CHAPTER 119 – THE FOOLS OF SCRAP TOWN

LYSANDER FARADEISS

"This is bad," I muttered to myself, my words slurred as I stumbled out of the restroom, my head swimming with the effects of alcohol.

Navigating through the crowded bar, I felt a wave of vulnerability wash over me. The motley assortment of dragonoids around me seemed to blur together, their faces twisted and distorted by my drunken haze. I couldn't shake the feeling that I might be targeted for a mugging in my current state.

"Johnny!" I called out, my voice cracking with desperation. "Johnny!"

Pushing my way back to our table, I was met with a disappointing sight—another group had claimed our spot. Panic gnawed at the edges of my mind as I scanned the room, searching for any sign of my friend.

"Johnny, where are you hiding now?!" I cried out, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Johnny, you bastard!"

Turning to the bar, I approached the grumpy old woman who seemed to oversee the establishment. With a clumsy attempt at charm, I tried to coax information out of her.

"Hey, hot lady. Did you know where my friend went?" I slurred, mustering a drunken wink in her direction.

The barkeep sighed in exasperation, her patience wearing thin. "How many have you had, you fool? Johnny's not here. He's probably dancing in the disco."

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I stumbled away from the counter, my senses dulled by the alcohol coursing through my veins. Every step was a struggle, my stomach churning with each movement.

Spotting a door marked "Disco," I made my unsteady way towards it, the promise of bright lights and loud music beckoning me forward. Pushing open the door, I was assaulted by a wave of sound and light, the sensory overload sending my already addled mind reeling.

"Johnny! Johnny! Where are you!?" I shouted over the din, my voice lost amidst the cacophony of the dance floor.

"Heeeere's Johnny!" A booming voice, amplified by a microphone, reverberated through the bar, drawing my attention towards the stage.

And there he was, Johnny, jumping and gyrating like a wild animal in front of the band. His antics were unmistakable, a clear sign that he'd had more than his fair share of drinks for the night.

"Johnny!" I called out, waving frantically to catch his attention. "Johnny!"

Pushing my way through the crowd, I climbed onto the stage, determined to drag him away from his embarrassing display. As a Centurion and Dragon Lord, his behavior was unbecoming, and I couldn't let him continue to make a fool of himself in front of the citizens of Scrap Town.

"Johnny, let's go home! Meike will kill you!" I pleaded, my voice drowned out by the noise of the bar.

But instead of heeding my words, Johnny's response was swift and unexpected. With a forceful slap, he struck me across the face, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through my skull.

"Ooooh!" The audience reacted, their murmurs blending with the music as they watched the altercation unfold.

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Anger flaring within me, I retaliated with a slap of my own, the sound ringing out sharply in the air. "Ouch!" Johnny cried out, his hand flying to his reddening cheek.

Without a moment's hesitation, he struck me again, and I returned the blow with equal ferocity. Back and forth, the slaps echoed across the stage, a testament to the unresolved tension simmering between us.

With each strike, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of our shared history, a decade-long journey marked by betrayal, forgiveness, and camaraderie. Though our words remained unspoken, the sting of each slap spoke volumes, carrying the weight of our past grievances and unspoken regrets.

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As we settled back at our table, exhaustion and intoxication weighed heavily upon us. With weary movements, we reached for one last glass of pint, our bodies swaying with each motion.

Johnny offered a slurred compliment, his hand patting my back with drunken affection. "You're a good friend to me, Lysander."

"Shut up!" I retorted, my words muffled by the rim of my beer mug. "Cheers!"

Raising our glasses in a final toast, we brought them to our lips, ready to take a long-awaited sip. But before the liquid could touch my tongue, a sudden collision sent beer cascading down my face and clothes.

"What the fuck!?" I spluttered, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Get lost, bud! That's my table!" the culprit, a middle-aged dragonoid with a macho physique, slurred in response, his drunkenness evident in his speech.

"Hey, apologize!" Johnny demanded, rising to his feet with righteous indignation, his beer mug held threateningly in the air.

"Or what?" the drunken interloper challenged, his gaze defiant.

"Or I'll fuck your ass!" Johnny declared, his words slurred but filled with conviction.

"Do you mean fuck my ass up?" the man countered, his tone mocking.

"No! I'll fuck your ass!" Johnny clarified, his anger palpable as he squared off against the unruly patron.

The sudden turn of events caught us all by surprise. Instead of resorting to violence, Johnny and the drunken man found themselves engaged in an unexpected dance-off on the crowded dance floor. With tequila fueling their movements, they waltzed and tangoed with an unexpected grace, drawing cheers and applause from the surrounding patrons. Meanwhile, I could only watch from the sidelines, my jealousy simmering beneath the surface as I lamented my lack of dancing skills.

But as the night progressed, my envy consumed me, driving me to desperate measures. Seizing a garbage bag, I captured the drunken man and dragged him to the restroom, intent on punishing him for stealing Johnny's attention. With reckless abandon, I forced his head into the toilet bowl, subjecting him to a humiliating ordeal of toilet water and urine.

"This is what you get for stealing Johnny from me!" I cried, my anger fueling my actions as the man's desperate screams echoed through the tiled room.

But before I could exact further retribution, Johnny appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Oh, Lysander! I've been looking for you!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the scene unfolding before him. "Looks like you're having fun there, ain't you?"

"I'm fucking his shit up!" I declared, determined to see my revenge through to the end.

"Let's fuck him up!" Johnny agreed eagerly, his eyes flashing with mischief as he joined in my pursuit of justice.

With a swift movement, Johnny moved to unzip the poor drunken man's pants, revealing a pair of boxers adorned with a kitten logo. But before we could enact our plan, the man broke free from my grasp and fled, his cries of terror echoing through the restroom as he sought refuge from our wrath.

The old man's scream pierced the air, raw with fear. "They're assaulting me!"

A tense silence enveloped us. Then, laughter bubbled up, uncontrollable and infectious. "Hahaha!" I burst out, unable to contain it.

Johnny joined in, his laughter mocking. "Did you see that? The old man's gay, I knew it! What a waste of a glorious beard and muscles!"

We collapsed in the cramped toilet room, laughter echoing off the walls like ricocheting bullets. Eventually, we composed ourselves and headed back to the bar. But before we could leave...

"There, officer! Those two tried to assault me!" The old man's voice sliced through the air like a blade.

Panic seized us. "Run!" Johnny's command shattered the moment, and we sprinted out of the bar, the darkness of Scrap Town swallowing us whole.

The dragonoid police pursued, their wings unfurling in a menacing display. "Stop, you fools!" they shouted, their voices morphing with power.

But we refused to yield. "Never!" I shouted back, my breath ragged with exertion. My drunken haze blinded me to the obstacle in my path, and I stumbled, crashing headlong into a dumpster, swallowed by darkness and garbage.