Welcome to Gaia! ::

Zac's shoulders were so hunched he was starting to resemble a turtle, he couldn't get away from Ever's grip without ditching the sweat shirt, but that didn't mean he had to -like- it.
"Drinking to our good fortune to make it in?" he quipped back and arched an eyebrow. Ugh ginger ale... could be worse he supposed.
"You can let GO you know..." He added hinting heavily that he wanted released.

"I've -been- drunk I'm just unsure I want you to see that." He said flushing and tracked Ever's gaze, sadly his height meant he missed whatever captured the taller man's attention, though he didn't miss the shoulder slam that nearly took him out of the briefly tentative grip.
Ever might have a few kicks when he gripped Ever's arm like a life line trying to stay close.

"Right... defiantly not for being swept away." He noted sounding a little panicked.

"Easy for YOU to say, your tall." He shot back "People notice you're here... I think I'm going to have to kick shins or risk being road pizza." He said looking like a cat in a rocking chair factory. He was trying to be calm about it, he really was. There was just something different about pressing your way through a throng of people when you were in uniform, vs being in civi clothes.

Tempting though...the idea of finding a distracted corner and swapping up, use the crystal to look normal again...and knock out half the club.

God that was a tempting thought...he could start with Ever...it would be SO damned satisfying.

It was the first time he'd been out in a long, long time. In truth, he was mostly here for business, but wouldn't deny himself the pleasures that this place could offer. Andrew Collins had kept to the shadows for now, observing the night life with the casual, emotionless gaze of a predator sizing up the pack in steady search for that one, inevitable weak link. If there was one, single good thing his recent losses had taught him, it was patience. He rose from his languid, slumped position against the wall, and wove his way through the throng of the crowd, fully intended to get a drink.

The bar was an old and welcomed friend of his, and he didn't pay much attention to the less-than-affectionate pair. The purple-haired girl clearly wasn't supposed to be in here, and was having little luck in persuading some man from drooling over the thought of getting lucky with her. More importantly, the man was in his way, blocking him from speaking to the bartender. He didn't feel like ******** off." The redhead leaned in to breathe in the guy's ear, unflinching when he spun around and wafted the reeking scent of alcohol even closer. Maybe it was the look in Drew's eyes, steely and venomous. Maybe it was the lack of expression on his face. Whatever the case, the man backed off, and lurched into the crowd in hopes of finding a more willing target.

Idly taking up the vacated spot, the man leaned forward, an elbow resting lightly on the bar. "Whiskey on the rocks." Slow and steady was the pace for tonight, in all aspects.

Old slimeballs were the worst. Really, they were. Being hit on by old men was extremely irritating, and while there was something very hot about say... a woman in her 20's, this was clearly too much.

But then, the dude was probably too drunk to be able to differentiate her age from the bottom of his beer bottle. She was just about to start outright yelling at him and make a scene when the perv just hightailed it. At first, Ashley was left confused, until she saw Andrew. It was a little evident what just had happened, and she smiled. "Put that on my tab." She said to the bartender, before turning to her red-headed rescruer. "Thanks."

One purple eyebrow rose slightly when the dark-haired boy in a hoodie was all but hauled onto a bar stool not too far from her and Andrew. Particular, through... ah, no, he looked like he had an inch or so on her.

Bah.

It had taken some time for Jada to carefully pick out her battle armor for the evening. Her red top was almost fire-engine, and shimmered under the light, and it fell like a tunic to cover black leather pants that would be really hard to get her out of, if she got too drunk. It would suck if she drank herself sick with them on, but it was comforting to know they were there. Her makeup was stage-dramatic to match: smoky eyes, bright lips, big gold earrings and red fingernails, the typical french tips painted instead to a cherry red. She had collected enough cash for a good time at the bar, a taxi there and back, her fake ID, her cell phone-- and deliberately left her henshin pen at home. No. Not tonight.

Tonight, Jada was going out to celebrate an important event, one that would never happen. Today was Lisa's 20th birthday. Or would have been, if 360-something days ago, she hadn't been killed by a pink-haired Negaverse agent. It was odd, she realized as she stirred her Long Island Iced Tea with a long, slender finger, how she romanticized her friends deaths, all because it had changed her very perception of the world. Lisa and Vivian hadn't really liked her, they had liked her Daddy's money. Really, Jada was alright with that. Money bought some incredibly loyal friends. Money bought the fake ID's that had gotten a sixteen-year-old into clubs with her friends, where she would watch them drink and smoke, and sometimes get mildly high off the fumes of what the blondes sucked into their system.

Tonight was no different than what they had done, minus the smoking. Jada was drinking, aged eighteen, having greased any palms that were concerned about the legality of her actions. Jada was eying the dance floor, and letting men pay court to her on her bar stool, carefully never letting her drink out of her sight. It was what she'd been taught, after all.

The purple-haired girl who had been getting harassed a few seats down had found a rescuer, one with bright hair. Was that... Her face flamed, and she spun the other way, hunching just the slightest. Drew actually knew she was under 21, regardless of her ID, though just how under, she wasn't sure. He'd never seen her ID, after all. He'd spent enough time tossing her around a gym mat that she had eventually let at least that slip. And then he'd just sort of vanished, and she hadn't even known he was still alive. Huh. Well, good to know her 'trainer' (she couldn't call the guy she paid to beat her up a 'friend' could she?) was still alive and potentially kicking. Still, she did try and keep herself a little out of the line of sight, even as she took another sip of the deliciously lethal beverage in her hand.

What else was going on at the bar? Some kid in a hoodie that even her gullible a** wouldn't believe was 21 was being dragged onto a stool by a friend. Drunks surrounded her, and the bass pounded at her ear drums. She stretched out her legs toward the dance floor, leaning back on one arm, hand firmly against the bar. She could almost feel overdressed, what with all of the half-naked people around. Skirts too short, tops too tight, and one girl over there might even be wearing only pasties and mesh as a top, the lights were too blinding and dim, alternating, to tell. And that guy over there looked to be trying to check out the contents of his girlfriends stomach with his tongue.

See, that was why, in honor of Lisa, she was going to get so drunk, that she didn't care. The Long Island was a good start, she thought. And speaking of that drink, it was gone. "Get me something tasty." she told the guy when he stopped for her. "Some kind of a shot, I think. Surprise me." It saved her from drinking the same thing all night, without having to fall back on her father's favorite of a scotch (Glenlivet or Glenfiddich, the occasional Dalwhinnie please!) on the rocks.

Ever fought down the urge to ruffle Zac's hair, grinning to himself and shaking his head as he wriggled between people and up to the bar; not skirting around the worst of the fuss, the way many would have, but instead easing himself right into the thick of it. What was the point of standing on the sideline? You missed so much.

He had his wallet out by the time he settled against the bar beside Andrew, tugging his tie straight again and very briefly counting through his remaining bills. He could afford a couple drinks, maybe, but his eyes still went to the poorly-guarded tip jar. If he ran short, maybe...

"One vodka-tonic, and I'm begging you, no fruit in it." Ever grinned at the bartender: likely meant to be charming, but instead it came off goofy.

"And, ah." He had to pause and think for a moment, to come up with what would suit Zac. Or what could get past his tastebuds, perhaps, just a little spiked, "...one coke with just enough rum to warm the cheeks."

He'd even tip. For now.