the Prince and the Punk

Jack Barakat wipes down the bar idly, the club was incredibly quiet for a Friday Night, quiet to the point the DJ wasn't even bothering to blast the music. Not that Jack minded, usually it was entirely too loud and filled to the brim with slutty women. A reprieve was rather nice, actually.

"Jack~" The DJ, Rian calls, beckoning Jack over with a wave of his hand. Jack hops the bar, there was no one there to tell him not to.

"What's up Ri?" Jack asks, wiping his slightly damp hands on his apron.

"So you know that girl, Cassadee, that comes here sometimes?" Rian asks.

"Yup," Jack says. Cassadee was probably the only decent patron that ever came in, and she didn't even come enough to be considered a regular. "Why?"

Jack can see a light blush spread across Rian's cheeks as he tries to explain himself. "Well, uh, I've been hanging out with her outside of work, y'know?" jack nods. "And I was thinking I should ask her out . . . What do you think?"

Jack chuckles at his friend lightly. Rian never really shut up about how cool he thought Cass was from the day he first laid eyes on her, so this came as no surprise to Jack. "Then ask her out if you like her."

"Thanks Jack," Rian says with a small grin.

"Where the fuck is the bartender?" A loud, drunken voice calls from the bar.

"I'm coming, hold your God damn horses!" Jack calls, running back to the bar. He stops himself from jumping over the counter and instead walk around.

Jack frowns at a man with sunglasses on despite the fact it was dimly lit in the club already. A crowd of people rush around him, people with cameras, people holding up pictures of him. Two big security guards barely manage to contain the crowd.

"Could I get a Velvet Ditch," the mans slurs, swaying gently as he attempted to stand up straight. He finally gives up and collapses onto one of the stools.

"I'm sorry, but it's against our policy to serve people who are so obviously inebriated upon their entrance of our fine establishment."

The man gives him a quizzical look that quickly turns angry. "Do you know who I am? I am Alex fucking Gaskarth. Does that name mean anything to you?" The man stand up, and he's still smaller than Jack by a bit, and not in the least intimidating.

"Well, Mister Gaskarth you can just scram. I'm not serving you."

There's a bright flash from a camera, and Jack has to blink away the blurriness. Why the fuck were these people following around the punk like he was the end all be all?
Alex slurs something Jack can't quite make out angrily, but Jack had a pretty good idea it was more threatening.

"Leave," Jack commands. It wasn't often he had to 86 someone from the bar, but this douchewad needed to leave. "I'm not afraid to call my boss."

Finally the security guards step in and drag the inebriated man out.

"Holy fuck Jack!" Rian says, looking at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. "Do you have any idea who that was?"

"Yeah, Alex Gaskarth, he made it pretty clear," Jack huffs, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, and do you know who that is?"

"Some punk who thinks he's somebody?"

Rian gives Jack a quizzical look. "No, he's that guy that sings 'I Feel Like Dancing'. Literally the kind of pop right now."

"Still doesn't ring a bell, and I still don't care," Jack responds.

Notes

Hey! I'm new here, and here a fic for ya'll!

Chapter Title Credit:
"Beat It" by Michael Jackson

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Dewey