Brute's not really the relationship type. Friends with benefits, sure sometimes. But not relationships. They just never seemed appealing. Being intimate? Sharing and talking about feelings? Ha. She'd have to, y'know. Have feelings for someone to try that.
She never thought meeting a few people, would get her into this big of a clusterfuck. Nothing was exclusive, but perhaps she shouldn't have had two lovers at the same time to begin with. Then again, she never expected, let alone intended for any of this to happen the way it did. Or at all.
Townsville CinnaBar. A relatively popular bar on the more sketchier side of town. It was small and not well known given the area it resided, but it was a happenin' place. Good music, clean booths, open late, and their signature, and source of popularity: Their cafe. Same hours as the bar, the cafe served various coffees and pastries. The coffee was crap this late at night, but it catered mostly to dead tongued drunks. Didn't have to taste good, just had to perk you up. And damn if it didn't.
I threw my head back and sucked down a shot of vodka, and slammed the glass back on the table. After a few moments of just sitting, not particularly staring or thinking about anything I poured another shot into the glass. I didn't drink it just yet, but it would be there when I felt like downing it. The bottle was sat back down with a clunk on the small table I was seated at. It burn my throat, tasted like hell, and I didn't recognize the brand. In fact I couldn't even read the bottle. Not because I was drunk, but because it was in another language. I assume Russian, so people would be tricked into thinking it was the good stuff from the motherland. But it was just a cheap penny bottle of knock off vodka. No matter though. It was doing it's job. I could still think relatively clear, but my limbs were starting to feel heavy.
It had been a bit of a disappointing day really. When I was younger I had been a bit of a rowdy vicious punk. I am now twenty-two, I put makeup on dead people for a living, and between my two sisters, the three of us barely make enough money to keep our shitty apartment. Well, we would be okay, if Beserk actually pitched in and helped. Or if Brat would stop blowing the money she and I make.
When I was about fifteen I started getting into this underground fighting group that met up every so often. At the time I loved it, and was only doing it for a little walking around money. But hard times tend to take the fun out of things. When my oldest sister Berzerk turned eighteen, our father kicked us out. Well, he kicked her out. Brat and I followed. I had to start working hard to get more money out of more fights, even if I was still recovering from a past fight. Somewhere along the way, all the fun was drained out of it. It turned into a job, I really didn't want to do anymore. Things got better after I started painting the dead, but I still continued in the fights. It wasn't always much but it was extra money. And it helped.
It wasn't always easy. Less money often meant poor diet, which didn't bode well for staying in shape. Sometimes the fights weren't good. If I did well, I got more money. If I lost I didn't as much. If the fight was over to fast, neither fighter got much money. You win some you lose some. What everyone really wanted to see was a good fight. Too fast or too long and they lost interest entirely. The best paying fight was one that kept everyone on their toes. Those were my favorite. They got my blood pumping and brought out a side of my that rarely saw the dark of night, let alone the light of day. The kind you might not walk, but limp away from. Feel it for the next week. Like tonight.
Some bitch...Some stupid bitch, new to the game failed to see what a good fight it was turning out to be. It was still early in the fight. She was good. It brought a grin to my face and a chuckle to my throat. I was starting to have fun. The crowed was getting ampt up. It was starting to get good. She didn't seem to think so. Every dodge of or blow I struck deepened the angry sneer on her face. My smirk probably wasn't helping. I dodged and averted what I thought was going to be a tempol hit to my shoulder. I didn't see the knife until I yelled and saw the handle sticking out of my left arm. I saw red. My smirk had dropped into a snarl. With a roar I pulled the knife out, tackled the stab happy bitch to the concrete and held the bloody switchblade to her throat.
Before it could go any further the crowed pulled us apart. We would've gotten a killing for that fight, if not for the knife. No weapons. Only newbies tended to forget that rule. Getting impaled wasn't punishment enough. Any weapon used in a fight and both participants are disqualified for any sort of payment. There weren't many rules in this town for underground fighting, but that was a biggy.
That being a bust, I started walking home. I didn't make it that far before walking magically turned into limping, and the pain in my arm started to really kick in. I thought it best to stop at my favorite bar to numb some of that pain, and patch myself up a bit. I bought a bottle of vodka, headed into the bathroom and cleaned myself up a bit. It hadn't quite stopped bleeding yet, but it was a clean through-and-through. It had slowed a bit as it was, but I still wrapped it in paper towels for the time being to catch what oozed out until I could get home and properly take care of it. It would stop in a few hours anyway. After that I headed up into the loft above everyone and sat in the corner by the railing overlooking everyone. Hardly anyone went into the loft. The only tables were the small singles that only seated two people, and there was even less room up top than down below. I liked it. I could observe the entirety of the chaos below from a calm and safe distance. Besides, most everyone on ground level probably couldn't even make it up, or down, the stairs to begin with.
So there I was, silently drinking away the pain in my arm, the soreness in my limbs...Watching everything like some sort of bar creep. I raised my brows to myself with that thought and took another shot.
"MITCH, FUCK OFF!" I heard through the drunken clatter down below. There's hardly ever that much oomph in someone this late at night. It's past midnight. Everyone's drunk and loud, but usually they're too inebriated to get fighty. I glanced over the side of railing. I could see some people parting around a brown haired boy and what I think was a girl wearing a hat that had been sitting on the bar stools. I couldn't really make out or see any faces, but going off body language they both seemed rather agitated. I could see the hit coming. This was going to get ugly.
I stood with a little too much ease and almost fell over. After recovering I headed down the stairs. I had to snake my way through the crowd as many had already started to stand up and try so get a better view of what was going on. I could hear the guy trying to stay quiet and discreet, but with how loud and badly he was slurring I'd bet my car he didn't notice that they were the center of attention. Over that I could hear the girl hollering away at him. As I got closer to the bar I noticed Rodrick, the tender, was getting his shotgun from under the counter.
"Hold it, hold it, hold on there Rod." I said trying to defuse him. He glanced up, and noticed who had spoke.
"No fighting Brute." He stated firmly. Over his voice I could here the two getting hyffier by the second.
"Don't cock it just yet, they sound slammed off there asses. How much damage can they do?" I reasoned. I don't think he'd actually shoot anyone, but the shotgun was his weapon of choice for when the CinnaBar gets too rowdy, just to threaten and scare everybody. But he always had this look in his eye. Like he might do it. Not that I thought he would, but lots of people tend to report his actions, and the last thing I wanted was my favorite bar to get shut down.
"Then get over there and fix it." He growled. My lip curled at the honry bastard, but I ducked over there none the less. Not the first time I, or another regular, would swoop in and fix one of these.
"You'rebein' so unfair righnow! We- we- we're great'gether, n' ye won't even thing aboutit." The guy slurred. I finally managed to get through everybody to get a good look at everything. The guy was tall and almost a little gangly. There was a mop of brown hair on his freckle covered head, golden eyes, clad in a plain brown shirt and blue jeans.
"Mitch furthelove'vgod wil'you shuttup already? Gettoverit!" The girl slurred. She was a little taller than me, black hair just barely long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail sticking out the back of a green ball cap. I assume it was probably a bob. She had on a black basketball T with white accents over a jade green long sleeve, and a tattered pair of worn out pants, which used to be dark wash but had faded with time and a pair of white and green beat up running shoes.
"Hey! What the hell's goin' on in this neck of the woods?" I said firmly. The boy snapped his gaze in my general direction before he finally focused enough to figure out I was the one who had spoken.
"Hey, you, hey hey. Shuttup. This ain't anyofyur bizness." He said trying to sound hushed again. But still loud enough to hear clearly.
"Iz notanyof Your buisness either! You sonuva-!" The girl started. Then the guy jumped in and I couldn't understand a word outta both of them.
"HEY!" I hollered getting both of their attention. "You're right. It's not any of my business. It's not any of our business." I gestured to everyone in the bar. "But when I can hear it from clear up in the loft, it becomes my business. When you start makin' a scene in here, I make it my business." All the while the girl has been agreeing with everything I say and glaring this guy down. I heard her say something along the lines of 'I likethiz bitch' and looked like she was about ready to throw her arm around me. "Okay, I don't know what this is about, an' I don't care what this is about. But you can either drop it, or take it somewhere else." I hissed and pointed to the door.
"Yeah, Buttercup, lestalk abouthis somewherelse." The guy said stepping closer to the girl.
"No Mishh, fukov I'mnot goin' anywhere." The girl growled.
"Buttercu-" The guy reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"NO!" The girl hollered as she ripped her arm from his grasp. However her hand was clenched in a fist, and she tore free and spun around she ended up decking me in the cheek. I fell back a little and caught myself on the bar counter.
"Ohno, you okay friend?" The girl asked. "Msorry!"
I saw a hit coming. Had no idea it would land on me. At least not like that.
"Oh! Y'see whatye di? Thisiswhy we'need'tleave!" The guy said. Stepping closer and going to grab at her again while she was trying to see if I was alright. Now I was getting pissed off. Before he could touch her I flung myself forward cutting him off. As I was now between the two, he stumbled back a little.
"Okay! I just told you you can either forget about it or leave! You wanna leave, and she wants to forget about it! How 'bout you take a hint, and take a hike already!" I hollered. I was already agitated, then he took a step forward to say something else. I decked him and the crowd moved away enough for him to fall on his ass.
"I have reasoned, and now I am asking nicely. Get the fuck out." He glared up at my words, now holding his bloody nose. I was neither in the mood or the condition for this. As he started to stand up I heard a loud gun cock from behind me. The guy froze.
"You were asked nicely." Rodrick growled. He stood for a good minute glancing between the girl and Rodrick's shotgun before slurring something under his breath and very drunk-angry quickly headed to the door.
"Hahahahah, if thatwuz nice I'dun wannano what mean is." The girl chuckled finally throwing her arm over my shoulder. I turned around just as Rodrick was putting his gun away. We locked eyes for a moment, and exchanged a nod. Then he look towards the girl hanging off my shoulders.
"What about this one?" He asked eyeing her with distaste. Not sure why. It didn't seem like she started it. She may have been provoking, and aggressive, but she seemed to want to end the fight and get that guy to leave her alone. I smirked.
"I got her." I said, and lead her up towards the loft. She laughed but came along.
"If you're leadin'mefrom dabar you betterbe buyin'." She smirked. I snorted and sat her down at my table.
"Pfft, I break up your fight before it get's too ugly and get that monkey off your back, and I gotta pay? You should be buying my drinks. Heheh." I chuckled as I filled my shot glass and passed it to her.
"Haha, acceptin' drinksfrom someone n' I dun'even knowyur name. Am'I in a fratt'house righnow?" She said chuckled. There was a moment of silence before she looked at me a bit more serious and added, "M'kiddin', 'm noh thadrunk. Yet." She said and downed the shot. Then filled it back up and passed it back.
"Y'know you'do seem'alil familiar. Do I'knowyou?" She asked as I threw one back, and filled it up. I smirked a little as she tossed her head back. She didn't recognize me right off the bat, but I knew exactly who she was. Eh, she probably wouldn't anyways. We mostly stayed out of each others affairs in highschool. She slammed the shared shot glass on the small table and extended her arm.
"I'm Buttercup Utonium." She blurted. I smiled and took her palm.
"Brute." I said and shook on it. I stopped, but she didn't quite let go. I cocked my head to the side.
"Brute…?" She pressed.
"Brute Plutonium." I rolled my eyes. She raised a brow.
"Thas awfully close ta'Utonium. Thatta fake name?" She inquired.
"Will you let go of my hand?" I chuckled.
"Nottill I getta real name." She said simply. I pulled my hand away and started digging in my pocket. "Aw c'mon I thoughtwe bonded!"
"Relax, I'm getting my ID." I said and held up my wallet. She leaned forward and squinted to read the name. It took her a few seconds longer than I expected, which made me smile a bit. When she finally pulled back she put her hands up defensively with a goofy grin on her face.
"Sorry, wasjus checkin'." She said. I gestured that it was fine.
"I getcha. Hey," I poured and slid a shot over to her, and held up the bottle itself up like a toast. "-to new friends!" Buttercup's grin deepened as she picked up the glass and clinked it to the bottle.
"And good ones!" She hoped and tossed back her shot. I tossed back the bottle and probably drank about three shots worth. With a cringe I set the bottle back on the table.
"Heheh, speakin'of...m'sorry 'bout Mishh. He really iz'a googuy, he'sjus...M'sorry, 'bout'hm…" I cocked my head to the side.
"Bit of'a history between you two?"
"There really isn't." She said dryly.
"What was all that about, anyway?"
"Pfft. Heheh, I'm not nearly drunk enough to wanna get into that." She said as she took a pull off the vodka bottle. I shrugged.
"Fair enough."
"Bleh!" She coughed as she put the bottle back on the table. "Whateven isthiz, i'suckz!"
"Right?" I chuckled.
An hour and forty minutes, and about two thirds of the bottle later, and Buttercup was drunk enough to talk about what had happened. Talk about anything really. With anyone.
"Wai-wai-wait, whaaaaaat? Yerjokin'!" I slurred.
"I'mnot *hic* kiddin'. Twomonths, junior'yer. Thazit."
"Thenwhahappend?" I leaned in, getting wrapped up in the story she told over the CinnaBar's specialty. Cinnamon rolls.
"Hahah, yurtotally eatin' this highzkull bullshittup!" Buttercup snarked.
"You kiddin'? Stupiddumbass teen drama? It'z hilarious! I love thistuff!" I chided. Buttercup took another bite of her cinnamon roll, then pointed her fork at me.
"Hey. whash'it. I wastha dumbassteen."
"No, nono! Mitch, wasthe dumbassteen'n. You, were schtuck in'damiddle of'a clusterfuck'n cyclone, notkknowin' wha'dahell washappenin'. Or whattadoo." I pointed out. And took a swig off the vodka bottle.
"Damn, makeoutwihtme to be the victim, why don'tcha!"
"Hmm?" Mouth of drink and cinnamon roll goo, I gave her a questioning look.
"I saaaid, Make Me Out To Be The Victim, why don'tcha!" She clarified. "I hadplenty ta'do with ittoo! I could'a handledit allthat better."
"Hm." I gave an affirmative nod, and spun my wrist around to get her to continue with her funny as hell tale of high school bull.
"Ohrigh...So afterthat fiasco, we decidedto stay friendz." I almost started coughing when she said that.
"Wha?..." I gaped. Buttercup gave a nod as she took another bite of her cinnamon roll.
"Yep. 'N I thoughtitwas goin' purttygood. Wedidn't talk much afterhe lefttown for college. Then'ee showsup'n town lastweek want'n t'hang'n I thought: Soundzgreat! Les'go get drinks. Wegettover'ere'n everythin's goin' fine! Were laughin'n reminiscin' an' competatively drink'n, cuz I guess old habits diehard."
"Mh. Amen'ta tha." I agreed.
"Here, here. Anyways, we slamn'did inta'afew, 'n suddenly he starts goin' on about how good we weret'gether, 'n howe've both grown, an he wanted ta'give us another try."
"No!" I gasped. "Did he use thosexact w'rds?"
" Hey, shuttup. I almos'gagged. So I turned'm Down'n he's all, why? Areyou seeing someone? An' I said no!" She squawked as if it was supposed to be obvious. "N'so he'sall, then whywon't you jusgivit a try? An' -UGH! He wouldn'dropit!"
"Eh, whatcha'gon do, -Ah! Ah! Ah! Noo!" I said as I swatted Buttercups hand away from the vodka, and pushed her cinnamon roll closer to her. "You're cuttoff, rememblur?"
"Maybe, you outtalayoff too." She giggled. I looked at her in drunken shock.
"I-wha? No, I'm-I'm fine. No. I knowmy bodjy. I'mean, body." I said trying to play myself off as sober.
"No, no, dude. Here, eat- eat m're cinnaroll. Eat more cinnaroll." Buttercup said as she pushed my plate towards me.
"Mhh...Yeaah." I said with a happy grin and took another bite. "Soooo gooooooodj." I moaned.
"Yeaaaaaah." Buttercup agreed. "An' I won'get hangover'if I eat'm?"
"No." I laughed.
"What? Why'would you sayso th'n! Thazno'funny!" She sputtered. I giggled harder. It probably sounded like I was drowning.
"Cuz no'one everwans'ta try'em drunk, n' ther soooo gooooood."
"Whynot?"
"They Are Good!" I said, almost appalled.
"I, -Wha…? No, yeah they'are. I meant, why don'they tryit?"
"Oh...everybody thinks thergonna puke iftheydo. An' therethe bast cinnarolls aroun'."
"Yeah, they are." Buttercup repeated, as I reached for the bottle.
"Hey! No, hey, I said no." Buttercup said taking the bottle before I could get it.
"I'm notthatbad. I'm justartin' to catch up with you." I said pointing at her with both hands. Probably didn't help my case.
"C'mon, if I'm cut so'er you." She said and held the bottle over the railing of the loft. "Infact *gasp* Oh no…!" She said as if she just realized exactly what she had done. Which was pour out the last quarter over the side. Both of our faces dropped, and we leaned to look bellow us, where a couple of early mourning drunks were examining the vodka all over them. Then one of them hollered out: It's Rainin BOOZE! As if it were a miracle. We both started laughing hard and sat back in our spots. Then Buttercup flung the bottle behind her, and it shattered on the floor in the loft. We both remained silent as I stared at the broken glass.
"Oh dear…" Buttercup muttered.
"Oh Rodricks'not gonna be happy abou'that…" I started giggling and a deranged wide smile spread across my face.
"Hey Buttercup…"
"...Yeah?"
"Les, quick, les'get outta here." I suggested.
"Good Idea!" Buttercup said as she slammed her hand on the table and started trying to get up. The both of us, giggling unbalanced messes somehow made our way down the stairs and outside. Once we got out we stumble-ran another block before stopping.
"Di-...Di'we maket?" Buttercup asked between breaths. I looked back the way we came.
"Mhh….Yeah!" I confirmed, and the both of us broke into yet another fit of giggles.
I looked at Buttercup. Really looked at her. She hadn't changed much since highschool. Even under her clothes I could tell she still had a more fit, fem-uscular build. Even running drunk it was plain to see she knew the proper running form. Probably still went to the gym. It didn't look bad on her. I remember in highschool she was the queen of sports. I looked at her face. She still didn't wear makeup either. And it's as true now as it was in highschool: She didn't need it. Lucky bitch always had good skin and a healthy glow about her. Even now, her face pink and glistening in sweat from alcohol, she looked stunning. It was a little discouraging. I had to wear makeup, an the only stuff pale enough to look okay I had to swipe from work. Her hair was a mess under her hat right now, but I could tell from what hair was currently framing her face that whoever cut it new what the hell they were doing.
I was pulled from my thoughts when Buttercup lightly punched my bad arm. I must've been hammered, cuz I didn't feel any pain. And my limp was gone.
"I won!" She proclaimed. I smirked and pushed her back. She was still competitive.
"Oohshiiite...Did'I dotha?" Buttercup slurred. My brows pinched as she reached her hand up towards my face. She sorta started swatting, but I think she was just trying to touch my face, but not quite reaching far enough.
"Do what?" I asked confused.
"That shiner." She said as her hand gingerly grazed my face. I pushed her hand away, then felt my face.
"Ohno hah, you're this one." I said and pointed to the bruise on my cheek, which I was sure had formed by now. I had gotten hit in the eye earlier tonight at fight club. Apparently it's only now beginning to show.
"Ah, whaaat? What happeneded?" Buttercup asked trying to caress my face again. Once again I pushed her hand away.
"Nothin' don'worry aboudit." I said and pushed her hand away, then just held it so she couldn't try again.
"I'mso*hic*sorry." She apologized again.
"I'sfine."
"Hehehe."
"What?"
"You're holdin' my hand -Pfffft!"
"Yeah, cuz'you keep touchin' my face!" Suddenly from down the street several gunfires echoed causing both of us to look back in the direction of the bar. My brow furrowed.
"Damn, i'sfour already?"
"Huh? Wha-whatwas all that!"
"No, i'snot whatchu think-,"
"I'm callin' the cops."
"NO! No! I's jus Rodrick!"
"Whaat? The bartender? That didn'sound lika shotgun."
"Nonono, he does this everynigh'at closing."
"What!?"
"He's got a handgun fulla blanks, he fires'm off at closing't scare off th'drunks quicker." Buttercups jaw dropped.
"...Whakinda jankyass neiborhood am I in? That'sterrifying!"
"Hahahah, i'works!"
"Tha'guys fuckin' scary!"
"No, Roddy's hilarious!" I laughed.
"Wait, di'you say i's four?"
"*hic* Yep."
"Aw, I need'ta call my sister." Buttercup stated, pulled out her phone, and walked around the corner. I shook my head a little and sat at a street bench not far. It wasn't long before I followed her lead, and pulled out my phone to call a late night cab service. By the time that was sorted out Buttercup had returned and had been sitting patiently next to me on the bench.
"So...do'you c'mere offen?" Buttercup asked a little while after I ended my call. I almost burst out laughing at the question.
"D'aw, wer'you hopin'ta tell me more high school stories?" I teased. Buttercup ribbed me.
"Hahah... I mighh've afew more...-I'mean shuddup!"
"Heheh, wha makesyou ask?" I wondered aloud. Buttercup shrugged.
"I dunno you-...I dunno. Y'jus seem'ta know the place well. Plus y'can really 'andle yer booze."
"Heheheh..." I laughed. "To answer'yer quession. Thissiz my flavorite bar. So yeah... Every so-offen." Buttercup looked like she was going to say something, but I got distracted by the cab that started to drive in the direction of the bar. I blinked wondering if that was the one I called for. Either they got here really quick or I was drunker than I thought...better get home.
"I think thas my um...uh. Thingy...ride." I said as I got up, a bit off balance and almost fell over.
"Heheh careful! Heh, maybeyou can't handlel it." Buttercup said on second thought.
"Wha? Nah, m'fine. Looketme I gotthis." I said as I swayed a bit.
"Juzbe careful m'kay." I heard Buttercup say as I stumbled away.
"Yeah, yeah, shuttup!" I growled as I waved her off.
"Ahahehh, okay bye friend."
And that was the last exchange between the two of us for the night. I rounded the corner and slowly made my way back to the bar. It took a few moments to noticed, between the haziness and the dark of night, I spotted a taxi humming in a cloud of exhaust down a little farther from the bar. As I approached I reached my arm out to tap the glass but ended up just slapping my whole hand on it a couple of times. The cabbi looked up and cracked the window open. Without missing a beat I asked, "Taxi fer Brute?"
The guy looked taken aback a little. "Ye-yeah?" I gave a nod, and half dove into the back seats. When I straightened out and buckled in I caught the guy looking at me with knit brows through the rear view mirror. I knew what it was about.
"You new'ta the nighshift?" I asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Taxi drivin'."
"Oh! Um, yeah I just took up the nightshift. Why do you ask."
"You're moonlightin' now buddy. Yergonna have'ta get used t'seein' some weird shit. Givit a week. Girls withguyish namesiz nothin'." I said. He was a little quiet after that. "Yeah, thasrigh'. Drunks'kin read mindzz. Gettready for spoton an' completely off accusations...Eitherway we won't believe you ifyou deny anythin'." I slurred already getting hit with a wave of drowsiness.
Generally I would've stopped drinking hours ago. Without someone to keep things lively, drinking wore me out. Alcohol was relaxing and pain numbing, and usually ended with drowsiness and getting sleepy. For me at least. It had different effects on my sisters. Either way, now that I didn't have an accomplice to keep my attention, the heaviness in my limbs, neck and eyelids were really starting to catch up with me. I needed something to keep my attention fast. I didn't want to fall asleep in a cab. Again.
"So, ye'got here prettyfass."
"Yeah, I wasn't very far off when I got dispatched over here." The driver said as he pulled away from the curb. "So where too miss Brute?"
"Uh, jus...Jus turnup herrealquick." I instructed.
He did. I looked out the window as we passed the bench that I had just been at to check on my partner in crime of the night. I could see a vehicle parked nearby, 'couldn't tell the type or color in the dark, but I could see someone with mid length blond hair, I could tell because of how pale it was, helping lead Buttercup to the car. Probably her sister. Bub? Bubby? Something like that. In the driver's seat of the car I could see someone else. The redheaded sister I assume. That being taken care of I crossed my arms, leaned back in my seat and told the driver my address. Somewhere in between the 'Now leaving Townsville' sign and my apartment I had drifted off, not being able to keep conversing with driver. Back in Vilestown, home sweet home, I paid the cabbi, entered my castle, relocked the deadbolts, and collapsed on my bed, known by day as the couch, and fell asleep.
"Alright Brutal, it's almost one. Get your ass up." I groaned as Brat crossed the room and tore open the curtains. My head was pounding, my eyes stung, my clothes, still in the ones from last night, were drenched, and I felt awful.
"Jesus Brat! Close the damn blinds!" I growled. As I tried to burry my face in my shoulder. Yet, the slight shift shot a searing pain through my left arm and part of my chest causing me to hiss. I could practically feel Brat scrunch her nose up behind me.
"The fuck was that about?" You okay?
"Piss off." Last night didn't go well, but I'll live.
"Pff, whatever." Just be careful.
Our family was a pack. We were raised as wolves. We had our own language. Most people probably wouldn't guess we were close siblings, and a lot of people thought we were down right awful to each other. But we did care for each other. We just expressed it differently.
"I stay out just as late as you, so if I have to be up this early, you sure as hell do too, now get up." She said as she hauled herself to the kitchen.
"Make me some breakfast!" I barked.
"Get outta bed and do it yourself!" She snapped back.
"Please!"
"...Fine."
And with that I forced myself to sit up. Between the hangover and the stab wound in my arm, my lip curled into a sneer. I would've put my face in my palms, but that would'a moved my arm too much for my liking. With a slight growl I heaved myself off the couch and headed into the bathroom. My clothes felt gross, and the soggy/dried paper towels wrapped around my arm felt absolutely disgusting. With a cringe I peeled the towels away, and inspected the damage. It was a bit difficult to tell with all the crusted blood, but it hadn't bled in a while. Though, I'd probably need stitches, otherwise it'd just keep reopening, and not heal right. As cool as having another scar would be, I prefer to heal as quick as possible. Without further thought, I peeled off my clothes and hopped in the shower. A hot one.
Once I got out I put on a bra and boyshorts underwear, and prepared to further inspect my injury. It was a bit red and puffy around the cut, but it wasn't as bad as it seemed. The dumb bitch missed any thick veins, and bone. After a more thorough cleaning, and neosporin, I busted out the first aid kit containing a bandaids, needles, thread, a knife, a lighter, a mini bottle of alcohol, and for extreme cases, a stapler.
"Oh, I hate it when my arm is on it's period." The sarcastic tone of Berserk rang. I rolled my eyes as I continued to stitch up my arm. Berserk leaned in the doorway of the bathroom with a glass in hand.
"Here, Brat made you a poor man's bloody mary for breakfast." Berserk said setting the glass down on the counter. Cheap vodka, tomato soup, salt, and pepper. Nursing a vodka hangover, with vodka. Fight fire with fire. Drink fire to put out the fire in your belly and so on.
"What'd you drag us outta bed for?" I asked through grit teeth as I put another stitch in my arm. Brat and I both had night shift jobs. I worked at the morgue from seven at night to three in the morning monday through friday. Most of the time just doing maintenance, and whatever they might need done. Minor secretary work, and sitting on my ass. But, living in Vilestown, we always had business. And when a fresh one came in, I did the makeup and got a bonus in my pay. Wasn't a bad gig. Then I fought on weekends. Brat had similar hours, all week long. Berserk was the only one not working, so if I had to get up early on my day off, it sure as hell wasn't Brat's doing. And it's better be for a good reason.
"Clean up nice, we're goin' out tonight."
"Says who?"
"Me, now suck it up and look sexy." Berserk snapped. I quirked my brow, stopped mid stitch and looked at my oldest sister.
"I need you two to act as my wing bitches tonight." She explained. Oh, I see. She's using us to go see her sugar daddy tonight.
"Still doing the whole, no strings, no info, just names and sex thing?" I asked as I continued to dress my wound.
"Well, and favors."
"Presents." I corrected.
"Of course."
"So your boy-toy won't know we're your sisters."
"Nope."
"Because he doesn't know you have sisters."
"Wow Sherlock, you sure you're not secretly a detective? Is that what you do every night instead of dead-mans dress-up?"
"Oh, ha. Ha. I did have a point, ." I rolled my eyes.
"Which was?"
"My point is, why do you need us as your 'wing bitches'? Why not go out and find some uglier bitches to go with you? They're probably dying just to see the inside of the places you two party at, an' they'll make you look better than we could." I explained. Berserk scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Weren't you going to be a psychologist? Standing around ugly people doesn't make you look better by comparison, it makes you look uglier. You wanna look good, you get yourself a fine ass lookin' group, and you all look nice." I glared at her words. "What?"
"Forensics. I wanted to go into forensics." I growled.
"Whatever. I need you and Brat, so we can look good as a group, now suck it up and be ready tonight."
"Yeah, yeah, just get out so I can focus." I said as I finished my final stitch.
"...So what happened last night?" Berserk asked. I gave her a look and gestured to my arm.
"No! Really?!" Berserk rolled her eyes. "I mean after that dumbshit. Why'd you come home so late this time?"
After wrapping up my arm in a final bandage I straightened up in thought. I hadn't really gotten to the part of the day where I tried to think about what had happened the night before. It was hazy, mostly. It would come to me later when I wasn't thinking about it, and slowly creep up on me throughout the day as my body reboots. Eventually the smaller details would fall in line, but for now…
"Some dumb bitch brought a knife to a fist fight to start the night out...I staggered off to CinnaBar to sulk...Drank enough to stop limping and numb the throb in my arm, and…" I paused really taking in the bruise on my cheek. There was something about it…
"...And?" Berserk prodded.
"...I think I made a friend." I said sounding almost as perplexed as I'm sure Berserk was.
"That doesn't sound like you."
"Yeah, tell me about it." I said as I further inspected the bruise on my cheek, busted lip, and black eye; from the fight, then later the bar.
"You must've been drugged." Berserk teased.
"Alright, gettout! I've got two purple spots and a busted lip to make disappear by tonight, and not that long to do it!" I barked, finally getting a little claustrophobic with her just standing in the doorway.
"Have fun with your ghost makeup." Berserk commented.
"I will, have fun tarting yourself up for your boy-toy." I replied. Berserk pursed her lip in a half snarl.
"I can see your nipples!" Berserk snapped, as if I was supposed to be mortified, and stomped off with a fake pout. I smirked.
"Good!" I called after her.
