So you got the thing you wanted

[wounds]

Who: Genos, Keith, passerby
What: I WANNA TAKE YOU TO A GAY BAR
When: December 1, evening
Where: One of Vista City's gay bars
Warnings: Gratuitous alcohol consumption, getting hit on, paparazzi

[This time Genos picked the bar- and true to his word it's a gay one. Not that he actually cares what kind of bar they end up in. As long as he's drinking, that's just fine by him.

But hell, he kind of wants to see if Keith is willing to show up to this one. He's sent a text to his "friend" and now he's surrounded by fans.

At least he's easy to find.]

Comments

[agains]

[ Lights flash in his eyes as the limo rolls up to unCHAINed, local gay bar and fetish club. Some asshole's alerted the paparazzi. Or, maybe he shouldn't travel by big obvious limo.

Yeah, like he didn't do that on purpose. He'll deny it, but any news is good news as long as you're in it. No matter what the manager says. Keith's phone buzzes in his back pocket one last time.

Alex Ursa 11:15 PM
Where the hell are you going?

11:20 PM
Keith

11:24 PM
Get back to HQ right now

He ignores both Ursa and the press, focusing on finding Genos via his legion of fans. The more aloof Keith can look doing this, the better.

He flashes a camera-blinding smile of his own at some of the men and women surrounding his buddy in order to stun them and get closer. ]

This place suits you, Genos.

[ You know, with its chain-y, metallic aesthetic. And the fact that it's full of people who are also tabloid-confirmed gay. ]

[wounds]

[He doesn't get up, but he does wave Keith over, ignoring the flashing lights. Whatever, if they really want to take pictures of them in here he can't stop them.

Well, he probably could if he fought them, but that's for later. For now drinks!]

Doesn't it?

[There's definitely something about how metallic this place is that calls out to him. Not that he'd say he has a robot fetish, but there's something appealing about steel.]

I almost thought you wouldn't show up.

[agains]

[ His programming is weird, sure -- ignore photographers but love the fans, pose while trying to look unamused, like he can't figure out how he wants to hog the spotlight -- but it'll never completely erase his honesty. Genos picks the bar next time, too. And even it's weird, he'll show up.

Besides. Being wingman for your princely rival-label drinking buddy just means you're secure in your heterosexuality, okay. ]

Keith Goodman is always true to his word! And honors his promises!

[ Sitting side-by-side at the bar - for who wouldn't make room for two stars? - they make a strange pair. Keith addresses the entire bar: ]

Shots, anyone?

[wounds]

Good man.

[There's a part of him (is it really him) that doesn't want to be here. He wants to be in that tiny apartment he only caught a glimpse of. But the rest of him, the programmed part, loves this attention. Loves the fans hanging on and asking for autographs.

Though he doesn't answer questions about himself.

"Are you really gay?"

"I'm available."

Somehow that doesn't ring true either. But he'll stuff it away, a thought for later. Maybe.]

And the man of the hour is buying the first round!

[A smirk. An odd pair, a Virgo and a Pride. A heavy metal prince and a theraminist-- he's going to drink Keith under the table tonight.]

ALRIGHT WE'RE GONNA PARTY LIKE IT'S 2016

[agains]

[ SURE WHY NOT. Equally evasive about questions -- "friends, out being friends!" and waving his hands dismissively at the idea of label rivalry -- Keith gives the bartender a huge grin.

A terrifying grin.

The grin of a man with nothing to lose. ]

You heard him! Put it on my tab! Your finest specialty.

[ The waitstaff is forced to comply, delivering trays to tables and sliding glasses across the countertop to those who claim the offer. It's probably got some GREAT METAL NAME like RANCOR FIREBALL or DEATH METAL DICKPUNCH but hey, that doesn't matter as long as it glides down smooth.

Keith continues to ignore his phone. (Alex Ursa: Do not tweet. No IG. No FB. No texts. Keep your camera OFF, Goodman.) But it's like a cattle prod to the brain, a tiny jolt, the notion that... while he's supportive of his friend's life choices, Genos is with Pride records. And any attempt to besmirch their "good" name for publicity is a fantastic idea. ]

Last man standing, Genos?

[ A contest they've probably devised in the past: drink the same amount until one person is forced to bow out. ]

[wounds]

Last man it is.

Ready to go down, Goodman?

[He'll take his own shot, clink it against Keith's and down it in a go. If he's affected it sure doesn't show on his face.]

[agains]

[ Clink. ]

Only if you ask nicely.

[ well, we've just figured out who does what in this non-relationship. Keith is likewise unaffected by Shot #1. It's pregaming, as far as he's concerned. He smiles at someone ordering a drink nearby just to make them a little weak in the knees. ]

Winner picks up the loser's tab? Or shall we set the stakes higher? Perhaps the coming Solstice demands bold new traditions.

[wounds]

Only if you're going down on me.

[He winks. He doesn't mean any of it, but he can hear the pictures and snap shots of the moment.]

Should we make a bet? Loser's gotta do whatever the winner asks.

[agains]

[ Someone definitely just got that on video. Have fun, world. ]

Ah, too prideful to be the one doing the deed? [ virgo was here pride is a loser ] I do find it appealing to command The Heavy Metal Prince...

[wounds]

I think you'd look good there. But if you insist...

[He'll leave that trailing, eyes half lidded as he takes another shot and licks his lips in the must suggestive manner possible.]

[agains]

I always look good. [ He sounds almost offended. Why wouldn't he look good? He always does his best to look good; he's supposed to be a guy people can look up to! That fans can admire? To keep up a look that never betrays the integrity of his band and their brand?

Weird stray thoughts, am i right? ] No matter what I'm doing.

I'll tell you again, and I'll tell you again, you can be honest with yourself about your preferences. But I accept.

[ As the drinks continue to flow, the crowd seems to change. No doubt their identities and locations have been leaked by now, even if they haven't done it.

This competition may be getting more witnesses than they expect. ]

[wounds]

But never better than me.

[What a cocky kid. They both look good, but he's sure he looks better.]

And like I said, I'm perfectly willing with anyone.

i guess it's all npc tldr all day long now

[agains]

[ "Genos, will you sign me?" a shirtless young man asks, puffing out his chest.

"You two aren't an item, are you?" a man trying to take home the title of biggest bear whispers in Keith's ear.

Fans and admirers fawn; others watch enviously. Some drink to the point of aggression or misery, most of which ends up on the bathroom floor.

One member of the staff pushes his way in. He's a vapid, attractive guy with a pair of handcuffs hanging conspicuously from his pocket. "Excuse me, gentlemen, can I interest you in one of our specials?" ]

[wounds]

[He does as he's asked, signing his name right onto the man's chest.]

Oh? What's the special?

[agains]

[ "I'm merely a wingman," Keith says, without any no-homo protest. "I'm here for his sake, and to help him."

The bear does not seem pleased with his unusual repetitive speech pattern and frowns, although he remains part of the crowd.

"Body shots," the employee purrs. "Off one of us, of half off if you get yourselves messy." ]

This could be it, Genos! [ Keith is 100% psyched to get him out and proud. ] Your opportunity to experiment without judgment!

[wounds]

Tell me you're offering yourself up.

[agains]

Don't be cheap! We can afford it! [ Keith looks around for the man Genos signed. He looked like quality boyfriend material! ] What kind of friend would let you go home alone tonight?

[wounds]

Are you backing down from a challenge, Goodman?

[agains]

I'll never back down from anything a day in my life.

[ Gay chicken: start. He takes his shirt off to a few whistles and cheers. ]

[wounds]

What a sight.

[He's drinking it in.]

[agains]

[ Cameras flash. This is terrible publicity. The bartender pours the shot (with some quality top-shelf stuff, of course) and hands Keith the salt and lime to do with it as he will.

This innocent boy scout is in over his head with only his programming and the power of friendship to carry him onward. ]

See, admitting it wasn't so hard.

[ oh god where does it go what do ]

[wounds]

Now stick it whenever you want. Don't be shy.

acceptable wrapup?

[agains]

[ Keith doesn't remember much after this.

Onlookers claim that Genos or a waiter forcibly intervened and trickled salt down his stomach, mimicking a happy trail to be lapped up. Others argue that Keith was the aggressor, threading his fingers in Genos's hair and trying to keep his head down longer than usual.

It was universally concluded that the lime was in Keith's mouth and he was reprimanded heavily by Mr. Ursa in order to censor most pictures from that night. There was no kiss but you know how fans can get with photoshop. And boy, did they get creative.

He wakes with a hangover, alone, in his own bed. His shirt is gone. He's sweaty and reeks of alcohol, but he seems otherwise fine - no hickeys, no tattoos he can't explain, only one or two bruises and scratches that were (probably) entirely incidental.

Who won the bet?

No matter; there's a Solstice party around the corner and he's sure they can figure it out then. ]