Post by Richard Monaghan on Sept 30, 2012 23:28:40 GMT -6
((I hate these fucking things.))
The door slid open easily, letting a sudden shaft of light into the otherwise dark establishment. A few heads turned lazily, looking to see if the newest entry was anyone worth noticing, but all soon brought their attention back to their present company, or lacking that, the drinks in their hands. Rick Monaghan didn't seem to notice the looks his way, or if he did, he certainly didn't seem to care. Instead, Rick made a beeline for the bar, seating himself on the nearest bar stool and giving the bartender a courteous nod as he was approached.
"Hey bud," the guy greeted him cordially. "What can I get ya?"
"Hey," Rick nodded in return. "Jack and Coke. Go ahead and start up a tab," he adds, producing his credit card and sliding it across the bar to the man as he did.
"Sure thing, man, tall or short?" the bartender replied, checking the card and putting it in file.
"Heh," Rick couldn't help but reply, the slight snort of laughter coming more from his nose than anywhere else. "Better make it a tall."
The bartender, seeming to be in good spirits, laughed in return. "You got it, man. Long day?" he asked, mixing up the drink and setting it on top of a bar napkin for him. Rick grabbed the glass and put it to his lips, tasting the sweet and bitter mix of the soda and alcohol.
"Nah. Long life." He shrugged, and smirked, managing to drop a statement with that without sounding like someone who was at the end of his rope, or who was planning on leaving the bar and ending it all. The bartender just smiled, unsure exactly of how to take it.
"You don't look all that old," he noted, and this time it was Rick's turn to laugh.
"Maybe not," he said, taking another drink. "But I think I've lived enough for a man twice my age, at least..."
---20 Years Ago---
"Have a good day at school today, Little Ricky!" His mom hugged him and placed a kiss on his forehead, giving him one last squeeze before she hopped back into the car to go to work.
"Mom, I'm TWELVE!" young Rick exclaimed, but she was having none of it, smiling and waving as she drove away. Rick sighed and shook his head, turning around to see three boys standing in his way.
"Little Ricky," one said, snickering. They were older, full-on middle schoolers. Rick was pretty sure their leader, the one in the middle, was even in eighth grade. "You gonna have a good day, Little Ricky?"
The other stepped up and shoved him, knocking him to his butt. "Ain't you the kid who doesn't have a daddy?"
"Shut up," Rick said, slowly getting up to his feet. The other boy stepped up this time, and shoved him back to his ass.
"No," their leader said, smirking. "What happened? I bet he didn't love your mom. I bet he got tired of how she called you 'Little Ricky' all the time. Actually, I bet he just thought YOU were some loser little piece of shit!" The boys all started laughing in unison.
"SHUT UP!" Rick roared, snapping up into a crouch and charging past the other two, leaping into the smirking little shit shoulder-first, slamming them both into the ground in a tangle of fists and feet. Rick lifted his arm and brought it down, once, twice, three times onto the boy's nose before his cronies could tug him off.
They tried to restrain him with a headlock, but backed off when he bit one deep enough draw blood, and kicked the other so hard in the junk that he puked. He was just getting back onto the leader when someone of authority saw and decided to intervene.
"Don't. You. Ever. Talk. About. My. Dad. Again." Rick would yell at the boy, punctuating each word with a stiff punch to the face before he was pulled off.
---Back At The Bar---
Rick just shook his head and chuckled. "I guess we all have, though. I swear, grade school was enough to turn any boy into a man, just to survive it, you know?"
The bartender shrugged. "I dunno, man, I was home schooled."
Rick's brow furrowed and he tilted his head slightly. "Really? Lucky you." He finished the drink and slid the glass across the bar.
"I guess," the bartender said, grabbing the glass and putting it in the sink. "Supposed to be the best way to learn stuff, and yet here I am tending bar. But hey, it was either this or the military. Want another?"
Rick nodded, letting out a little smirk as the bartender went to fix his drink. He unbuttoned the left sleeve of his dress shirt and pulled it back, revealing his Semper Fidelis tattoo, the US Marine Corp slogan. The bartender saw it and grinned. "Oh, you served?"
"Ten long years," Rick replied, taking the proffered drink and putting it to his lips for a long, slow drink. As he drink, his eyes closed for a moment...
---8 Years Ago---
"Tighten up and stay frosty, guys. Intel said this whole town was crawling with al-Qaeda, and they worked out that if they had a base of operations here, it would be this building."
Rick lead his squad through the building, clearing each room, one-by-one. He had taken point, while Fruitloop Mackie was watching their six. Fruitloop had been so named back in boot, thanks to his rather diminutive stature. The rest of his buddies had joked that it was a good thing there was a Don't Ask, Don't Tell rule in the military, or else 'this fruit loop' would be gone by sun-up. Everyone had a good laugh, and the name stuck. Fruitloop proved to be one hell of a soldier, though, his alertness and sharp eyes having saved the squad's asses on more than one occasion.
This time, though, they wouldn't be enough.
Since the rooms had been cleared, the squad had not thought that they would need to be cleared again. So when the insurgents rappelled down from the upper floors into the rooms they had just cleared, and kicked open the door to the room they were about to clear, and the one across from it as well, before swarming them from six rooms at once. Rick and his team opened fire, but they were taken by surprise. Three men fell immediately to gunfire, Rick's reflexes managing to bring down the two coming at him before they could hit him, instead. He grabbed the first man that he shot and held him tightly against his body, lettign the blood soak into his fatigues as he turned to the others, who were fighting back, tooth and nail. Men fell on either side, and Rick unloaded his assault rifle, held under the arm of the corpse he held, taking out a few more before he ran out of ammo.
He dropped the weapon and unsheathed his knife, screaming bloody murder as he threw the corpse into the last standing group of al-Qaeda, setting them back as he popped up behind it once they threw it aside, digging his knife deep into the throat of the first, spinning him to block the gunfire of the second and third and ducking around, hamstringing the second and making him fall before slashing upwards, dragging his knife into the gut of the third man and pulling it up until his entrails spilled out all over the floor.
The last remaining man screamed at Rick, yelling at him in words he didn't understand. Eyes full of rage and pain, Richard Monaghan turned his knife on the last, stabbing him in the chest and face until he had little left of either.
With his knife blade imbedded deep in what once was a man, Rick's eyes turned to Fruitloop, one of the closest friends he had ever made during his time in the military, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight as the life faded from his eyes...
---Back At The Bar---
Rick's face turned dour for a long moment, and the second Jack and Coke went far more quickly than the first. "Damn," the bartender said, but didn't say anything more. He was good enough at reading people to know that if they were talking about the military and the man got all dark, it was probably best not to ask. "I'll get you another. On the house."
"Thanks."
The bartender strolled back over with another drink, which Rick took graciously, taking this one a lot slower.
"Thank you for serving, by the way, man. I'm sure you've seen some rough times out there."
Rick, for the first time the whole night, looked the man in the eye legitimately.
"Thanks, man. But you don't have to go overseas to see rough times. You have more than a few of your own, I'm sure."
"Well, maybe, but nothing compared to-"
"Hell, compared to what? Each man's life is their own, if you're going to try and downplay your lowest points by being relative towards anyone else's, then you'd have to do the same to your highest, as well..."
---Just Over A Year Ago---
"Richard Monagahan," the voice called, and Richard strode from his place in line toward the podium. He was given his diploma, and shook his Dean's hand, smiling one of the most real smile he had ever given at that point as he did.
School had been tough. Rick had learned to fight in high school, and how to kill in the Marines. Learning how to actually contribute to society for once, instead of taking away from it, had been almost counter-intuitive to everything the man had known up to that point. But if his life had taught him once thing, it was perseverence. He stayed and fought through it, treating it like just any other battle, and just like any battle that was worth the fight in his past, he had won.
Rick took his place back in line, Master's Degree in hand. From here on out, everything would be different.
---Back At The Bar--
"Well, while it may make you feel better to downplay your own rough patches, it's far more worth it to cherish your victories, you know?"
"Yeah," the bartender said, nodding in agreement. "I see what you're saying."
Rick smiled and nodded, and left the bartender to take care of the rest of the bar for the rest of the night. He indulged himself in a few more drinks of the same variety, before switching to a Gin and Tonic for his last drink.
Fruitloop would have wanted it that way. It was his favorite drink after all. And on the eighth anniversary of his passing, Rick felt like it was the right thing to do.
((Word Count minus Coding and my bitching at the start = ... enough))
The door slid open easily, letting a sudden shaft of light into the otherwise dark establishment. A few heads turned lazily, looking to see if the newest entry was anyone worth noticing, but all soon brought their attention back to their present company, or lacking that, the drinks in their hands. Rick Monaghan didn't seem to notice the looks his way, or if he did, he certainly didn't seem to care. Instead, Rick made a beeline for the bar, seating himself on the nearest bar stool and giving the bartender a courteous nod as he was approached.
"Hey bud," the guy greeted him cordially. "What can I get ya?"
"Hey," Rick nodded in return. "Jack and Coke. Go ahead and start up a tab," he adds, producing his credit card and sliding it across the bar to the man as he did.
"Sure thing, man, tall or short?" the bartender replied, checking the card and putting it in file.
"Heh," Rick couldn't help but reply, the slight snort of laughter coming more from his nose than anywhere else. "Better make it a tall."
The bartender, seeming to be in good spirits, laughed in return. "You got it, man. Long day?" he asked, mixing up the drink and setting it on top of a bar napkin for him. Rick grabbed the glass and put it to his lips, tasting the sweet and bitter mix of the soda and alcohol.
"Nah. Long life." He shrugged, and smirked, managing to drop a statement with that without sounding like someone who was at the end of his rope, or who was planning on leaving the bar and ending it all. The bartender just smiled, unsure exactly of how to take it.
"You don't look all that old," he noted, and this time it was Rick's turn to laugh.
"Maybe not," he said, taking another drink. "But I think I've lived enough for a man twice my age, at least..."
---20 Years Ago---
"Have a good day at school today, Little Ricky!" His mom hugged him and placed a kiss on his forehead, giving him one last squeeze before she hopped back into the car to go to work.
"Mom, I'm TWELVE!" young Rick exclaimed, but she was having none of it, smiling and waving as she drove away. Rick sighed and shook his head, turning around to see three boys standing in his way.
"Little Ricky," one said, snickering. They were older, full-on middle schoolers. Rick was pretty sure their leader, the one in the middle, was even in eighth grade. "You gonna have a good day, Little Ricky?"
The other stepped up and shoved him, knocking him to his butt. "Ain't you the kid who doesn't have a daddy?"
"Shut up," Rick said, slowly getting up to his feet. The other boy stepped up this time, and shoved him back to his ass.
"No," their leader said, smirking. "What happened? I bet he didn't love your mom. I bet he got tired of how she called you 'Little Ricky' all the time. Actually, I bet he just thought YOU were some loser little piece of shit!" The boys all started laughing in unison.
"SHUT UP!" Rick roared, snapping up into a crouch and charging past the other two, leaping into the smirking little shit shoulder-first, slamming them both into the ground in a tangle of fists and feet. Rick lifted his arm and brought it down, once, twice, three times onto the boy's nose before his cronies could tug him off.
They tried to restrain him with a headlock, but backed off when he bit one deep enough draw blood, and kicked the other so hard in the junk that he puked. He was just getting back onto the leader when someone of authority saw and decided to intervene.
"Don't. You. Ever. Talk. About. My. Dad. Again." Rick would yell at the boy, punctuating each word with a stiff punch to the face before he was pulled off.
---Back At The Bar---
Rick just shook his head and chuckled. "I guess we all have, though. I swear, grade school was enough to turn any boy into a man, just to survive it, you know?"
The bartender shrugged. "I dunno, man, I was home schooled."
Rick's brow furrowed and he tilted his head slightly. "Really? Lucky you." He finished the drink and slid the glass across the bar.
"I guess," the bartender said, grabbing the glass and putting it in the sink. "Supposed to be the best way to learn stuff, and yet here I am tending bar. But hey, it was either this or the military. Want another?"
Rick nodded, letting out a little smirk as the bartender went to fix his drink. He unbuttoned the left sleeve of his dress shirt and pulled it back, revealing his Semper Fidelis tattoo, the US Marine Corp slogan. The bartender saw it and grinned. "Oh, you served?"
"Ten long years," Rick replied, taking the proffered drink and putting it to his lips for a long, slow drink. As he drink, his eyes closed for a moment...
---8 Years Ago---
"Tighten up and stay frosty, guys. Intel said this whole town was crawling with al-Qaeda, and they worked out that if they had a base of operations here, it would be this building."
Rick lead his squad through the building, clearing each room, one-by-one. He had taken point, while Fruitloop Mackie was watching their six. Fruitloop had been so named back in boot, thanks to his rather diminutive stature. The rest of his buddies had joked that it was a good thing there was a Don't Ask, Don't Tell rule in the military, or else 'this fruit loop' would be gone by sun-up. Everyone had a good laugh, and the name stuck. Fruitloop proved to be one hell of a soldier, though, his alertness and sharp eyes having saved the squad's asses on more than one occasion.
This time, though, they wouldn't be enough.
Since the rooms had been cleared, the squad had not thought that they would need to be cleared again. So when the insurgents rappelled down from the upper floors into the rooms they had just cleared, and kicked open the door to the room they were about to clear, and the one across from it as well, before swarming them from six rooms at once. Rick and his team opened fire, but they were taken by surprise. Three men fell immediately to gunfire, Rick's reflexes managing to bring down the two coming at him before they could hit him, instead. He grabbed the first man that he shot and held him tightly against his body, lettign the blood soak into his fatigues as he turned to the others, who were fighting back, tooth and nail. Men fell on either side, and Rick unloaded his assault rifle, held under the arm of the corpse he held, taking out a few more before he ran out of ammo.
He dropped the weapon and unsheathed his knife, screaming bloody murder as he threw the corpse into the last standing group of al-Qaeda, setting them back as he popped up behind it once they threw it aside, digging his knife deep into the throat of the first, spinning him to block the gunfire of the second and third and ducking around, hamstringing the second and making him fall before slashing upwards, dragging his knife into the gut of the third man and pulling it up until his entrails spilled out all over the floor.
The last remaining man screamed at Rick, yelling at him in words he didn't understand. Eyes full of rage and pain, Richard Monaghan turned his knife on the last, stabbing him in the chest and face until he had little left of either.
With his knife blade imbedded deep in what once was a man, Rick's eyes turned to Fruitloop, one of the closest friends he had ever made during his time in the military, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight as the life faded from his eyes...
---Back At The Bar---
Rick's face turned dour for a long moment, and the second Jack and Coke went far more quickly than the first. "Damn," the bartender said, but didn't say anything more. He was good enough at reading people to know that if they were talking about the military and the man got all dark, it was probably best not to ask. "I'll get you another. On the house."
"Thanks."
The bartender strolled back over with another drink, which Rick took graciously, taking this one a lot slower.
"Thank you for serving, by the way, man. I'm sure you've seen some rough times out there."
Rick, for the first time the whole night, looked the man in the eye legitimately.
"Thanks, man. But you don't have to go overseas to see rough times. You have more than a few of your own, I'm sure."
"Well, maybe, but nothing compared to-"
"Hell, compared to what? Each man's life is their own, if you're going to try and downplay your lowest points by being relative towards anyone else's, then you'd have to do the same to your highest, as well..."
---Just Over A Year Ago---
"Richard Monagahan," the voice called, and Richard strode from his place in line toward the podium. He was given his diploma, and shook his Dean's hand, smiling one of the most real smile he had ever given at that point as he did.
School had been tough. Rick had learned to fight in high school, and how to kill in the Marines. Learning how to actually contribute to society for once, instead of taking away from it, had been almost counter-intuitive to everything the man had known up to that point. But if his life had taught him once thing, it was perseverence. He stayed and fought through it, treating it like just any other battle, and just like any battle that was worth the fight in his past, he had won.
Rick took his place back in line, Master's Degree in hand. From here on out, everything would be different.
---Back At The Bar--
"Well, while it may make you feel better to downplay your own rough patches, it's far more worth it to cherish your victories, you know?"
"Yeah," the bartender said, nodding in agreement. "I see what you're saying."
Rick smiled and nodded, and left the bartender to take care of the rest of the bar for the rest of the night. He indulged himself in a few more drinks of the same variety, before switching to a Gin and Tonic for his last drink.
Fruitloop would have wanted it that way. It was his favorite drink after all. And on the eighth anniversary of his passing, Rick felt like it was the right thing to do.
((Word Count minus Coding and my bitching at the start = ... enough))
