J.S. Fortnight sat on a bar stool, his elbows propped up on the granite table. He was only 14 but ordered and drank a margarita without issue. There was no such thing as a legal drinking age or legal anything for that matter. This was prison, after all.

J. looked up, his eyes tracing the circular framework of the roof of the bar. Across the long field of concrete baking in the sun, there was a large white building with small windows facing him. That was where everyone lived. J.S. turned his attention to the soccer game on the concrete spanning ninety percent of the prison. Just as one of the players made a goal, J.'s view was blocked by a black silhouette.

J. tensed, sliding a hand over to the napkin next to his drink and pulling it under the table. "I'm trying to see the game." he whispered, clenching his jaw. He quickly folded the napkin into a paper airplane which immediately morphed into a shining black knife. That was one of the perks of being J.S. Fortnight, a virus that sends malicious emails.
"What'd you say? And why you drinkin' that frilly drink?" the large silhouette asked.

"I'm trying  to see the game." he repeated through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on the knife.

The figure stepped closer and J.S. Fortnight saw him clearly. Spiral, wave-like designs rippled through his short, dark hair. His black eyes glared angrily at the teenager as his muscles leaned into the table.

"Name's Troy," he said in a deep voice. "and I ain't lookin' for trouble."

J.S. returned the glare. "Oh, sure! Since when is a Trojan Horse not looking for trouble?"

"Come on, man. That's just stereotyping!" Troy countered. A cheer rose up around the two.

"You made me miss that shot! You made me miss half the game!" J.S. Fortnight complained.

He shot up, and with a dark flash of the blade, tried to stab Troy. The Trojan caught the knife, cutting his hand in the process.

"Woah dude! Chill!" he paused, staring at the knife and the blood running through his fingers. "Look," Troy said finally. "I'll buy you a drink, a real one, and get outta your way. We- we can watch the game together. Only if you want to, of course." Troy added quickly, eyeing the knife again.

Taken aback by the offer, J.S. considered it for a few seconds. "Fine." he said at last. "sorry I stabbed you."

"Tried to." Troy corrected. He called the bartender over and they drank to friendship and soccer.