Bars and best friends and implied pairings, OH MY.
He was able to get one last drag out of his cigarette before the pretty young Saiyaness working the bar that night placed another crystal glass of hard whiskey near his ashtray. He gave her a look of slight confusion, and with a wink, she explained, “It’s on me, honey.”
He smirked in approval and took a swig. The liquid burned the whole way down his throat, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. With the drink already halved, he lit up another smoke, and he found himself unable to keep his eyes off of the waitress’s…tail, as she bent over the bar talking to another paying customer.
It seemed that he wasn’t as discreet with the gazing as he thought.
“You ain’t got a chance with her, brother,” came a familiar voice behind him. Toma took a seat next to his best friend and laughed. “Once you take her home and she finds out you got a kid, you aren’t getting a damn thing.”
Bardock scoffed and exhaled smoke up into the lights. “So says the new father,” he countered with a smirk. He tapped some ash off the stick and said, “Which reminds me, about that bet.”
Toma sounded an annoyed growl and handed over a fair amount of money. “Damn. And here I thought you forgot.” The ‘bet’ being that Selypa wouldn’t scream during labor, much less yell at Toma something along the lines of “You did this to me, you son of a bitch!” He lost; he thought she wouldn’t scream at all, but childbirth was hell, even for female Saiyans.
With a smug smile, Bardock counted the money to make sure it was exact. “How is she, anyway?”
“Other than exhausted, fine,” his best friend shrugged. “She needs to stay in that infirmary for a few days, and that news didn’t settle with her too well.”
“Hn. The stubborn woman doesn’t know when to take it easy.” The shorter Saiyan man whistled shrilly, and this got him the attention of the buxom waitress. She slinked over, and he gave her three of the ten bits of currency. “Get me a round for my friend, will ya?”
She turned to Toma and smiled coyly at both of them. “Of course,” she purred. She pocketed the money and turned around to the array of alcohol.
“You’re using my own money to buy me a drink?” He laughed. “A bit cold, Bardock?”
“Ah, shut up. Call it a congratulatory drink,” he explained, with a small genuine smile. The waitress came back in no time and set a drink down for Toma. The two old friends raised their glasses to the other. “Cheers,” they said in unison, and then down the hatches went the burning liquid. “Now you’ll know what it’s like to have a brat of your own,” Bardock chuckled.
“But guess who’s got the babysitting gig now, brother?” Toma smirked, followed by a fit of laughter gauged by his friend’s barely audible reaction of, “FUCK.”