started to make another drink.
"Jesus Christ, this is his fifth drink and he's already slurring!" Vicky said, quite happy with herself.
'Maybe I'll win the bet', she thought, looking over at Gabe again.
He was halfway finished with his fifth bloody Mary.
"Yeah, fuckin' ¿solo uno más? Travie please?" Gabe said, his words thick. Trying to keep a coherent sentence was difficult at the moment, and his brain was a scramble of Spanish and English, trying to sound coherent in the moment. Often, Gabe felt Spanglish easy, he didn't have to remember words in English and could just say anything.
"Ya sure, Saporta?" Travie asked, knowing damn well he'd already had five bloody Marys.
"Sí, Sí…" Gabe mumbled in reply.
"Right then," replied Travie, pouring another glass of vodka before he started to put in the tomato juice and mix in the spices and flavors.
He handed it to Gabe, glaring at him. "Right, last one. 'Ere ya go."
Gabe was out. Hungover.