Bar Trip

So I've been back-and-forthing with Lydia, and I decided to take her up on the drink offer she's made so many times. I have found this bar that was Proxy only in Atlantic City, 24/7. It sounded a bit better than the one in Vegas, so we went to that one instead.
I still haven't bothered learning to drive, so instead, I decided to get more used to my legs and walk to Atlantic City, using a door or two, though I texted Lydia (Yes, I have her number, get over it!) and asked her to pick me up when I got to the City itself. It took me about three hours, and seven doors (One led to directly over Mauna Lea, so I almost fell, and another led into solid rock, it's why I hate Door traveling, especially when they spawn into anywhere like that).
I didn't think ravens could afford Corvettes. I was wrong. It was a beautiful thing, painted bright red with an pewter eagle for a hood ornament. She drove up beside me on the sidewalk, rolled down the window, and told me to get in. Her GPS was already loaded with the coordinates to the bar, and off we went.
By the time we got there, it was already 8:30PM, and there was an Archivist as a bouncer. Not a very strong fellow, but he had a very visible shotgun, and didn't look to be afraid to use it. "Names?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Daniel Thompson." I said.
"Lydia Coleburn." Lydia said proudly.
"Ah yes, welcome, the both of you." He said, stepping aside and allowing us in. It was a nice place, with soft lighting and relaxing piano music, though I kinda felt uneasy when I saw the piano player was wearing a gas mask.
Either way, Lydia and I sat down at the bar, and a blue haired female bartender smiled at us. "What can I get you two?"
"I'll have a Guinness." I told her.
"Screwdriver for me, please." Lydia requested. Within two minutes, our drinks were on the table in front of us. Now, I know someone's gonna say 'BUT YOU AREN'T TWENTY-ONE' and I can just reply with fuck you, I'm a proxy.
I was about to take a drink, but Lydia stopped me. She pulled two small tablets out of her coat pocket, and plopped them into our drinks, watching them fizz and dissolve. The bartender twitched for a moment, then returned to normal. "What did you put in them?" I asked her.
"Ink disposers. They're odorless, tasteless, and dissolve within seconds. They also render ink harmless. Something the timberwolves came up a couple years when EAT had her sights on their legions. Not like it's a problem for them, though. Archie's literally got millions." Lydia sighed.
"And we're going to have to fight side-by-side with them." I responded.
"I know. A little birdie of mine happened to be at the convention two days back. You know, the one that swooped down and tried to shit on Archie's head." Lydia replied.
"I did not see that." I chuckled.
"It was priceless. He just gave the dirtiest look that a gas mask could give for the longest time." Lydia could barely control herself. We stared at each other for about eight seconds, and then we burst out laughing, causing some of the proxies to shoot glances in our direction.
Turning on the barstool, I glanced around at my fellow patrons. Two Slenderproxies were shooting dice with some Maenads in the corner, and a bunch of timberwolves were hanging around the piano, playfully harassing the player, who completely ignored them all.
Over at one of the smaller tables, there was someone clasping a Rose Bride's hand in his, the bride clearly very smitten with the man. He glanced over at me, whispered something to her, and began walking in my direction.
I realized something. The sunglasses. The fedora. The sport coat. This guy, he's parodying me, he's even wearing khakis, like me. I recognized him suddenly, and it hit me like a freight train. It was Dawson.
"Well, well, Thompson, what an unpleasant surprise." He chuckled, sitting on the bar stool next to me.
"Dawson." I replied. "To what do I owe the honor of being visited by the Archangel's anal slave?"
"It's not so bad once you get used to it." Dawson shrugged. "Either way, I'm gonna be blunt here. I want to kill you myself. I also know that killing you right before we fight the imitation Fears is a bad idea. So basically, don't die out on the battlefield, you hear?"
"I have no intention at the hands of you or anyone else." I responded. "Now, if you don't mind."
Dawson backed away, smiling. "I gotcha, I gotcha. Besides, I have this pretty thing to take with me." He pointed as the still-blushing Rose Bride at the table. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
I turned back to Lydia and my drink. "I hate that bastard. He tries to hit on me every time he sees me, on the internet or otherwise."
"Seems you're not alone." I said, turning towards the door to watch Dawson and his 750th girlfriend exit the bar.
I would be more specific over the rest of the evening, but I can't exactly remember. I started drinking more, and eventually I got very, very, VERY drunk. To the point where my words were apparently almost incoherent. According to Lydia's texts, I ended up telling her my entire life story, a detailed account of my sex life, the life story of my entire family, and a recap of every Pokemon game I've played in the past two years.
She drove me home and left me in front of the The Screaming Tower. I woke up with a terrible hangover.
Now is the first time I feel good enough to actually get onto the internet. Whatever.

~Thompson out.