2009-11-15: Never Tell Me The Odds




November 2009


Corona Bar, Cancun, Mexico


Let the Games begin…

Corona Bar.
Nine Months Ago…

As usual, this place is literally packed to the bring with men and women who want to have a good time. To be perfectly honest, it's almost as if there's nothing but a good time going on in this place. The music is blasting, thanks to the DJ that's making sure talking to the person sitting next to you is the hardest thing in the world to do right now. That's just the way the party goes when you're in the Corona Bar.

Not that anyone would notice, but it's night time. The party hasn't stopped since… nobody knows when. But a slick looking man in a linen beach suit is making his way into the Corona Bar, still wearing a pair of sunglasses that make him look more cool than fool. On his head is a slick hat, brim tilted down and everything. He moves at such a smooth pace that he doesn't really need to see where he's going. He's merely just taking in the sights and sounds of the hot, drunk women that are all over the bar and… ahem. Him.

This time, it looks like being surrounded isn't such a bad thing after all.

There's nothing quite like working on one's tan while, well, working. It would seem that the blonde woman sliding her way through the crowd has spent most of the day at the beach - if her tan doesn't make that clear, there's always the fact that she's still wearing a red, two-piece halter suit with a black sarong tied oh-so fashionably around her hips. "Please tell me you're not out of pina coloada mix?" she asks of the bartender, elbows pressing into the counter as she leans forward, voice raising so that - hopefully - the tender can hear her. They've definitely heard /that/ one before - the bartender slides off with a little roll of the eyes while mixing up the drink. While one hand lifts to push long blonde waves still smelling of sand and salt-water out of her face, the other slides into the woven bag slung over her shoulder to look for her wallet or something.

"I got this one."

The phrase comes from the sudden slick individual that has managed to pull himself from the masses of women and off to the bar where another hot blonde has taken up residence. He doesn't even really look at her, so much as he looks at the bartender to make sure the tossing down of some cold hard cash does all the speaking for him. "And the next two, as long as she doesn't turn me down." More money is tossed on top of the already growing pile, before the man sits himself down on the stool next to the blonde.
It takes him a moment to reach up and pull his hat off, twirling it and balancing it on his knee, as he turns on the stool to look at this hottie that he's going out of his way to impress. No words. Just a smile.

Whatever she was searching for in her bag, the blonde has abandoned looking for once a gentleman comes to her rescue. Elbows lifting away from the counter, they are replaced by her hands lightly settling on the edge of the bar once she has settled on top of the other available stool. "Thanks," she says first, one corner of her lips lifting up into a bit of a flirtatious smirk. "I'm Robin," she introduces herself, as politely as one can in an obscenely crowded bar. There's no extension of her hand to shake or anything, but she does nod a little while looking him over inquisitively.

"Bryce Larkin. Rich Kid."

Bryce's words are followed up by a business card being thrown down onto the bar, so that the blonde may look at it if she wants. On it, it says Larkin Electronics. Which, if anyone knows anything about electronics, they would know the Larkin name and the status that carries. "Please. Tell me you're not on vacation with any of these musclebound 'dudes'. Because I'm about to spend an incredible amount of time flirting with you and I'd hate for it to end up with me curled up in the fetal position on the floor." Grin.

Hmm. Lifting the business card, Robin twirls it between her fingers. "Impressive," she murmurs without any hint of sarcasm in her tone, before sliding it into her bag for reference later. "No, Bryce. I'm afraid I'm not," she says with a light laugh, glancing over her shoulder to check out one or two of the muscle-y dudes. "They're all abusing steroids a little too much. Not my thing," is added with a grin - brightening once her drink, umbrella and all, is placed before her.

"My cousin got married here last night," she explains, waving a hand to indicate the general area. "I mean, not in this bar, clearly, but like - on the beach. Her husband is a doctor. Heart surgeon. She's a total skank, but - she still managed to snag a good one." Sigh! There's a light shrug of her bare shoulder, followed by a sip of her pina colada out of a brightly colored straw."Anyway, no, I doubt you'll end up on the floor, Bryce. That would be ever so unfortunate."

"Depends on where the floor is and who's down there with me, I'd say." Bryce just offers a bit of a shrug, getting more comfortable on the stool and leaning onto the bar to look at the blonde with more attentive eyes. He's not about to lose the claws he's trying to dig into this one. "But, it's good to know that I don't have to worry about any violent boyfriends overcompensating for a lack of style."

"A wedding. In Cancun. Very nice." Bryce shrugs and looks off towards the bar of crazy people. "I'll bet it was one helluva bachelorette party." His eyes are drawn back towards the blonde and her girly drink. "Let me guess. All skanks and one prude." He raises a hand to point at Robin, herself. The Prude.

"Mm. I suppose floors aren't always bad." Robin muses after thinking about it for a moment, tapping the tip of her finger against her lips. "Ah, but it's not just a lack of style they're overcompensating for," she notes with a wink for Bryce, while twirling around the straw in her drink to mix it up a little more.

"Hey now," Robin lifts a finger, pointing it right back at Bryce as her eyebrows lift. "I threw her one /hell/ of a bachelorette party. I got her so trashed that she almost didn't make it to the ceremony. I was also so good at picking strippers she almost didn't /want/ to go to the ceremony. I'm no prude at all," she insists, chin lifting proudly. "I don't think this bar is prude-friendly anyway," she notes, laughing brightly while stealing a quick look around.

"Really? I couldn't tell your Inner Skank behind that completely awful drink you ordered. I almost wasn't sure if I should pay for it." Bryce just offers this with a smirk attached to his lips, before holding up his hands and making sure to lay this on a little less thick. "Not that I'm judging. I mean, you drink what you drink. I'm just the guy trying to impress you with a charming smile, complete honesty and an endless amount of my dad's money." Honesty should be a refreshing trait in a potential one night stand prospect, shouldn't it?

"I also didn't say I was a skank," Robin rolls her eyes good-naturedly, head tilting off to the side. "There's a happy medium between stripper and Amish," she explains, then briefly pressing her lips together. "And - psh, you're not drinking anything. Besides - I don't want to drink nail polish remover, I want to /enjoy/ my drink. So I am. If Cancun isn't for fancy fruity crap, where is?" Still, she lifts her drink in a salute of sorts before draining the rest of it. "What do you do, aside from buy snazzy clothes, enjoy your dad's money, and pick up chicks?" she wonders, a brow lifting as her lips curve up into a one-sided smile.

Bryce is already raising his finger for another pina colada for the blonde, while also ordering an extra shot or two to be poured in it. It happens to be a silent signal that he's not sure if the female understands also. He's just that much of a skilled drink orderer. He must do this all the time.

"Whatever." Bryce offers with a shrug. "I'm sort of in this weird in-between mode, y'know? Just kind of traveling the world, looking for something. Someone." Bryce smiles and leans onto the bar. "Figurin' maybe when I find what I'm lookin' for, I'll know I was lookin' for it."

It's at least not visibly apparent if Robin notices the signal for the extra shot or not or not - she doesn't verbally protest, either. But chances are she notices. Because she's super perceptive like that. She's just good at hiding it. "One more," she flashes a wry grin, head nodding in thanks as another is poured and passed her way.

"How often does that line work?" she wonders teasingly, a brow quirking - though his suave smile is returned. "I know people say that all the time, but I wonder how accurate they are. Is there really just one moment where you 'know'? I guess I've never had it so I wouldn't know," she admits, following up her words with a slow sip of her drink.

Bryce ignores the dig at his line and just shrugs. "Not sure. I ain't ever had it either." Grinning, though, Bryce just continues to lean on the bar. "But I will say that if it's happening right now, I don't think I'd be opposed to the results." He's going to continue to play this persistant role for as long as he possibly can. That's for sure. "What about you? Could you stand to spend more than the rest of the night with someone like me?"

"I guess it's one of those things - you know it when you have it. Kind-of like salt. No one can describe salt without saying, you know, salt. But if you can, I'll be impressed," Robin adds, winking over the rim of her fancy drink. Her lips never venture very far away from the straw, but it's not being drained quite as quickly as the last, either. "Possibly," the blonde murmurs, sliding a well-manicured finger up to tap lightly against her chin. "You're not short, yet you clearly have a brain hidden underneath all that dashing hair of yours. I'd say the odds are pretty good."

"Odds are my thing. I can deal with pretty good odds." The pearly whites of Bryce continue to be shown as he just watches the blonde and her mediocre drinking. "Oh, you're such a babysitter. Let me show you how to do this." Bryce slides down off his stool, tossing his hat onto the bar and motions for a drink to come down the bar. It ends up being the same as Robin's, except he doesn't even care for the straw. "Sodium Chloride, by the way." is the description of salt without saying salt that's given with a wink towards Robin, before he pops the straw out of the glass, lets it fling off in Robin's direction and then he proceeds to chug the pina colada without missing a beat. Impressed?

"Fair enough." Robin smirks, though her expression shifts to one of actual surprise as he spits out his definition. "I guess I meant no one can describe the /taste/, but, you win since I didn't explain it correctly," she laughs, tucking loose hair behind an ear. "They taste like milkshakes or something. Of /course/ one can chug them. They're so expensive they're meant to be enjoyed, though. If I just wanted to get sloshed I'd have been doing shots of tequila already." Just then the phone in her purse buzzes, screen glowing. Text message! Whatever the four short words are, it's clearly FBI code for: we know you're about to get sloshed so we're pulling you out before you make a fool of yourself and ruin everything in the whole world. "I need to go tend to my other cousin who apparently just went streaking down the street," she explains, resting her emptied glass on the counter. "Buuut, I've got your number, and I hope to bump into you again before my vacation is up."

Park—Bryce is in the middle of chugging the last bit and he has to stop and cough for a second. "Cold." With a shudder, because of the brain freeze, obviously, he's looking back in the direction of Robin with practiced ease. "You do. And you will. Count on that." He winks, mostly because that's what sly devils like him do in cases like this. He's not going to push for her number or anything, because he'll know he has her when his cell phone rings. "Take pictures of your cousin for me." Oh, what a sly dog indeed.

"But delicious," Robin adds, lifting a finger. Cococnut + pineapple + rum = so worth it! "I'm sure I will. It's a small island." Pushing herself away from the counter, she leans in toward Bryce for a moment to lightly rest a hand on his shoulder. "My cousin is a guy," she adds and notes into his ear, winking before beginning to pull away.

"But he's gay, so I'm sure he'd be happy to have his picture seen by you," she adds, for the record.

Bryce whines and holds a hand up to his face, wincing with all the pain he can muster up on such short notice. "Okay, you win. Just call me. Preferably before I drink myself into a stupor. I want to actually be able to find your hotel room." Wink. Again. Before he turns back to the bartender to let her go handle her cousin issue. "Hey! You gotta' make these things stronger, man!"

"I'll try," Robin teases, lingering and leaning in just a moment longer before disappearing into the crowd and - presumably - out the exit.