A/N: Hey, everyone! Here's the third chapter of this story, in Kristina's perspective. This is around the same time Echo and Kiki have decided to come to the party, the last chapter took place several hours to a day earlier while Kris was still in New York. Anyway, please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks so much! :)
Warning: Now, this chapter involves underage drinking and just so you all know, we do not condone that in anyway. These characters are making poor choices but it also benefits our plot. Also, it contains some more profanity than usual but only because the two characters this chapter is mostly about are drunk (Kristina and Two-Bit).
P.S. Thanks so much for the reads and reviews! You all mean so much to us! :)
P.P.S. This chapter title is a reference to the movie "A Fistful of Dollars," in case you haven't already figured that out XD.
Chapter 3: A Fistful of Shots
Kristina's Perspective
Tulsa. It wasn't really what I expected. From up north, I expected everyone from the South to have pickup trucks and cowboy hats and flannel shirts. But no, they were just like any old regular person I was used to. Well, their accents were annoying, but it was bearable.
The city environment was nowhere near like New York, but it was a city nonetheless. I was currently in a not so great part of the city and I was utterly lost. A few hoods tried to scare me a little but I gave them my best 'Fuck off, I'm a Winston' glare and they left me alone.
Nightfall was quickly rushing in like a black blanket. This didn't seem like too hot of a place to stay out at night so I wanted to find a place to stay and fast. A trashy-looking greaser girl was walking past and I called over to her. She looked annoyed that I stopped her but she moseyed it on over to me all the same.
She was surprisingly good-looking. She had jet-black hair, styled and curled, dark eyes and lots of makeup. Her dress revealed to me more than I wanted to see. "I'm new here, and I was wonderin' if there's any place that rents out rooms or somethin'."
She thought it over a minute. "I'm headin' to a party right now at a place called Buck's. He rents out rooms I think. You can come with, if ya want."
"Yeah, I will, thanks." I shifted the strap of my duffel bag to my other shoulder and switched my guitar case to my other hand.
"You a musician or somethin'?" She didn't seem to care too much, but the silence was awkward.
"Yeah, somethin' like that." We continued down the street and a house with booming music came into view. There was a small barn nearby with horses, and a stadium.
"So, uh, what's your name?" she asked.
"Kristina." I carefully left out the "Winston" in case anyone knew him around here. "You?"
"Angela Shepard." Shepard, Shepard, sounds familiar, I thought. Shepard gang . . . ? Tim Shepard's sister?
"You Tim Shepard's sister?"
She immediately went on the defensive. "Yeah, gotta problem with that?"
"No." Conversation ceased between us as she led me to the door. She left me to meet some people and I had to go find Buck on my own.
Asking around, I finally stumbled upon someone that did fit the southern stereotypes. He smelled like horse and alcohol. "You got any rooms here I could stay in?" I yelled over the music.
He appraised me carefully. "You're awful young, ain't ya? How old are ya, kid?"
"Just turned thirteen," I informed him. "I might be young, but I need a place to stay, man."
He didn't look incredibly happy about it, but he jerked his thumb over to the staircase and told me, "There's a free room upstairs. Stay there. We'll talk rent after the party."
"Thanks, man." I hurried upstairs and found the only empty room, kicking the door closed behind me. The party downstairs actually looked kind of fun, so I decided to dress up for it. Just because I wore jeans and converse and a leather jacket every single goddamn day of my life didn't mean I didn't own a skirt.
Around fifteen minutes later, I was ready. I had on three-inch heels, a black leather mini-skirt (yeah, I really liked leather) and a light blue blouse that slightly exposed my midriff. My sharp green eyes were surrounded with obvious black mascara and eyeliner, which was a shock compared to my pale complexion and light hair. I even managed to untangle my mess of bouncy curls and undo my ponytail so my hair tumbled to my waist.
My goal was to get wasted. I didn't want to think about my momma right now, even though she was persistently rushing to the forefront of my thoughts. It hurt to think about her and I wanted to drink that hurt away.
As I walked down the stairs, I felt many greaser boy eyes on me. It might have been my hair, it was a pale and vivid enough blonde (almost white) to catch somebody's eye, like a flash of metal or light. But instead of averting their gazes, they stayed glued on me.
My first destination was the bar. I really, really hoped they didn't give a crap about carding anybody because I was thirteen and I looked it. Tapping my fingers impatiently against the counter, I jumped as a plastic cup was plopped down in front of me.
"You lookin' to drink somethin', sweetheart? Well, I can help there," a boy behind me simpered into my ear. I glanced over my shoulder to get a better look at him and liked what I saw. He was tall, real tall, maybe around six feet. He had rust-colored hair and sideburns and a goofy yet flirtatious grin. But he was too old for me. "My name's Keith but everyone calls me Two-Bit. Your lovely blonde hair caught my eye across the room and I just had, had to say hello. So, why hello there."
I turned around to completely face him and his rich gray eyes widened with surprise, then a little fear. "Oh, oh jeez. Shit, I didn't know you were that young. Shit, man, I'll be right on my way-"
"Wait!" I interrupted before he could leave, grabbing him by the wrist. "Don't worry about nothin'. I don't give a shit, I just need a drink right now. You didn't spike this, did ya? What's in it?"
He visibly relaxed, now realizing I wasn't going to call the police or nothing. He did cut all the flirting, though. Made sense, he was probably around nineteen. "Just beer, why, little girly?"
"Got anything stronger?" I raised my eyebrows challengingly and he eyed me doubtfully.
"Kid, ain't you a little young to be-"
"Cut the crap, all right?" I pointed my index finger right into his face. "I had the worst fuckin' week and I need to get smashed. Will ya get me something? Since you can't flirt no more, we can be drinking buddies."
He shrugged then smiled real wide at me. "Well alrighty then. Follow the leader, now." I slipped off my barstool and tailed him through the crowd where he led me to a different, though still busy room. "They have some shots in 'ere."
"Damn straight." I hurried over to the table and asked for a couple shots of vodka. They didn't even blink an eye; they must have been used to serving younger customers. I grabbed two of the glasses and handed one to him. "Bottoms up."
He smiled wolfishly and downed it, whooping loudly after he swallowed it. I grinned and gulped down my shot; it was a real kick.
"Another?" I asked him and he nodded excitedly. Damn, he was like a little puppy dog. He reached over and poured us some whiskey shots, pushing one over to me.
"One, two, two and a half, three," he said and we drank them together. He clapped his hands together enthusiastically and slapped me on the back. "Damn, you can hold them drinks. What's ya name, anyway, kid?
"Kristina." I left out the "Winston" like before. "Call me Kris."
He giggled in a boyish way, ruffling up my hair. I took a swing at him and he dodged my fist, surprisingly swift. "Well, my new little buddy Kris, would ya like some more?"
I laughed then cried happily, "Aw, hell yeah!" The drinks were beginning to buzz up my system and the awful week I had was fading away with the alcohol.
We did wait a little before the third shot (he knew the process of drinking like the back of his hand) so we danced a little out in the main room- platonically, of course.
I was not expecting to have this much fun. In the next few hours, we each had about five more shots (I wasn't entirely sure, we lost count) and were rip-roaring drunk, just like I had hoped for. Two-Bit was a hilarious drunk and we were becoming fast friends. I was quite a funny drunk myself; goofy, foolish, playful, and all-around cheery.
We were giggling like mad against the pool tables; people kept shooting us odd looks but we were too wasted to care. "Whatcha lookin' at, little boy?" I called over to a greaser boy with a pool stick in his hand. "I might be drunk as all hell but I could whoop your ass at pool with both hands behind my back!"
It was actually probably true, but Two-Bit and I still roared with laughter. The boy didn't accept my challenge but I had already forgotten about it ten seconds later.
"Maybe I should get us a couple beers," I suggested, slurring my words until they were nearly unreasonable, "to wash down the shots!"
Two-Bit was caught in another snickering fit but managed to shout, "God almighty, Miss Kris, you're a right genius! Go on, speak your words o' wisdom!"
We were laughing so hard that we had to lean against each other to stay upright. A new song came on, some Elvis song I was too wasted to recognize, but I knew I loved it. "C'mon, Two-Bit," I yelled over the music. "Dance with me, boy!"
He led me over to the dance floor and we did dance- sort of. It was more like jumping around like absolute maniacs and making sure the other didn't topple over (especially with my heels), but it was a hell of a lot of fun.
"Hey, little girly," he guffawed once the song was over. "Where them beers you promised?!"
"Glory, hold your horses, Two-Shit!" I replied good-naturedly. "Two beers comin' up, my goodly new friend!"
"Well, hurry it on up, then! I ain't gettin' any younger!"
"You sure as hell ain't, ya old fart!" I stumbled over to the bar, tripping over my feet and only catching myself with the counter. "Whoa," I said loudly, stroking the surface of it. "When did this get here?"
The young man behind the bar, maybe in his late teens, early twenties, stared at me dubiously. "Little lady, I don't think you should be drinking anymore."
I stammered out a protest, "But it's for my friend, too! Where is he?" I scanned the crowd. "Hey, Two-Shit, get your lazy ass over here!" He bumbled his way on over and threw an arm around my shoulders so he wouldn't fall over.
"What's the problem, Your Highness?" he chuckled.
I pointed at Two-Bit wildly even though he was right next to me. "See, my buddy over here needs some beer and pronto! If he don't get his beer, then why, he'll die of old age!"
We broke into yet another bout of giggling and clutched onto each other for dear life. The bartender just rolled his eyes at us and let us be, after saying with disappointment, "She's just a kid, Mathews." Well, at least I knew his last name now.
"I don't think we're gettin' any beers, Two-Shit," I informed him with a feigned somberness. He shrugged it off.
"Well, to hell with it all, then!" he chirped, leading me back into the crowd. We leaned against each other and swayed to the music.
Something occurred to me through my drunken haze. "Hey, do ya know a Dallas Winston? He's blond, mean, looks like a fuckin' elf or some shit like that?"
He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I know that bastard! Like 'im to death. What'd he do to ya? Knock ya up?"
Ewww, that's nasty, I thought with a grimace. "No but I got a fuckin' bone to pick with 'im."
"Who doesn't? He's Dally goddamn Winston!" He looked around the room, straining his neck over the crowd. "Y'know, I'm pretty sure he's here somewhere. Saw him come in a couple minutes ago. I could go find him if you wanta kick his ass or somethin'."
The blood drained from my face and the room suddenly iced over about thirty degrees. "He's here?"
He eyed me weirdly. "S'what I said. Want me to go find 'im?"
My heart rate rose a few notches. "I-I um . . . no, man. Let's just dance."
Chubby Checker's "The Twist" came spitting out of the radio and my mood skyrocketed as Two-Bit and I attempted to dance "The Twist" without falling over.
As he twisted around, he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes fell upon two greaser boys looming over two small greaser girls with varying shades of red hair. He must have known them because he bellowed across the room, "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY SISTER!"
