If I Were a Herald
Chapter 25
Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo
A/N (12/2/05): Funny. This chapter comes at a time when half of New College seems to think that I'm a hypocritical slut because I don't approve of their morals. (Just because I dress in risqué outfits and party hard and grind with random guys I don't know doesn't mean I take those random guys back to my room with me. Hello, people, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm comfortable with who I am, which means I don't have to hide my lack of breasts under layers of clothing, or refuse to participate in flirting games. There's nothing immoral about dancing or flirting.) And it is coincidence, because I wrote the outline a while ago and was going to use it for this chapter even before the discussion which sparked all those insults directed at me… I'm a Republican in a school full of Democrats, and even though I was careful not to put anything insulting in my emails, they took it as insulting and gay-bashing and decided that they had every right to insult me right back—because I'm a Republican, so, unlike gays, or any other minority, I don't have feelings. Anyway, that's what sparked my slightly depressed comments of last chapter—I swear, these people are reminiscent of Heralds; they'll help each other out when they're drunk and falling over, but they're jumping in and out of each others' beds every other night. My old roommate used to sexile me about once a week—and the guy wasn't even her boyfriend! She had a boyfriend, but it wasn't him. Luckily I have since switched rooms, and my new roommates rock. I had my Greek exam today. It wasn't as bad as I expected. I'm pretty sure I passed with about an 80. So that's the gossip from New College.
A/N (12/3/05): Well, more New College gossip. I'm the only person on campus without a hangover because I was the only person who stayed sober last night. I daren't turn on the lights lest I wake my roommates, but I really want to work on my paper which is due Thursday, and my other two papers due Friday. Ah the wonders of the weekend. I'm going to party tonight—but not drink—and I'll probably end up getting more sleep because there won't be drunk people having screaming matches right outside my door.
Fireblade: It's just that Burning Water shows that Misty's done at least some research on Kali, so Kalenel could be based on her…. Leave me my fantasies, would you? They make me happy. And yes, I had to put in the eunuch comment. That's one of my favorite parts of PotC! That, and the island, and Jack's fight with Barbossa, and the worst pirate/best pirate comments….
Jay: sarcasm Wow! This review came as such a surprise! end sarcasm One song, "My Lyrna's Eyes," coming up. And I do know what Companions are, I'm just kinda pissed in the first couple chapters. Then later it's just a way to tease her. As for the jeans… maybe you and I could get together sometime and figure out just how they would react. I fell toward the Gate because I made it wrong. Because I'm stupid.
Jay, Review Chapter 2: What stuff? Separate from me how? As far as I know, Companions do always know what Gifts their Chosen has. The Caribbean History map was really crappy. This is Valdemar, and Misty is the queen of weird spellings. So I picked an alternate spelling for Edward. I'm not idiot enough to put my sword-belt on upside-down. Quite. And good point about the compulsion against speaking about magic. And yes, I know you put that in the next review, but you meant to put it in this one, which I know because I was watching over your shoulder as you typed them on my computer.
Jay, Review Chapter 3: I just got there. They don't expect me to know one end of the blade from the other, much less know any fancy tricks in wielding it. If anything, the fact that I know how to hold it comes as a surprise.
Jay, Review Chapter 4: You have two choices. CyberRum, or the hard lemonade that's been sitting in my fridge since you got it for me. Actually, if you want, you can have both. Hands Jay some CyberRum. I don't have any real rum because Steve drank the last of it after Rocky. It's a dream. I don't even know why I call him talented. Charley doesn't appear again. Um… maybe it's just because when I read the books, I was eagerly awaiting Shavri's death because it would mean Randale was dead and no longer in pain. I don't like it when people are in pain. You should say, should you? You be careful. I know where you live.
Jay, Review Chapter 5: Somehow that almost seems like you called yourself a liar. Because you're my boyfriend. Jacoby's just… a dream guy. At least at that point he was. Although in the story, as far as I know, you're still going out with Rebah…. I'm very cocky because I'm very good. And because I know that unless I believe in myself I'll never get anywhere.
Jay, Review Chapter 6: I just don't know Valdemar-style dancing, that's all. Riding Lyrna as a cat would be hard. But then, if I set it on Omalya, I can always ride a regular horse.
Jay, Review Chapter 7: I learned French from Anya, Latin from my Latin class in high school, and Shin'a'in from reading Vows and Honor. hides head Ack, the corded muscles. I don't even know what's with me and the corded muscles.
Jay, Review Chapter 8: If you want, I'll take you to Valdemar and you can find Karl and beat him up. But I'm warning you, he's purely a figment of my imagination. And my Gift is actually precisely Projective Empathy, except it only comes out through music. I have regular Receptive Empathy, but to project I have to sing. The Bardic Gift can be used to control crowds, and to make them see the story told in the music. The way I have it, my Gift is much more limited.
Jay, Review Chapter 9: Lyrna has many objections. I must needs go add them. At the point I was writing the story, I didn't like to drink the hunch punch. Because the alcoholic taste was really too strong. Then I discovered that stuff with the vodka… Hand-to-hand, hand-to-weapon, anything that could keep me alive. And I must have set it down on my sash, then stood up and spilt it on said sash… because that's definitely what I was remembering when I wrote that. Jorjie's a year older than me… and Whites are supposed to be gotten at the age 18, but if the Trainee isn't ready then s/he won't earn his/her Whites. Which is why I don't get my Whites until I'm twenty-one—I need the extra years for weapons training. There's someone on the forum who called me a bitch… maybe you should drown them, too.
Jay, Review Chapter 10: Um, I guess the tale just got out. Somehow. As these tales are wont to do. The point was that Corwin wasn't to tell anyone, because he would actually be believed, and then that could change the timeline. There're always going to be superstitious people who believe in magic—especially out in the boondocks, far away from any civilization. Actually, at that point, I doubt that Alexi even heard me. He was probably too busy holding his wolf-maiden.
Jay, Review Chapter 11: When have you ever seen me in white? When have I worn white since coming here? Lyrna's a Companion. They're always spying on their Chosen's thoughts, except when the Chosen is very deep in thought. And I like talking to thin air. In the beginning of Magic's Price, Vanyel's talking to thin air, only he's really talking to Yfandes. It's a Herald thing.
Jay, Review Chapter 12: Half the classes I spent writing notes back and forth with you. I'm fairly certain that Tarma and Kethry had showers, in which case, yes, they had showers in that time.
Everyone, meet my boyfriend Jay!
I love you all and thank you for your patience!
Jacoby: Just get to the story.
Me: Wait a minute. What are you doing here? I thought you were off doing—piratey stuff. I know you weren't here for my other chapters.
Jacoby: I gave that up, remember? Now I'm watchin' ye type yer story. Except yer not typin', yer procrastinatin'.
Me: And you still have that adorable Evendim accent.
Jacoby: The story?
Me: Oh, right.
I walked in, the band just started. Singer couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Was on a mission to drown his memory but I thought no way with all this ruckus. But after one round with Jose Cuervo, I caught my boots tapping along with the beat, and after two rounds with Jose Cuervo, that band was sounding pretty darn good to me.
:Remind me how I got myself into this: I stared into the depths of my mug as I Mindspoke my Companion. The clear liquid in it was almost gone—just two more sips left, or one determined gulp—but I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to drink it. I hadn't yet gotten to the point where my taste-buds were numbed by the alcohol, and every drink tasted worse than the last. Ah, the reason I'll never become an alcoholic. The more I drink, the worse it tastes.
:Well, first the pirate challenged you to a drinking contest….:
I rolled my eyes. Trust my soulbonded Companion to pretend to take me literally. Just like my dad. Just like me, too, if I was completely honest with myself. And if I'd been a bit drunker I'd probably have found it hilarious. But right now the alcohol was just making me long for things that I knew I could never have. Marriage. A family. Damnit, I wanted kids! Kids of my own, not just ones that I'd adopted. And as time passed, that was looking less and less likely. There were reasons Heralds rarely married. First off, they're all such sluts they don't need the holy bonds of matrimony to get gratification.
:Now, now, that's not being very fair: Lyrna chided. :You know quite well that Heralds don't marry because their duty always comes first, and that's something that potential spouses have a hard time dealing with.:
:With which potential spouses have a hard time coming to terms: I corrected mechanically. Grammar Cop Lightning strikes again. :As soon as this mission's over, I'm going on a husband-hunt. It's nice to be needed, but I much prefer to have a life.: With grim determination, I downed the last few swallows in my mug. Blech. Whiskey. At least it just tasted like alcohol, and not like piss. Cheap alcohol. And I was going to pay for it in the morning.
Then some stranger asked me to dance and I revealed to him my two left feet. Said "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you asked, but tonight's about me and an old memory."
"Yo! Yendo! Bring me some water," I called to the bartender.
"Water?" he asked disbelievingly. "I thought you and your sailor friend were having a drinking contest."
Friend, ha. "Yeah, and I want to drink water. You know, dihydrogen monoxide. The stuff you use to water down this swill."
:Actually, love, I doubt he's ever heard the term "dihydrogen monoxide" before.:
Ignoring her, I continued, "And don't claim that you don't, because I've tasted good whiskey—Jack Daniel's; that stuff burns—and this does not even begin to compare."
"Why d'ye want water?" Jacoby asked.
"I, for one, don't plan to wake up tomorrow morning with my head feeling like it grew an extra heart. Oh, and pour me another whiskey. I finished the last."
"'Ow many does that make?"
"Two for me, three for you." As far as I could tell, I wasn't slurring at all, and my eyes still focused properly, though it took a bit more effort than normal. We'd decided after much argument that sobriety would be determined by a knife-throwing contest after the agreed-upon ten rounds of whiskey. (Jacoby had nixed my idea of reciting the alphabet backwards because he couldn't do that sober. Actually, he couldn't recite the alphabet, period.)
Jacoby poured me another whiskey, and I gritted my teeth and gulped it down. Then after three rounds of Jose Cuervo, I let him lead me out on the floor. Jacoby poured us both another round. He tossed his back in a single swallow. I followed suit. And after four rounds of Jose Cuervo I was showing off moves never seen before.
Finally Yendo arrived with the requested water. I swallowed that with even more speed than I was drinking the whiskey. But it wasn't enough. My lunch started jumping in my stomach, trying to put in an appearance. "More water," I gasped. "And food. Anything digestible. Curse it all, I know better than to drink on an empty stomach!"
"You sure you want food?" Yendo asked. There was definite concern in his voice. "Maybe you should call off this contest. You look green."
"No, I'll be fine, an' yes, I wan' food."
"You're certain." It was phrased and inflected as a statement, but with a slight lift at the end intended to convey doubt.
"Positive as a potassium ion." I fought down a wave of nausea. Faced with Yendo's bewildered expression, I explained, "That means, 'Aye quite certain.'"
:I'm not going to envy you in the morning: Lyrna said with overtones of I'm-warning-you-now.
:Yeah, well, I'm not going to envy Jacoby. Bet his hangover cure is more whiskey.:
The fifth round I couldn't even taste. My tongue was numb from too much liquor. Whiskey, you're the devil, you're leading me astray; over hills and mountains and to Americae. You're sweeter, stronger, decenter, you're spunkier than tae. Oh, whiskey, you're me darling, drunk or sober.
I could never afterward remember what Yendo brought me to eat. But it was edible, and it settled my stomach. Burning the calories also helped to burn some of the alcohol out of my system. Not much, but enough so that I could still think. Albeit a bit slower than normal.
Sometime around my sixth mug, Jacoby started making passes at me that even I couldn't mistake. Bawdy jokes and winks that would have been funny if the point hadn't been to get me into bed. That dress looks good on you; it'd look even better on my bedroom floor.
Round five or round six I forgot what I came to forget. Except I hadn't come to forget anything, and if Jacoby wanted me to forget my vow of chastity, it wasn't working. "Look, mate, I'm not that drunk," I said. My eyes wouldn't focus. His face looked blurry, kinda like that pirate in my dream—the one I wasn't having anymore. "I know what you're trying to do."
"Oh really? So what's me nefarious plan?"
Another gulp of liquid courage. Goodness, where had the whiskey in my mug gone? I could have sworn Jacoby had just filled it. "It's Jimmy Buffett's 'Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw.' Candy's dandy, but liquor's quicker. But I'm tellin' ye, mate, it won't work. You think liquor will erase my inhibitions, but it ain't gonna happen. Inhibitions are few and far between when I'm sober. What I have is decisions, which can be changed, and promises, which can't."
"Promises like what?"
"Like I'm not going to do anything I'll regret the next morning." I'd dance half-naked and cling to random guys, but I would not take anyone back to my room. Especially not Jacoby. He was just too damn handsome. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. The only place that led was a broken heart.
My head fell forward onto my mug. That should hurt. It really should. Why doesn't it? I rubbed my nose absently.
Somehow my mug was full again. I hadn't noticed Jacoby filling it. So far he'd matched me drink for drink—I'd noticed that. I wasn't about to let him cheat in this contest. So I'd paid attention. I knocked back the glass and poured the whiskey down my throat. After round seven—or was it eight?—I bought a round for the whole dang place!
"Maybe ye just need more whiskey," he suggested as I drank more of my water. Damn, this stuff tastes worse than the liquor.
Jacoby slipped onto the bench next to me and slid his arm around my waist. I should really object to that.
:Yes, you should: Lyrna agreed, surprising me. Wait a minute. Wasn't she supposed to be trying to get me in Jacoby's pants? To cover my confusion, I downed another shot. After nine rounds with Jose Cuervo, they were counting me out and I was about to give in. Once again my mug magically refilled itself. "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho." A toast to thin air, then a long, determined draught until the whiskey was gone. But after ten rounds with Jose Cuervo, I lost count and started countin' again!
"Wha' wass tha'?" Jacoby asked. I was pleased to notice that his words were slurring worse than mine.
:The only reason you're not slurring is you're making an effort to enunciate.: Ack, Lyrna, stop with the big words. :I'm actually surprised you haven't passed out yet. And Jacoby asked you a question.:
Oh, right. "Nothing. Just a song I learnt as a child, when I thought it would be exciting to meet a pirate."
"Let's hear it."
"No."
"Come on, we've got the time. Let's hear it."
But I wasn't Elizabeth, and I had no objections to singing in public. "Sure. Ye know, the best part is, this song was meant to be sung drunk. An' boy am I drunk. But I ain't going to let meself be seduced. You try to pull anything and I swear on all that's holy I'll make a eunuch out o' ye." I stood up and tried to move away from the table. Unfortunately I'd forgotten that there was a bench in the way. Me and the bench had a little tussle, from which I came out second-best in a heap on the floor. In my drunken state I paid particular attention to how prickly the straw was that Yendo used as a floor covering. Figuring out which way was up took a few seconds. The entire room seemed to be spinning about its axis. Made life very interesting. Once it settled down, I surged to my feet.
Brown gunk clouded my vision. I couldn't see anything, nothing at all. Just various shades of brown, like coarse sand. There was something I should do—to keep from fainting—but it was all I could do to remain standing; there was no room left to think.
:Sit down:
Where was that voice coming from? My head? That was interesting. "Hello, voice in my head. How are you doing?"
Before Lyrna could formulate a reply, blackness overwhelmed me.
Pretty blue button… you know you want to press it and see what it does. Plus I need ideas for what can occur while we're in Belt. I know you all adore Jacoby, but the next few chapters can't be all about him. Fireblade, I know you've got a whole passel of ideas up your sleeve. You always do. Oh, and I just came up with one idea… not sure what I'm going to do with it yet, but I need to know exactly what a Tayledras version of a pirate costume would include. I was thinking silk eyepatch, multilayered silk shirt, feathers and beads braided into the hair. Any suggestions?