Darkwing Duck: Peachy Keen
Act I
Beth was fussy, although that wasn't out of the ordinary; there were days when the slightest thing would set her off and she'd fall into a panic. In this case, however, the source of her near-panic was not "the slightest thing" but rather the impending dinner she was having to attend. She'd never had training for this kind of job; nothing had ever prepared her for the eventuality of being invited to a banquet for her business!
Drake had told her that most businesses didn't hold banquets for their employees to begin with, so any training she might have had for the job wouldn't have covered this anyway. She had let the conversation drop after that, although it hadn't quelled any of her anxiety, because Drake was making that face that he made when she was talking a little bit too much and it was usually followed by the sound of him grinding his teeth together and that noisejust made shivers run up and down her back.
At least, she reasoned as she stared balefully at her too-pink face in the mirror, she wouldn't be alone. Bringing two escorts to such an event was unusual, but when she'd asked Mr. Fowler's secretary she'd said- around a bit of stammered "uh..."s- that she didn't think it was against the rules. Of course, such an admission probably meant she'd be getting a lot of looks.
She could handle that, however, as long as she had Launchpad and Drake to keep her company. It was the idea that people would be giving her those looks if she came alone that bothered her. Sure, she'd done fine at her last evaluation; okay, so she'd been promoted. She was still "the new girl" and that probably meant that everyone would be looking and maybe pointing and whispering about how she wasn't measuring up to Bob, or whoever had had the position before her (she didn't think his name was Bob, but it was a good generic name, and she'd come to actually think of him as having that name).
So, she was going to the banquet with not one but two moral supporters. Well, to be honest, only Launchpad was going to be her moral support; she didn't think she could go anywhere important without him at her side. Drake was... well, the opportunity to ask Drake along had arisen, and she'd jumped on it instantly, hoping she sounded normal and natural and not as if she had planned to ask him for the past three hours. He'd said yes, so apparently she'd done it right.
She ran the comb through her hair and breathed deeply; she was as ready as she'd ever be. She felt awkward and clumsy in her dress, and she wondered if her makeup was overdone or underdone and if she was going to look this pink for the rest of the night, but she simply wasn't going to get any more ready than this. Wait... She picked up a barrette, fastened it in the back of her hair, and examined it in the mirror. Not bad.
Okay... now she was as ready as she'd ever be.
"Wow, you look great!" said Launchpad cheerfully when he and Drake picked her up, a few minutes later.
Beth blushed. "Uh, thanks," she said uncertainly, smiling at him. "So do you... Both of you." She looked back and forth between them, as if she couldn't decide which one of them to look at. This may well have been because she really wanted to look at Drake, but the look on his face was one of a sort of bored irritation and she had a feeling she shouldn't be staring at him, and yet she felt kind of awkward looking at Launchpad, as if he'd take offense to it. Quite honestly, however, she meant what she said; they both looked, in her eyes, wonderful. Launchpad really wore a tux well- even the bow tie looked nice on him. And Drake... he looked great in everything he wore, of course, but tonight he looked like a millionaire, a prince, the man who would come and sweep her off her feet and romance her across the dance floor--
"Beth?" said Drake, waving his hand in front of her face. Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she realized with some dejection that she'd been caught staring.
"I'm um... yes?" she stammered, hoping it could maybe be played off.
Drake gave her a sort of dry look, and Beth had the even more disheartening thought that he knew, at least partly, exactly where her mind had been just then. Finally he jerked his finger toward the curb, and said, "Taxi's here."
"Ah. Yes." Apparently, Beth thought, she was indeed going to spend the entire night with her face all flushed and pink. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Well, here comes another embarrassing experience, huh?" She stepped down onto the sidewalk, and Launchpad offered her his arm. She smiled, her spirits lifting slightly, and they walked to the taxi. Drake trailed behind them, rolling his eyes.
The subject of the taxi had led to quite a heated discussion. Not an argument, no- it was important that it not be called an argument. It was a discussion, pure and simple; a heated one. Launchpad had initially offered to drive, and Beth was happy to take him up on the offer, but Drake groused that parking would be near impossible to find. He suggested the taxi. Beth, who had been averse to taxis since she was much younger and whose initial dislike of them had only been strengthened after her last ride in one, was reluctant; you never knew what you were getting into in a taxi, and besides, the fare could be extremely high.
Drake, who evidently had the subject all thought out, had argued- no, no, answered - that they'd probably have to pay for parking, too, and that could be extremely expensive as well. Besides, their fare would be split three ways. More discussion had followed, although Beth's assertions that taxis were bad were largely ignored in the long run. Reluctantly, she'd given in, and Launchpad- who was every bit as neutral as Switzerland when he wanted to be- had followed suit without much thought either way.
So, they were on their way, and despite her misgivings about the event itself Beth felt terribly pleased at being seated snugly in between Drake and Launchpad. It was, somehow, immensely satisfying; both held such a place in her heart that she had found lately that she was only truly happy when she was comfortably around them both. In spite of that, however, she found the ride to the banquet mildly awkward, as- unfortunately- none of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say.
She sighed; it was typical, anyway. She leaned back in her seat, gripping her purse, and counted her pounding heartbeats until they got there.
The banquet ended up not being that bad after all, although it was still nothing Beth was at all prepared for. Dorian Fowler was a people person, and he could be seen making the rounds of his party, always surrounded by a group of smiling employees, friends, and well-wishers. From her seat at the long table, she could see him wandering the room, occasionally going over to other seated employees. She dreaded when he'd come to see her, as she had no idea how to interact with him. Other employees sometimes called him Dorian, but she simply couldn't see herself doing that. Wouldn't he be offended if she did? Would he be offended if she didn't??
She turned to Drake, who was scanning the room with a bored look on his face. "Drake? What if he comes over here?"
Drake blinked and turned to look at her, but said nothing for several moments. Finally, he managed, "...What?"
Oh, right. She'd forgotten that whole train of thought that had led up to this point- Drake hadn't been privy to that. "Um. Dorian Fowler, my boss. That's him, walking around." She pointed, and Drake followed the line of her finger to the imposing tuxedoed Goose near the head of the table.
"I don't think he'll come here," Drake said finally. "He's having a good time over there."
"But he might come here," she said nervously, "and then what would I say to him? I don't even know him!"
Drake let out a breath slowly, covering his eyes for a moment, and Beth wondered for a quick second why it was she never seemed to be able to talk to him for long without him doing that. "You could say 'Hi'," he suggested.
Beth decided to hold her tongue instead of telling him why she wasn't even sure if she should be saying "Hi" or "Hello", and the relative merits of each one in terms of professionalism, since she had the distinct impression Drake really didn't want to hear it. In fact, it might even lead to that teeth-grinding noise. "I guess," she murmured, and grabbed for a change of subject. "Where's Launchpad?" she asked, even though she knew.
From the look Drake gave her, he was aware that she knew. He answered anyway. "Hors d'oeuvres table," he said, and pointed to where Launchpad was hovering over the appetizers at the back of the room.
"Well. Guess I'll go see him then," she said quickly, and in one quick motion she stood and hurried off. A moment later she hurried back. "Can I get you anything while I'm up?"
Drake looked truly interested and thoughtful for the first time that night. "Well... if they have any of those cocktail weenies-"
"I think they do. I'll get you some. Be right back." She hurried off again, then seemed to think of something, and came back once again. "Drake- are you, you know, having a good time?"
He considered his response for quite some time. The idea of telling her the truth danced in his head for a while, but he finally shrugged it off. This night was important to her, after all. "You bet," he said, probably unconvincingly, but he wasn't going to put too much effort into it.
She smiled weakly. "'Kay," she answered. "Okay- I'll be right back. For real this time."
"Beth?" he called before she had a chance to go. When she turned back, he said, "You're doing fine. Lighten up and have a good time." She broke into a real smile at last, looking downright relieved. He was glad he'd gone ahead and said it- from the look of things, someone had to before she'd have a good time. As she started to leave again, he thought of something else. "Make sure the weenies have plenty of that red dipping sauce!" he called after her, and several of the other guests turned to stare. He stared back, cleared his throat, and muttered, "Cocktail weenies... you know, with the sauce- looks like ketchup? But it's not- aw, forget it." He crossed his arms and tried to ignore them.
What he desperately needed was someone to remind him why he was there. Sure, Beth was his friend, and she'd asked him. But she was needy, she asked him to do a lot of things, did he have to actually do them all?? He shifted in his seat- thinking of Beth's neediness always made him uncomfortable somehow. She was so pathetically obvious about her crush on him. That, right there, was the reason he'd cave in to almost anything she asked him to do- it was just about the only way he could express the fact that he actually liked her, despite his lack of tolerance with her.
He shook his head in a mixture of fondness and irritation. Funny how she grew on you, really. But what was keeping her, anyway? he wondered. He looked towards the hors d'oeuvres table and saw her there. She had a cup of punch in one hand and a plate of hors d'oeuvres in the other. Launchpad was standing next to her, but Beth's attention was on a tall, smartly dressed woman who was speaking with extravagant hand gestures. Occasionally Beth nodded, but didn't manage to get a word in edgewise- not that she seemed to really be trying, Drake thought. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Launchpad had a hand on her back and was rubbing gently. Drake had to smile a little- anyone would have thought they were together. Which, he thought mildly, wouldn't bother LP at all.
Then again, he wondered what the people who saw her now with Launchpad would think when she came back and sat with him again. He chuckled, despite himself.
Across the room, the woman shook hands with Beth and walked off. Beth downed half of her glass of punch, then went back to the punch bowl and refilled it. After setting the cup down next to Launchpad, she filled a second glass, then began a bizarre balancing act in order to pick up the first cup, hold onto the second, and not drop the hors d'oeuvres. Launchpad made a gesture which Drake figured meant he was offering help, but Beth refused him and came back to Drake, smiling nervously.
"Here. Sorry I took so long. Drink the punch, Mrs. Fowler made it. It's peach. She was talking to me just now and she was really nice but I didn't know what to say. Um... here are your weenies." This resulted in more stares, which Beth, fortunately, didn't notice. She sat down again, briefly. "You know, I haven't seen Tonya here at all yet," she said casually. Drake was just about to ask who Tonya was, when she grabbed his hand frantically. "Oh gosh! Mrs. Fowler is looking over here! Drink the punch, quick, and look like you like it!"
He watched as she took a heavy swallow of the beverage, again downing about half of it at once. Mrs. Fowler had looked away by this point, so he just sniffed his own glass, and put it down again. "Maybe later," he said, hesitantly. "I'm not big on peach."
Beth gulped the punch down and grinned, and at this closeness Drake could see that the grin was forced. "I think something in it has turned," she muttered, as a little shiver went through her. "It's too sweet, and there's a funny aftertaste. But I wouldn't want to hurt Mrs. Fowler's feelings, after all, and she did make the punch to be drinked- drinken? Drank? Um..." She trailed off, looking confused.
"Uh-huh." Drake looked unimpressed with the punch as a whole. "I'll skip it tonight, I think."
She looked at him imploringly. "Could you maybe, you know, pretend to drink it, if she looks your way?"
Of course. Drake sighed. "Okay, fine... why not?"
"Thanks," she said, giving him a big smile and a pat on his shoulder. She seemed to be loosening up more by the second. Now she stood up, her punch glass in hand, and stepped away from the table. "I'm going to go talk to Launchpad for a while now, okay? You sure you're okay here?"
"I'm fine," he said, although truthfully he was bored stiff; still, better to be sitting on his own than jostled and bothered by everyone at the food table. Beth grinned and walked off, losing her balance a bit as she moved away from the table.
When she joined Launchpad again, he was in the process of going back for a third round at the appetizers. "Are they really that good?" she asked, and he grinned when he saw her.
"Try the spinach thingies- they're great," he said, holding a mini-pastry out to her by the toothpick it was stuck on.
"Ugh, no thanks. I don't like spinach. Have you had the punch?"
He set his plate down, giving her his full attention again. "Well, no... is it that good? I mean, ya keep talkin' about it..."
She smiled self-consciously. "I just want Mrs. Fowler to know I like it. I guess I'm kind of kissing up." She giggled. "It's okay- it grows on you. A little sweet at first though." She'd finished her glass, and refilled it again, then handed it to him. "Try."
He sniffed, then took a sip; swallowing quickly, he made a face. "Gah. Too much sugar."
"Well... here, take this." She quickly grabbed a cup, filled it halfway, and took a giant gulp from it, then handed it to him. "There. Now it'll look like you drank plenty." She gave him a wide grin, as if she'd done something rather sneaky.
Grinning himself, he nodded. "Good idea. You sure you don't want any food though?"
"Not that hungry," she said in a sigh, "but I dunno why I was so worried before! Suddenly I feel really a whole lot more... I don't know... good."
"Great!" said Launchpad cheerfully, and ate a few hors d'oeuvres. Life was good; all the food he could want, and Beth at his side, looking beautiful. And giggling; her face was flushed, he noticed. But she was smiling, and that was all that really mattered to him.
She took a step backwards, stumbled, and nearly fell. "Eek!"
Launchpad caught her. "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Yeah- I-" Evidently it struck her as funny, because she suddenly started giggling, and couldn't get any other words out. "I must look soooooo stupid!" she said between chuckles, and collapsed onto Launchpad's chest, laughing incessantly.
"No ya don't," Launchpad assured her, but he felt uneasy.
Back across the room, Drake sniffed the punch again just as Mrs. Fowler looked in his direction. He sighed and took a sip for her benefit- then nearly spit it out again. What was in this!? It was way too sweet, and that kick to the aftertaste... With sinking spirits, he realized the majority of the punch's flavour came from peach schnapps.
Beth obviously had no idea... How much had she had by now?? Well... maybe she was better at holding her alcohol than one would expect...
Shaking her head, Beth's giggles slowed down and she tried to keep a straight face. "I'm okay now- I- phhhhht" She burst into giggles again, but then stood up straight and stared at Launchpad seriously. "I am fine now. Really."
"You sure?"
Her face split into a grin again, but she managed a nod as she boosted herself up to sit on the edge of the hors d'oeuvres table. "Yep! Fine!" She bit her lip and suppressed another giggle. "Stop looking at me like that! I can't help it- I just can't stop smiling!"
"Well..." Launchpad thought about this. She was acting oddly, but she was obviously happy, and if she was happy- was that bad? In this case, he wasn't sure. He tried a smile. "Good."
"Yeah," she said absently, looking around the room, and then suddenly she raised her arm and waved to someone. "Mrs. Fowler! HEY! HEY, MISSUS- MISSUS F!!! The punch is GREEEEEEEAAAAT!" At that, she started giggling again, and leaned over across the table to throw her arms around Launchpad's neck.
And then, it hit him. He hadn't noticed it so much in the punch, but the alcohol on her breath was unmistakable. Oh, boy. Beth didn't drink much, he knew that for a fact; and she was so skinny, and had barely eaten anything that day anyway- the little bit of alcohol she'd had had gone straight to her head. He put his arms around her and tried to pull her down from the table, but she didn't want to go; instead she laughed, and said "Oooh, you smell nice."
Launchpad hoped he wasn't blushing; under the circumstances that wouldn't be good. He looked desperately over to where DW was sitting- he was gonna need help with this.
Drake wasn't in his seat, and for a second Launchpad was about to panic, but a second later he realized Drake was already on his way toward them. He didn't look happy.
"Okay- pull her down," he said, as soon as he reached them, and put his hand on Beth's back to help. Unfortunately, Beth heard his voice and looked up, then smiled.
"Draaaaaake," she drawled, obviously pleased at seeing him. She let go of Launchpad and turned to face her objet d'amour. "You're here, that's so nice!"
"Beth," Drake said, and he sounded worried, "come on down and let's sit at the table and have some coffee, okay?"
She gave a little pout. "I like it here. And you drink too much coffee. Have some punch, it's really good." She giggled again, and repeated, "Have some punch," then rolled her eyes. "I'm like a broken record player."
Launchpad and Drake looked at each other. "The punch was spiked, DW," Launchpad said quietly.
Drake smacked his forehead. "I gathered that, LP!" he said, with barely restrained irritation. Turning back to Beth, he took her hands in his. "Beth. Beth, look at me."
"Hm?" She turned to him, and gave him a very overly-focused look.
"Okay. The punch was spiked. There's alcohol in it and you've had too much. Way too much, from the look of it," he finished in a mumble. "We need to work our way out of here- What?"
She was staring at him with a big grin plastered all over her face, again. "You're cute," she said simply. He rolled his eyes as she continued. "Look at you... all sushpiciou- supish- pus- all cute." She laughed gently.
Launchpad was looking very deliberately away from them. Drake had the rather irksome feeling that his sidekick was trying not to laugh. He sighed. "Okay, thanks. But Beth, you're drunk."
"NO!" she said, too loud and too shocked. Drake and Launchpad looked around nervously to see if they were attracting a crowd. Beth went on, indignantly: "I am not drunk, because I don't drink. So there."
"Okay fine, you're not drunk, let's go sit," Drake snapped, and pulled her forward. She stumbled down, nearly knocking him over, and grinned over at Launchpad.
"Isn't he cute? Isn't he just the cutest?" she said happily. Drake sighed heavily, and Launchpad looked uncomfortable.
"Uh... sure," he offered finally, and helped Drake support her on their way back to the table.