100-proof

Zapp's day had been pretty much crap, so they was blowing off steam in one of their favorite places, in some of their favorite ways -- eating bacon cheeseburger pizza (thank you, Hellsalem's Lot, for that invention! and it wasn't even anywhere near the most ridiculously self-indulgent food the city had come up with since the Cataclysm. Zapp really loved this place), smoking, boozing it up a little, and at least checking out their potential competition gambling at the nearby tables. They didn't have too much money on them, but fuck it, payday was soon, so why not? They was an enby of very simple pleasures, after all.

They had only finished their first beer, not even buzzed yet even though they was a pretty cheap drunk in all honesty, when someone reached down from behind them with a bottle, used it to smack the can to the floor (and skidding halfway across it) with a clatter, and sat it down in the spot where it had been. It was a nice looking bottle, covered with condensation, and with a promising black-and-white label with curly lettering that said almost nothing except 100-proof and an 'established' year that was definitely more Beyondian calendar than Earth.

There was also a seven-socketed skull on it, but since it wasn't a skull-and-crossbones, that didn't actually downgrade it from 'promising' in Zapp's eyes.

"I didn't think I'd find Libra here!" a very familiar, very cheerful voice spoke up as the hand released the bottle, and Zapp tilted their head back in surprise, blinking, to catch an upside-down eyeful of Femt's incredibly toothy grin and the metal plate that covered whatever passed for his eyes. "You strait-laced self proclaimed hero types never seem to do anything interesting."

Zapp considered tipping back their chair and using the momentum to headbutt Femt in the stomach, but decided against it for three reasons: He wasn't actually attacking them or anyone else or even being threatening, they was familiar enough with Impulsive Unexpected Headbutt Battle Tactics to know that it hurt their head as well as whoever they hit, and being called strait-laced was so unexpected and unlike anything they'd ever heard themself called that they was veering immediately from surprise and suspicion to near bursting into laughter.

Okay, four reasons. It was also pretty ungrateful to headbutt someone who was handing you alcohol, even if it maybe was poison. Also also, if Femt just stepped back or to one side to avoid them (which would be super easy to do, honestly) they didn't want to smack their head on the floor in front of him, that would not look cool. Five reasons.

Still, that part about being about to laugh was the most pressing at the moment, and they did snort, luckily avoiding the full-fledged awkward gales that had come when Zed had stepped out into their sight and they'd been overcome by oh no they's fucking hot. "Strait-laced? And here I thought you might actually know what you were talking about. What, does doing research not strike the King of Depravity as fun?"

"I do as much research as I feel like." Femt seemed unbothered by the criticism, smile maybe even brightening, what the fuck. They wasn't sure why he'd react like that. He was dressed all in black, nicely as always and with a matching black longcoat, no top hat but with one hand resting on his wooden cane which was planted almost proprietorially on the floor -- aka, completely out of place for a dump like this. He nodded toward the bottle, adding, as if him setting it there hadn't been obvious enough, "You really should try that!"

"Why, is it poison." But the crack was really just that, a crack, not even a question's inflection in Zapp's voice, kind of auto-pilot smartassery as they glanced the bottle over again. "--Do they even sell this here? Did you BYOB to this sleazy place? What the fuck?"

"No; no; yes; because I wanted to!" Femt stepped Zapp's chair and around the table with long strides, and tugged the chair across from them out, sort of fling-collapsing himself into it. "You really come here often?"

"Yeah, I mean. I have a tab. You can ask the barkeep. But you don't get to use it." No funny business, mister! But Femt's friendliness was weird as hell, and he honestly seemed interested, and to have had no idea that they was the sort of person to come to places like this when it was like... their relaxation. Either places like this, actual casinos and racing tracks and things, or home, and home was a goddamn brothel. "You really didn't know that. Shit, you don't know the first thing about me if you don't know how much time I spend at places like this."

"I didn't think it was possible for Libra to recruit anyone fun! I don't get my kicks from looking into how people sit around playing prosfair." Femt leaned his arms on the table, leaned over it closer to Zapp suddenly, and grinned. "But I might like to get to know you."

Well. Well, shit. There was that oh no he's hot feeling, back again and even more inappropriate this time, but Zapp didn't usually give any shits at all about what was appropriate or not, luckily. They still picked up the bottle to examine it instead of Femt. "Beyondian whiskey, huh?"

"A little like whiskey," Femt allowed. "Truly indescribable. You'll taste it with your ears as much as anything else, so I'd advise a human to take small sips."

Well, that basically confirmed that Femt wasn't human. Zapp had always wondered if he was a really weird human or a Blood Breed or an absurdly human-looking Beyondian or what, so at least that list was getting narrowed down a little. They was also tempted to open the bottle and just take a big swig of it, contrary, but they wasn't completely self-destructive and they wasn't sure what Femt meant by taste it with your ears. Their eardrums might explode or something.

"What the hell," Zapp muttered, and motioned one of the bar staff over for a shot glass, opening the bottle and pouring a little bit into it. The not-actually-whiskey seemed somehow less thick and viscous than ordinary liquid, and Zapp squinted at it, then back up at Femt, who was now kicked back in his chair, feet up on the table while he balanced on its two back legs, watching Zapp like a particularly expectant hawk -- that expression was obvious even without visible eyes.

Zapp picked up the shot glass, and nearly spilled it when Femt's chair legs hit the floor with a bang and his hand shot forward towards the silverware.

They reacted real damn fast, though. They called out their blood to form a blade, holding it out and fully expecting some kind of impasse where they pointed weapons at each other, but Femt had grabbed a fork, not a knife, and stabbed it downward into the wood of the table -- right through a tentacle that had just reached it, that had been beelining straight for Zapp.

There was a screeching noise from close by, and Femt did pick up the knife then, starting to industriously saw through the tentacle. Zapp looked over in disbelief at a group of Beyondians (maybe a family? maybe a Crime Family, they were wearing business suits), who were holding a takeaway container which the tentacle and the screeching noise had both erupted from, and were looking over at their table with just as much apparent surprise.

"This is what happens when you don't keep things sealed properly!" Femt light-complained, ending up with a largish chunk of tentacle once he was finished, looking it over as if sizing it up and then seeming satisfied. He grinned over at the Beyondians, pulling out a plastic bag and stashing his piece of the tentacle into it. "I'm keeping this as payment. You did interrupt us," he pointed out, in a reasonable tone, and the Beyondians murmured to each other and then decided it really wasn't worth arguing, hurrying out the door.

Femt heaved a long-suffering sort of sigh. "It's a shame, these start going bad as soon as you kill them. Zapp." He said their name with purpose, and with obvious pleasure, and their breath caught as they stared at him in response. "Next time I see you, tell me how you liked your drink."

Wanting their opinion on something he'd given them, and wrapped up in that was the obvious implication that he also actually wanted to see them again, in person and not in a battle situation, and Zapp tossed back the shot immediately in response, and then coughed, not because it was bad or even particularly strong-tasting but because the taste really was indescribable even beyond the fact that their ears sang as they swallowed it back. 'Sang' because it was sort of like their ears ringing only... pleasant?

Femt was laughing, too, which was also a pleasant sound, cracking up like Zapp had done something either incredibly funny or incredibly delightful, and they grinned a little at him. "It's good," they said, insufficiently, but maybe it was sufficient after all, because Femt leaned down and towards them with a grin, bending near 90-degrees at the waist.

"Good," he returned, then straightened up and gave them a wave as they was still trying to decide if they wanted to get into his personal space and kiss him. "Enjoy!"

Fuck, but they couldn't tell if any of this was a bad idea or not: Watching him walk off, not saying a damn thing to Libra about any of this, taking the bottle home with them, thinking way too much about kissing him. But they did it all anyway, forgoing the gambling, and got just as drunk that night as they ever did, but on a Beyondian brew that seemed to make it much more pleasant than their usual drunk nights, and in the morning they only had the mildest of hangovers.

Out of curiosity and vague suspicion, they googled the drink that Femt had gifted them and its effect on humans, read about how it basically caused your potential hangover to leak out your ears in realtime, and they laughed.