I couldn't resist. Go raibh maith agat, Ms. K. Our truest inspiration.

Ode to Edward

Em:

I stared at the dull, dirty, grey-blue-white chequered tiles on the lunchroom floor: a pattern that went on forever. Here I was again. Thinking. Sober. Sober used to be such an ugly word. An ugly word to describe the state of an alcoholic abstaining from his or her vulgar, unsociable tendencies in relation to alcohol abuse. Now it was even uglier. It described, in two simple syllables, the harsh realities as one regained the ability to think in a logical fashion after a blissful night drinking their - man, what the hell was up with me? I sounded like a horror-movie - or, worse, a factual documentary - mash-up of Edward and Jasper.

Ugh.

I blinked. Highly unnecessary, but I had to remember to be human. Either that or I ran out, war cry on my lips, grabbed Rose and drank myself stupid then swam off to the Caribbean or something to find Starla and the girls. Not necessarily in that order.

I twitched involuntarily. What do you call them? Oh, yeah. Withdrawals.

'You're thinking again.' Rose was talking to me. She flicked her hair behind her shoulder; her black nails flashing… black… ships... Vodka. 'And I'm sure you can totally understand why I might find that terrifying.' Rose finished.

'Yeah.' I laughed. Vodka. Freedom. Fans…

'Two hours, Em. Edward's not back, and Esme still doesn't know. Carlisle's still on night shift. ' Rose had her soothing voice on. She didn't use it much, but it totally did its job when she did. I was instantly pacified.

'I'm not coming, though. Count me out. Once off only. End of.' She finished. That was fine by me. I didn't like all the fanboy attention she'd attracted last night. Rose wasn't stupid enough to fall for a human, but what with Jazz's apparent obsession with her, I didn't want to take any chances. Besides, the length of her skirt in the nightclub was probably illegal. On the ship it was more of a belt than skirt in keeping with her whole 'weather-beaten-worn-in-pirate' look. I guessed. Or else she'd fought with a fangirl and lost her skirt in the fight. I hated to think what had become of the fangirl.

I sneaked a look at Alice. Why hadn't she seen our nighttime adventures? She had her eyes closed and her brow was furrowed.

Edward.

Ah.

She was Ed's kindred spirit of sorts. Not in a Jazz-and-Alice and Me-and-Rose kindred spirit way. That'd be weird and also it'd be a kinda incest type thing. When it came to brothers and sisters, Edward and Alice were as good as.

Two hours. Dos horas. Do they speak Spanish in the Caribbean? Alice might know. If she doesn't, I'll have to Google it.

***

' I've become so numb, I can't feel you there…' blasted from Edward's CD player. Linkin Park. Ugh.

What the hell is this crap?

I looked at Jazz, who'd run into the room as soon as the CD started.

'What is this crap?' I asked Jazz.

'S'music.' He slurred.

'Where is it?' He was drunk. I wanted to be in the place he was now. A happy place.

'Where's s'what?' He mumbled.

'Where's the vodka, you fool!' I roared. Ha. I sounded vaguely animalistic. I am the Bear. Ha.

'Oh. S'alllllll gone.' He sang, blinking happily. What's up with this boy? He's totally got a split personality disorder thing going on. Damn it, Carlisle, where are you when my knowledge of mental illnesses fails me?

I wanted to scream. Instead I roared angrily, a feral growl escaping my throat.

'JESUS JASPER! WHAT HAPPENED TO GOING ON A BENDER TOGETHER? HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST ALL MEMORIES OF THE LAST FEW DAYS OR HAVE YOU GOT SELECTIVE MEMORY?'

Emmett the Bear is in the building. Thank you, thank you. You're all far too kind. You can stop the applause. The show must go on, and all that Jazz.

Jazz. Unintended pun. Hahaha. I was verging on hysterical laughter and I hadn't had any spirits for… for a long time.

'But I have gin and Guinness!' he said, leaving the room and returning moments later with three cases of Guinness. I guessed he'd loaded several crates of Guinness onto his ship before we set sail from Ireland. The good old Emerald Isle.

'You think they'd work together?' I asked doubtfully.

'Who cares?' he had a bottle of Guinness in his hands, and he swung it up in an arc in the air, a wild, crazed-man expression on his face as he responded.

'Hello, Em.' Alice said. She bounced into the room, happy as usual. Rose was right behind her. Something wasn't right.

'Emmett!' Rose squealed.

Rose had found something to drink, too. Ah, Rose. Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. You hugely attractive liar.

Alice seemed to be fine. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Jazz's shoulders. He rested his head on hers.

'What's that music?' Alice asked.

'Linkin-bloody-Park.' I was irritated now. Why couldn't they all leave me and Jazz and our crates of Irish beer alone?

Don't get me wrong, or anything, I love girls … the girls, but Jazz and me … it's a brotherhood. Not a brother-and-sisterhood. When I want to get totally drunk off my head, it's Jazz and Emmett, friends forever. Like that episode of Scrubs …

'Oh. ' She retracted her arms and waltzed over to the CD player. The noise stopped instantly.

Silence.

Alice stood considering the rows and rows of CDs on Edward's extensive shelving unit. Her fingers brushed the covers of several before she pulled one out. She opened it and deftly placed it in the player. Then she left the room, dragging a giddy Rose behind her.

Jazz was trying to remove the bottle cap with his teeth. He broke three bottles before he could get it open. I took a bottle out of the crate and wrestled the stupid, tiny bottle cap off the top then took a swig. Relief like no other flooded my head.

The CD whirred around a little bit before starting. Hits of the 80's and 90's whined at us. I laughed loudly. I was no longer sober. It was the bomb. A totally awesome bomb.

' I wanna dance with Harry Dean…' Good old Debbie Harry.

'Hey, Jazz?' I asked.

'Yes, my good friend?' he asked. He was in a good mood again. No kick up the butt needed.

The song kept playing. And I, Emmett Cullen, was dancing.

***

'So, Jazz, it goes: robot arm left for two, robot arm right for two.' I demonstrated. Jazz copied me.

'Oh, oh, I know!' he sounded like an excited schoolgirl.

'What?'

'Shimmy shimmy CAN-CAN!' He said. That almost beat Jazz-hands. Almost, but not quite.

'No! Shimmy shimmy CAN-CAN, MOSH!!' I yelled. It was all for Edward, on his gracious or meek or whatever kinda return he made. It was all for Eddie. The missing Cullen seventh. The secret in Secret Seven. The magnificent in Magnificent Seven. The…. There actually weren't any more seven comparisons. But I had to admit; I missed the little depressed rain cloud. The depressed, emo Eddie.

'Make that Fallout Boy-concert-moshing.' I amended as Jazz jumped around with reckless abandon. I had no wish to be decapitated by a flailing, moshing jazz-handed Southerner.

Two hours later, after an endless loop of Debbie Harry and I Want That Man, I slurred Rose and Alice's names.

'Who's my betches?' I called.

'We are!' Rose giggled, dragging Alice by the hand. Alice was unfocused. Vision time. She was like a walking TV, or a psychic. Whichever had the telepathic tendencies.

'It's time,' she said, coming to, with a distinctly vampiric leer, and jump-styling with Jazz for a moment in brief celebration.

Eddie in da house … well, almost.

'Okay, ready girls?' I said, taking my shirt off. It was tradition after all, that I should be shirtless. I grabbed Ed's baseball cap off his chair thing and put it on my head at regulation jaunty angle.

'Yeah!' Rose giggled. This was ridiculous. Rose never giggled. I didn't really care, though. I just chugged another bottle of Guinness and pointed to the CD player. Jazz obligingly switched it on full volume and we turned around to face the wall.

'I WANNA DANCE WITH HARRY DEAN!' We sang, executing perfect, synchronised, Saturday- Night-Fever-pointing. One, two, three…

'AND THIS ONE'S FOR EDDIE!' I added. I spun around, eyes closed, and started into our awesome routine. Which couldn't be anything other than awesome. Apart from super-awesome. Which is pretty awesome, even by my standards.

'…. BLACK LIMOUSINE!' Jazz and I sang. I opened my eyes, intending to go for the whole cheeky wink, dimpled grin combo, when I caught sight of the scene that had unfolded in front of me.

Rose, standing on Edward's sofa, dancing rather close to Jazz, who was still doing our routine but was rather distracted by her dancing. She was wearing her belt-skirt and high heels. In all honesty, I couldn't blame him.

Alice, dancing away by herself, completely ignoring the rhythm of the Debbie Harry song and instead twirling in a slow waltz that might go better to one of Ed's depressing piano compositions.

I closed my eyes again and cleverly slapped Jazz upside the head while doing robot arm left for two.

'I WANT THAT MAN!' I pointed as I moshed. Jazz was out of control with his moshing beside me. I heard Alice gasp, then giggle. I opened my eyes for a second time. Edward stared back at us. He was standing stock still, car keys in hand, mouth open slightly. I was pointing straight at him. '…. I want that man…' Jazz was still dancing, his head lolling about as he mumbled and moshed. A frightening combination.

'EDWARD!' I called. Our performance was all for the emo dude. The one, the only, lucky number seventh heaven Cullen-boy …

Edward kept standing, just staring.

Jazz and I resumed dancing.

***

A/N: Hey, everyone,Carley's back! And as you can see, there are no pirate ships, or vampires dressed as pirates. All back to ordinary, drunken-vampire-mosh-pit normality. What else did you expect?!

Just a note to say I can't remember what happened in Midnight Sun - Re: when Edward returned home from Alaska after running away like a scared little girl with a nice car (I'm Team Edward, really, I'm just telling it like it is). Therefore I invented my own sort of entrance for him. As one does.

Nota gearr eile: This idea was cooked up in Ms. K's Irish class. She decided to play DEBBIE HARRY (Not bloody Madonna you blonde child, Aoife!) I want that Man in order for us to work out the adjectives in the song or some sort of weird, wonderful and obviously pointless exercise. So, go raibh maith agat, Ms. K. Is í an muinteoir is fearr liom, ach is fuath lion Gaeilge. Ni deanfaidh mé dearmad go deo 'clapsholas' … Nach trua é?!

Up Next: Why, whats that? Is it a bird? A plane? A dead girl?! Yes, and no, because it's AOIFE, lads! REVIEW, please! We 3 reviewers! xxxx