The Sister Ch. 05

The few stars in the sky glittered like diamonds as I walked home. I could have called a cab, but it was a warm summer evening, and I needed to blow off some steam. Besides, the moon hung high and full in the sky, casting an ethereal glow around me; at least, it was when the occasional street lamp at the intersections didn't spoil it.

I knew roughly where I was when I stumbled across a seedy looking twenty-four-hour liquor store, it's neon sign and lit facade glowed like a torch in the night, casting eerie shadows onto empty darkened buildings and cars silently rusting on the curb. I suppose I could have passed without looking in, but there was a certain undeniable charm about the place, I suppose, that drew me closer. It wasn't like I had anywhere to be soon, anyway, and I was curious.

I passed through the formidable security barrier and smiled at the small woman behind the counter reading a book on Chinese astrology. I was rather surprised; it wasn't as seedy inside as I thought it would be. There were the racks upon racks of wine bottles, and surrounding them were the shelves filled with proper liquor and spirits. The background music was soft jazz, and I wandered around the place, looking at the bottles, chuckling at the prices here and there. I confess, I wasn't an alcohol snob in anyway; my preferences ran more towards cheap, plentiful, and alcoholic enough to do the job without killing me outright.

I suppose that an alcoholic had a similar outlook as I did, and while I might have been accused of borderline alcoholism on occasion, I tried to limit my indulgences to once a year things. Usually for my birthday, but as I wandered around the shop I started to feel the craving, and my birthday was months away. Which is why I found myself cradling a jug of cheap vodka in it's massive plastic bottle like a newborn as I approached the counter.

The cashier looked at me once, her eyes flicking over me before she hammered something into the cash register keypad, sending it into a whirring, clacking fit. "Ten dollars even, yojimbo." The woman asked over the noise of the machine, her voice a warm soprano with a slight Boston accent.

"Wanna check my ID?"

"Nah. You're old enough, and you're Libra trending towards Scorpio. You're an artist of some kind, I suspect non-tactile, and you're of a lower income bracket, you're going home, and are fascinated by other cultures. Did you know that Emperor Himiji outlawed the carrying of swords by the samurai?"

"Um, no." I said, looking around, "But how did you figure all that out?"

"Oh you're very easy to read. First, you walked around the room looking at bottles like you were in a museum, but didn't touch them; you're buying a bottle of cheap vodka when there were better, but more expensive ones around it; you're alone and from the way you're costume's rumpled, I'd suspect you were coming from some party; and the costume's a good replica of Toshiro Mifume's character in Seven Samurai, which is esoteric enough to only be seen and liked by someone who's either a film major, or someone's who's fascinated by other cultures."

"That's... wow. What about the Libra?"

"My tarot reading said I'd meet a Libra and Scorpio today and help them with their problem; those wounds on your arm don't look self-inflicted, or defensive, so you were in a fight of some kind. Ten dollars, and what's your problem?"

"I, uh... you know this is excessively odd, don't you?"

She smiled, "Of course it is, but my therapist said to embrace the oddness of life, to ride the wave like a surfer. Did you know that there's a surfing Olympics every year?"

"Er, no?"

"Not a talkative person are we? Well, it makes sense; the cards said you're recovering from a bad relationship. Did you know that chemically, lust is just like being stoned?"

"I could see that. Er, I hate to talk and run, but I have to go."

"Of course. Here, take my card." She said handing me a rather professional looking business card. "I looked you up; the cards told me the next few days will involve chaos and life intertwined. Be careful, the specter of danger haunts you, you didn't turn a smile to it, so it's really angry now."

"Right." I said, handing the ten-spot over. What was it with full moons that never failed to bring out the crazy in people? I wondered as the woman bagged the bottle and handed it back to me.

"If you ever need me, that number's the way to reach me. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." She said, pointing at the card in my hand, "Oh, congratulations on your windfall, even if you don't want it."

Unsure how to respond, I smiled warmly and fled.

And with that, I thought surely, the rest of my night would be rather peaceful. After all, I had just had the weirdest experience of my life. But then the police accosted me twice on my way home for, I am only to guess, looking the way I did and carrying a paper bag at night. Which I took in stride, after all, it was right in line with the rest of the night so far.

But, despite the interruptions, and crazy liquor lady whom the alcohol fumes have obviously pickled her brain, the walk was good for me. By the time I arrived on my doorstep, I was more or less calm, and I was more or less over what had happened... or perhaps I was in denial. One thing I knew was that I didn't think Owen was going to be happy about this development, and that I wasn't going to get that free meal and money. I'm not sure which was worse, the loss of free food, or the loss of money. But I have to say that in all honesty, I stopped caring the second that dick showed up at the party with friends to 'talk' to me.

Yes, indeed, it was time and past time for a moment of reflection, after all, it had been years since my last bender, and I think after all that's happened this week, I was due for one again. I had some spare money and a week of free time; it seemed like a message from God himself to get my drink on and get busy pickling my liver. No more Ivy, no more Owen, just some peace and quiet spent in somber contemplation. I smiled at the thought as I opened the door.

As soon as the door closed, right on queue the phone started ringing. I didn't even bother to check the caller ID; I just unplugged the phone from the wall, charger cradle and all, and threw it hard across the room into the bed cushions. With a clatter of plastic, phone bounced off my pillow and skittered into a pile of stacked blankets, which made me feel a little better.

I stood, looking at the brown paper bag with the red plastic cap of the vodka bottle poking out of the wrinkled top for a minute before I sighed walked into the kitchen. I pulled my water filtered carafe out of the fridge, dumped the cold water into the sink, and poured the vodka in to be filtered, tossed the empty bottle in the trash, and put the carafe back in the refrigerator. "I hate my life." I muttered, closing the refrigerator door, and I was surprised to find that I meant it.

Physically, my legs ached from the walking, and I was tired, and I wanted a bath, and to change clothes, but emotionally, I just felt bad about today. After all, this night could have gone a just a teensy bit better. I had my reservations about going, but I did it anyway, and here I am. This should be object lesson about not paying attention to what you're guts telling you, I would think.

I sighed, just feeling bad. I opened the fridge to get some cold water, but remembered belatedly that I'd dumped it out just a second ago and replaced it with vodka, and that wouldn't be ready until tonight. Still, I wanted something cold and preferably alcoholic to drink, and the neat rows of beer and lager bottles lined up on the bottom shelf caught my eye. Ivy had probably lined them up carefully yesterday when she was cleaning, and that rather annoyed me for some inexplicable reason.

But the attraction of comfortable numbness was not to be denied, so I found myself roughly opening the crisper drawer and dumping the head of lettuce and tomatoes on the counter before filling it with as many bottles as I could cram in. The drawer, now heavy with bottles, cut into my fingers as I held it carefully, closing the fridge door with my foot, and staggering to the dining room table and carefully setting the thing in the middle with a clink of shifting bottles. I turned the chair so I could lean against the wall, and sat down. I felt like I was on top of the first hill of the roller coaster. I snorted cynically, no time like the present...

Blindly grabbing a bottle with one hand, and the bottle opener in the other, trained muscle reflexes kicked in and the top came off with a satisfying pop. I flicked it in the in the general direction of the trashcan, but I heard it tink off the floor. I stared at the nodachi leaning against the wall, feeling like it meant something in some odd shape or form. Some piece of a larger puzzle barely glimpsed at. I toyed with the top of the bottle with my finger as I stared, my finger was wet, the rim was smooth, clammy, and cold. Shit, I thought remorsefully, maybe I just needed to move on.

I didn't even check to see what I was drinking, I didn't really care by this point, I just brought it to my lips and drank greedily. The next three were inhaled the same way, the bottle hand simply handed the empty to the bottle opener hand, which put it on the ground as the bottle hand fumbled for another chilled bottle out of the drawer.

Personally, I don't know why I felt bad. Maybe it was residual adrenaline. Maybe it was simple guilt. Maybe I felt bad about getting into a fight, certainly master Chun wouldn't approve. Either way, I just wanted to be numb, and I wanted the day to just be over with as quickly as possible. I developed a good rhythm, but I started having problems hitting the bottle top midair with the bottle opener, and I had to start putting it on the table to keep it stable, which helped a for a while until that became a damn chore. Which annoyed me even more -- I just wanted to open a damn bottle, for heaven's sake, not perform open-heart surgery on a convulsing epileptic!

A little time passed, all too soon I found myself groping in an empty drawer, which exasperated me, because I'd only drunk a few bottles. I pushed aside the empty bottles around my feet and stood, unsteadily. And that's where it gets fuzzy. I remember opening the fridge door and pulling out a bottle, and I remember being irritated at leaving the bottle opener on the table, and somewhere between the fridge and the table, the floor came up and hit me in the face and everything went silent for a while.

The pounding of the door awoke me. I pressed my forehead against the cool floor, hiccupped, and giggled inanely; the sunlight streaming in through the windows felt like stabbing daggers in my eyes. I clapped a hand over my eyes and I moaned liked a damned soul. A very damned hungover soul.

The door jumped again, louder this time, and I swore I could see the sound waves bounce around the room like glowing pinballs before ricocheting into my skull, where it resided for a moment, beating the inside of my brain around like a piñata before disappearing into the void. I groaned loudly, holding my head together with my bare hands.

The knocking blessedly stopped, and my head stopped feeling like it was under a steam-driven trip hammer. "Hello? Anyone in there?"

I put my hands over my ears and yelped, "Yes!" but it didn't help,

And then I realized I was laying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of my own drool, a full beer bottle lay a foot away from my outstretched hand, and I didn't quite remember how I got to the kitchen -- or on the floor, for that matter...

"It's me, Jennifer, are you okay?"

"Noooooo." I moaned truthfully as I stood up slowly, wiping my face off with the back of my hand, leaving a long, cold trail of slime up my arm. Yuck.

The doorknob rattled as I slowly and very carefully meandered to the door, "Well, can I come in?"

"Yeah." I said tiredly, unlocking the door slowly, trying not to make too much noise. "Sorry, I was sleeping." I muttered, pulling the open a little and carefully moseying back to the kitchen. I felt fuzzy all over, and my brain was packed in cotton.

Jennifer opened the door and slipped through, wrinkling her nose, "Someone's had a party."

"Party of one." I muttered holding up an index finger.

"I guess so." Jennifer said, closing the door behind her. She started when she saw my face edge on, "Jesus, you look like warmed over death."

"Thank you." I grunted, "Hold on a second, I need to cycle the vodka."

"Cycle... the vodka?" Jennifer asked me quizzically.

I was currently running low on available neurons to rub together to talk and manage the complex kinesthetic problem that was emptying the full carafe back into it's filter, reassembling the thing, and putting it back into the fridge without spilling a liter of vodka over me, the floor, or the inside of the fridge, which would be a pain to clean up. So I remained silent, but spilled some anyway.

"What in the hell was that?" Jennifer asked dubiously, looking over my shoulder.

"Bad vodka." I explained quietly, washing my hands clean in the sink, "Run it thorough a water purifier a couple dozen times, and two charcoal filters later, and you get drinkable vodka."

"You mean good vodka?"

"I wouldn't go that far." I shook my head slowly.

"Where in the world did you find this out?" Jennifer asked disbelievingly.

"Where else?" I shrugged, "College." The memory of Travis, who, for one brief and bright semester majored in beer and pussy, and in the end kicked out for low grades flashed in my mind. His family was a little miffed, and stopped the money train... the last I heard he was in Alaska, repairing radars for the Air Force.

"I'm afraid to ask, but what's the vodka for?"

"Later."

"Bad night?"

"Had better." I grunted shortly.

"'She' tried to stop by, and 'she' woke me up out of a sound sleep when 'she' starting pounding on your door at four in the bloody morning."

"Sorry, I was asleep."

"Passed out, more likely," Jennifer snorted. "Anyway, she came and left. Left you a message on your door." Jennifer said, holding out a folded scrap of yellow paper.

I took it from her slowly, making sure I firmly had it between my fingers before I pulled them away. I looked down at the outside of the note, there was Ivy's name scribbled in black ink on the outside in a neat feminine hand, and I could see the shadow of writing through the paper. I rubbing it idly between two fingers as I considered reading it, but I shook my head with a sour snort and tossed it on the bill pile. "Thanks, but maybe later." Like next to never, I thought sourly and started making coffee.

Jennifer sat down at the table and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her chin settling on her palm as she stared at me coolly for a long minute while I slowly made coffee, trying not to make a mess.

"So, it really was a bad night." Jennifer observed dryly gesturing at my arm as the coffee maker gurgled and growled.

I nodded as I wiped the counter clean of spilled coffee grounds and noticed my throbbing, torn up arm and sighed. No use in hiding it now. "It could have been better." My arm looked like I shoved it in a garbage disposal, and it hurt. I sighed and pulled the first aid box and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide out from underneath the sink.

"Did you get in a fight?" Jennifer asked with a studied coolness.

I just silently started cleaning and bandaging my arm carefully, sneering at some of the longer rents in my arm. Knowing my luck, the cylon probably never washed underneath his fingernails and this was going to get infected with some skin-eating disease, and in a few months I would be skinless, and then how could I get a date? 'oh baby, I'm all muscles' doesn't sound like it would be quite, um, useful, then.

After a few minutes of silence, Jennifer asked, "So, you want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine." I said, carefully wrapping the arm in bandages, and flexing my fingers and seeing how it felt.

Jennifer looked meaningfully at my arm, then around, nudging one of the bottles on the floor with her shoe. "In all the times I've known you, when was the last time you went on a bender?"

"Uh..." I thought about it for a second, "I've always had work..."

"Uh huh." Jennifer said and starting picking the empty bottles up and putting them in the drawer still sitting on the table, "Because you could have never called in sick once. Like that time I needed help."

"That's different." I protested.

"Uh-huh."

"Look, I just needed to let off some steam. So I drank a little..."

Jennifer looked around pointedly as the empty bottles littering the floor. "Uh-huh."

"...and it was not a great night."

"Uh-huh. Are you sure you did that to your arm yourself, or did you have help?"

"I, uh..." I froze for a second, trying to think of a plausible lie.

Jennifer sat back, "Oh, this ought to be good."

"It was a cat."

"A cat?"

"I tried to pet him and he just went nuts..."

"Uh-huh."

"...like a furry psychotic buzz saw."

"Riiiight."

"It was a bad night." I muttered.

"I could tell." She said, nodding blandly and humoring me.

"Don't you have someone else to pester this early in the morning?" I growled.

Jennifer smiled wickedly, "Oh no, I have you all to myself today."

I recoiled, "What? Why?"

Jennifer blinked, "Don't you remember?"

"Uh..." I thought about it for a second, and came up blank. "No."

"You said you'd take me to the clinic?" She asked slowly.

"Oh? Oh. Oh!" Ding! A dim, flickering light bulb appears over my head, "Okay, I remember that." Barely.

She snorted and pushed a bottle from under the table, "I'm surprised you remember anything."

I smiled thinly and tried to change the subject, "So, how're you feeling?"

Jennifer smiled wryly, her eyes openly looking me up and down, "Other than watching you stumble around in a kimono? 'doin okay."

I looked down blearily and saw the kimono, which needed to be cleaned and pressed. My loincloth was rumpled, and I felt greasy, and I suddenly smelled myself. "Ah, right. I need a bath, there's some food... around here... somewhere. I'll be right out, okay?" I said, walking towards the siren's call of a hot shower.

"Take your time." Jennifer waved dismissively, smirking.

I smiled at her and walked into the bathroom, disrobing quickly. Ugh, I felt so incredibly foul it felt as if the crap was caked on my skin, and I'd need a chisel to get it off. I made sure the water was extra hot before I climbed in and scrubbed hard. I was out of soap, so I used shampoo, so my entire body felt smooth and smelled of peaches, but in the process something washed down the drain with the suds that was more than simple dirt. I still felt like I had been run over by a truck, but at least I was quazi-mobile?

I dried quickly, roughly scrubbing dry with the towel and tossing it over the curtain rod. I brushed my teeth and used rinse twice, and after a long look in the mirror decided against shaving, and just pulled on some clean underwear and a battered pair of shorts that had seen better days some years ago.

The frayed hem ticked my knee as I blundered out back into the kitchen for more coffee and something vaguely food-like to gnaw on. Jennifer watched my antics with amusement, smiling this silly-ass smile at me as I spilled hot coffee on myself. I forced myself to eat the sandwich, but it lay like lead in my stomach while the coffee scoured away most of the lingering taste of last night in my mouth. And, after the third cup of coffee, I felt almost human.

"I've never you seen you like this." Jennifer smiled at my bleary antics from the kitchen table as I fumbled about.