"Harten I said, clean the glasses! Not those which are already cleaned, you dumbass, the leftover gin in them, looks like a fukin' sewage dump."
Harten paused mid-step, trying to turn off his controller.
He was a handsome guy, with brown hair and grey eyes, standing behind the glass counter, near the recharging outlet, to recharge his controller.
He turned his head, and looked at the man — Nathan, who was continously yelling his name since the last ten minutes.
Nathan stood near the shelves, where the expensive wines were stored in tiny barrels, to create an even more retro look. His grey hair was styled messily. He looked tired and... annoyed, for some reason.
Harten then noticed, the bar had gone quiet. It was surprising for him, as he was standing in the same exact spot since the past four hours, but he didn't notice it.
The reason for their current predicament was simple.
They were 15,000 feet above the ground, inside Grylo's Airlines WindBus 1020. An one-of-a-kind luxury flying bus. Expensive enough that the staff working in here, were selected on the basis of their education.
But, right now, there were no customers, as it was midnight.
Harten could feel the cold air, coming from the centralized ac, above the counter. The party lights fixed on the ceiling, painted the floor with purple and violet hues.
He looked back at the controller, then at Nathan again.
"Do you think this plane will crash tonight, Nathan?"
Nathan didn't even look at his direction this time. He just sighed and rubbed the thin metallic rod in his hand.
"Stop with those intrusive thoughts, for god's sake," he said, "And start working now, we need to clean everything up, before those damn conservatives ask for another shot, even before daylight breaks."
Harten looked at him, seeing him working so excitedly. He sighed quietly to himself.
He picked up the cloth, and started cleaning again. Sincerely this time.
Just as both of them were doing their work quietly in the slight turbulence present outside the airbus.
The door connecting the lower floor and the bar, slid open with a soft thud.
Both of them looked up.
A fat man walked in. He had his hair tied in a low bun, wore dark sunglasses, and bright beach-style clothes donned his hefty body.
He walked up to the counter, and leaned on its marble tile.
"Is the medium sized backshot available?"
Nathan looked at the man's figure, present before him.
Then inwardly, he sighed again.
He didn't like this at all, but he couldn't refuse. Everyone on this flight was important — politicians, actors, rich bussinessmen... people you couldn't say no to, even if you wanted.
"Have a seat, sir." Nathan gestured towards the leather seat.
The man smiled, and sat on the chair across the counter.
For Nathan, the request for the drink "backshot" was trivial, as it was just a highly concentrated shot of an expensive vodka.
He grabbed a blue glass bottle of 'blanxx', and poured its contents in a clean glass. Then he took the thin metal rod he had been cleaning earlier, and slowly stirred the drink.
Harten watched their exchange quietly, as for some reason, the whole situation about a overworked bartender tending to an under-stressed fat man, felt rather amusing to him.
The fat man turned his head and smiled at Harten for a few seconds, while Nathan prepared the drink.
He grinned, scratching the back of his head.
"Drinking doesn't need time, does it?"
Nathan forced a small, awkward smile. Sensing, that this man might take more than just a few minutes of his night-shift, he quickly tried to send him off his way.
"Pardon me sir," he said, carefully choosing every word in his head. "You might want to finish quickly, as the smell of disinfectants might feel a bit... unpleasant right now."
The man didn't reply. He just locked his eyes with the drink, freshly served in-front of him.
Then he picked up the glass, swirled it once and drank it in one gulp.
"Pwaah! That hit the spot."
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"Do you know," he smirked, pointing his index finger at the counter, "the president is also travelling in here."
Both, Nathan and Harten froze. The staff weren't notified of such high profile guest present with them, other than some minor politicians.
"And tonight," the man continued, his voice erratic. "I want to bless the state of his. Feel proud that you get to hear this."
Nathan clenched his jaw.
"Sir, pleas—!"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
In a flash, the fat man moved, faster than his body should've been able to.
He snatched the thin-pencil-like metallic rod, from Nathan's hand.
Before Nathan could react, sensing the eminent danger, the man swung it sideways and jammed it straight into his ear.
Nathan's body jerked.
Seeing Nathan's body still standing upright, the fat man seized the moment.
He pushed the rod even more harder with his palm.
Nathan's mouth opened — but no scream came out. His head slammed against the counter, due to the force behind the impact, with a dull sound.
Thud–!
It all happened in a matter of a few seconds.
Harten, who was standing, little farther away from both of them, stood frozen, seeing his co-worker getting messed up.
'Woah! He is... he is John Thick.' Harten thought, seeing those agile moves.
Before the fat man could turn towards him.
Harten picked up the glass, which he was cleaning previously, and threw it.
The glass struck the man directly on the face.
The pieces of glass, shattered like frozen snow, after hitting his face, with decent force that made the man bobble his head twice.
The fat-man stumbled, trying to regain his footing, as the drink was also doing it's job, by disorienting his sense of direction.
Then Harten remembered...
"NATHAN!"
Nathan was still conscious, forcing his eyes to stay awake.
A thin line of blood was trickling from his ears, pooling at the metal rod stuck inside.
"Sh-shit oh g-god.. it hurts... it-it hurts... fuck.. p-please" Nathan groaned in pain.
Harten grabbed him and pulled him closer.
Across the counter, the fat man straightened up.
His hand moved to his pocket. Quickly, pulling a mini handgun out, he aimed it at both of them.
Harten's eyes widened, figuring out what was coming for him.
Without wasting any second—
He quickly pulled Nathan in-front of him.
...And the next thing he heard was the sounds of three bullets leaving their chambers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Nathan's body jerked with each impact.
The man lowered the gun slightly, muttering something about his broken aim.
While across the counter...
The grey hair man's body went weak in Harten's arms. Tears streamed from his face, dampening the cuffs of the brown-haired boy, who was holding him in his arms.
He looked at Harten. Confusion and betrayal evident in his eyes, as he watched those deep grey eyes staring back at him.
"Shhh… now," Harten whispered softly, leaning closer to his remaining ear. "Well, it was good seeing you, for the past one day of my life…"
He paused, smiling at the grey haired man.
"So don't hold any grudges, buddy."
'Aah! Fuck, there is one more thing remaining...'
Harten was about to say something again, parting his lips —
— "CUT!"
....
The voice came loud and clear from the corner-most part of the room, echoing crisply across the empty bar.
Everything stopped at once.
The fat man stood still, muttering something about his body temperature. While Harten sighed, seeing the red liquid smudging his hands and the white cuffs.
A man with black hair and a rough brown stubble stepped in from the side. He wore a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up, carrying a notepad under his arm-pits.
"Good work, boys." He said, cheerfully.
The violet and purple lights above the counter flickered for a few seconds, before changing into a brilliant golden shade of yellow. Washing it's colour over the counter.
Nathan was still in Harten's arms.
For a second, he just stared at the light.
Then he let his head drop forward with a tired groan.
"Oh, for fuck's sake…" he muttered under his breath. "We've done this like four times already…" He shifted slightly, wincing. "My ear might really get fucked this time."
Harten looked at Nathan, then turned his attention to the newly entered black haired man.
"Director, may I tell you something?" Harten spoke, while shaking his head.
The director smiled at him. "Go on, tell me how was this shoot was? Wasn't it interesting?"
"Director, at this rate, the behind-the-scenes will be better than the film."
The man with black hair tossed a hand through his hair, sneering. "Tch, you bastards! Think you have the right to complain, when you guys show up freakin' two hours late to the set?"
Harten shrugged his shoulders and prepared himself.
"What, you wanna say something?" The man questioned, seeing the brown haired boy inhaling and exhaling repeatedly.
Harten looked at him, exhaled for the final time, and said, "Fuck you, motherfucker. I want to go home and sleep. You idiot, we are literally filming this at midnight. Because of you, my school's going to kill me someday. And for god's sake, tone down on those cringe-ass monologues."