The main thing Rob liked about The c**k And Bull, besides the name, was that it felt like a proper pub. The bar had apparently been brought over from England and was real English oak; that and the panelled walls covered with British and Irish flotsam and jetsam gave the place a warm, homey feeling. The tv over the bar played a neverending stream of British sport, football and rugby and cricket and even snooker and darts, along with Irish football and hurling. They served food here too, real proper pub grub like curry and shepherd's pie and fish and chips (with proper chips!) along with more American fare like hamburgers and buffalo wings. It gave him a sense of home away from home, of being back in London. This was his "local", his corner pub, even if it was a fair distance from his house.

The other thing Rob liked about it was the people. Many of the regulars were expats like he was, mostly from Ireland but a few from England as well. Hell, the owner was Irish, a tiny fierce older woman named Maire with raven-black hair and dancing blue eyes who always had a pat on the cheek (or rump) for him.

It was Maire who came up to him now, as he finished his seventh pint of lager. "Robbo, me lad!" she chirped, patting him on the arm, then eyed the empty glass. "You're putting some food down to cushion all that beer now, aren't you?"

"I am," he nodded with a grin, giving her a hug. "I've had an entire bowl of nuts."

"Rob…" Maire planted her hands on her hips and glowered at him. "I'll bring you a curry. And you'll eat it all or I'll kick your flat English backside to the curb!"

Rob laughed and saluted. "Yes ma'am!" He knew better than to disobey Maire.

As the evening wore on into night, Rob's drinking shifted from beer to whiskey; to his credit, he did finish the curry he'd had forced on him by Maire. He grew increasingly merry as well, playing along with the jukebox and even singing a bit. Eventually he shifted himself to one of the small booths that lined the wall and continued his celebration, until the bartender cut him off; she'd never seen anyone drink like that and not pass out. Maire checked on him on occasion, but generally let him be.

"Maire," he said at one point early in the morning, close to closing time. "C'mere. I got somethin' I wanna get off me chest."

"Oh no you don't, john's that way," Maire pointed at the bathrooms (helpfully labeled "Olivia" and "Elton").

"Nononono not like that. Siddown wif me, please, Maire."

Pulling a face, she climbed into the tiny booth. "What do you need, my lamb?"

"I got sommat tell you." Rob leaned closer to the woman. "You know them 'terrorists' on telly?" he half-whispered, making finger quotes.

"Yeeaaaah…."

"I'm one of 'em!"

Maire sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're drunk, Rob."

"That's beside th' point. No, I really am! Only we ain't terrorists, Maire -- we're th' good guys! We're th' ones helping people against them monsters that run around th' city, we're th' ones preventin' people from getting drained or gettin' their starseeds taken-"

"What are you on about?"

"It's truth! I'm really Sailor Puck, Senshi of th' Woods!" Rob lightly pounded the table with the flat of his hand. "I know it's hard t' bleve, but you gotta bleve me!"

Maire patted his cheek. "Of course I believe you, my love."

Rob bowed his head so that it nearly hit the table. "I'm so happy. I hadda tell someone after all these years an' you're the only one who'd bleve me…"

"I think it's time for you to go home," Maire gently told him, nodding at the bartender to ping an Uber. She helped him straighten up and stowed his pennywhistle in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. It was rare to see Rob this drunk, and she worried a bit for him. But he was a grown man, capable of knowing his own limitations, and she wasn't his keeper.

"Thank you, Maire," Rob smiled. "Thank you for listening."

"It's me job, love." She steered him toward the Uber, rifled through Rob's pockets for his ID card and gave the driver Rob's address from that, and paid for the trip in advance out of her own pocket. Rob, meanwhile, settled into the back seat of the car and promptly nodded off, snoring gently.

Maire shook her head as the Uber drove off. "Sailor Puck of the Woods," she muttered. "What will that lad come up with next?"

The Uber didn't take long to reach Rob's house; for his part, Rob spent the entire ride asleep. When the driver pulled up to the curb in front of the house, she reached an arm back and gently shook his shoulder. "Sir? Wake up, you're home-"

"I DIDN'T DO IT," Rob jerked awake in a panic, grabbing the driver's arm (who was now curious as to what this drunken man hadn't done). Blinking, he let go and put a hand to his mop of dreadlocks. "Sorry, sorry, thought you was someone else," he apologized, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"It's okay, sir, your friend paid for you. Tip and everything."

Rob blinked again. "Tha's real sweet of her, innit? She's a good person, she is." It took him a minute to remember how car doors worked; once he got it open, he spilled out onto the pavement like Edina Monsoon. "I'm fine, I'm okay. I'm home?"

"Yes sir, you're home."

"Thank you so much, love. Really 'preciate it." Struggling to his feet, he slammed the car door shut and carefully negotiated the stairs up to his front door. "Where's me keys," he mumbled, searching his pockets before deciding it was too hard and leaning against the door, sliding down til he was sitting on the stoop. Then he noticed the wicker settee on the porch; it had nice soft cushions. Crawling over to it, he clambered in and passed out.

His mother would find him in the morning when she came out to water the plants in front of the duplex house. And she would let him sleep, not wanting to hear what kind of story he'd come up with this time.

(wc: 1075)