Disclaimer: I don't own the West Wing, nor do I own Angel.
A/N: Well, all these stories were intended to stand on their own. They do, but somehow there's several things connecting them, so I guess you could call them a series. Thanks to those of you who reviewed on the previous stories, it's much appreciated as I was sick. Your reviews really brightened this past week for me.
I have a fond memory of a play put up in sixth grade of the origin of the song Silent Night. Other than that: it's a lovely song.
As for what is Joey Lucas' drink of choice. I don't really know. Call it artistic license.
START OF FIC.
"Silent night, Holy night All is calm, All is bright"
Joey Lucas glared at Kenny, her interpreter.
He shrugged back.
She rolled her eyes.
He lifted his arms.
"Fuck you," she mouthed.
He tilted his head. "Thanks."
Joey let out a rather silent scream and stomped in the other direction. When Kenny put an arm on her shoulder to stop her, she shrugged him off and continued her stride.
Where exactly she was going she didn't know.
She just needed to get away from Kenny for a while. Sure, he knew her like nobody else did, probably better than she knew herself.
Sometimes she wanted to get away from herself, too.
It wasn't an area of Los Angeles that she would have termed safe. Just then Joey didn't care. She had the self-defense courses, even if the most vital of the tips they had gotten was out of her league.
How the hell were you supposed to yell for help, so loud that someone would listen, when you had troubles uttering loud and clear voices?
Her new high heels, bought to impress Josh the next time they met, felt like they were chewing off the Achilles on her right foot.
She had walked off the rage that had caused her to storm off. Now, she was just feeling stupid.
She pulled out her special cell phone, to text a message to Kenny.
The battery was dead.
It was just the kind of luck she had been having lately.
She limped a little, hoping against hope to find a telephone and someone who could call a cab for her when she saw it.
But the neighborhood was quiet. Quiet, but for one spot further up ahead. Caritas 3. It looked like a costume-party outside. People with funny masks were grabbing a smoke together.
She decided to enter. The thing that could possibly salvage the evening was a large Seabreeze.
If this place could make a decent one.
It looked like a Christmas costume party.
Deck the halls with ho, ho, ho. She had landed herself in a Karaoke bar.
Sometimes being deaf paid off.
She grabbed a chart of the drinks of the bar counter. Gesturing at the bartender with it she managed to get him to leave a mouthy brunette at the other end.
"What'll it be?"
She pointed at the chart.
"Seabreeze?"
"Yes."
"With or without blood?"
Joey was pretty good at reading lips, but she was certain that she had misunderstood the question.
Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Without, please."
He mixed it quickly for her, and placed the drink in front of her. She smiled at him and took a sip.
It was rather good.
Her day hadn't been a total waste of time.
She put it back on the counter and turned around to watch the dark-haired man on the stage. She couldn't read his lips, as he was too far away, but from the looks of the brunette at the other end of the counter he was singing something sentimental.
She leaned against the counter, slightly.
A green man with horns waited for him when he was finished. They seemed to talk a bit before he introduced the former singer to a tall. C. J. Cregg? What was the White House press secretary doing in a karaoke bar in Los Angeles at this time of year?
She was so busy staring at the press secretary's conversation with the dark- haired man who had been singing that she didn't notice that someone grabbed her drink.
Until she felt the counter vibrate slightly against her back.
She turned around. Slowly.
And saw the empty glass.
The man who had welcomed the man C. J. was talking to off the stage was wiping his mouth.
"That was MY drink," Joey mouthed at him.
"What?"
She rolled her eyes, and dug out some paper and a pen from her purse.
"That was MY drink," she wrote, angrily. "You stole my drink."
She held it up for him to see.
He breathed heavily before he grabbed the pen, and the paper.
"Well," he wrote. "How was I supposed to know that? Carlo always keeps a Seabreeze ready for me whenever Angel's through singing."
He gestured at the man Joey assumed was Carlo who came over with another Seabreeze.
"I am Lorne," he wrote.
Joey pointed at herself. "Jo-ey," she said.
A/N: Well, all these stories were intended to stand on their own. They do, but somehow there's several things connecting them, so I guess you could call them a series. Thanks to those of you who reviewed on the previous stories, it's much appreciated as I was sick. Your reviews really brightened this past week for me.
I have a fond memory of a play put up in sixth grade of the origin of the song Silent Night. Other than that: it's a lovely song.
As for what is Joey Lucas' drink of choice. I don't really know. Call it artistic license.
START OF FIC.
"Silent night, Holy night All is calm, All is bright"
Joey Lucas glared at Kenny, her interpreter.
He shrugged back.
She rolled her eyes.
He lifted his arms.
"Fuck you," she mouthed.
He tilted his head. "Thanks."
Joey let out a rather silent scream and stomped in the other direction. When Kenny put an arm on her shoulder to stop her, she shrugged him off and continued her stride.
Where exactly she was going she didn't know.
She just needed to get away from Kenny for a while. Sure, he knew her like nobody else did, probably better than she knew herself.
Sometimes she wanted to get away from herself, too.
It wasn't an area of Los Angeles that she would have termed safe. Just then Joey didn't care. She had the self-defense courses, even if the most vital of the tips they had gotten was out of her league.
How the hell were you supposed to yell for help, so loud that someone would listen, when you had troubles uttering loud and clear voices?
Her new high heels, bought to impress Josh the next time they met, felt like they were chewing off the Achilles on her right foot.
She had walked off the rage that had caused her to storm off. Now, she was just feeling stupid.
She pulled out her special cell phone, to text a message to Kenny.
The battery was dead.
It was just the kind of luck she had been having lately.
She limped a little, hoping against hope to find a telephone and someone who could call a cab for her when she saw it.
But the neighborhood was quiet. Quiet, but for one spot further up ahead. Caritas 3. It looked like a costume-party outside. People with funny masks were grabbing a smoke together.
She decided to enter. The thing that could possibly salvage the evening was a large Seabreeze.
If this place could make a decent one.
It looked like a Christmas costume party.
Deck the halls with ho, ho, ho. She had landed herself in a Karaoke bar.
Sometimes being deaf paid off.
She grabbed a chart of the drinks of the bar counter. Gesturing at the bartender with it she managed to get him to leave a mouthy brunette at the other end.
"What'll it be?"
She pointed at the chart.
"Seabreeze?"
"Yes."
"With or without blood?"
Joey was pretty good at reading lips, but she was certain that she had misunderstood the question.
Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Without, please."
He mixed it quickly for her, and placed the drink in front of her. She smiled at him and took a sip.
It was rather good.
Her day hadn't been a total waste of time.
She put it back on the counter and turned around to watch the dark-haired man on the stage. She couldn't read his lips, as he was too far away, but from the looks of the brunette at the other end of the counter he was singing something sentimental.
She leaned against the counter, slightly.
A green man with horns waited for him when he was finished. They seemed to talk a bit before he introduced the former singer to a tall. C. J. Cregg? What was the White House press secretary doing in a karaoke bar in Los Angeles at this time of year?
She was so busy staring at the press secretary's conversation with the dark- haired man who had been singing that she didn't notice that someone grabbed her drink.
Until she felt the counter vibrate slightly against her back.
She turned around. Slowly.
And saw the empty glass.
The man who had welcomed the man C. J. was talking to off the stage was wiping his mouth.
"That was MY drink," Joey mouthed at him.
"What?"
She rolled her eyes, and dug out some paper and a pen from her purse.
"That was MY drink," she wrote, angrily. "You stole my drink."
She held it up for him to see.
He breathed heavily before he grabbed the pen, and the paper.
"Well," he wrote. "How was I supposed to know that? Carlo always keeps a Seabreeze ready for me whenever Angel's through singing."
He gestured at the man Joey assumed was Carlo who came over with another Seabreeze.
"I am Lorne," he wrote.
Joey pointed at herself. "Jo-ey," she said.