"Some people might take offense to being called 'lower district trash'."

James froze in his seat, not daring to turn around and face the person who said that. Over the noise of the bar, he couldn't quite make out the voice, so he didn't want to turn around and end up having his teeth knocked in. When he did turn, he visibly relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief, and returning the smile. He reached out a hand, not bothering to get a good look at the girl, more so because of relief it wasn't some ass hole trying to kill him for the comment, and took hers in his. 

"James," he said with a small, polite smile, "James Jami- I mean... James Johnson." James mentally kicked himself. He wasn't supposed to let anyone from the lower districts know his real last name. His father, Henry Jamison, the famous Politian, and (hopefully) soon to be president of New Ancorda told both of the boys that if anyone knew their last name, they would have been killed. And for good reason, too. Henry was involved with the creation of most of the current laws with New Ancorda, especially the relocation of homeless to lower districts, making him very, very disliked in the lower districts.

He looked at the girl's hand, and then frowned at it's state. It wasn't normal than most hands, not any of the hands from District One, anyway. It was bony, spider-like. It was as if the skin was just holding in bone. He looked up at the girl's face and saw the damage; her eyes were almost lifeless, tired, her cheeks were sunken in, or, they seemed like it, anyway. She didn't look healthy. She didn't look happy, even with the discerning smile on her face. And yet, even with the flaws, she didn't look half bad.

He tried not to stare as he pulled his hand away, and was silently hoping for his brother to come in and save him from the now growing awkward silence. Unfortunately for him, fate didn't have his brother in mind. He didn't hear the "Bless you" coming from the fighter, but he definitely heard his next choice of words.

“You lost little boy? From the way that you were lookin’ at me earlier, I might be able to direct you to a gay bar down the road a ways…”

James turned and looked up at the fighter from his seated position, and raised a disapproving eyebrow at the man.

"Good evening," James said with a fake, yet very convincing polite smile, and a nod of his head, something he had picked up from his father. "I thank you for the offer, sir, but I must assure you that I am [i]not[/i] gay. Sorry to disappoint you." He turned back to Vander and gave her a genuine smile before turning to the bartender. "Another drink please, and whatever the pretty lady wants. Put it on my tab."

James turned back to the man when his drink was brought to him, and after taking a sip of his drink, he spoke again. "Now, it was nice meeting you, uh, Mr. Crusher, was it? Anyway, it was nice meeting you, but I was having a conversation with this lovely lady here, so if you don't mind, I would like to continue the conversation. Thank you." 

Mason stepped out of the bathroom, higher than a kite, and kissed the brunette once more. "Hey, babe. Call me sometime if you want to get together again." The brunette simply blushed and walked away. Mason turned and saw his brother, sitting next to a girl. [i]Good for James. Hopefully he scores tonight.... Wait... why is he not talking to her? And who is th- Oh shit.[/i] James had one of those fake smiles, and he was talking to that fighter. That did not look like a good recipe, not to Mason, who had started walking in the direction of his twin brother.

Completely ignoring the fighter next to him, James turned back to Vander and smiled again. "So, Vander Pzy-Py..Pes..." He trailed off in defeat before shaking his head. "So Vander, what brings you to the spit this evening? To be honest, this is my first time. My brother dragged me here. It's... Interesting, to say the least."