ONCE UPON A TIME AT COLLEGE
Chapter Ten
by Galen Hardesty
…
Raft College gleamed stately and serene in the early morning sunlight, beautiful as a Currier and Ives print. Sparkling frost covered everything. Students were beginning to move about the campus, passing in and out of the long blue shadows of the buildings and trees, leaving trails in the frost that covered the lawns. Daria would have gazed out the stairway window at the scene for a minute longer, but she was walking as far as the bus stop with Jane, and Jane was hurrying to catch the bus. She could drive, but the parking situation at BFAC was worse than that at Raft, and not be in a dorm. Daria smiled, reminded how fortunate she was to live within walking distance of Raft. She hurried down the stairs to catch up with Jane.
Outside, Daria saw that there was already a set of footprints emerging from the building and turning right on the sidewalk, in the direction of the bus stop. She could also see, by a long skidmark, that the maker of those prints had slipped and nearly fallen making the turn. Jane, evidently not noticing that, did exactly the same thing. Daria stifled a snicker.
As they penguin-walked to the bus stop, Daria saw that there was someone already standing there. A woman approached from the other direction. The first person seemed to hear her coming, for he turned toward her and called out, in Chuck's voice: "Good morning to you, fair lady! How are you this lovely morning?"
The woman stopped in her tracks about twenty feet from the bus stop. She stood there stock still for a few seconds, then turned around and headed back the way she came, walking more quickly than before, casting frequent glances over her shoulder.
Oh, crap, thought Daria.
Chuck stood staring after the woman, then guiltily looked around.
Jane and Daria arrived at the bus stop. "Still your old charming self, I see," Jane remarked sarcastically.
"I don't get it. I just said 'good morning'."
Hands on hips, Daria glared at him. "You said a lot more than that. You said, and I quote, 'Good morning to you, fair lady! How are you this lovely morning?'"
"Yeah… so? I was just being friendly and slightly complimentary."
"Chuck, you don't go around accosting complete strangers like that, especially not in big cities. In Possum Holler, Tennessee, she might have good morninged you back, but in Boston, you just identified yourself as either a lunatic or a sex offender. You scared the poor woman off and made her miss her bus, and if she gets fired, it'll be your fault."
"But… why?"
"Numbers, Chuck. In a small town where it's possible to actually recognize all the people, or a significant fraction thereof, people can feel a sense of community, of neighborliness. They can talk and act like that. But in a city, the sense of community doesn't stretch that far. You have a circle of friends and colleagues that you actually know, and everyone else is a stranger. People develop avoidance behaviors to keep from constantly confronting strangers, which is stressful. The bigger the city, the worse it gets. And Boston is a very big city."
Chuck appeared genuinely puzzled. "You mean I'm not even supposed to speak to people?"
"Only if you need to, and then be polite, impersonal, and brief, and stick to business. Don't talk to someone like a friend or acquaintance unless they actually are."
"Damn. Why didn't anyone ever tell me this before? Does this mean I've been acting like a lunatic for years?""I don't know about everyone else, but to me you acted like you wanted to be shunned. Hell, sometimes you acted like you wanted people to throw rocks at you, but I kept forgetting to bring rocks. Anyway, it wasn't my job to watch you before."
The bus was approaching, and Jane and Chuck moved closer to the bus stop sign. Chuck looked around for the woman he'd frightened, but she was nowhere to be seen. He gazed unhappily at the frozen ground. "Guess it's a good thing I'm going to see my counselor this morning," he muttered unhappily.
Daria edged closer to Jane. "Watch him," she muttered sotto voce. "Don't let him molest the bus driver."
Jane smirked and boarded the bus, followed by Chuck. With a hiss of air brakes and a low rumble from the engine, the bus moved out, belching diesel fumes into the not-all-that-fresh Boston morning air.
Daria sighed, scanned for cops, and furtively jaywalked across the street. Damn, she thought. Chuck's been around. He shouldn't be pulling this country-bumpkin crap. She frowned as she angled across the campus. Was he really just trying to be friendly and complimentary, like he said, or was he indeed pulling some crap? And if so, why? What could he hope to gain? Part of her mind came back with What did he hope to gain when he patted that girl's ass and got kicked out of Halyard?
Well, that's the big question, isn't it? Escape from academic pressure, maybe? Daria had privately wondered if Chuck might have been in over his head at Halyard. Entrance requirements there were even higher than those at Raft and Bromwell, although not by much, and she supposed courses were correspondingly more rigorous. By coming to Raft, he may have just leaped out of the fire and into the frying pan. And if that's the case, what does that say about his future behavior? And if he gets himself kicked out of Raft, what happens to Mom? His father will have no further use for me and no further need to hold back that evidence. And if Mom is indicted…
Daria shook her head to derail that train of thought. Her mind had followed that track plenty of times. It ended with Mom in prison, Dad and Quinn living in some shabby apartment or trailer park, and her either back in the dorm and working at some slave-wage job, unable to continue to carry the hours she was managing now, or perhaps unable to earn enough to stay at Raft at all, and having to go to Lawndale Community College. If it comes to that, I might as well not bother. A degree from there would be useless to me. I'd rather…
Daria shook her head again. That led to thoughts of the possible above-minimum-wage work that might be open to her, of modeling nude for art students other than Jane, and other things she didn't want to do, other thoughts she didn't want to think. Dammit! How did I suddenly lose control of my life?
'As if you ever had control,' the smartass corner of her brain shot back.
I was starting to get some. Then Upchuck had to get possessed by demon hormones, or whatever the hell is wrong with him. Which would ordinarily have been no skin off my nose, but Mom had to go and get her legal butt caught in a crack, and now to save my family, I have to save Upchuck too. And it's starting to look like he's not going to make it easy for me.
Daria found that she was speedwalking, and the air this morning was too cold for her to be breathing that heavily. She forced herself to slow down. What the hell is his problem, anyway? It's not likely to be academic pressure in this instance, because his first class isn't for three weeks. He can't even start to register till day after tomorrow. Could he really be that clueless about women?
He seemed to be doing all right yesterday. Oh, wait. That was only after I corrected a couple of false starts on his part. He tried to hug me, and then he went into his old 'Mr. Ultrasuave' routine. Maybe he doesn't know how to act around women. Or maybe he gets nervous and trips over his own social feet. So what can I do about that? Give him womanizing lessons? Be his dating teacher? Hell, I don't know any more about dating than he does. Well, not much. Anyway, I don't want to be his dating practice dummy.
As she approached Revere Hall, site of her first class of the morning, Daria thought about what would probably happen if she were unable to do anything about Chuck's problem. They wouldn't be in the same classes, so she couldn't follow him around all the time, and even if she could, that was no guarantee that she'd be able to control him. With the behavior pattern he was currently exhibiting, it was likely just a matter of time until his sweaty little hands made contact with some female student's anatomy, and then…
Dammit. I guess I do want to be the dummy's practice dummy. God help me. Maybe I can correct enough of his misconceptions to allow him to function normally. Maybe all he needs is to be around females enough that he doesn't choke up and go into self-destruct mode every time he tries to interact with one. Maybe if I observe him enough, I can figure out what his problem is. At worst… she grimaced. At worst, if he pats my butt, I can administer some negative reinforcement, instead of some other girl reporting him and getting him expelled. Although I resent the hell out of having to even consider it, I guess there are worse things than being patted by Upchuck.
…
Daria took another bite of her apple and studied the screen of her laptop. Satisfied with the outline, she was prepared to start fleshing it out. The first three sentences formed in her mind. Laying the apple down, she reached toward the keys. The telephone rang.
Grumpily, she put the laptop into sleep mode, set it aside, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
Trent's mellow, husky voice replied, "Hi, Daria. Is Janey there?"
"Hi, Trent. No, she's not back from BFAC yet. She could come in in a few minutes, or it could be an hour or two. Can I take a message?"
"Uh, well, I was calling to see if that invitation is still open, so I guess you're the one I need to talk to."
Daria smiled. "Sure, it's still open. When do you want to come?"
"I was thinking I'd get up fairly early tomorrow, throw some stuff in the car, and come on up. Uh, how long does it take to get there?"
That was Trent for you. Don't bother packing a suitcase, just pack the car. "It takes me about eight to nine hours, but I drive kind of slow. It's about three hundred seventy-five miles. You get on I-95 North, and after about sixty miles it turns into the New Jersey Turnpike. Stay on it, and after another seventy miles or so, it turns back into I-95. After another hundred and twenty-five miles, you get on I-91 North, and, um… well, after that it gets complicated. You'll need a map."
"Thanks, Daria. I think I've got one. Guess I'll see you tomorrow evening. Or night. Or maybe we should leave it loose."
"Okay, Trent. Remember, we're right across the street from the south side of the Raft campus. Call if you need help."
"I'll be fine. Bye, Daria."
"Bye." Daria hung up the phone and turned her attention back to her laptop. She had been typing for several minutes when she heard a key in the lock. The door opened and Jane came in.
"Hey, Jane. Trent just called. He says he's going to drive up tomorrow."
"Oh, good. Maybe if everything goes his way, he'll make it by the day after."
"Will he be all right driving all that way by himself? What if he gets sleepy?"
"He pulls over and pretends he's checking his map. Then he naps till a Highway Patrolman wakes him up, and then he drives till he gets sleepy again."
Daria chuckled. "So, how was Chuck on the bus? Any trouble?"
"I had to pull him out of the slough of despond. Other than that, no."
"Huh? What was he despondent about?"
"He seemed to feel like what he did was a lot worse than it actually was, and he was afraid you'd think he was a male chauvinist pig or something."
"What? That doesn't make sense. That doesn't even follow. All he did was say good morning strangely. And what was he afraid you'd think?"
"He didn't specify. He seemed a lot more concerned about your opinion than mine."
"Huh. I wonder what that's all about."
"He likes you, Daria." Jane wiggled her eyebrows.
"Bull. He likes everything he thinks might have functional female sex organs. But never mind that. I've been thinking, and I think it'll help Chuck to just be around females more.
Jane crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Now that's just silly. If females could stand to be around him, he wouldn't need help."
"Very funny. I'm going to start letting him go with me shopping, to the laundromat, stuff like that. I figure the more he's exposed to women, the fewer stupid things he'll do out of ignorance. If he starts to say or do something stupid, I'll smack him with a rolled-up newspaper, and he won't get expelled or arrested for doing it in public later on. Can I count on you to participate and not murder him?"
"Hmm. I guess I could give it a shot, but I reserve the right to maim or mutilate him if I deem it necessary."
"That sounds fair. Oh, by the way, what about Thanksgiving? Have you heard anything from your folks?"
"Nope. I'll ask Trent when he gets here, but I don't expect anyone to show. It was never a big holiday at our house."
"You'll spend it with us, then. We always have two weeks' worth of leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe with your and Trent's help, there'll only be a week and a half's worth this year."
Jane grinned. "Always happy to help a friend."
Daria picked up the phone, paused a second in thought, and punched in a number. She waited a few seconds, then "Hey, Chuck, it's Daria. I was wondering… no, not about… Chuck,… Chuck, cut yourself some slack. It wasn't that bad. I… Look, you're not going to do it again, are you? …Good, then forget about it. It's no biggie. The reason I called was to ask you what you're doing for Thanksgiving. ..You are? ..He is? That's great. But if he has to cancel, call me. You have an invitation to dinner with my family and Jane and her brother. Okay, 'bye."
Daria hung up, then dialed another number. After waiting several seconds, she said, "Hello, Mom?" …I'm fine. How are you and Dad and Quinn? …That's good. …Thanksgiving? I was going to ask you about that. Is it okay if I invite Jane and Trent over for Thanksgiving dinner? Jane doesn't expect any of the rest of her family to show up at their house. …Great, thanks, Mom. We'll take off from here as soon as we can; I'll get back with you on when to expect us. …Chuck? He's doing okay. He's planning to spend the day with his dad. …His mom? I really don't know. …Well, I have to go. I have some work to finish, and I need to get to bed early. …No, I'm fine, just tired. I was up till early this morning playing poker. …No… Yes, I did. …Yeah, but… Mom… Mom, this is me, Daria. When I play poker, it's not gambling. …I'll call you back tomorrow. 'Bye, Mom."
…
Daria bustled through the apartment door, rubbing her hands together. Gusty winds made it seem much colder than it actually was outside, but it was cold enough. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose on the way to her bedroom. Re-emerging sans coat and book bag, she headed to the kitchen where she ran water in a pan and set it on a burner. Opening a cabinet, she removed a canister of cocoa mix. As she reached for a mug, Daria paused and checked her watch. She crossed the den and peered out the window. Returning to the kitchen, she took down two mugs, and added more water to the pan. Then she sat down at the breakfast bar and opened a book.
In a minute she heard footsteps climbing the stairs and approaching the door, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. The door swung open and admitted Jane, making brr noises. "Damn, it's nasty out there!"
"That it is," Daria agreed. "Care to join me in a mug of hot water?"
Jane cocked an eyebrow as she slid her bookbag off. "Sounds kind of crowded."
Daria laid her book down and stepped to the stove, where the water was beginning to boil. "I'm going to flavor mine with cocoa mix," she said, pouring the hot water into a mug.
"Ah. In that case, I'll have what you're having."
A couple of minutes later, having finished mashing all the lumps out of her cocoa with her spoon, Jane sipped contentedly. "Mmm. That hits the spot. Say, isn't this visitors' night at the Raft Student Union?"
Daria had her hands wrapped around her mug, absorbing the heat that escaped from the drink. "Yeah, on Tuesdays, students from any college are welcome. There's usually a DJ, sometimes a local band."
"Let's go tonight."
"Huh? We can't. Trent's on his way up. He might show up any time."
"Daria, this is Trent we're talking about. If he shows up any time today or tonight, I'll eat a vole. He'll sleep late, then he'll pack for an hour, then he'll get something to eat and take a nap. Then he'll pack a little more, and he won't be able to find something, and he'll waste a few hours looking for it, then he'll take another nap. Ten to one he hasn't finished packing yet."
Daria made a noise that might have been a chuckle. "I wouldn't be surprised. He did say 'leave it loose' when we were talking about his ETA."
"Well, there you go. 'Leave it loose' means 'I have no idea when I'll get there.' I'll take my phone, you take yours, and if by some freak accident he does get here early, he'll call."
"It's cold out there, Jane. I think I'd rather just stay here and read."
"Of course you would. If you had your way, you'd stay here and read until they break down the door and find you dead of old age and half-eaten by your seventy-four cats. But friends don't let friends die alone. We're going to the mixer, and you're going to talk to people, or I'll get Quinn and her friends up here to do an intervention."
"I hate you."
"Hate me at the mixer."
…
Chuck took a drink from the can of cola in his hand. Rocking back and forth a little, he looked around him at the other students standing or milling around in the Student Union building. Most of the first floor was one big room; some architect's idea of separate but interconnected multifunctional spaces. There were chairs and sofas and stools and coffee tables in seemingly random groupings, large brick and stone planters divided but didn't divide the space, and the floor was sunken and raised here and there. A large alcove in the rear held many vending machines. "So, I should forget what you told me about not talking to strangers in big cities," he said.
Daria shook her head. "No, don't forget it. It's just not applicable to this particular situation. Since we're all students and we're all here for the same reason, we're not exactly strangers. Think of this as, say, a gathering of the clans. We're Clan Raft. Jane's Clan BFAC. We don't know who these others are, but they've all come here to meet and greet and possibly hook up. Everyone's approachable. They wouldn't have come otherwise. So pick someone and approach her. Just don't lapse into your Upchuck persona."
"Ah. Sounds like good advice." Chuck decided not to mention that he thought of it as his 007 persona. He had already picked out someone and approached her, and was talking to her, but she didn't seem to notice. He sighed and looked around again. "I'll just follow your lead then, shall I?"
"Uh, I don't think that would be your best move. I've never been to one of these before, and you know from high school how gregarious I am. But you never had a problem approaching girls." Daria shifted her weight and looked around herself.
"Ha. That was the, uh, Upchuck persona."
"Oh."
"See anyone you know?"
"Only you and Jane, and I don't actually see her right now. There are some students I recognize from classes, but I don't know their… ooh."
"What?"
"That guy over there in the field jacket with long hair is a BFAC student. I met him briefly at Jane's old place. Name's Geoff."
"Ah. Want to talk to him?"
"No."
As Chuck pondered a response to that, a huge muscular, slightly pudgy blond guy, who put Daria in mind of a Viking warrior who liked his mead and ale and haunches a little too much, sauntered up. Saying nothing, he locked eyes with Chuck and just stared, smiling unpleasantly. Chuck smiled back, amiably at first, then with increasing amounts of unease and apprehension. The big blond guy maintained his predatory smile, saying nothing. As Daria watched, bemused, Chuck broke eye contact, looked around and back to the big guy, then away again, and finally slunk off.
The Viking turned to Daria. "Hi. I'm 'Crusher' Kujowski, but you can call me Al. You're in my calculus class, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. Daria Morgendorffer. What's with the staring thing, Al?"
"I'm practicing my intimidation. I'm a defensive lineman for the Reavers, you know."
"Actually, I didn't. Between classes, my writing, and my job, I haven't had time to go to the games lately."
"I know what you mean. I have a football scholarship, but that's a lot like a full-time job, with all the practices and stuff. My schoolwork suffers sometimes. Like, this is my second time through that calculus class, and I may need to hire a tutor."
Jane, had she been watching, would have detected a gleam in Daria's eye. "Al, how'd you like to do me a small favor in exchange for a calculus tutoring session?" Daria asked.
"Sure. Who do I have to kill?"
Daria smiled a small smirk. "You see that guy over there in the old field jacket? Keep an eye on him. If you see him come up and start talking to me, give us a minute, and then come over." She lowered her voice. "I'm going to tell him…"
…
Geoff sipped his root beer and looked around. There seemed to be nearly as many females as males present, he noted with a certain amount of surprise. Usually the girls were heavily outnumbered at these things. He began to drift toward an interesting stabile in the middle of the floor. Constructed entirely of white cordage and varnished hardwood one by twos, the intriguing thing about it was that, although no two pieces of wood touched, and there were no cords or wires suspending it from the ceiling, it managed to stand nearly twenty feet high. The lengths of wood were all short and more horizontal to the floor than not, and he couldn't see what was keeping the whole thing from collapsing to the floor in a tangled heap.
Geoff's closer examination of the stabile was interrupted when he noticed a girl on the far side of it. She was slight of stature, wearing black slacks and boots and a sweater knitted in geometric patterns of blue, green, and black. Her slightly more than shoulder length brown hair framing an oval face accented by black framed glasses looked familiar to him. He stood there several moments, trying to recall where he'd seen her before and whether he should know her. She wasn't in any of his classes at BFAC, he was pretty sure, but she was somehow connected with art in his mind.
His artist's eyes studied her again, taking in line and form. The slacks she wore weren't snug fitting, and the sweater even less so, but he could tell from their drape and hang, from the subtle highlights and shadows, that she had a good, slender figure. Her boots caught his eye. They looked like army boots, or Docs. A memory hovered on the edge of recollection. Then she looked his way and noticed him looking at her. An expression flitted across her face, and then was gone, expertly wiped away, but he had caught it. It had been a distinctly displeased expression. And then he connected with the memory. Black boots, unlaced. A black pleated skirt, a green jacket. Reddish brown hair floating, streaming from a hotly blushing face. Eyes that flashed from behind thick black-framed glasses. A snarled "Move or die," an elbow brushing him aside, boots clattering down the stairs. The girl who'd been modeling for Jane, just before Jane had moved out.
Geoff let his feet carry him toward the stabile, and closer to the girl. He recalled the painting of her that Jane had been working on, and how he'd stared at it, unable to look away. He had seen many nude girls and women, hundreds, maybe thousands of paintings of them, and of course countless photos. But there was something about the girl in Jane's painting, a sense that there was more to her than met the eye, a feeling of… suppressed energy, or hidden treasure, or something. Geoff didn't know whether it came from Jane's artistic talent, or whether it was something about the girl, or for that matter, if it was a mere fortuitous combination of brushstrokes. But he wanted to find out. He wanted to get to know this girl, and to paint her himself.
Abandoning the stabile, Geoff made straight for her. Daria watched him approach, expressionless.
"Hello… Darla, is it? You probably don't remember me. I'm Geoff."
"No, it isn't, and my memory is quite good, Geoff," Daria replied coldly.
"Er, Dora?"
"It's Daria," said Daria reluctantly. "What do you want?"
"Well, first, to apologize for bust… er, interrupting the two of you that day. If I'd known, I wouldn't have…"
"Busting in is the correct term, and you already have. Jane relayed your apology to me, and I accepted. You're forgiven. You should go now."
"Wait, Daria. You know, since Jane moved out, we haven't had a female model. I, uh, saw the painting she was working on, and I was wondering if…"
"If I'd model for you? For $3.33 an hour, like you paid her? No."
"We could do better than that. Substantially better. We'd really like to have you. Uh, model for us, that is."
So much vicious sarcasm, Daria thought wistfully, so little time. "Let me be clear about this. Jane is my best friend, and that's the only reason I model for her. Money has nothing to do with it. You guys don't have enough money to get me to model for you, and you never will. And you shouldn't be talking to me. Crusher is here tonight."
"Crusher? Who's Crusher?"
"Crusher is my cousin, and he promised my brother he'd watch out for me while I'm here. Ever since Jane told him how you bashed down the door and barged in on us, he's been swearing he'd beat you to a bloody pulp if he ever got his hands on you."
"Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."
"Not against Crusher, you can't. He's a defensive lineman for the Raft Reavers, and he'd make two of you with some left over. And he's taken a serious dislike to you."
"A defensive… not Crusher Kujowski?"
"That's him. You may know some self-defense moves, but he knows a lot about fractures and concussions and dislocations and such. You should leave before… uh oh."
Crusher loomed up like a sudden afternoon thunderstorm. "Is that him?" he demanded.
Fear showed on Daria's face. "Crusher, wait! He apologized, and he was just leaving!"
Crusher stared at Geoff as if committing him to memory, and smiled unpleasantly.
"No, Crusher! Remember what the Dean said! You send one more non-football player to the ER, and he'll put you on academic probation!"
Crusher cracked his knuckles.
"Crusher! Remember what the judge said! If it happens again, you'll have a much tougher time convincing him it was an accident!"
Crusher cracked his neck and flexed his shoulders, as if loosening up, still smiling unpleasantly at Geoff.
"Crusher, don't do it! Think of your poor mother!" Daria pleaded.
Crusher hesitated, as if thinking.
Daria turned to Geoff. "Go! Go now! Run like the wind!" she cried, with gestures.
Geoff stood mesmerized for some fraction of a second, then whirled and sprinted for the door, dodging through the students as best he could.
Al grinned as he watched Geoff go. "That was fun. I like the way you think, Daria," he said, unwittingly scoring two points. He'd gotten her name right, and he'd complimented her on her thinking. "Say, I know where there's a party with a better grade of refreshments, and more interesting guests, too. Want to come?"
Still smirking at Geoff's retreat, Daria said, "I don't know, Al. Gatherings with a really high jock ratio tend to bring out my snide side."
Al's grin widened slightly. "I'd pay a quarter to see that. But it won't be just jocks and cheerleaders. There'll be some physics geeks, some MFAs, some people from the paper…"
Daria considered. She had come out tonight in the hopes of meeting interesting people, and it sounded like going with Al would improve her chances of that considerably. She was uneasy about letting Chuck out of her sight, but she couldn't watch him all the time. Chuck would be happy to see Al leave, and might even relax enough to talk to a girl or two. Anyway, Jane had been right. She had been spending too much time in her dorm room and apartment. Daria didn't intend college to be just a continuation of high school. Al's mention of "some people from the paper" clinched it. She wanted to get to know some people from the paper.
"Okay. Sounds like fun." Daria looked around for Jane and Chuck, but they were nowhere to be seen. With a mental shrug, she followed Al toward the coat racks.
…
Jane muzzily groped her way down the hallway toward the soft sounds of culinary activity. When she reached the kitchen she unsquinted an eye enough to see Daria, fully dressed, making an omelet by the light of the one small bulb in the range hood. The first gray light of predawn was oozing through the chinks in the curtains.
"Mrng," she ventured.
"Mm," Daria agreed noncommittally.
"Watcha doonup surly?"
"Early for you, late for me. I just got in. Didn't mean to wake you, but I'm hungry."
"Sokay. I wuzzup tapee." Jane shuffled to the coffee pot and poured herself a mug of fragrant just-made coffee. "Wheredja go?"
"From the mixer? Another party."
Jane took a swallow of coffee. "Oo-wow! Stomp my head and call me Popeye!"
"Oh, uh, that coffee's kinda strong."
"You don't say." Jane gasped. She attempted to set her mug on the breakfast bar, but encountered… stuff. She switched on the kitchen light and looked. The stuff was money. Stacks and piles and wads of Federal Reserve notes. There were also three prepaid phone cards, a Swiss Army knife, a sheathed boot dagger with a black widow spider on the handle, and a black ninja sword.
"Dayum, Daria! What did you do, take up Ninjutsu drunk rolling?"
Daria smirked slightly. "Nothing so strenuous. I won that in a poker game."
"A poker game? I know you used to clean me and the band out for matchsticks, but I didn't know you were that good."
Daria chuckled softly, and coughed. "I didn't either, till I tried. Some people say poker is a game of money management. Some say it's all about calculating the odds. Others say it's a game of psychology. I think it's all three of those. I'm pretty good at the first two, and I know a little about the third."
"There's a lot of money here, Daria. A lot of money."
"Two thousand three hundred nineteen dollars, according to the running total I was keeping, plus the other stuff. I haven't actually counted it yet. You want your omelet now?"
"Sure, might as well. That stealth espresso of yours isn't gonna let me go back to sleep. So how'd you wind up at the poker game?"
Daria scooped the omelet into two plates and brought them over to the breakfast bar, shoving some bills and ironmongery out of the way. "Some people I sort of knew from Raft at the second party were talking about starting one at this guy's apartment in the same building, so when we got enough players we wandered over there."
"Geez, Daria, what turned you into such a wild child all of a sudden?"
"All those years of hanging out with you, Trent, and the band, I guess. Plus I was with Crusher Kujowski, and I sort of trust him."
"You mean that huge Norse god you inducted into your guerilla theater troupe?
"You saw that, eh?" Yeah, that's Crusher. Al to his friends."
"I'd just come from the restroom, otherwise I probably would've wet myself laughing. How did you land him? You must've had to put out."
"Jane! I'll have you know we have a business arrangement. He beats people up for me in exchange for math tutoring. He'll be happy to do you, too."
'Mmm, he can do me anytime."
"You slut."
Jane grinned around a forkful of omelet. "So, do you always go armed when you go out partying, or did the poker game get attacked by ninjas?"
"The guy whose apartment we were at kept demanding another chance to win his money back. Couldn't stand to quit while he was in the hole. That's why I'm so late getting in. He put that stuff in the pot when his money ran out. I happened to win the last pot, so I got stuck with the knick-knacks. I tried to just leave 'em, but he wouldn't hear of it."
"Well, look on the bright side. Most of your Christmas shopping is done. Hey, aren't you gonna have some of your paint stripper?" Jane held up her coffee mug.
"Not now. I figure if I go lay down right now without undressing, I can get almost four hours of sleep before I absolutely have to leave for class. I'll fill up my traveling mug with that coffee, and hope it's enough to keep me awake till I can get a refill." Daria held up an arm and sniffed. "Can you smell me?"
"Not unless you smell like coffee and omelet and money."
"I'll settle for that."