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It had taken Artemisia some time, but she'd found the spot. Hidden in plain sight, masked as a factory was her escape of the evening. When she wandered inside, the environment looked nothing like a bar, like she'd been advertised. Blue lights blazed across the warehouse, techno music boomed from the speakers, and the ground vibrated with the beat. But that wasn't the most unexpected part. It was the fighting ring in the center: the main attraction.
How did someone like Dawn found out about a place like this? And why did she think it was a spot for Artemisia? This was not her scene. Things felt like closing in on her, pushing her to escape before it imploded.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the undisputed leader of the Titans. . ." She paused her tracks, shifting towards the illuminated pit. No way. "Hawk!" The crowd went erratic for the idiot in the red costume hopping around the ring, feeding off the patrons' drunken love. "Tonight, you have a chance to fight the Hawk. Put your money down! No refunds. No rules. Cash only. Winner gets the grand price!"
Hank taunted the people, challenging them to confront him. Proud asshole. Maybe. . . She could stick around, check out the place and keep an eye on her idiot friend. Dawn sent her here for a reason. She would stay and find out why. With some boosting, of course.
Locating the bar wasn't hard ( mainly because of the neon sign and the fact that most people were watching the fight ), but her next move definitely was.
The bartender was a black woman, her twists drew up into a ponytail. She had a bright smile, dancing along with the tune as she brewed drinks. When Artemisia approached her, she beamed up, swaying closer to the counter. She slid a cocktail towards a patron, ignoring their gratitude, too interested in the woman resting across the wooden line. "What can I get you tonight?"
"Anything with a punch," Artemisia blurted. Shit, rum also had a punch and it tasted disgusting. She sickened at the memory of drinking it the first and only time. "But I also don't wanna feel it. Ever. Does that exist or should I stick to water?"
The woman laughed at her pathetic words, preparing some bottles around her. "It does actually," she said amused, emptying some juice into the mixer. It looked pale pink. She glanced at Artemisia, eyebrow raised. "First time?"
"Not a big fan, that's all." Her eyes followed the clear alcohol spill into the previously poured juice. The bartender closed the mixer with a punch and began shaking. The ice clanking on the metal could be heard over the music, nearly earsplitting, like a shot beside the ear.
Milo, Artemisia read in the name tag, pulled up a glass, and emptied the cold drink. She garnished the cocktail with a lime wedge and pushed the glass towards her, exhibiting the work. "Your friend right here is called a Greyhound. The grapefruit keeps you hydrated, which means no bad hangovers, no dizziness. Be careful with them."
She took the glass to her lips, having a small taste. Sour. But not nearly as bad as Dick's rum. It was good. "Thanks." Milo flashed her another smile as Artemisia walked away, finding a great spot to watch Hank's vicious fights.
