Spencer | Max
As far as the drinking away of one’s troubles was concerned, Max wouldn’t have gone so far as to call himself a fan. His first frat party had all but ruined him for recreational alcohol usage; given that after an approximate three plastic cups full, he’d been found propped up against the bathroom wall paying slurred and ridiculous compliments to every individual unfortunate enough to happen upon his hideaway. In all fairness, it had proven a surprisingly good place to meet people, the toilet, though he could perhaps have done without the stench of puked up tortilla chips and salami. It seemed now that his reservations were not enough to prevent Max from dragging himself through the double doors at Awol, fully intent on drowning his sorrows in as much vodka as it’d take for him to forget the entire ordeal come morning. A few snide comments in regards to his absence of a maternal figure had sent the eighteen year old spiralling off into a day-long spree of complete, internal self-depreciation. If alcohol worked well for a good sixty seven percent of teenagers in forgetting their problems, maybe it’d work for him too. Hopefully. Upon finally reaching the bar, he slumped into the seat with a sigh of complete resignation, all but falling forward to slam his head against the tabletop in the same, elegant motion.
He wasn’t an alcoholic, but he wasn’t a prude either. He couldn’t even call himself a heavy drinker. Spencer loved a tasteful cocktail as much as his siblings, but he considered it wiser to lay off the alcohol while he worked at Awol. There was nothing like the mortification and prey-like fear when the manager caught you drinking while on the shift. He had never experienced it himself, but he had watched it from afar on a handful of occasions. The way his coworkers shrunk back like a wounded animal, their eyes wide and darting in all directions as the manager entered the arena with flared nostrils and a red face. He could feel the poignant fear and anger rolling off of both participants. It was better to stay sober anyways. How could he mix up a good drink while drunk?
As soon as the door swung open, he knew he would have to put his skills to good use tonight. A quick glance to the clock revealed it to be just past midnight, but at least it wasn’t a school night. Otherwise he would have been tempted to scold or further fret over the young lad that trudged into the establishment and somehow dragged his body to the front counter with a heavy sigh. Spencer raised an eyebrow at the boy while he cleaned a glass. Once dry, he set it down and filled it with water for now. “Max, was it? I think my sister mentioned you offhandedly once,” he started casually. Sleeves of his uniform rolled up, Spencer leaned against the bar. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, buddy. Need to talk?”
