Open starter !!!
There he was, embarrassed, perched against the bar and dressed in some gaudy blazer he was told by Micky would certainly not make him blend in with the locals. Paisley print, all yellow, gold, black and orange. But with that thick head of curls he could “pull anything off”, told by their rehab-incarcerated drummer, Linus, and with those curls he could get anything he wanted. Was he coming onto him? Highly likely. Elmo might have believed him, carried himself around with his chin high and an air of confidence if it weren’t for tonight...wallet lost at an English pub. He’d came out to do some research ( RESEARCH, we’ll call it, not an excuse to get drunk ) and familiarize himself with the area. Listen to some local British bands. Ogle over pretty British women. See what the area’s nightlife had to offer. But now he’s patting his pockets, all of em—jeans, blazer, the unconventionally small pocket on the breast of his t-shirt hidden beneath. “Always check the shoe”, another wise sentiment from their late drummer, but after digging into those laced up, beat-up combat boots of his, all he found were socks and hairy ankles. No sign of a wallet...not that he’d consider putting it in there, anyway. The bartender had been giving him a particularly hard time over it, sneering, granting him the dirtiest of looks as he twisted a rag inside of an empty beer pitcher. If it were a female bartender, all he’d have to do is bat his eyelashes. That’s what Micky did. He’d ring up Micky for help if it weren’t for that bartender’s watchful eye. “Oi, don’t think you’re moving 'til you pay for this drink, mate.” His elbows were glued to the bar. There’s the distressed rubbing of his thumb and forefinger over his beard as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. The twisting of his soul patch as dark eyes scan the bar for a solution, for help. He didn’t want to have to do this, but he saw no other choice. Leaning over to the stranger with their back facing him, he gently asks over the shitty drumming of the opening gig, very non-British,
“Hey,” Was it rude to say, ‘hey’? He wouldn’t know. “Don’t mean to be an asshole or anything...but do you mind grabbing this one for me? I guess I left my wallet at home.” Suddenly, he felt like a jackass for the blazer. > [ RESCUE THE FOREIGNER : BUY HIS DRINK ] > [ IGNORE THE FOREIGNER : EMBARRASS HIM ]
