Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

AS I SEE IT…
Chapter 3
Not Your Holiday!

I knew there was something wrong the minute Beth walked in. I should have picked up on it earlier, especially when I saw the bottles green beer in Mick's fridge.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I asked Beth incredulously. It was the perfect phrase for the moment. While she was still wearing her usual skin-tight, painted-on jeans, she also wore a tight green shirt with a clover print, green ribbons in her hair, a jade earring-and-necklace set and a button pin that said 'Kiss me! I'm Irish!'

She looked confused for a moment, until my dear pal Mick clarified the situation for her, "Josef doesn't celebrate holidays."

"Oh!" she said. "Then you don't know about St. Patrick's Day, Josef?"

"I know about it," I replied. "It's just not my holiday." Mick shot me a 'don't crush her spirits' look, but I chose to ignore it when she asked me to clarify. "It's like this, Beth," I said, making a show of getting comfortable on Mick's couch. "You live in America. Not Ireland. You hail form the lovely city of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciúncula—"

She blinked. "Where?"

"LA," I sighed. "And most certainly not Kilkenny, Dublin or Cork. I don't know how much farther from Ireland you can get."

"Well, I think I'm part Irish," said Beth thoughtfully.

"Yeah, isn't everyone," I commented sarcastically. "You know this isn't even a real holiday, though, don't you? It's just an excuse for humans around the world to do what the Irish get to do every day."

"Which is?"

I grinned in glee. "Drown themselves in green beer and whiskey until they're drinking out of the same toilet they just hurled in."

"Sick!" Beth exclaimed. "You're missing the whole point of the holiday!"

"That, and Cinco de Mayo…" added Mick snidely.

"Whose side are you on, Mick?" snapped Beth.

He shrugged. "I'm just saying…"

Beth grabbed her hair in exasperation. "You two are impossible! This is my favorite holiday; why do you feel the need to ruin it for me?"

"Well, here's to holiday spirit, then!" I said, tossing her a beer. "Might as well get started."

Instead of snapping at me again, however, Beth simply grinned. "Fine, then," she said, then thrust the bottle neck into her cleavage, twisted sharply, and raised her open bottle in a mock toast. "Bottoms up!"

I swear, Mick's jaw practically hit the floor. But that wasn't the best part. I had expected Beth to choke or gasp for air after the first swig, but much to my surprise, she drained the whole bottle in one long gulp.

"I did some competitive drinking in college," she said, pulling a bottle-opener necklace out from under her shirt. "I learned a few tricks."

"Why are you carrying around a bottle-opener?" asked Mick.

"Why don't you ask Josef?" she replied shortly, snatching another beer from the fridge. "He seems to have all the answers, doesn't he?"

And thus, I prove my point. St. Patrick's Day is the one day when drinking your worries away is socially acceptable. But that's not what bothers me. I didn't catch on to it until last year, when Mick and I paid a visit to Chinatown and EVERY SINGLE PERSON was wearing green!

That's right, Chinese people were celebrating St. Patrick's Day! Instead of spring rolls and rice wine, the restaurants were serving potatoes and green beer! And to make it worse, kids kept running up and pinching us because we 'weren't wearing green!' In a way, it was kinda funny because some guy used the 'no green' thing as an excuse to grope Mick. He didn't take too kindly to it, and I can only guess what he did to make that human scamper like a cockroach.

Actually, I guess this is a bit hypocritical of me. Sure, I used to celebrate. I used to feed off drunken humans and get trashed from the poisons in their blood, and I remember passing out next to various partygoers and drinking off hangovers under the bridges where hobos hung out. You can't get more natural blood than that.

However, I stopped pinching people once I realized my name was most definitely not Irish. Then, once Mick got those 'morals', I kinda stopped getting thoroughly trashed. And once he met Beth, we stopped celebrating altogether. In short, I have no problem with the Irish getting drunk and singing their drinking songs in a local tavern; that's good, that's fine, I have no problem.

But it's when German, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, French, British, Canadian and Mexican people get together, dress in green and pinch each other on the ass while singing '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall' that I get just the slightest bit annoyed.

Beth was on her fifth beer by the time Mick's clock struck seven. "Ohhhh, shit!" she slurred, slamming the bottle down and not even noticing when it fell off the edge of the table. "I'm late for work!"

"You aren't seriously driving in like this, are you?" asked Mick, amused.

But Beth obviously didn't realize just how shit-faced she was. "I'm not drunk, Mick," she said, hiccupping. "I'm perfectly fine." As if trying to prove her point, she stood up gracefully….

…and passed out just as gracefully onto the floor.

"She's fine, but not in the way she meant," I commented. "Are you going to take her home, or can I draw on her face with a sharpie?"

"No," he said, probably answering both. "Knowing her temper, she'll want more when she wakes up."

"Friggen alcoholic."