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[imastud_dude]

Noah Puckerman wasn't going to sit around wallowing because of how shitty his life was. That wasn't really his style. At least, not in public. Sure, he might get worked up 'til he snapped and took it out on some poor, weak Literary Mag loser, or better yet, by taking out all that stress on the field, but he wasn't going to like, sulk or anything,

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[fakejaded]

"Port-a-Potty Dude," Britta greeted him, though she thought she'd leave it at that as she took a seat at the counter. He was playing and singing, after all, and probably didn't want to make conversation (and okay, he had a name, but she couldn't help if that was what leapt immediately to mind). She had to admit, though, he was actually really good, her expression turning impressed in spite of herself. With Joe teaching her, she had even more of an appreciation for people who could actually play the guitar than she'd had before, pretty well-convinced she'd never really be one of them.

[imastud_dude]

Trailing off after the second verse, he slid into the spot next to her, his fingers still playing their way through the rest of the song.

"You know, you can call me whatever you want, Blondie, if you let me get you a drink." He wasn't stupid. He knew money didn't count around here and that she could get her own drink for free, but it was the thought that counted, right?"

[fakejaded]

"Drinks are free," Britta pointed out, brow raising, "and what are you, eighteen?" It wasn't really a no, though. The thought didn't count for much and she was pretty sure there wasn't much intent behind it, which was really, really for the best. It was still a nice thought, though, if only because no one here had shown her any intent.

[imastud_dude]

"Seventeen. Totally island legal. I checked," he answered easily, his confidence completely unbruised.

"Anyway, you can't be older than, what? Twenty-five? Trust me, that doesn't even count as an older woman."

[fakejaded]

"Something like that," Britta lied, pleased in spite of herself. Alright, so it was a cheap shot, she was pretty sure, and she wasn't Jeff, but she was only human and an ego boost was something she desperately needed. "Yeah, okay, I guess... a drink would be nice. With a conversation."

[imastud_dude]

"Cool. I can handle that," he said, even though he wasn't really know for his conversation skills. Girls had given him shit for it, before, but he was making an honest effort not to be such a douchebag lately.

It probably wasn't working, but whatever.

"I, uh... I don't even know what they serve here," he admitted, squinting up at the line of bottles over the bar. Only a few of them had factory labels, but those were peeling and faded and he had a feeling the bottles had been filled with something else.

[fakejaded]

Britta shrugged. "Whatever they've got," she said. "I'm not picky, and you know, this island-made stuff is actually pretty good. I wouldn't've expected it, although I don't know why I'm surprised. You'd be amazed how... decent-ish alcohol made in studio apartment over a Korean deli can be. You're not even old enough to drink." Legally. She knew how that went, but she was trying to be a little more grown up these days, and was under the impression that the responsible thing to do was tell teenagers not to follow her lead.

[imastud_dude]

"Legal drinking age is like, sixteen here. It's like being in Europe, without all the nude beaches and chicks with armpit hair," he said, waving down that guy behind the bar and ordering two beers.

[fakejaded]

"That is true," Britta said, nodding. Granted, most of her memories of Europe tended to be somewhat fuzzy, but that did sound pretty accurate. She shrugged. "You're pretty good with that guitar."