As it turned out when they arrived, the gym was not all it seemed. Behind the first set of doors they had entered they was a bouncer- the standard nightclub bouncer back on earth- and the door behind him led into the foyer. At first glance it was that of a fancy hotel- ones which cost four hundred dollars a night just for a standard room- a glass chandelier even adorned the ceiling, which spiralled soothingly down. The next door however led to a completely different environment. Bright strobes and strong vibrations of bass from the stereos- the core fundamentals of a nightclub. Still true to its name it did have a gym area- milled in with a bar of course. And then finally at the edge of the place was the bench where they sat on the eastern side. A towel rested around their shoulders, soaking up the beads of sweat. Patrons wandered around, taking seats at the bar portion of the place, lifting weights and showing off to whoever they preferred. It wasn't the best environment for a gym- especially with so many intoxicated-, the regulars looked like they could snap anyone like a twig. SF cleared his throat as he took a sip of water, shaking off his numbness.
"How long has this place been around?"
"Probably a while considering the overall look." Josh replied, surveying the room. The place was well kept, fresh coats of paint, polished granite, and new wood. But the neon lights, the lay out, not to mention the foyer, too twentieth century for the place. SF sat up, recoiling quickly as he held his side.
"I'm surprised you won."
"Yeah, well you were too cocky. Now where's the hundred silver." He held his hand in a beckoning gesture. SF pulled the leather pouch out- the one in which held the remaining silver from the payment of the prawn skewer- from the depths of the coat he had taken off himself and tossed it over to Josh.
"We would make a good team someday." Josh commented scanning the rest of the weightlifters. Most of them didn't have spots, which said more than he could fathom.
"Ha. Only if you're the sidekick." SF followed his gaze, a gaze blocked now by a suave, thin male. A waiter. He had a tray of complimentary cocktails, kneeling so that the seated would not have to get up. They had watched him as he walked around the room. He never served everyone on the same round of the room. Every fourth and fifth round of the room he would offer them a drink. It was always funny to SF the patterns every person had. He noticed them so often, even in fighting- that was how he became as victorious as he was in hand to hand combat-, to pick their brain and understand how the cogs of their brain worked. He left without a drink taken from his tray and set back on route. However, this time he stopped at the door. A man and a woman stood in the doorway, who shook hands with the waiter. The men both smiled, flashing matching rows of teeth gleaming brightly in the strobes. The music hiked up as their conversation started. The tray was passed off to another waiter and the original waiter walked the duo slowly past them. Both the male and the female had tattoos spanning the opposite sides of their necks, matching nicely, seeming to be siblings rather than partners. If they were on earth, they could be described as 'drug dealers'. Rather stagnant colour in the strobes, their hair looked to be auburn, bordering red. The music drowned out most of the words, lost among the strong bass and soothing lyrics, but he found himself catching 'mass' and 'distribution' out of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary for SF's line of work but it was out of place in a nightclub. Fortunately, it was laid to rest as they left through a padded door behind the bar- all he could do now was accept the drink from the waiter in front of him. The taste of the mixed vanilla and caramel of the bourbon was soothing, like a comforting smoothie from back in his youth. He raised the glass to the flashing lights, sloshing the drink carefully watching the splashes and patterns of bubbles like a child. He lowered the glass.
"Hello." Shima stood in front of him, though he hadn't been seen to approach him. SF left out a stifled shriek of shock, jolting his hand backwards in an action of fright, unfortunately spilling his beverage on his singlet. Shima's lips quirked in a smile, holding a laugh.
"Didn't mean to scare you but we need to talk." He outstretched a hand to pull SF up from his seat, but the latter was in too much of a shock. Eyeing the empty glass he cradled, his hand was retracted and it was onto the disapproving shake of the head.
"If you don't mind, I need to borrow your rifle. It'll be hadn't back to you in three weeks at the least." He stepped forward, coming very close, teeth exposed and vibrant under the lights. SF reached for his rifle, hand trembling and handed it over. Shima received it gladly walked towards the bar at which he would spend the next two to three hours washing away his guilt without ever getting fully drunk.
Shortly after the encounter SF was left by Josh to stumble all the way home unprotected. It wasn't like he had anything to steal anyways, the last of the silver he had on him he had handed over. Half of the streets look liked rivers, meshing together in swirls of colour and nonsense. Every step felt like an unsure mile. The pebbles of the street seemed alive and angry, congregating at his feet, tripping him. And they were successful many times. In real time he had only made it about a meter from the gym and had tripped easily sixteen times. This time however he connected with metal plating and fabric.
"SF?"
"Z?"
"Man, you're fucking wasted." Z pushed SF up into a standing position, supporting him with his shoulder. His digital face displayed the classic look of concern. His best plan of action was to take him back to the shop, he wasn't even in the slightest sure where SF's house was. He needed him sober anyways if he was going even remotely understand what had happened to him. SF's arm were soon slung over Z's shoulder and he began to drag him towards the market-place.
"Let's get you sober."
