A Quiet Night at the Bubble Bar

Content Warning: There are guns, violence, and minor cursing. It is by no means a serious reading about these topics though, just dramatized with these aspects.

___

It is those who are left in the background whose stories scream the most. And, yet, are never fulfilled.

***

It is a quiet night at the Bubble Bar.

The bartender rubs the almost pristine towel against the unblemished wooden counter for the thirteenth time. There have been no new orders from the couple in the back and no one has ventured through the doors since 7 (it is currently 10 P.M.). There is really no one else there to bother the bartender…

Well, save for the lone pink-haired drunk in a mask who is thoroughly passed out on the non-addictive bubbles at the very end of the counter. Somehow, they are the only customer who is affected so deeply by the product that they find themself in listless fits of laughter before slumping and sleeping for a couple of hours. It is a nightly occurrence so the bartender tends to pay them no mind. As long as they continue to pay, they can drink themselves to sleep as much as they want.

The healthy tip they give is an added bonus.

Just as the bartender wonders if he should check inventory a third time, the bell at the front of the store goes off. He looks over, painting on a welcoming smile and starting the greeting…only for it to falter as he observes they, too, have a mask. Ah. Of course. It would be unwise to assume the lone drunk would be the only one to ever wear a mask, it appears they are no different, save for maybe the bright purple hair choice and a more formal outfit. “Welcome to the Bubble Bar, where the wares pop and the laughter bubbles; what can I getcha?”

“...” They look around, eyeing the other customers in the bar. As the bartender is about to assume they are here on other business, they comment in a low-toned voice: “I hear no laughter.”

The bartender’s already wearing-thin smile weakens as he offers, “It is just a phrase, nothing more. On other nights it holds true, just, not tonight–anyway, are you planning to order a drink?”

“Mm, do I have to?”

“Unless you want to be charged for loitering, I would suggest doing so. Or, if you are waiting for someone who plans to order, that works too.”

“...” They take a seat. “I suppose I will order something. The person I am meeting is not here yet.”

“Gotcha–So, what’ll you have?”

They turn their face, mask?, to the board behind me, listing everything from our flower fermented wines to the wild flavored bubble mugs. “I suppose whatever the special is?”

“Ah, excellent choice.”

In truth, it is not an excellent choice. The special of the week never changes: A bubble mug featuring a blend of banana, vanilla, and velvet chocolate flavors. It looks like a bubblefied version of a banana split, except not as heavy or sugary. If you are looking for the real thing, just spend the extra dollar.

A few theatrical shakes of the mixture later, the liquid is poured into the bubble maker and, in a matter of seconds, the bubbles are sinking into the mug below. With the addition of a straw and a hibiscus flower, the mug is handed over to the distracted customer. “Are they dead?”

The question is asked so bluntly, the bartender has to look over to where their mask is currently pointed to in a hurry–only to notice it is the drunk. “Oh, no, just sleeping. They get drunk off the bubbles and knock out for a couple of hours.”

“...I thought the bubbles were non-alcoholic?”

“They are, I am unsure what really butters them up with the drink. But, they sleep in the corner and don't bother anyone so, what do I have to complain about?”

“Maybe because they are a general nuisance?”

“...It was a rhetorical question.” The bartender scootches the drink closer to them and goes to let the machine clean itself for the next bubble order.

Another wave of silence etches through the bar as the couple previously mentioned finally takes their leave, leaving the bartender, the drunk, and the other masked customer to themselves.

…

…..

……Okay, how long are we expected to wait, the readers do not have all–

Dring-a-ling!

Ah, here we go, another customer ventures in–...another masked person, this time sporting long, fiery red hair, another formal outfit fitting their slim figure. Throughout the bartender’s experience, he has only known the drunk to be masked, but now there are a total of three customers with masks. Not that it is illegal to wear them, but their expressionless faces make it difficult to read the room. “Welcome to the–”

“I am over here, Marvin.”

The gaze of ‘Marvin’ turns to the customer with an almost empty bubble mug. They nod, making their way over to them and taking a seat at the bar.

After shaking away the blatantly rude interruption, the bartender approaches them. “May I get you anything?”

“Do I have to order something?” Ah, two sides of the same personality. So much fun.

“No, I ordered already so it should be fine.” The unnamed purple haired customer’s mask shifts over to the bartender. “Correct?”

“...” The bartender offers a tight lipped nod, not wanting to participate in the conversation any longer.

“Oh, hey, isn’t this the place that has the bubbles in a mug? I’ll try one of those.”

The bartender wonders whose bright idea it was to meet here as he asks, in a positively adamant voice: “What flavor would you like to try?”

“A Keylight Dream please.”

The bartender is pleased to hear they have manners as he  whips it up, a brightly bitter yet sweet mixture of lime and orange flavoring. It is among one of the prettier combinations.

Securing it with a lime soaked orange blossom and straw, he places it down. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

The bartender leaves them be but, as they remain to be the only ones there, parts of their whispered conversation make it through:

“Are you sure they will be here?”

“Yes, we have multiple witnesses saying they make their way here every night for a couple of hours. Sources are never sure as to why though.”

“Well, the bubbles here taste pretty decent. Wouldn’t mind coming back here after everything.”

“You know we will not be able to come back here.”

“There will be plenty of other bartenders…bubbletenders? Hey!” The bartender looks their way. “Are you a bartender or a bubbletender?”

“As I also sell fermented flower wines back here, I am still considered a bartender.”

As Marvin is satisfied, the bartender is left to his own thoughts…what did they mean there will be plenty of other bartenders? Why would he himself not be there? Where would he go??

…Are they planning to kill him?

………

Nooooo, of course not. Why would they be here to kill anyone? There is absolutely no reason for them to–...

They are after someone who comes here every night. For a couple of hours…

The bartender looks over to the drunk at the end of the bar.

…No. What would they want with a drunk like them? They seem like a normal enough person, save for the mask. But they are also wearing masks…are they part of some cult? No, people are allowed to wear masks as a general accessory…………Some kind of group?

Or maybe they are from different groups? Oh no, what if they are in different groups, like the mafia. Are there two different clans of the mafia here????

The bartender looks to the exit. He needs to get out of here.

“Hey.”

“YES–” The bartender coughs, turning to the masked customers. “I mean, yes, how may I help you? C-Can I interest you in any of our ass-assorted snacks?” His voice is rising, gawd, he sounds like a prepubescent teen attempting to go through puberty one year too early!

“Er…no.” Marvin continues, trying to pretend the high pitched wording did not just happen, “We were wondering if one of your nightly customers has come by yet.”

“Nightly customers? Here? No, no, no one comes here nightly, trust me, everyone needs a break from bubbles and wine now and then. Plus there are so many other bars that have deals, it’s not a thing where someone comes every night.”

“So you are saying someone loiters here every night without your supervision? That seems highly irresponsible,” the other steps in, tilting their head, the dark holes showing no sign of amusement.

Why him, why tonight, why could Aaron not be here for his dumb shift today out of all days! This is the fifth time, he swears, if he gets out of this alive he will fire him all the way to TIMBUKTU–

A weighted thump breaks his thoughts as the unnamed masked customer says, “Are you going to answer my question, or do I have to pay for another beverage for an answer?”

………..

He turns around to see a gun has been placed on the table. It is not a prop. It is a gun. A weapon. Something to threaten unsuspecting bartenders such as himself.

If they knew what he knew, would they let him get out of here alive? If he were to tell them, would they let him go? He never saw their faces, just everything else but it is such a general description that no one would ever be able to figure it out even if he were to go to the police. But of course he would never, so long as they just let him go. Anyone could be named Marvin for crying out loud–

“We don’t want to hurt you, trust me, you have been more than kind this evening,” Marvin eases, placing a hand on the table to offer some morsel of comfort, “We only need to know if you have seen a customer come here nightly. Trust me when I say, you will not miss them.”

…They will not hurt the bartender if he tells them what they want, right? They will just. Take them and leave. And that will be that.

…

Then why does it feel so wrong?

The masked customers stare at him, waiting.

“...Well. There is one customer who comes in here often, though, they only go to the restroom.”

“The restroom?”

He nods, looking over to the facilities in mention. “In fact, I believe they are still there. I just never think of them because they tend to order something after they get out. Odd fellow, really.”

They look over to the restrooms before looking at each other again. “If you’ll excuse us,” Marvin says, getting up with the other and heading over.

He smiles weakly until they turn the corner, then quickly grabs his keys.

But…

He looks over to the sleeping figure. Surely he does not owe them anything. Though, what was the point of saying it was someone else if he is going to leave the actual person there for capture?

He should leave, it is not his business. And, sure, the customer has tipped him very well, too well, maybe he should have suspected they were more than just a charitable drunk, damn him and his cruel desire for the fancier things of life like poptarts, he does not need those!

He looks to the door longingly before throwing himself to the drunk. He pushes against his shoulder gently, whispering as loud as he dares: “Hey, can you get up? We need to go, like, right now.” No response. “Hello??”

A small groan leaves the drunk as they push their phone over with an alarm set. “Not closing time,” they mutter, turning their head.

“It–listen, people are here and I think they are here for you.”

“Tell them to leave, I’m sleeping.”

“I–” The bartender looks to see they are still not back from the restroom. “They have guns. Or, a gun, I only saw one gun but I am more than positive they both have guns. So, if you will please come with me so that we can both live, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“But I am still sleeping,” he whines, moving to get his mug. “Hey, where did my drink go?”

The bartender shakes as he forces a calm string of words to flow: “You drank it, please, we need to go. Now. Or I will never forgive myself.”

The drunk raises their head, staring at the bartender through those dark holes. “...Mr. Bartender, you worry too much, don’t you.”

That is it. That is it, he tried but there is nothing more for him to do, this is just impossible–THEY are IMPOSSIBLE–

He tries to make a break for the exit but then–“If you value your life, I suggest you do not move, bartender.”

The bartender’s stomach churns as he turns his head slightly to see two guns are pointed at him.

Well, fuck.

“There was never anyone in the restroom, was there?” The bartender does not answer the unnamed customer. “Listen. We were honestly planning to let you go but after your insolence, I feel it is better to just end your pitiful life here.”

“Wait, please, I honestly do not know who you are talking about, I am not the only one who comes in here! How could I know who you were talking about, there are so many customers!”

“You have been watching the bar for two weeks in a row, you have no excuse.”

The bartender wonders what he did to offend whatever god decided to put him in this position. He tried to help! He could have just left–he should have just left, he would be in his car driving away but nooooo, he just had to try saving the wannabe drunk!

…Speaking of, why are they not saying anything about this???

“Hey, should I wake up the drunk?”

THEY FELL ASLEEP AGAIN?!?

The bartender looks over more to see that they did, indeed, fall asleep again. Wow. Just wonderful. All that hard work for nothing. Perfect.

“You may as well, I would rather die knowing I was about to face death.”

“Alright. Hey, buddy.”

The drunk groans once again, shifting his head to be in his arms.

“Buddy, wake up, it’s closing time.”

“It is not closing time, I still have thirty more minutes.”

“And I have thirty more minutes to torture you with one bullet at a time,” the other one growls, cocking their gun. “Get up. Now.”

“...”

The drunk groans, sitting up and stretching. “I swear, this is the only place I can get a good night’s sleep and now, now two buffoons are taking that simple luxury.”

“I’m sorry, buffoons?”

What are they doing, what are they doing?? The bartender looks to the door again before turning back to see the conversation continue. “Yes, Thing One, you are among the two buffoons with Mx. Buddy over here.”

“Hey, I was only trying to be nice,” Marvin defends.

“Mhm, sure. The nicest way to wake someone up to death is calling them your buddy. Well, Buddy pal–” The drunk picks up his mug. “Welcome to death!”

Before Marvin has a chance to react, the mug is shattered over his head and down he goes. The other associate fires off, only to miss by the sheer shock of the sudden movement the drunk is making after having been sleeping not two minutes earlier.

The drunk moves from side to side, proceeding forward towards the unnamed customer, who is firing more erratically at every step. Eventually, the drunk reaches them and slams down on the inside of their elbows, causing the last bullet to get shot into the ceiling. The gun is then wrangled from their grip and punched into the other’s mask, cracking it.

They stand there for a moment or two longer before falling to the ground, blood trailing from the inside of their mask.

Just as the bartender thought it was over, the drunk pulls out a gun of their own with a silencer attached, shooting both in the head. If there was any chance of either of them coming back from that, well, there is not anymore.

The bartender stands there, arms no longer raised but just. Staring. For almost a year now, he has allowed the drunk to just sleep in his bar. And now he finds out they are secretly some kind of agent??? An assassin maybe??? Just who the hell are they??

The drunk is the first to move, yawning. “Dammit, I wanted to sleep more…dumb assassins,” they mutter, kicking Marvin before looking over to the bartender. “Listen, I will have someone come clean this up so you do not have to worry about filing any reports. And I’ll double my tip tonight to pay for any damages.”

The bartender blinks. “I’m sorry, double?”

“Is that not enough? I could do more–”

“DOUBLE IS FINE! Just.” He looks around. “...Do you think they could come tonight?”

The drunk looks around. “Eh, I don’t know…”

“You could sleep at the counter, drinks on the house?” He would really, really like to not be alone with two corpses.

“...” They look to the counter longingly. “....Well, if you insist. I suppose I could get them to come out tonight.”

After a phone call is made, the bartender makes a couple of bubble mugs (along with serving himself a fermented flower to calm his nerves). The drunk is happy, laughing and, soon, he falls asleep once more.

It is a quiet night at the Bubble Bar.