Side Story: The Bittersweet of Booze
It wasn't Issei's idea to use Nobunaga's (more) adult form to enter establishments very obviously meant for actual adults as a disguise, but it certainly wouldn't be the last time she'd try. It was Nobu's fault, really, her insistence on allowing her host to taste 'victory' on her own terms, the bitter taste of the cup of alcohol she now held in her arms. Even considering that the bar she was in technically only served people with an actual ID, which she definitely didn't have on hand because of the obvious risk of flashing the wrong face to the wrong person, she didn't have to. It took only a little convincing to allow their club room advisor to forge one, his concerned face turning into one of understanding, taking very little time to create one for her by the next week.
It looked and felt foolproof, finally finalizing her alias while being Nobunaga's alternate form. Such a boon would have been convenient early on, a few years back and especially when she first transformed into Nobunaga. She wouldn't have needed to pretend to be something she wasn't anymore, the very real possibility of a world where she didn't need to go through the extremely elaborate loopholes to prevent every world government from hacking and cutting her into little bits to understand how she worked. Was that a callous perspective on the reality she faced? Maybe, but over the years she learned the harsh realities of life, that sometimes you have to cut off a little bit of yourself to make things right again. Sighing once more, she supposed Nobunaga was right in a way. She wasn't supposed to be moping around here, she was supposed to be celebrating! Reflecting on her life wasn't bad, it was the mood she was in.
Looking at her now empty glass, she was now very much used to the bitterness of the drink. These were technically the very first glasses of alcohol she had in her life, but years of exercise, training and Nobunaga's innate resistance to disease and other such stuff made her practically immune to the intoxicating effects of alcohol. It was only inevitable that nothing would happen to her, and leaning on the bar counter she mused on and on about those sort of things. She wasn't really sure anymore, but she felt like relaxing here, now, and just looking every now and then at the game on the flat screen was enough for her to smile in content.
Her current train of thought was disturbed for a brief moment. She glanced her head to the side, seeing her clubroom advisor on the other side of the bar/restaurant keeping an eye on her and winking, to which she smiled back. But at the moment, that wasn't her current concern, something fell, and suddenly she felt like a pair of piercing eyes were poking through her back. Although, to be more exact it felt like it was scanning through her back… Scanning, huh? Who could possibly...
Craning her head to her left side, she saw someone, someone she absolutely didn't expect to see at this establishment, at this time, and especially not working here of all places. Standing behind the bar counter in a long sleeved polo and suit coat was her current bartender, wearing a pair of glasses with a face that suddenly hid all emotion behind a sheen of light and blank face, and was currently wiping an empty wine glass. And also watching her every move, but you already knew that.
She stared back, beads falling down her face, an awkward smile on her face as she looked straight ahead at her fellow classmate, forgetting clearly that Motohama worked in this particular bar every other day to buy his otaku equipment and cheap porn. And apparently he was really good at it, if his cocktail mixing was any indication. Gulping a little bit, and hoping that the fool didn't recognize her in this get up considering their previous interaction, she asked politely. "Um... Can I help you?"
The boy paused for a moment, staring back at the pretty lady who finally responded. She was a very beautiful girl, in Motohama's honest opinion, a bit slender, with crimson red locks and gentle features that accentuated every part of her body in just this fancy elegant way. Motohama wasn't sure about his calculations this time around, not this late at night, but he was fairly certain that the lady was a definitive C cup, her thighs just thick and juicy enough to compress at just the right amount of inches. She was a bit slender, yes, but that in his opinion was just fine to some women, their beauty going all the way in some other areas anyway. Taking a brief moment to collect himself, Motohama responded. "Ah, nay, ma'am. My apologies, but I merely caught myself enchanted by your ethereal beauty. Again, my deepest apologies." The boy said all of this while waving his arms in apology. Motohama practiced such a response for the last few weeks after learning the merits of an educated and higher class woman to woo, a certain 205995 coming to mind. The English translated version he found in a pirate porn sit at least helped him in his own English classes, but somehow it irritated his teachers and professors more than entertain them. He would make it work one of those days, somehow.
Nobunaga was unimpressed, so she advised Issei to simply ignore him, to which she obliged. With that in mind, she continued staring at her empty glass, content to do so for the rest of the night. Sighing in defeat, Motohama returned to doing his job. Taking one closer look at the girl he attempted to hit on, he noticed something oddly familiar about her. Something about her... He froze.
He thinks back to the week before, his flawless attempt in surveying the true identity of the Occult Research club beauty ending in failure or otherwise making out the prince of the school to be a wholesome crossdresser of sorts. Either of the proposals, real or crossdresser, made some sense but if the latter were true then... "Oh no." She looked so familiar to him, the red hair, the gruff exterior... Nah, it can't be. If anything but even then, he may as well test his luck.
Walking over to where the girl was moping around, he called for her attention. Coughing into his fist, he began slowly. "Excuse me miss, but do you know someone named Hyoudou Issei?" A response, yes! Her eyes twinkled for a little bit, a brief twitch on her face. If he could use this connection of his to at least get the girl's number, then he would get someone to hang out with him for once. Looking at him once more, she nervously replied, "I don't... think so?"
Darn. But even so, he took a closer look at her features, a goofy and awkward smile, a sharp look on her face, and somehow looking just like a female version of his close friend...? "Wait... No. Nonono...! It can't be, it was just like that day the week before. No. No. No!" The boy screamed in great agony.
With that spiel over with, Motohama keeled over, falling face first on the floor with foam forming on his mouth. Issei looked at all of this with her eyes wide, not sure what to do with a panic attack of this level happening almost immediately after the previous one. "I uh... didn't do anything. He fell over on his own!" She rapidly said to the people staring at her, making a suitable excuse out of nowhere. The spectators watched her for a few moments, at which point they just shrugged and moved on with their lives. Sighing, she motioned to her advisor to do something, anything, who gave her a noncommittal gesture, something that didn't alleviate her worries at all.
Sighing once more, she ordered another glass, while her previous bartender was transported to an ambulance parked just outside. She didn't necessarily intend for something like this to happen, but what kind of dick would go out of their way to do that, really? He made the conclusions, it wasn't like she intended for the smartass to remember everything like that! Chugging another glass down, she demanded another one, a light blush on her face telling everyone what they needed to know. Her new bartender, apparently one of the waiters, gives Issei a concerned look, but with how the lady intimidated the poor bastard to unconsciousness, he may as well oblige.
The rest of the evening was calm and serene. The only indication of strife was the sound of a certain classy lady chucking her evening meal on a trash can.