"Heyssir, are you going to drink that?" The deer-in-the-headlights look Jack sends her is a good enough answer, and Karen grabs the drink from the counter and takes a big gulp. She thinks about brushing her teeth with beer, and almost spits out her mouthful in amusement. The bar is half-empty and someone is yelling.
When Rick touches her shoulder she flinches. The pint in her hand sloshes beer onto the floor, inciting a glance from Doug and an "Oops!" from Karen.
Rick has ink stains on his fingertips. "You smell like chicken feed," she accuses, as he wraps an arm around her waist and heaves her up. "Also, also," this thought pulls another giggle out of her, "you're a bloody bad kisser!"
Rick has the good sense to keep quiet, and she nods in satisfaction. The night air is fresh and delightfully cool – winter is on the way. The tilting of the buildings around them is no strange sight to Karen. She's been seeing double every night this week.
"I bet you paid my bill, didn't you?" She snorts. "Lush." Whether she's referring to herself or Rick, she doesn't clarify. Rick doesn't ask.
They walk in silence for a block. Rick's steps are steady and hard; he nursed the same beer for most of the night and his ears are barely tinged with red. Karen has seen him fall-over drunk, with his whole face shaded crimson and his voice coming out high-pitched and disjointed, words full of indignant declarations and illogical conclusions.
"Guess what?" Karen stops dead, detaching herself from Rick and stalling in the middle of the path. "Hey, Ricky. Guess. What."
"What, Karen," he replies, and a shadow passes over his eyes, leaving them the dim shade that has her licking her lips nervously. A cloud passes over the moon. She sways and steadies herself.
"Popuri." She leans in, lips moving with the delicious taste of a close-kept secret. "Is so hot. I should know. Kai is one lucky bitch."
Rick recoils like he's been slapped across the face. "U-um," he starts. Karen lets out a sharp hoot of laughter.
"You're a friggin' idiot." She steps back into his personal space and slings her arms around him, scooting closer as he draws back. "Take me home, Ricky."
Rick walks her the rest of the way to the grocer. At the door, slightly sobered from the walk, Karen grabs his hand. She holds on tight, like she's afraid she might fall to pieces the moment he lets go. Gently, with the precision of a surgeon, he releases his fingers from her grasp, and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "Go sleep, Karen."
"Yeah, right." She barks out a laugh. "Bye, baby."
In his own bed, twenty minutes later after his face is scrubbed raw in the tiny basin by the toilet, Rick closes his eyes. The stench of alcohol and store-bought perfume hangs heavy on his clothes. He falls asleep with a headache coming on.
A/n
A little attempt at looking into Karen's drinking. And because I kind of love the idea of a Rick/Karen/Popuri love triangle. The best friend from her childhood she loves and knows loves her, and his little sister - that she can't keep her eyes off of. Hm.