Whoa. Loads of reviews. Thank ya'll muchly. I'm glad you think I nailed
Christopher's POV. He's so much fun to write! I can snark all I want! :P
And Athena molesting Christopher... there's a reason besides comic relief, I
promise. It plays in later in the story.
Sadly, not much this chapter. April and Christopher talk.
This chapter is for empty-corridors. Next one's for Duck-K.
~~~~~~~
Chapter 3: April, Get Off the Damn Soapbox
"You have to stop this, Christopher."
"I know." I run a hand over the stubble on my chin. "Facial hair is not for me. I just have too much of a good boy look." And it kinda tickles too.
"That's *not* what I was talking about." With a sigh strong enough to ruffle my hair, she reaches across the table to take the mug from my hand. "Stop drinking."
"Why?"
She blinks, taken aback by my tone of voice. Bet you didn't know I had that tone, did you April? That who-the-fuck-really-cares. You should know by now. Or know better, at least.
"It's bad for you."
"So's eating cheesecake."
"Then stop doing that too."
"Right." Don't even think about taking away my cheesecake. Sadist. And I'm not really all that drunk right now anyway. I can still walk in as straight a line as usual, which, admittedly, isn't perfectly straight, but it's not like I'm going to go hop in the car and mow someone over. A chariot, maybe, but the horses usually have sense enough to stay away from people...
"... and you're not even listening to me."
"You were talking?"
All right, so I was asking for it.
Wham. Right upside the head. No drama production fake either. I can feel my brains rattling around in there.
"Christopher! I am being serious here! You. Cannot. Keep. Doing. This."
"April..." It's not that I want to be more of a screw-up than I all ready am. And it's not that I even really like drinking. Certainly not the after-affects. But being sober means having your brain running on all its cylinders. Means seeing things clearly. And if I want to live in a clouded world, who the hell really cares?
"... topher. Christopher!
"Huh?" Whoa. April's face is right in from of mine. Eep. Scary eyes...
"Would you please stop doing that? That... zoning out thing?" She looks almost scared. Of me? For me?
"I'll try. You know me, I start to think, end up getting lost..."
Some of the tension leaves her face and she sits back, away from me a little. "What is this all about anyway?"
"Love. And what a bitch it is." Ooh. Funny thing about drinking. It makes you say a lot of things you mean but don't normally say.
A breathy little laugh from April, a bit nervous sounding. "That's why you're drinking? Etain?"
"No. Not Etain." I loved her. Yeah. The same way I loved my last four hundred girl friends. Except she was the only one who ever really refused me. Well, her and the witchy one. Off subject. Let's just say whatever I felt is in the past.
"Not Etain?"
"No. Not Etain." Very not Etain. So not Etain it isn't even funny. It's not a beautiful and enchanting elf maiden. It's my dark, broody housemate. My dark, broody housemate slash ex-rival with a hero fixation who is no less beautiful – dear lord did I just think that? – but seems to hate my guts. Or at least dislike them, and me, very much.
"Then..."
"Who? What? Why? When? Where? How?"
"Something like that, yes."
Who? Someone. Certainly not telling. What? Love. The kind that feels like it punched you in the gut. Why? Couldn't tell you. When? After Etain. Where? Here, I suppose. That one wasn't really so important. How? Can't tell you that one either. My brain just produced all the wrong chemicals, I guess. And it's driving me up a fucking wall and into the bottom of several bottles of dwarf wine. Circa 1288. A very good year, might I add.
"I... Fuck, April. Have you ever been in love so much it hurts?"
"No." Then a shrug. "I figure, one of these days, but I'd rather be with no one at all that someone whose wrong for me."
Funny. I took the opposite road. I'd rather be with Ms/Mr. Neurotic, or Abusive, or Ditzy, or Needy, or whatever behavior malfunction they had than be alone.
"I want them more than anything. So much that they're all I think about. So much that every time I see them my brain melts down. And my stomach jumps into my throat. I want him, but more... I want him to be happy. You know? If he would just smile... I love his smile." Then I wince. "If I get much more clichéd or sweet, hit me." But really? Yeah. I love David's smile. When he smiles. He doesn't a lot. I mean, I try to get him do. I'm the comic relief, remember? I make everyone around here smile. But somewhere along the way it became less of a job and more of a mission. Every time I see him I try. Sarcasm, slapstick, so-a-nymph-goes-into-a- tavern... anything I can. Yick.
I need a drink.
"But I like sweet," April protests. Yeah, I bet you do. You're probably holding out for your own Prince Charming. The ironic thing? She just might get one. Hell, she could end up married to a god over here.
"It isn't... it's not sweet, April." If anything, we're heading into bittersweet territory. "It's actually kind of Spuffy."
"Spuffy?"
"Yeah. Spike and Buffy, you know? It's just like that. It's fucked up. It's messy. Too many issues. It won't ever fucking work, but it's the dream that just won't die. I want him so fucking bad. It's not meant to be, and deep down I think I know that, but I can't help wanting him." I mean, c'mon. Tell me you weren't rooting for the Slayer and everyone's favorite bleached vampire! Unless, of course, you were still holding off for Xander and Spike. Then I completely understand. But again, getting off my train of thought.
All of a sudden April's jaw drops. "You said him."
Oops. "Yeah. I did."
"Oh. Okay. Just checking."
"That's... okay with you?" Loaded question. And the tension swells...
"Yeah. Kind of a good thing. For a minute there, I thought you were mooning over me."
That makes me laugh. Not at her. I'm not that cruel. I was more laughing at the obvious relief on her face. "No, not you. Don't worry about that."
"So... 'him', huh?"
I hold up a hand. "Don't try to figure out who it is April. Save yourself a headache and me embarrassment." She looks at me with a mix of skepticism and reluctance, like she was really looking forward to guessing who it was. "Please?"
"All right. But you have to promise me something."
"What?" I don't like the evil gleam in those eyes. Closet sadist.
"One drink a day," she says seriously. "Or I guess, you can roll them over if you want, like no drinks tomorrow and then two the next day. Seven drinks a week," she amends. "However you want to dish them out, that's up to you. But seven a week."
I hate you sometimes April somethingorother O'Brien.
"Fine. Seven drinks a week." What am I going to do with myself? That means... okay, we have a few courses of action open to me. One drink a day for seven days. Or seven drinks on one day. And then stoned cold sober for six days. Funny. I don't think I've been sober that many days in a row in... well, a long time. I just realized how close to an alcoholic I am. Hell, I probably am an alcoholic. Well. That's interesting.
Hello. My name is Christopher. I'm an alcoholic who lives with a closet sadist, a chronically depressed love interest, and a man with no emotion depth at all but an IQ higher than Einstein. Oh, and dwarves live in the house next door, the demi-goddess of vengeance lives down the street, and I think there's something living under my bed. Seriously.
"You did it again."
"What?"
"That zoning thing."
"Sorry. I've got a lot going on right now." Hellooooo understatement. "The romance thing has never really gone too well for me, but this is beyond bad."
"Why is it so bad?" she asks tentatively. "I mean, have you talked to him...?"
"I slept with him." Let's keeps this crystal clear. And depressing. "And that's it. That's all he wanted. Maybe not even that. He seems to think it was a huge mistake. But I can't stop thinking about it. To me it wasn't a mistake." I keep on going on in vein and I might go shoot myself.
"You're still in love with him?" She's looking up at me all teary- eyed again. If she says it's sweet, so help me...
"Yes, I'm still in love with him. Love doesn't have an on/off switch. It's like..." Oh dear lord. This is so fucking ironic. "It's like drinking. Just when I've gone long enough without it – without *him* to think I've made some progress, just when I think that maybe what I felt was overrated... I get another taste. He says something, does something that makes me realize that nothing is better than him. How could I ever have thought about forgetting him? It's a goddamn obsession."
"I was just going to tell you that you sounded a little kooky."
"Yeah, well, wait until you fall. Fall so hard you hit the bottom and smash right through the floor." I sigh. "I love him and I shouldn't. I'm only going to get hurt more, living like this, but I love him. Have loved him, still love him, and will probably love him for the rest of my life. And you wanna know something really funny? It really is all about timing. I think... I think there's a point where it would have worked. A point where things were less confusing. A point where we were all a little less jaded, a little less damaged."
"A little less drunk?"
"Sure, that too." Off the soapbox April. I know you have no faults other than a guilty complex, but leave us lesser mortals alone for a while. "Possibility... sucks." The chances you never take suck. The chances you do take, and irrevocably fuck up, well, those suck even more. "Can I have my wine back? If I have to kick my obsession with alcohol, can I start tomorrow?" Right now I would really love to be shit-faced.
She sighs. "Sure. I'll make sure to have a lot of coffee for you tomorrow."
I take it all back. I love this girl.
~~~~~~~
"Have that big pot of coffee you promised me?"
"Right here."
"Thank you, love you." Pause. "My torture starts today, hate you, burn in hell."
"Mood swings?"
"It's a symptom of withdrawal," I snap back. I'm not a morning person, my head is about to explode, I'm going through what can only be termed a shitty period, and now my drinking is restricted.
"Chris, considering the amount of wine you drank, your system won't be clean for a week."
Hmm. That's always possible.
I sit at the table in silence and glare at the sun streaming in through the window. It's laughing at me, I swear.
"By the way, how goes things on the war front?"
"Quiet."
"In a no news is good news kind of way, or in a we have no idea what Ka Anor is up to kind of way?"
"Quiet like weird quiet. Quiet like tense quiet and afraid quiet. And Jalil heard that a few of the more minor gods have gone missing. None of the powerful ones. And for all we know they could just be hiding, but..."
"Not good."
"Yeah. Not good."
~~~~~~~
I haven't seen David in three days. I can't decide if it's a good thing or not. I mean, maybe the less I see him the better. But not seeing him during the day doesn't mean I won't see him at night, in my dreams. Doesn't mean I won't think of him anyway. Like I told April; he is becoming an obsession. I think... I think maybe I should leave here. At least for a little while. I don't want to, not really. But maybe it's time I stopped just sitting around here and actually get off my ass and do something. Stop being such a... nothing. Is this how I'm going to spend my life? Watching everyone else's? I mean... I left the Old World to make a difference here. To have a life. And now I'm just wasting away.
I have to do something.
~~~~~~~
Rae: No Christopher! Don't do anything stupid.
Christopher: Shaddup.
Rae: Meep. 'Kay.
April: He's cranky 'cause I hid all the wine in David's pants.
Christopher: And I'm not allowed in there. *pouts*
Jalil: Let's not get started on that again. He'll shoot off on another introspective, five hundred word journey.
Christopher: Shut up! You're all so mean to me! I can't help that my parent's were drunks! *runs off to sob alone in the corner*
April: Damn mood swings. And general randomness.
David: ......
Rae: Don't you have something to say for yourself young man?
David: ...who the hell are you?
As you see, we have many issues to work out here. Another chapter in mebbe a week, it depends how stubborn David is. Next chapter's David-centric ya know *nods* M'kay... going now! Off to watch Dave the Barbarian!! (Buh-buh- barbarian!)
Sadly, not much this chapter. April and Christopher talk.
This chapter is for empty-corridors. Next one's for Duck-K.
~~~~~~~
Chapter 3: April, Get Off the Damn Soapbox
"You have to stop this, Christopher."
"I know." I run a hand over the stubble on my chin. "Facial hair is not for me. I just have too much of a good boy look." And it kinda tickles too.
"That's *not* what I was talking about." With a sigh strong enough to ruffle my hair, she reaches across the table to take the mug from my hand. "Stop drinking."
"Why?"
She blinks, taken aback by my tone of voice. Bet you didn't know I had that tone, did you April? That who-the-fuck-really-cares. You should know by now. Or know better, at least.
"It's bad for you."
"So's eating cheesecake."
"Then stop doing that too."
"Right." Don't even think about taking away my cheesecake. Sadist. And I'm not really all that drunk right now anyway. I can still walk in as straight a line as usual, which, admittedly, isn't perfectly straight, but it's not like I'm going to go hop in the car and mow someone over. A chariot, maybe, but the horses usually have sense enough to stay away from people...
"... and you're not even listening to me."
"You were talking?"
All right, so I was asking for it.
Wham. Right upside the head. No drama production fake either. I can feel my brains rattling around in there.
"Christopher! I am being serious here! You. Cannot. Keep. Doing. This."
"April..." It's not that I want to be more of a screw-up than I all ready am. And it's not that I even really like drinking. Certainly not the after-affects. But being sober means having your brain running on all its cylinders. Means seeing things clearly. And if I want to live in a clouded world, who the hell really cares?
"... topher. Christopher!
"Huh?" Whoa. April's face is right in from of mine. Eep. Scary eyes...
"Would you please stop doing that? That... zoning out thing?" She looks almost scared. Of me? For me?
"I'll try. You know me, I start to think, end up getting lost..."
Some of the tension leaves her face and she sits back, away from me a little. "What is this all about anyway?"
"Love. And what a bitch it is." Ooh. Funny thing about drinking. It makes you say a lot of things you mean but don't normally say.
A breathy little laugh from April, a bit nervous sounding. "That's why you're drinking? Etain?"
"No. Not Etain." I loved her. Yeah. The same way I loved my last four hundred girl friends. Except she was the only one who ever really refused me. Well, her and the witchy one. Off subject. Let's just say whatever I felt is in the past.
"Not Etain?"
"No. Not Etain." Very not Etain. So not Etain it isn't even funny. It's not a beautiful and enchanting elf maiden. It's my dark, broody housemate. My dark, broody housemate slash ex-rival with a hero fixation who is no less beautiful – dear lord did I just think that? – but seems to hate my guts. Or at least dislike them, and me, very much.
"Then..."
"Who? What? Why? When? Where? How?"
"Something like that, yes."
Who? Someone. Certainly not telling. What? Love. The kind that feels like it punched you in the gut. Why? Couldn't tell you. When? After Etain. Where? Here, I suppose. That one wasn't really so important. How? Can't tell you that one either. My brain just produced all the wrong chemicals, I guess. And it's driving me up a fucking wall and into the bottom of several bottles of dwarf wine. Circa 1288. A very good year, might I add.
"I... Fuck, April. Have you ever been in love so much it hurts?"
"No." Then a shrug. "I figure, one of these days, but I'd rather be with no one at all that someone whose wrong for me."
Funny. I took the opposite road. I'd rather be with Ms/Mr. Neurotic, or Abusive, or Ditzy, or Needy, or whatever behavior malfunction they had than be alone.
"I want them more than anything. So much that they're all I think about. So much that every time I see them my brain melts down. And my stomach jumps into my throat. I want him, but more... I want him to be happy. You know? If he would just smile... I love his smile." Then I wince. "If I get much more clichéd or sweet, hit me." But really? Yeah. I love David's smile. When he smiles. He doesn't a lot. I mean, I try to get him do. I'm the comic relief, remember? I make everyone around here smile. But somewhere along the way it became less of a job and more of a mission. Every time I see him I try. Sarcasm, slapstick, so-a-nymph-goes-into-a- tavern... anything I can. Yick.
I need a drink.
"But I like sweet," April protests. Yeah, I bet you do. You're probably holding out for your own Prince Charming. The ironic thing? She just might get one. Hell, she could end up married to a god over here.
"It isn't... it's not sweet, April." If anything, we're heading into bittersweet territory. "It's actually kind of Spuffy."
"Spuffy?"
"Yeah. Spike and Buffy, you know? It's just like that. It's fucked up. It's messy. Too many issues. It won't ever fucking work, but it's the dream that just won't die. I want him so fucking bad. It's not meant to be, and deep down I think I know that, but I can't help wanting him." I mean, c'mon. Tell me you weren't rooting for the Slayer and everyone's favorite bleached vampire! Unless, of course, you were still holding off for Xander and Spike. Then I completely understand. But again, getting off my train of thought.
All of a sudden April's jaw drops. "You said him."
Oops. "Yeah. I did."
"Oh. Okay. Just checking."
"That's... okay with you?" Loaded question. And the tension swells...
"Yeah. Kind of a good thing. For a minute there, I thought you were mooning over me."
That makes me laugh. Not at her. I'm not that cruel. I was more laughing at the obvious relief on her face. "No, not you. Don't worry about that."
"So... 'him', huh?"
I hold up a hand. "Don't try to figure out who it is April. Save yourself a headache and me embarrassment." She looks at me with a mix of skepticism and reluctance, like she was really looking forward to guessing who it was. "Please?"
"All right. But you have to promise me something."
"What?" I don't like the evil gleam in those eyes. Closet sadist.
"One drink a day," she says seriously. "Or I guess, you can roll them over if you want, like no drinks tomorrow and then two the next day. Seven drinks a week," she amends. "However you want to dish them out, that's up to you. But seven a week."
I hate you sometimes April somethingorother O'Brien.
"Fine. Seven drinks a week." What am I going to do with myself? That means... okay, we have a few courses of action open to me. One drink a day for seven days. Or seven drinks on one day. And then stoned cold sober for six days. Funny. I don't think I've been sober that many days in a row in... well, a long time. I just realized how close to an alcoholic I am. Hell, I probably am an alcoholic. Well. That's interesting.
Hello. My name is Christopher. I'm an alcoholic who lives with a closet sadist, a chronically depressed love interest, and a man with no emotion depth at all but an IQ higher than Einstein. Oh, and dwarves live in the house next door, the demi-goddess of vengeance lives down the street, and I think there's something living under my bed. Seriously.
"You did it again."
"What?"
"That zoning thing."
"Sorry. I've got a lot going on right now." Hellooooo understatement. "The romance thing has never really gone too well for me, but this is beyond bad."
"Why is it so bad?" she asks tentatively. "I mean, have you talked to him...?"
"I slept with him." Let's keeps this crystal clear. And depressing. "And that's it. That's all he wanted. Maybe not even that. He seems to think it was a huge mistake. But I can't stop thinking about it. To me it wasn't a mistake." I keep on going on in vein and I might go shoot myself.
"You're still in love with him?" She's looking up at me all teary- eyed again. If she says it's sweet, so help me...
"Yes, I'm still in love with him. Love doesn't have an on/off switch. It's like..." Oh dear lord. This is so fucking ironic. "It's like drinking. Just when I've gone long enough without it – without *him* to think I've made some progress, just when I think that maybe what I felt was overrated... I get another taste. He says something, does something that makes me realize that nothing is better than him. How could I ever have thought about forgetting him? It's a goddamn obsession."
"I was just going to tell you that you sounded a little kooky."
"Yeah, well, wait until you fall. Fall so hard you hit the bottom and smash right through the floor." I sigh. "I love him and I shouldn't. I'm only going to get hurt more, living like this, but I love him. Have loved him, still love him, and will probably love him for the rest of my life. And you wanna know something really funny? It really is all about timing. I think... I think there's a point where it would have worked. A point where things were less confusing. A point where we were all a little less jaded, a little less damaged."
"A little less drunk?"
"Sure, that too." Off the soapbox April. I know you have no faults other than a guilty complex, but leave us lesser mortals alone for a while. "Possibility... sucks." The chances you never take suck. The chances you do take, and irrevocably fuck up, well, those suck even more. "Can I have my wine back? If I have to kick my obsession with alcohol, can I start tomorrow?" Right now I would really love to be shit-faced.
She sighs. "Sure. I'll make sure to have a lot of coffee for you tomorrow."
I take it all back. I love this girl.
~~~~~~~
"Have that big pot of coffee you promised me?"
"Right here."
"Thank you, love you." Pause. "My torture starts today, hate you, burn in hell."
"Mood swings?"
"It's a symptom of withdrawal," I snap back. I'm not a morning person, my head is about to explode, I'm going through what can only be termed a shitty period, and now my drinking is restricted.
"Chris, considering the amount of wine you drank, your system won't be clean for a week."
Hmm. That's always possible.
I sit at the table in silence and glare at the sun streaming in through the window. It's laughing at me, I swear.
"By the way, how goes things on the war front?"
"Quiet."
"In a no news is good news kind of way, or in a we have no idea what Ka Anor is up to kind of way?"
"Quiet like weird quiet. Quiet like tense quiet and afraid quiet. And Jalil heard that a few of the more minor gods have gone missing. None of the powerful ones. And for all we know they could just be hiding, but..."
"Not good."
"Yeah. Not good."
~~~~~~~
I haven't seen David in three days. I can't decide if it's a good thing or not. I mean, maybe the less I see him the better. But not seeing him during the day doesn't mean I won't see him at night, in my dreams. Doesn't mean I won't think of him anyway. Like I told April; he is becoming an obsession. I think... I think maybe I should leave here. At least for a little while. I don't want to, not really. But maybe it's time I stopped just sitting around here and actually get off my ass and do something. Stop being such a... nothing. Is this how I'm going to spend my life? Watching everyone else's? I mean... I left the Old World to make a difference here. To have a life. And now I'm just wasting away.
I have to do something.
~~~~~~~
Rae: No Christopher! Don't do anything stupid.
Christopher: Shaddup.
Rae: Meep. 'Kay.
April: He's cranky 'cause I hid all the wine in David's pants.
Christopher: And I'm not allowed in there. *pouts*
Jalil: Let's not get started on that again. He'll shoot off on another introspective, five hundred word journey.
Christopher: Shut up! You're all so mean to me! I can't help that my parent's were drunks! *runs off to sob alone in the corner*
April: Damn mood swings. And general randomness.
David: ......
Rae: Don't you have something to say for yourself young man?
David: ...who the hell are you?
As you see, we have many issues to work out here. Another chapter in mebbe a week, it depends how stubborn David is. Next chapter's David-centric ya know *nods* M'kay... going now! Off to watch Dave the Barbarian!! (Buh-buh- barbarian!)