leftwithmybones: (wtf is wrong with your brain: by ?)
There are few places that McCoy can really drink on the Island to the extent that he wants to. The Hub, his hut, the restaurant are all options, but by the time he gets to his third, people start judging and that's not fair because they don't know his life at all. He goes to the strip club instead because it's got a jazz club and because it's got a bar. It's an opulent stretch of a thing and it's beautiful, so much so that he can't resist.

He's sworn that he's going to stay downstairs and listen to the singers, but he catches a familiar face going upstairs and that makes him follow. Upstairs isn't very much stranger than downstairs and he orders a drink from the bar while keeping his hands loosely locked together and his eyes on the stage.

It's all women at first, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing too exciting. He's seen worse back in San Francisco during a night on the town.

Now, the shock part comes when the men start to crowd the stage and perform their acts. That's not it because hell, it was the 23rd century. People could do what they please and McCoy had been one of those people. No, the goddamn bitch of the thing was when the man with wings and his face took to the stage.

McCoy barely waited when the music was over as he downed his shot and stormed the stage, cutting the man off and glowering heavily at him. "Okay, just what in hell is the game?" he demands bluntly. "What the hell is your dysfunction that you have to go around plastering other people's faces on your own, and what is with the creme-puff wings, for god's sake!"


leftwithmybones: (Default)
Dr. Leonard McCoy

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