- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Four : Hangover -
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-- Well, it seems that I have finally won out against the Trojan virus on my computer! For the past few days, it hasn't been shutting down my computer (at least, now while I have been on, and I haven't hear my parents complaining), and I caught it trying to re-install itself the other day and successfully blocked it! So that will not be a setback (I hope).
Unfortunately, I have run into another setback -- High school. For me, it starts tomorrow (Tuesday September 6th), and among the fact that I'm on a completely foreign bus (to me) and that there's going to be even more popular morons who think they're God's Gift to Mankind in my classes (from what I've seen of the popular people's course selections, anyhow), I'm also going to have to deal with homework (something I had mercifully been without all summer). As well, if I suddenly have a burst of inspiration in the middle of class, I'll either have to repress it, or write it down by hand (which will take a LONG time, by the way, as I am a much faster typer). So, that is most likely why the next chapter will probably be a little ways off ...
Read and review, as always, please! (I want to know if this story line of mine is turning out half-decently!) --
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"You shouldn't have drank so much!" Blank chided, dropping Marcus unceremoniously into his favourite armchair. "Sure, you lost the girl to some good-looking bastard," he continued, turning on the tap and pouring a glass of water, "but that's no reason to go and drink yourself into oblivion!" He paused. That hadn't come out right ... oh well, too late to turn back now. Besides, Marcus was drunk, he probably wouldn't remember any of this. "I mean, come on, she can't have been that good looking!"
Marcus groaned and accepted the glass of water. "You don't understand! She was gorgeous, Blank!" He paused and tipped half of the glass down his front in an attempt to drink from it. "You should have seen her, Blank ... Her hair, her body ... she's beautiful. I should have just told her that ..." He stared sadly into his glass.
"You know, when you're drunk, you're pretty profound." Blank sat himself down on another chair in the tiny apartment. "Say, you never did describe her for me ..."
There was silence.
"Hey, if it's too painful for you, then --"
"She had red hair. When the sun hit it, there were parts that would blaze like ... like fire, and the rest would be so dark a red, it'd almost be black. She wore her hair short, just to around her chin ... it emphasized her elfin face ... And she had the most beautiful eyes. They were the deepest blue, a crystal blue ... beautiful."
"Hey, hey!" Blank jumped to his feet with protest, and then immediately regretted the action as his head hammered with pain. He sank into the chair with a small groan, searching for where he'd left off. "What's up with the past-tense? Like we said, we'll get her back!"
"No we won't," came the remorseful voice from the armchair, "you didn't see the guy ... The women he walked by nearly melted. She's meant to be with someone better looking than me, I can tell you that ..."
"Oh, get a hold of yourself! You're a thief, she's a thief, you stare and drool every time she walks by, the two of you are meant to be together!" Blank pounded a fist into his open palm. "And we're going to make sure that happens! Understand!"
A small moan emitted from the depths of the armchair.
"That's the spirit! Now, what we're going to do is ask around for someone who's seen them, and once we know where they've gone, we can -- are you listening?" Another moan. "Come on, Marcus, a lot of hard work went into this plan, show a little initiative! Now's not the time to be moping!"
"I think now's a perfect time to be moping ..." Marcus lent his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling, noting that it was made of old, cracked plaster, and wondering how much luck it would take for it to fall down on him right then and there.
Blank scowled, clearly annoyed. "Fine then! Let the girl walk away!" With a huff he turned his back and stalked from the room.
Marcus watched him go with a blank expression on his face. "Uh huh ..." was all he could say. His head was beginning to pound as his body realised it had consumed too much alcohol in too short a time, just adding to the emotional pain that he was feeling. He raised the glass of water that she was still holding to his lips and took a long drink. It was going to be a long night.
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His first rejection had been when he was ten. Marcus could remember it clearly, even through the fog of his hangover. Her name had been Marietta, and she'd called him gross when he'd offered her a bite of the mud pie he'd been slaving over for hours just for her.
Even then, he'd understood the rejection and he'd lamented over it. Yes, he had done that by throwing the mud pie in her face, but that had been his way of dealing with it at that tender age.
"Wish I could throw a mud in that bastard's face ..." he muttered, pressing a hand against his aching forehead. "It's just what he deserves ... damned pretty-boy."
Of course ... he was guilty of rejecting people too. That one girl -- what was her name? Started with a C, didn't it? -- had been trying to get him into bed for the better part of a year, and she hadn't yet given up. Maybe he could learn something from that ... there had to be a lesson in there somewhere, right?
"Damn right ... I'll have to stay away from her from now on. Who knows what grief might make me do ..."
Marcus got up and stumbled across the room to the tiny kitchen, aiming for the refrigerator. Finding it, he opened the door, looking for anything cold. "Ouch! Dammit! Stupid oven ... Who leaves one of those things out in the open when it's still hot anyways!"
A few minutes later, having successfully located the fridge and a cold bottle of something that vaguely resembled orange juice, Marcus was again seated in the armchair Blank had so graciously placed him in beforehand, his head throbbing with the pain of his hangover. He pressed the bottle to his head and sighed graciously.
He must have fallen asleep, for when he came to consciousness again, the warm bottle of pinkish-orange liquid was in his lap and pale grey light was filtering in through the open windows. He groaned. Why on Earth had he played around with her? Why hadn't he just walked up to her, told her that she was beautiful, swept her into his arms, and carried her off? He didn't even know her name, and yet ... he couldn't sleep not knowing where she was. He'd nearly drunk himself into oblivion for her. And, even as he tried to blame her for all of his pain, he knew that it was really his fault.