IT'S THE 80s [closed]

[attr="class","mouths1"]Yun hears the black-haired fellow's underhanded jab loud and clear, but does nothing except absorb himself into the flavors of his whiskey-champagne concoction. He was used to the peanut gallery's japes and jests, it wasn't easy trying to break the mold wherever he went. The duelist wasn't the type so easily convinced to put aside individuality for conformity's sake, to try his hand at being a normal person with friends, to stop being so goddamned fucking weird--

Yun blinks in quiet astonishment, realizing he had nearly lost himself in memories from the past, lingering remnants of his parents' voices as they scolded and berated him for following his own path rather than putting aside the ideals they demonized as mere fantasies. He could not expose their lack of vision, prove to them that what he was doing was for the good of all. The longer Yun continued to indulge this particular ghost, the stronger it became; thankfully, he was still sober enough to recognize this fact, and took another sip of his Hakushu Highball, doing exactly as the regulars did with aplomb: drown his sorrows away.

Within less than five minutes, the first glass is depleted of its liquid contents, and the man with multicolored hair slides it forward to a somewhat understandably concerned bartender. "Another Highball," Yun requests, his voice flat and low. Nobody was up on stage singing yet, possibly due to an uncharacteristically low population of completely inebriated bar-goers or wannabe pop singers looking to emulate the garbage that played on the radio these days. In the back of the establishment, tucked away in a corner, a jukebox played what sounded like a soft lounge ensemble of piano and brass.

The second glass reaches Yun's hands, and he downs a fifth of it the moment another memory starts to resurface. He wanted to make sure he consumed enough liquor to focus only on what played now, or his reputation as a man with a gambler's spirit be damned to the deepest pits of Hell itself. Another fifth, straight down the hatch.

Of course, the faster one drinks their alcohol, the speedier the inebriation process tends to go. It was only a matter of time before a noticeable scarlet glow begun to form over Yun's typically pale features, his amethyst eyes now starting to waver a little as small details like colors, textures, and sounds became either dull and muffled, or bright and intense. Even the guy who took a swing at his sense of fashion became nothing more than background scenery to the duelist as he became increasingly more drunk.

It was a moment of relaxation, and one of vulnerability all the same.

[attr="class","mouths1"]Look at them. Staring at him like he had just bit a puppy's head clean off with his bare teeth. Judgemental fucks, thinking they were real smooth trying to get him to dance around like a goddamned puppet on strings. Who did they think he was, Pinocchio? He may have been drunk as a skunk, but Yun could still mop the floor with these losers--if he felt like it.

The young woman's skin appears to glow behind the duelist's whiskey-goggles, though only in the sort of way that a dingy karaoke bar's poorly-maintained lighting system could muster. He could see right through her facade--but the way her posture tensed in reaction to Yun's aura of drunken menace suggested a more passive demeanor than the latter initially suspected. His impressions of the brown-skinned babe were swift to vanish the moment she offers to incentivize the man in leather with material offerings of money or brief exposure to her 'assets'.

His eyelids only sink lower in vexation for her meager attempts to prod him into embarrassing himself on the stage for their amusement. She even fails to convince him of her male companion's supposed vocal prowess, and it makes the duelist clench down on an empty glass even harder, ice cubes tinkling inside.

Calling the other fellow a 'gentleman' would have been overestimating his capacity for Yun's drunken antics, as he demonstrates with a verbal riposte the likes of which only the most skilled of con artists could pull off, an act the spiky-haired card player would have actually complimented, were he not so absorbed in his own well of personal pity--

...Good God, it had come to that, hadn't it? Yun's life wasn't enjoyable, not in the slightest. In the long term, a Tamer's life never was. Maybe not from his perspective, anyway, but why did either of them give a shit? It was just as that grinning asshole had said: they were only here to strike up conversation and possibly belt out a few off-key notes on stage. He was simply collateral damage in their eyes.

But, only if he allowed himself to be.

While the sheer amount of alcohol running through his veins made it next to impossible for him to express it in any physical sense, the atmosphere alone had diminished far enough to provide the other two with enough room to catch a breath and regain their sense of security in their created comfort. He was drunk, and perhaps feeling a little bit testy from the other guy's earlier monologue, but Yun nonetheless takes a couple of minutes to process all that had been said to him.

He quietly picks up an ice cube from the glass he held, plays around with it some, then gently places it back inside the cup. His sharp, angular eyes stared that thousand-yard stare, glazed like a dead body's, and his shoulders droop slightly.

Then, a piercing, shrill laughter all but utterly shatters the quiet of The 24-Hour Cinderella as Yun's face bursts with a vibrant shade of red, body lurching forward to lean up against his arms for support but unable to as the giggles become more convulsive in their appearance. Seven highballs in less than fifteen minutes, and whatever remained of the once vigilant lone Tamer Yun Yoshimasa was no more. He had been but completely switched out, replaced, with whatever dark, maniacal creature he had just become.

It takes Yun several moments of this unsightly display of spontaneous humor for him to finally gather his composure, but a single glance at the other fellow's face reminds him of his earlier monologue, and he goes right back to laughing his ass off without skipping a beat. He even tumbles over against the empty side of the booth he had occupied, covering a hand over his mouth to prevent any more noise from carrying throughout the bar.

"Wow! Really?" Yun wheezes, coughing a few times in between chuckles as he (literally) struggles to pull himself up into a half-seated, half-leaning posture, using his arms and elbows for additional support. "Thatsh it?" His drunken smile refuses to fade, though a slight hint of his earlier cantankerousness peeked itself through with the sudden harshness of the question. Hopefully these two were smart--or terrified--enough to acknowledge that he was still going to make them confront what would become their greatest mistake of the night.

"Yeah. You shurtinly did get the wrong idea." Yun sharply rises to his feet, but staggers a moment, making sure to sway his body in tune with his shifting center of balance before regaining his poise in one, stuporous movement.

Rather than walk away, however, the man with the world's only head of gravity-defying hair snaps his fingers dramatically to grab the bartender's focus, only succeeding with a great deal of reluctance on the latter's part. "Bring me the Green Fairy!" The well-dressed employee shudders on the spot, then shakes his head to make a mental note that this guy was clearly done for the night. After seven goddamned Hakushu Highballs, asking for the Green Fairy was tantamount to suicide.

Yun merely stands there and folds his arms confidently into his chest, barely able to maintain the same type of facial expression due to how utterly fucking plastered he was. He sways back and forth on his feet, rolling them every which way, keeping deliberately quiet as the barkeep prepared an expensive-looking glass with a special slotted spoon topped with a single cube of compressed white sugar, then reached beneath the counter to retrieve the main event: a luxurious emerald bottle of absinthe, 150-proof, the finest that money could buy a low-end place like this one.

Prepared using the traditional French methods, a small measure of the anise-scented fluid was poured into the receptacle before the slotted spoon was placed above it, followed by the cube of sugar. Then, having retrieved a pitcher of iced water from the mini refrigerator behind the bar's counter, carefully poured the second fluid over the block of compressed granules to gently dissolve it into the spirit, the water serving to dilute the drink and create a visible cloudy effect that aimed to release the absinthe's full effects when consumed.

The seemingly mystical-looking brew was carefully paced over to Yun and set down atop the table for the other two to bear witness at their leisure. "Buckle the fuck up, assholess," Without warning, Yun swipes the absinthe from the table and consumes the entirety of this incredibly powerful spirit in one gulp, letting out an uncharacteristically wild grunt to brace himself against the Green Fairy's signature sting. "I've got thish."

Yun looks over to the single microphone that stood over nearby, grinning as he staggers his way over to prepare. Did he know what he was doing? The short answer was 'no'. The long answer was 'fuck no'. The really long answer was 'fucking no'. But he was drunk. They got what they wanted at his expense.

Then again, Yun wasn't here anymore. Whoever this was, it wasn't Yun Yoshimasa.