Working at a lab facility can be nice, but often, when the pressure's up, and your report is due too soon, with too little funding, and too few assistants, it can be a living hell. It's times like these that I like to take a drink. Only one- I've never been much of one for car wrecks or hangovers, not since I wrecked my Dad's old pickup truck when I was sixteen, with my girlfriend in the seat next to me. She was fine besides a broken nose and a mild concussion, but she still hasn't forgiven me for that night. That was ten years ago.
Her name was Helen. She was a very sweet girl, but awful quiet. That made things easy, I was quiet too. Mostly we'd sit together, saying and doing nothing, letting our minds wander wherever they would. Sometimes we'd say our thoughts out loud. That's how we came up with some of our best ideas, like the go-kart. We devised for a vehicle so fascinating, it was sure to win us something or other. Designs and engineering went smoothly. Construction, however, didn't- long story short, there was an explosion, and she lost three fingers to a piece of metal flying off of the cart. They were sowed back on though, thank goodness.
If it weren't for that one evening, I'd probably be sitting and holding her hand right now, running my fingers over those three little scars- the symbol of our scientific progress.
"Do you have Mead?" I asked the bartend. I hadn't been to this place before. If I had a choice, I'd keep drinking at my old familiar joint. But when a raccoon jumps from out of a cabinet, biting the health inspector and giving him rabies, you know the place is getting shut down.
"No." The bartend said, in a sort of mellow grunt. "Nothing fancy here. No wine, sake, or anything like that. We serve whiskey, vodka, beer. Alcohol. Stuff to get drunk off of."
I stood up, and smiled. "It doesn't really sound like my sort of place, I'm sorry."
"Shame." Grunted the bartender. "There's a place a few blocks from here that serves-"
"It got shut down." I said. "Raccoon bit the health inspector."
"Ah." He didn't say anymore, just turned and began to wipe a glass. I turned around, but before I could take a step towards the door, a small, leathery hand gripped my elbow.
"You could always buy me a drink." The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I was probably just recalling a particular accent I'd heard some place or another. But when I turned, I noticed a face that also seemed familiar, but I still couldn't place it.
"I like whiskey." She said, with a grin. Her chin was propped up on her left hand, which was covered in a black leather glove. The index finger of this hand ran back and forth across her ruby lips, a gesture I had known to somebody before, but couldn't place. I stared blankly, trying to recall where I had seen her. Her soft hazel eyes scanned my face in a similar fashion. "Come on, sit down!" She said with a grin and an unusually hardy laugh for a woman, which caused her long bleached white hair to dance on her scalp. That was good, I don't recall ever seeing a woman with hair like that before. I bought her the drink. Then another. Three more, and two for myself. We got to talking, mostly silly philosophy. It had been a while since I'd discussed philosophy. I used to do that with...
"What's your name?" I asked.
"I'll tell you when we get back to my place." She said, standing up. "Come on, you gotta drive me home. I'm not fit for the road."
((If anybody is adding options, the main character's name is Rusty)) |