A/N: Welp, this is a just a fun little ficlet that came to my mind. I planned to make it much longer, but I have up for forty-six hours straight and I feel a compulsive need to both post and sleep. So if I do get anymore ideas, there'll be another chapter. But right now I am about to collapse, so enjoy!
Another Note: Does anyone on this site read Questionable Content, the webcomic? I am addicted to it. Long live Marten and Dora! Let Pintsize be the ruler of the universe! "In Soviet Russia, the candle lights you!"
"Oooh, it's Collins! Hi, Collins!"
"Yes, you certainly are, aren't you?" Collins said, raising his eyebrows as he slipped his coat off and dropped it on a tabletop. Maureen giggled and tilted her head all the way over to the left, grinning like an idiot.
"You look funny when you're sideways," she said with another giggle. Collins stared at her for a moment, then glanced past her shoulder at Mimi, who was looking extremely amused.
"Just how under the influence is she?" he asked with curiosity. Mimi snorted and poked Maureen, who squealed and swayed like a metronome.
"She's been sucking up the joints since about an hour ago. Speaking of which, why the hell are you so late? I thought your latest class ran until six…this party started two hours before that and it's almost eight right now. I mean, where were you?" she asked suspiciously. Collins rolled his eyes and ducked around Maureen, who was still swaying and seemed to humming what sounded like Bon Jovi. He slid onto the bar stool beside Mimi and glanced around the Life Café, which was packed with people; many of whom were blind drunk, on the way there, or dangerously hyped up from hours in a crowd of Boho psychos. Parties like this were where alcoholics, drug addicts, and fetishists were spawned. Maybe that's why almost every single person Collins knew in the East Village turned up at them.
"I am a man of mystery. My turn for talking," Collins added quickly, cutting off Mimi's indignant exclamation. She crossed her arms and pouted at him. He grinned. "Two things: a) the pouting is not going to work on me, because as I seriously hope you know, I'm gay; and b) please, dear god, tell me that is not Mark attempting to moonwalk on those tables over there." The look of horror on Collins's face as he stared at this particular sight was enough to make Mimi lose the pout. She laughed and took a sip from the drink on the bar beside her.
"Yeah… Angel and Roger talked him into the tequila. And you know Mark—"
"And his weird tequila issues, yes," Collins said, holding his hands up in the "say no more" position. He lowered them and glanced at Mimi's drink, which she was still holding.
" Mimi…is that what I think it is?" he inquired with widened eyes. It took her a moment to realize what he was asking about; when she did, Mimi blushed and hurriedly put the glass down on the bar.
"Um…just a cocktail…nothing special…"
"What kind of cocktail?" Collins asked, pressing her. Mimi shrugged awkwardly.
"Um, like I said, nothing special…okay, okay, it's a Tom Collins," she cried with exasperation as he gave her a disbelieving look, which promptly turned into an offended frown.
" Mimi, you know it creeps me out when people drink those," he said angrily, shooting rays of contempt at the innocent drink. Mimi sighed and glanced morosely at it.
"Look, I liked those things long before I knew you and I am truly sorry, but once in a while, I need to revisit my old comforts. Besides," she added defensively, "you weren't even here until a few minutes ago!"
"Hey, Collins…your name isn't just Collins, it's Tom Collins! You're a drink! Yay!" Maureen said loudly from behind them. Swiveling on her stool, she unsteadily got to her feet and threw her arms around his neck, applying what was an unintentional—yet perfectly executed—strangle hold.
"Fuck— Maureen, get off me!" spluttered Collins, trying to pry Maureen's arms loose. Mimi was too busy roaring with laughter to help him, and it is unknown whether Collins could have escaped from Maureen's pot-induced embrace if Angel had not miraculously appeared out of the throng.
"Mo, honey, please stop trying to assassinate my boyfriend," she said sweetly, tugging Maureen firmly away from Collins's windpipe. He gasped for air as Maureen rocked backwards, clutching at Angel's arm for balance.
"But Angel…he's a drink! Collins is a drink! Maybe we can stick one of those little Shirley Temple umbrellas in the top of his head and sip him!" Maureen exclaimed eagerly. Mimi gave another snort and dissolved into laughter again, while Collins rubbed his windpipe and simultaneously tried to edge his barstool away from Maureen. Angel suppressed a smile and steadied Maureen, who was swaying again.
"Maybe later, honey. Why don't you go with Mira here and find somewhere without drugs to sober up a little, hmm?" Angel said gently, handing Maureen off to the care of Mira, a small, dark Jewish girl with many braids and a talent for knocking the pot fumes out of your gut. Once Maureen was safely out of her hands, Angel slid onto the vacated barstool. "Hey, babe," she said, kissing Collins on the cheek.
"Hey yourself, you just saved my life," he reminded her, returning the kiss and sliding an arm around her waist. Mimi rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. Seeing Collins's disdainful look, she ground her teeth.
" Angel, will you please help me force it into his thick, philosophical skull that it is not, in fact, somehow an insult to poor little Collins if I drink something he's named after?" she pleaded. Angel snickered and squeezed the hand that was gripping her hip.
"How about it, honey? Wanna give Mimi a break?"
"Hell no. And for your information, I was not named after that drink. That drink was named after me," he said, smirking at Mimi. She stuck her tongue out at him and poked him in the arm.
"Your ego has taken control of your mouth; don't let it get to your ears, or you won't be able to hear my scathing insults once I get a little drunker." As she said this, Mimi took a big swig and finished off her Tom Collins. Collins (the human one, not the gin one) raised his eyebrows.
"Scathing insults? Mimi Marquez? That's like trying to get a hybrid giraffe/walrus. It just doesn't compute."
"Hmmm…actually, I'm pretty sure you could get a giraffe and a walrus to hook up if they dropped enough acid first…" Mimi said thoughtfully. Angel, who had been listening with a look of slight disbelief on her face, evidently found this to be the straw that broke the drag queen's back. Pulling herself out of Collins's grasp, she hopped off her barstool.
"Okay, my brain is starting to melt. You two can trade some more weird repartee if you want; I am going to go do things that interest me and don't liquidize my frontal lobe," Angel informed with a touch of amusement. Collins raised one eyebrow and grabbed her around the waist with both arms, pulling her up against his legs. Angel groaned and crossed her arms, obstinately facing off with him.
"C'mon, you know our delightful conversation is the whole reason you even put up with us at all…especially me," he said with a chuckle, kissing her shoulder. Angel gave him a look.
"Don't you dare use anything other than your words right now, don't you dare," she warned.
"No, keep going! I wanna see the carnage!" Mimi encouraged as she crossed her legs eagerly. Angel shot Mimi a look that could have curled milk and simultaneously twisted away from Collins as he kissed her on the neck.
" Angel, relax," he said gently, his hands still locked behind her back. "I am not going to molest you, I am just trying to make you stay and hear me tell you that I will not continue in that vein of conversation if you don't want me to."
"Oh, sure," Angel said, rolling her eyes. Collins waited until she was done; then he let go of her with one hand and brought it to her cheek, kissing her hard before she could pull away. Angel stiffened, then relaxed, her arms uncrossing and her hands gripping his shoulders. Mimi sighed and waved the bartender over.
"If you can get me something strong before the two of them separate, I will sell you my soul," she said wearily. The bartender smiled.
"If every person who offered to sell their soul for booze actually followed up on that offer, I'd be the next Satan and this place would be hell…only with much cooler drinking options."