I've always loved clubs. The music, the people, the shots, the emotions.
No matter where you go in Tokyo, you find unhappy people. Girls who think
they're fat, guys who can't get a date, homosexuals who are afraid to come
out of the closet and try picking up a guy…I never had that problem. Men,
women, asexuals, anything that looks good. Who gives a shit what other
people think? I know what goes on inside their heads; they're all just as
insecure as everyone else.
But me? Insecure? Hell no, I don't have to be depressed to get sloshed. Clubs are just an outlet for all the shit I have to put up with in Schwartz. Not that I'd trade it for anything, but I hate listening to people talk at me. If Crawford tells me we have to protect Takatori tonight, he doesn't care what I have to say about it anyways, so eventually I tune it out. I managed to escape this evening before Brad could catch me and find some other grunge work for me to do, but I know he's gonna be pissed when I come home. Might as well get my kicks before I die, right?
The air in the dark room is stifling hot, but it adds to the overall rush as I sit down at a table and signal a waitress. A leggy blonde comes over with a tray, and I'm almost afraid she'll drip mascara onto my shirt as she bends down, pen in hand. Not even bothering to be subtle, I lean back and raise an eyebrow at the first slut of the night. She doesn't seem to notice my contempt and, in a voice WAY too perky for my Friday headache, asks how she can help me. You can help me by tearing out your vocal chords, bitch. I'm too tired to be sarcastic though, so I just give her my order and drop my forehead onto my hands as she bounces away. Ehh…bouncing reminds me of happy children…And happy children reminds me of why I fled from the house o' Schwartz in the first place.
Honestly, children scare me. Especially children somehow related to the oversize koala we call boss. I didn't know Takatori even had kids, let alone nieces. But unfortunately, he does, and since Farfarello would have had a field day with innocent, god-loving munchkins, I was stuck with three screaming brats while Crawford had his weekly "meeting" with their uncle. Gaa…thinking about that makes my headache worse-oh look, it's the nice waitress again. Hello nice waitress, you'd better have my drink or I may have to beat you with your tray.
"Here ya go, hot stuff, enjoy." Then, horror of horrors, she has the audacity to WINK at me and jiggle back down the merry path of ignorance. Nobody WINKS at Schuldich, because that would be flirting, and if you have half a brain you know not to flirt with a German assassin when all he wants to do is get drunk and pick up a whore, none of which involves any foreplay whatsoever. Is that too much to ask?
I pick up the bottle and pour liquid sin into a shotglass, downing my first hit. Without seeming interested, I scope out the people sitting at other tables. Nothing worth looking at there. I shift my eyes over to the dance floor and find one or two worthy candidates, but they'll have to come to me because I can't muster up the energy to move yet. Reaching a hand into the pocket of my coat, I pull out a cigarette and light it up, hoping this night won't get any worse.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Four cigarettes and thirteen shots later, I am DEFINITELY feeling like crap. I hadn't moved from my table in an hour, and all the women and gay men who approached me were either too ugly or too talkative so I was still sitting by myself. Why couldn't I enjoy myself this time? What was so different about tonight than any other night out? I had a high tolerance for alcohol, but ten shots was usually enough to float all my pain away. If anything, my headache was worse and the constant chatter of the people around me was not helping. I didn't even bother to listen to anyone else's thoughts because at this point, I just didn't give a shit.
Peering through the liquor-induced haze that was surrounding my eyes, I could have sworn I saw Crawford, but it was just some bloke with glasses like his. Wow, I must be really drunk, I think to myself. Good thing I picked a club within walking distance of the house. The next thought that enters my semi-rational mind is that if I'm seeing Crawford look-alikes freaking to techno, it's time to go home. I throw some money down on the table and stagger to the door, hoping everyone is asleep by the time I come in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Well, obviously there's no god, because Crawford was waiting for me when I threw myself into the living room. Whoever said walking was healthy never tried to walk home with a liver full of alcohol and two gaijin kkangpae slamming them into a brick wall. Why they thought a loser like me had anything of value, I don't know, but in the end I gave them my cigarettes in exchange for a dark bruise spreading over my left cheekbone. Needless to say, I was not in the mood for a lecture from Flashing Glasses Man.
"Whatever you're gonna yell at me, can you do it when my ears have popped?"
Crawford glares and stands up, arms crossed over his chest. "What the hell happened to you? You look like crap."
I give him a drunken salute. "Thank you for noticing, Adolph, can I go to bed now?"
Glare, narrow eyes, frown. The Bradley Workout. "No, first you're going to explain to me why you think you can go out whenever you want and come home shit-faced. We have a mission on Monday and I'll be busy with paperwork tomorrow, so you need to lock up Farfarello and take Nagi to the computer store. Having a hangover is just going to make you even more whiny than usual."
I slumped back against the wall and closed my eyes. What did he expect me to say to him? Yes, Mommy, I was a bad boy, I'll never do it again, promise? "Look, Crawford, all I want to do is go to bed and I'll be fine in the morning. I had a tough day, I wanted to relax."
"So you decided to beat yourself up in the process?" Eh. The sarcasm is sounding a little dangerous, and for who knows what reason the alcohol was starting to wear off.
"Noo…I ran into some thugs on the way home."
Oh here it comes, the Almighty Eyeroll. Followed by the Frusterated Flinging of Arms.
"Schuldich, do you ever stop and THINK about the consequences your actions may have? If you hadn't gone out and got drunk tonight, then I would have had just one less burden to deal with."
By this time, I was getting angry. "So that's what I am, a burden? I didn't ask for your little lecture, Crawford, you're treating me like I'm a little kid!"
"You're ACTING like a little kid!"
Oldest line in the book. "Well you're not my father, my uncle, my brother, OR my friend. You don't need to stay up and reprimand me every time I go out! Why can't you just leave me the hell alone??"
"Schu?" Nagi was standing at the bottom of the stairs, peeking into the room with his hair still tousled from sleep and his pajamas rumpled.
"Go back to bed Nagi," Crawford ordered.
Nagi opened wide eyes when he saw my face. Ignoring Brad, he padded over to me and looked up. "What happened, Schu?"
I gave him a haphazard grin and shook my head. "Don't worry about it, chibi, I had a little problem on the street."
Crawford pulled Nagi away by his arm. "Go upstairs, I need to talk to Schuldich."
Nagi squinted accusingly in the dimly lit room. "Don't yell at him, Crawford, you'll make him upset again."
I shot him a warning look, but he either chose to ignore it or couldn't see me.
"Nagi, this is between me and Schuldich, go to your room!"
"Schu only went out because you made him mad, now you're only going to make things worse!"
"Nagi, I said GO TO YOUR ROOM!"
Sulking, Nagi walked back to the stairs. He turned around and looked at the two of us. "You better not hit him again, Crawford, or I'll set Farfie loose on your ties," he warned before returning to the second floor.
"Why can't you give the kid a break, he doesn't like to see us fight."
"I don't care; if you were truly interested in his well-being, you'd be here for him. Don't try and make me feel guilty because you went out and came home wasted."
This was getting old, so I tried pushing past him on my way to the stairs. He held out his hand and gripped my arm, knocking me back. I hit the wall with a soft thud, wincing as my shoulder blade caught the edge. His face was inches from mine as he leaned in and hissed at me.
"Don't even think about it, Schuldich, I'm not finished with you."
I glared back, wanting to punch his nose in. "Back OFF Crawford, you're not my keeper. I don't have to take this shit from anyone, especially a man with a perpetual stick up his ass." I shoved him away and took two steps before he grabbed me again and whirled me around. Without thinking, I swung my arm towards his face. More of a reflex than an attempt to injure him, but his intent was clear as he caught my fist in mid swing and hit me in the stomach. Doubling over in pain, I dropped to my knees and threw up on the carpet, terrified because for that moment in time, I was defenseless.
Crawford waited until I was finished, then pulled me to my feet. Apparently he was regretting his action, because his face looked ashamed though he didn't apologize. I wasn't expecting him to, anyway, but I also wasn't expecting him to follow me up to my room and close the drapes. I flopped onto the bed facedown and groaned, my mouth still tasting of liquor and vomit. I felt the mattress sag as he sat down and fidgeted, unsure of what to say. With great effort, I raised my head up and looked at him through half-closed eyes. Crawford NEVER fidgeted, and he never looked guilty after he hit me. Then again, he never slugged me quite that hard, either, and never in the stomach.
"Sorry about the mess on the floor," I croaked out. He shook his head and twisted his hands.
"It's ok, I'll clean it up."
Awkward silence. Was Crawford actually trying (dare I say it) to be nice? After a few attempts to clear his throat, he pretended to study the pattern on my blanket and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
"I shouldn't have hit you. You shouldn't have gone out, but I shouldn't have done that in retaliation. It's not like you haven't done this before," he added in a wry tone.
Too exhausted and confused to deal with a new side of Crawford, I waved my hand and pressed the uninjured side of my face to the pillow.
"Dun worry about it," was my muffled reply. Another minute went by, and then Crawford left, closing the door behind him. Telling myself I'd puzzle it out in the morning, I let my eyes drop shut and fell into a much-needed sleep.
But me? Insecure? Hell no, I don't have to be depressed to get sloshed. Clubs are just an outlet for all the shit I have to put up with in Schwartz. Not that I'd trade it for anything, but I hate listening to people talk at me. If Crawford tells me we have to protect Takatori tonight, he doesn't care what I have to say about it anyways, so eventually I tune it out. I managed to escape this evening before Brad could catch me and find some other grunge work for me to do, but I know he's gonna be pissed when I come home. Might as well get my kicks before I die, right?
The air in the dark room is stifling hot, but it adds to the overall rush as I sit down at a table and signal a waitress. A leggy blonde comes over with a tray, and I'm almost afraid she'll drip mascara onto my shirt as she bends down, pen in hand. Not even bothering to be subtle, I lean back and raise an eyebrow at the first slut of the night. She doesn't seem to notice my contempt and, in a voice WAY too perky for my Friday headache, asks how she can help me. You can help me by tearing out your vocal chords, bitch. I'm too tired to be sarcastic though, so I just give her my order and drop my forehead onto my hands as she bounces away. Ehh…bouncing reminds me of happy children…And happy children reminds me of why I fled from the house o' Schwartz in the first place.
Honestly, children scare me. Especially children somehow related to the oversize koala we call boss. I didn't know Takatori even had kids, let alone nieces. But unfortunately, he does, and since Farfarello would have had a field day with innocent, god-loving munchkins, I was stuck with three screaming brats while Crawford had his weekly "meeting" with their uncle. Gaa…thinking about that makes my headache worse-oh look, it's the nice waitress again. Hello nice waitress, you'd better have my drink or I may have to beat you with your tray.
"Here ya go, hot stuff, enjoy." Then, horror of horrors, she has the audacity to WINK at me and jiggle back down the merry path of ignorance. Nobody WINKS at Schuldich, because that would be flirting, and if you have half a brain you know not to flirt with a German assassin when all he wants to do is get drunk and pick up a whore, none of which involves any foreplay whatsoever. Is that too much to ask?
I pick up the bottle and pour liquid sin into a shotglass, downing my first hit. Without seeming interested, I scope out the people sitting at other tables. Nothing worth looking at there. I shift my eyes over to the dance floor and find one or two worthy candidates, but they'll have to come to me because I can't muster up the energy to move yet. Reaching a hand into the pocket of my coat, I pull out a cigarette and light it up, hoping this night won't get any worse.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Four cigarettes and thirteen shots later, I am DEFINITELY feeling like crap. I hadn't moved from my table in an hour, and all the women and gay men who approached me were either too ugly or too talkative so I was still sitting by myself. Why couldn't I enjoy myself this time? What was so different about tonight than any other night out? I had a high tolerance for alcohol, but ten shots was usually enough to float all my pain away. If anything, my headache was worse and the constant chatter of the people around me was not helping. I didn't even bother to listen to anyone else's thoughts because at this point, I just didn't give a shit.
Peering through the liquor-induced haze that was surrounding my eyes, I could have sworn I saw Crawford, but it was just some bloke with glasses like his. Wow, I must be really drunk, I think to myself. Good thing I picked a club within walking distance of the house. The next thought that enters my semi-rational mind is that if I'm seeing Crawford look-alikes freaking to techno, it's time to go home. I throw some money down on the table and stagger to the door, hoping everyone is asleep by the time I come in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Well, obviously there's no god, because Crawford was waiting for me when I threw myself into the living room. Whoever said walking was healthy never tried to walk home with a liver full of alcohol and two gaijin kkangpae slamming them into a brick wall. Why they thought a loser like me had anything of value, I don't know, but in the end I gave them my cigarettes in exchange for a dark bruise spreading over my left cheekbone. Needless to say, I was not in the mood for a lecture from Flashing Glasses Man.
"Whatever you're gonna yell at me, can you do it when my ears have popped?"
Crawford glares and stands up, arms crossed over his chest. "What the hell happened to you? You look like crap."
I give him a drunken salute. "Thank you for noticing, Adolph, can I go to bed now?"
Glare, narrow eyes, frown. The Bradley Workout. "No, first you're going to explain to me why you think you can go out whenever you want and come home shit-faced. We have a mission on Monday and I'll be busy with paperwork tomorrow, so you need to lock up Farfarello and take Nagi to the computer store. Having a hangover is just going to make you even more whiny than usual."
I slumped back against the wall and closed my eyes. What did he expect me to say to him? Yes, Mommy, I was a bad boy, I'll never do it again, promise? "Look, Crawford, all I want to do is go to bed and I'll be fine in the morning. I had a tough day, I wanted to relax."
"So you decided to beat yourself up in the process?" Eh. The sarcasm is sounding a little dangerous, and for who knows what reason the alcohol was starting to wear off.
"Noo…I ran into some thugs on the way home."
Oh here it comes, the Almighty Eyeroll. Followed by the Frusterated Flinging of Arms.
"Schuldich, do you ever stop and THINK about the consequences your actions may have? If you hadn't gone out and got drunk tonight, then I would have had just one less burden to deal with."
By this time, I was getting angry. "So that's what I am, a burden? I didn't ask for your little lecture, Crawford, you're treating me like I'm a little kid!"
"You're ACTING like a little kid!"
Oldest line in the book. "Well you're not my father, my uncle, my brother, OR my friend. You don't need to stay up and reprimand me every time I go out! Why can't you just leave me the hell alone??"
"Schu?" Nagi was standing at the bottom of the stairs, peeking into the room with his hair still tousled from sleep and his pajamas rumpled.
"Go back to bed Nagi," Crawford ordered.
Nagi opened wide eyes when he saw my face. Ignoring Brad, he padded over to me and looked up. "What happened, Schu?"
I gave him a haphazard grin and shook my head. "Don't worry about it, chibi, I had a little problem on the street."
Crawford pulled Nagi away by his arm. "Go upstairs, I need to talk to Schuldich."
Nagi squinted accusingly in the dimly lit room. "Don't yell at him, Crawford, you'll make him upset again."
I shot him a warning look, but he either chose to ignore it or couldn't see me.
"Nagi, this is between me and Schuldich, go to your room!"
"Schu only went out because you made him mad, now you're only going to make things worse!"
"Nagi, I said GO TO YOUR ROOM!"
Sulking, Nagi walked back to the stairs. He turned around and looked at the two of us. "You better not hit him again, Crawford, or I'll set Farfie loose on your ties," he warned before returning to the second floor.
"Why can't you give the kid a break, he doesn't like to see us fight."
"I don't care; if you were truly interested in his well-being, you'd be here for him. Don't try and make me feel guilty because you went out and came home wasted."
This was getting old, so I tried pushing past him on my way to the stairs. He held out his hand and gripped my arm, knocking me back. I hit the wall with a soft thud, wincing as my shoulder blade caught the edge. His face was inches from mine as he leaned in and hissed at me.
"Don't even think about it, Schuldich, I'm not finished with you."
I glared back, wanting to punch his nose in. "Back OFF Crawford, you're not my keeper. I don't have to take this shit from anyone, especially a man with a perpetual stick up his ass." I shoved him away and took two steps before he grabbed me again and whirled me around. Without thinking, I swung my arm towards his face. More of a reflex than an attempt to injure him, but his intent was clear as he caught my fist in mid swing and hit me in the stomach. Doubling over in pain, I dropped to my knees and threw up on the carpet, terrified because for that moment in time, I was defenseless.
Crawford waited until I was finished, then pulled me to my feet. Apparently he was regretting his action, because his face looked ashamed though he didn't apologize. I wasn't expecting him to, anyway, but I also wasn't expecting him to follow me up to my room and close the drapes. I flopped onto the bed facedown and groaned, my mouth still tasting of liquor and vomit. I felt the mattress sag as he sat down and fidgeted, unsure of what to say. With great effort, I raised my head up and looked at him through half-closed eyes. Crawford NEVER fidgeted, and he never looked guilty after he hit me. Then again, he never slugged me quite that hard, either, and never in the stomach.
"Sorry about the mess on the floor," I croaked out. He shook his head and twisted his hands.
"It's ok, I'll clean it up."
Awkward silence. Was Crawford actually trying (dare I say it) to be nice? After a few attempts to clear his throat, he pretended to study the pattern on my blanket and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
"I shouldn't have hit you. You shouldn't have gone out, but I shouldn't have done that in retaliation. It's not like you haven't done this before," he added in a wry tone.
Too exhausted and confused to deal with a new side of Crawford, I waved my hand and pressed the uninjured side of my face to the pillow.
"Dun worry about it," was my muffled reply. Another minute went by, and then Crawford left, closing the door behind him. Telling myself I'd puzzle it out in the morning, I let my eyes drop shut and fell into a much-needed sleep.