I just wrote this scene new, because my other scenes didn't really seem to fit the bill, and I'm not totally happy with how this one came out either, but at least it involves St. Patrick's Day and a bar and alcohol and relationships! I wish I'd had the space to get Adam a bit drunker, all the same.
Adam should have known better than to go to the bar on today of all days. St. Patrick's Day. He elbowed his way through the men and women packed in the pub to the bar and when shouting didn't work, placed his order directly into the bartender's mind instead. It was only cheating a little bit, and it wasn't as if Eve were around to notice, nor would the man himself know the difference in the uproar.The barman is supposed to be Lugh, something of an Irish god who may or may not be associated with Trickery, but I didn't have the time to develop him the way I'd like to. It seemed fitting that Sif would have taken up with him though. Maybe I'll explore him and their relationship a bit more in the future. I haven't really done much with the Celtic/Irish/Welsh gods, and know very very little about any of them, but I don't feel like I can neglect them!
He clenched his teeth and tried to keep his hands from balling into fists. The last thing he needed was a temptation to start throwing punches. Getting himself knocked out would hardly be anything Eve could miss, even from America, and God forbid she be half-balanced on a ladder in that thrice-damned shop of her parents if he lost consciousness and hers went with it. Thor would have a field day punishing him for the resultant injuries.
A glass of whiskey slid down the smooth wood into his hand, and he dropped several large bills onto the bar, tapping the counter with an implicit "keep them coming" gesture, before knocking back the alcohol. He hadn't had nearly enough to drink on the plane, and St. Patrick's day or not, he was determined to get himself plastered enough that he wouldn't care that the woman he took to bed with him wasn't Eve. At least there would be a wide selection to choose from.
He grimaced at the burn in the back of his throat. St. Patrick's day always meant cheaper liquor. Everyone was too drunk to notice the difference, and bars made a killing by taking advantage of it.
The money disappeared from the counter and a bottle replaced it with a dull thunk. The bartender had bright red hair, and narrow green eyes. Adam glared at him when he smirked. "You'll like that one," the man said. "Hardest I've got, and well worth the money spent."
Irish, by the sound of him, or else pretending to be to capitalize on his tips. If he was pretending, he did a damn good job of it. Adam filled his glass and drank it down. The burn was much more pleasant, smooth and clean. "Better than the swill you just served me."
The barman grinned and jerked his head to the right. "The woman there said you were a man of distinguished taste and loaded with money enough to afford it."
Adam glanced over his shoulder, then turned and stared. She looked just like Eve. He checked the proof on the bottle, but he knew he hadn't had enough to drink to hallucinate. Not yet. The woman met his eyes and smiled, and all resemblance to Eve vanished in the curve of her mouth and a flash of gold in her eyes. It had to be some trick of the gods. Had they sent someone to Eve, too? Someone who resembled him just enough to make her look twice?
He poured another glass and slugged it down. The gods could keep their look-a-likes. He wasn't going to accept substitutes, or if he did, he wanted them to remind him as little of what he'd lost as possible. "Tell her thanks, but I'm not interested in any consolation prizes. She's better off going home with you."
The barman laughed. "I tell her that often enough. Sometimes she even listens, but you--" He shrugged. "You're exactly what she's been waiting for."
Adam shook his head. "She'll get sick of waiting and crawl back in bed with you, I'm sure."
"She surely will." He grinned and refilled the glass. "But not 'til she's finished in yours."
A hand covered his, manicured nails and soft skin. Even her fingers were shaped like Eve's. He swallowed the whiskey and kept his eyes on the bottle. "You don't even realize you're a pawn, do you? We're all just amusement for some higher power, hoping to see how twisted he can make us before we break."
"We're not all so cruel, Adam," she said.
He looked up at his name, his stomach lurching at the sound of it.
Her dark hair rippled and became gold, her eyes changing from green to the amber of honey. "Some of us just want to offer what comfort we can give. And perhaps something more. Satisfaction for the pain you've suffered by godly hands."
He blinked at the golden glow that seemed to blur his vision. She was certainly beautiful, and now that she no longer held Eve's form, nothing at all like her. "Do I know your name, goddess?"
She smiled and leaned closer, her hand stroking his arm and her breath tickling against his ear. She smelled like honey, too. Or maybe like mead. Whatever it was, he wanted it, though part of him knew it was because she meant him to.
"You can call me Sif," she said.
Sif. He should know that name, but at the moment he couldn't bring it to mind. Somewhere in the distance, masked by the dull roar of the other patrons, Adam heard the barman chuckle, and then the room flooded with gold and he heard nothing more.
Anyway. A bit more serious than I had meant it to be, but there you have it. My Drunk At First Sight contribution! Have a happy St. Patrick's Day!