guys this chapter kicked my butt... like i literally started writing this in JANUARY and im just now finishing it! this thing went down kicking and screaming istg. i really hope you all like it and its fun for you because i did have fun writing it even if it did take literal years off my life! also theres a single line of french in this chapter please tell me if its wrong i specifically wanted Tex to speak Cajun French (something that only happens when hes in nola and super drunk) and i have no idea if its correct. anyway please enjoy this monster chapter!

Please Read and Review!

Texas woke with a loud groan, and almost immediately regretted it.

His head was killing him!

He slammed a hand over his eyes and valiantly ignored the only increasing tempo of pain dancing around his skull. He rolled over, snuggling into the warm covers around him, and allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep by the bustling sounds of the city below him. It'll never compare to the noise of the open plains at night, but after a few decades surrounded by cars and concrete Texas had reluctantly found himself enjoying the city life.

Just as he was about to fall back into the sweet, headache-less embrace of sleep, an ambulance tore down the street, siren blaring and causing more than a few close calls for other cars in the angry swearing and unnecessarily loud honking was anything to go by. Tex let out a long suffering sigh, this never happened on the plains! An siren screamed by and Texas kissed the idea of sleep goodbye, his headache had ramped up again, and, now that he was aware of it he really had to pee.

Gingerly, he sat up, trying desperately to avoid the sliver of light that had made its way past the blackout curtains to his right. Covering his eyes and ignoring the aching in his…well, everything, Texas stumbled his way out of the bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. Luckily, the bathroom seemed to be aware of his pounding head and had graciously closed its blinds for him. After finishing his business (as Al would say back when he was a real pansy), Texas shuffled over to the sink and finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

"Whaaaaat…the hell?" He whispered, the water running and his hands frozen underneath the cold stream.

Now, Texas was no stranger to waking up a little disheveled, in fact that was his preferred method. Nothing says you had a good day than waking up the next morning really feeling it. If his hair was a tangled rat's nest and there was still dirt scuffed across his face and under his nails, then that meant that he spent a day doing something with his eternal life and no matter how he spent it, good or bad or neutral (as most often were), that was worth something.

This, though, was a different type of disheveled.

For one, this was the type of disheveled that was accompanied by the dawning fact that Texas had no idea where he was. Wonderful.

Tex leaned closer to the mirror, taking in the sight before him in disbelief. He scrubbed his face with his wet hands, digging his fingers into his eyes, even as his headache once more announced its presence. He took another look. Nope, still there.

What was still there, of course, was what looked to be half a ton of glitter sitting high on his cheeks, around his eyes was dark smudged eyeliner and circling that were around a dozen artful little yellow, green, and purple swatches of patchy facepaint. Tex backed away from the mirror, suddenly aware of the glitter that trailed down his bare chest and lipstick stains decorating his cheeks lower lip.

"Oh no…" He said, before patting down his lower half, frantically checking every one of the pockets on his stained and, frankly still damp, cargo pants for his cell. It couldn't be, he couldn't have done it again. His hand landed on a solid lump sitting sideways in the pocket near his left knee. Snatching it up with the reflexes he usually reserved for combat, Texas flipped open the phone.

There in bold white that had him wincing, the phone read: 11:45 am; February 9, 2005.

It was Ash Wednesday.

Texas slammed the phone shut, ignoring the hundreds of missed texts from new and old contacts alike, "Are you for real?" He leaned forward, his palms pressing against the uncaring porcelain, "Did I really end up in New Orleans for Mardi Gras? Again? And I blacked out! Again!"

The door swung open, "Oh, hey dude!"

Texas jumped, his head snapping in the direction of the unfamiliar voice, his hand sliding back to where his six shooter would be, if he wasn't halfway naked. In the doorway stood a young man who looked a few years older than Tex, in ratty basketball shorts and a faded University of New Orleans shirt, "Glad you're up! I was sure you were gonna be out for the rest of the day!" He laughed, before leaning against the doorframe, his eyes blank in a way a university student's really shouldn't be, "Wanna go shoot some hoops with the boys?"

Tex stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to figure out who this guy was and where he had come from.

"Dude, Tex. C'mon, I know you did like three keg stands last night, but I'm almost positive you don't have alcohol poisoning, so wipe that stuff off your face and get downstairs! The boys aren't gonna wait all day for your lazyass." With that mystery man grabbed a fluffy towel from the rank beside the door and tossed it at Tex before strutting away.

Texas watched him leave, stupefied in the way only a serious hangover could achieve. Slowly he turned back to the mirror, and did as he was told.

Once the makeup was wiped clean, and the glitter as gone as it was gonna get, Tex wandered down the hall and towards the sound of ESPN. On the couch was another person Texas didn't recognize, and he had a feeling this was going to be a common occurrence over the next few hours. The man, around the same age as the other still unnamed man Texas had seen, looked up and smiled at him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, man!" He said with a big grin, his white teeth flashing, "Lucas and Zander beat you by about ten minutes, which means…" He drew out the word, "you're paying for Waffle House!" He yelled, causing them both to wince. The man, not Lucas or Zander apparently, rubbed his temple, "Okay, maybe no more yelling for now. Anyway, Conner said you could wear these as long as you don't throw up on them." He whipped a set of clothes at Texas, who barely caught them.

Another pair of basketball shorts and a faded tee that read Class of '02! in peeling bubble letters. Texas shrugged, before pulling on the shirt and kicking off his pants. The shorts hung a bit loose but the shirt fit well enough, which was the least he could ask for. Texas bent down to fish his cellphone out the cargo pants pocket, "So where are the others?"

"Huh?" The man said, not looking away from the game, "Oh, they're at Waffle House."

Tex sat down next to him, "Thought you said I was payin'?"

"You are. They took your wallet."

Well, that solved that mystery at least. Texas let out another long sigh, leaning back into the plush faux leather couch. He flicked open his phone and toggled to his photo album, time for another walk of shame down memory lane.

Or lack thereof.

Five Days Until Mardi Gras…

Texas G. Jones hated the French.

Honestly he hated a lot of things, like parking tickets, or cold fries, or the way his Myspace kept glitching out whenever he changed the song on his profile page. To be fair, though, those were all minor inconveniences in comparison to what the French had done to him and continue to do to this day.

Y'see, the French, when they mosey'd their way across the ocean and towards the Mississippi, were Catholics. And Catholics, as Texas was wildly aware (seeing as he was a recovering Catholic himself), had a bunch of long holidays filled with fasting and praying and chanting and enough guilt to drown the Devil himself in. Which was all fine and dandy, as long as they kept it far, far, far away from him. And usually, he succeeded in steering clear of all things glass-stained and incense filled.

Usually.

Mardi Gras was an outlier. A huge outlier that called to Texas. Like a siren's song to a lonesome sailor, or a romcom to a heartbroken teenage girl, or a new Zelda game to Alfred, it filled his every waking thought in the weeks leading up to it, and no matter how hard he ran, no matter if he was hunting up in Minnesota or running the streets of LA, he always ended up on a frantic flight, drive, or hitchhike to New Orleans.

'05 was gonna be different! Sure, he'd failed to fight the temptation every year since 1867 (when Gavelston betrayed him), but a hundred and thirty-seven year losing streak just meant that Tex knew what to expect. The enemy here was, as always, being raised Catholic, a character flaw he made up for everyday by sinning and not feeling the crushing weight of the Lord's judgment bearing down on him. It was hard work, but cussin and drinkin himself to multiple early graves was simply what had to be done!

And, besides, if he can ignore Catholic guilt, he can ignore the pull of Mardi Gras.

It was an issue of mind over the matter, and Texas had a hell of a mind. It'd helped him outta all sorts of tough spots throughout the years. Like when it told him to jump ship for the good 'ole US of A back when Mexico was the one holding his leash, or when it told him to stop into Taco Bell the day Baja Blast was released. Man, that was a good day…

Anway, Texas had taken all the usual precautions this year. He'd holed up in an old forgotten cabin of his and Al's, one sitting on the blurry area between the Dakotas that they mighta helped build during the settling days and then abandoned alongside the rest of the would be town a few decades later, and went back to basics. He spent the first day and half just cleaning the place out; it was honestly filthy, with black dust and years worth of grimey gunk clinging to every surface available. He'd nearly gagged when he'd gotten a good look at the shower, but Tex was anything but a quitter, so he hiked up his sleeves and got to it. With his cleaning playlist blasting through the cracked out speakers of his iPod 3G, Texas was able to get the cabin looking semi decent by the first day and actually liveable by the end of the second. The icebox he'd brought up stored enough food for the rest of the week, and the cooler holding his whiskey and the cheap beer he'd bought at the gas station about fifteen miles out kept him warm while he was working on getting the fireplace up to code.

Days three and four went quietly, a late winter storm blew in just as he finished chopping wood with the ancient ax he'd found laying the yard, keeping him inside and away from the hunting he was planning on doing. Tex spent most of those days watching movies on the portable DVD player he'd swiped off of Al before leaving and cursing at his beat up gameboy everytime he got Samus killed. The storm finally let up on day five, and Texas left his copy of Shrek 2 in favor of fox hunting. He'd been getting restless and the idea of catching a fox, or even a coyote, in his scope, and bringing home something to show off after he finally beat Mard–his problem was gonna be the icing on the cake.

Of course, that was when everything went sideways.

Texas somehow, somehow, ran into a few fellow hunters on his way back to the cabin. Foxes in hand and high off a well earned victory, he'd stopped to chat (and maybe gloat) with them. A man and a boy, one around his age, maybe a few years younger, with ruddy cheeks and blazing blue eyes, and what Texas assumed was his father, seeing as they both had distinctively upturned noses. "Well, howdy, fellas!" He called out a good distance away.

"Oh you are real. I was wondering if Chris here was making things up." Said the older man, nudging his son with his elbow.

Chris' head snapped up to glare at his father, "I ain't a liar, dad!"

"I know you're not, boy; I was just teasin'." The man shook his head, pushing his gloved hand against his son's skull, before standing up and holding his hand out to Tex, "I'm Thomas, and this is my son Christopher."

Tex shoved his shotgun back behind his shoulder, and the foxes into his left hand, "Pleasure to meet ya, I'm Tex." He said as they shook hands.

"Well, Tex, seems your a mighty fine hunter." Thomas said with an appraising smile, "We really coulda used your help these past few days."

Texas shifted his weight from one foot to another, "We can still remedy that, huh? I ain't got no hunting buddies with me right now, and I always appreciate company."

Thomas sighed, "I wish we could, but this is our last day up here. Gotta get on the road if we're gonna beat the traffic."

"Oh, really? Where you two headin' in the middle of the week? You got school or something?" Texas said, shifting his attention to Chris.

"We're going to Mardi Gras!"

Now

The door kicked open with a loud bang, accompanied by the sound of loud laughter and stomping feet, "Tex! Dylan! Food's here!"

Texas looked up from the picture of his two new fox skins, pelts he was sure were sitting in the back of a random truck now, before flipping the phone shut and making his way towards all the noise. The living room opened into a dining room and kitchen where Conner and two more vaguely familiar men were setting up about four bags of Waffle House. Dylan was rummaging through the fridge, calling out drink and topping options, and Texas hoped to God they had some hot sauce in there. Breakfast without hot sauce was like the American flag without the stars.

Conner looked up as he entered, "Oh, here dude." He said before tossing Tex's, much lighter, wallet at him. He shoved a bag in Tex's direction, "Stuff in there is yours; we weren't sure what you would like so we just got you the All-Star Special."

Tex shrugged, "Thanks." He opened the bag and pulled out his meal, savory and greasy and just little nauseating to his revolting stomach. He'd made it through Al's jello phase in the fifties, though, so this was nothing in comparison. "Hey, y'all got some–"

"Hot sauce?" Either Lucas or Zander said, before sliding over a bottle of sriracha. At Tex's questioning look, he let out a chuckle, "Yeah, dude, by now we know."

"Oh, right." Tex muttered as he shook the hot sauce onto the eggs and grits. How long has he been hanging around these guys? A conversation started up around him, the boys complaining about professors and parents and classes being totally stupid or entirely too difficult. Tex found it hard to follow, mostly because of the headache but also because he'd never been on a college campus. Not recently at least, and never for classes like them. To be honest, it was something he and Al had been thinking about doing for a while now, but with Al's constant business trips and Tex's near constant deployment, it was kind of impossible for them to find time to actually enroll and commit to a university.

And, sure, it'd be pricey and kind of pointless, seeing as both Tex and Al had predetermined jobs the moment they opened their eyes, but it…seemed fun. Texas didn't like to admit it, but having Al as his only friend and ally left him feeling a little pathetic at times. He always seemed to waiting on Al to come back from some World Summit or diplomatic meeting, and, well, being dead to the world was a little lonely. Don't get him wrong! Tex loved being dead, legally that is, it saved him from having to deal with his former siblings and all those other European assholes Al dealt with on a monthly basis. The constant moving he'd been having to do for the last few years, though, had kept him from his usual human social circles. Tex was being juggled from task force to task force in the military and his time between deployments was filled with hundreds of CIA debriefings on the inner workings of the Middle East and China. It hardly left any time for him to make the mortal friends he was used to having.

It really starting to bum him out.

"Yo, Tex." A hand waved in front of his face, "You been staring at that pancake for like five minutes; you good?"

Texas shoved the hand away from him, blinking away the fogginess, "Yeah, man, I'm good. Just zoned out for a minute, I guess." The boys around him laughed before returning to their conversation, this time about what their brackets were looking like for March Madness. This was something Texas could get into, and he happily joined in, arguing with Conner about the probability of Louisville making it anywhere near the Final Four.

After about twenty more minutes of aimless sports chatter, from basketball to football to baseball and back again, the boys all finished up their meals, and whatever was left of the cereal in the cabinet, and headed out. Connor led the way, inputting random codes and waving off the unimpressed doorman at the front of the building. They wandered out into the midday sun, high in the sky and entirely painful to someone still hungover; it was a miracle Tex didn't outright hiss and run back to the safety of indoors. In that moment of weakness though, he did chance a glance back at Connor's apartment building and realized it was, in fact, not an apartment building, but a ritzy hotel, he kind that shooed people like him and Alfred away for loitering out front but always greeted them with a smile once they flashed their keycards.

"Holy shit! How rich are you?" He yelled, pointing an incredulous stare at Connor.

"What?" He said, swinging around to face Tex, walking backwards, "Oh, the penthouse?" Connor laced his fingers together behind his head, "My 'rents own it! Used to come down every year for Mardi Gras but this year they decided to go to Brazil for Carnival."

Texas looked over at the rest of the group, trying to see which one would break first because obviously this was a joke. People who were friends with Tex don't have parents that go on vacations to Brazil; they don't even go on vacation. But Connor just kept on smiling at him, and none of the others seemed to really be paying enough attention for it to be a joke, "Right." Texas said, drawing out the word as he processed the information, "Cool, cool, uh yeah, man that's sweet."

"Eh, it's alright." Connor said, swiveling back around as they crossed the street, "Wish they woulda let me use the nice penthouse, but whatever; if we weren't in this part of town we'd have never met you, huh?"

Lucas or Zander (and he really needed to figure out who was who) threw his arm around Tex, bumping their sides together as they walked, "Yeah, I almost wish we ran you over sooner!"

Three Days Until Mardi Gras…

Texas was having the time of his life!

He didn't know why he hadn't come down to New Orleans sooner. The energy in the city was intoxicating, the scent of King Cakes filled the streets, leaving Texas hungry for more more. He'd been bar hopping for the past three hours, moving from one jazz filled club to another, the sticky Lousianna air urging him to keep going just a little longer, if only to stave off the heat. Besides, he hadn't been kicked out of a single bar yet, and not one had questioned his ID, not that that happened too often. In the years since the public had really started caring about the legality of selling alcohol to someone under twenty-one, Texas had perfected the nonchalance of a twenty-two year old that just didn't want to deal with the interaction of the barkeep. Plus, when Tex was in a good mood, when he was having a hell of a time, people didn't tend to question him. He was way more fun when he had a couple drinks in him, and he was always the life of the party.

Texas waved at a couple of drunks slumped against the side of a building, the beads he'd been tossed from the parade that morning clacking against the tee-shirt he'd taken off an open rack a few blocks over. It had a cartoon crawdad in a mask holding maracas on it with 'Who's your crawdaddy?' in big colorful print above and below it. When Tex had seen it, he'd just about fell out and after finding the right size had shoved it over his head and left the shirt he was wearing in its place.

Some might call that theft, but really, it was only stealing if the cops were around.

So, he didn't get caught. And with his new shirt and old pants Texas was slowly but surely making his way through every bar in town. Speaking of, his next target was a block away, which gave him just enough time for him to have another cigarette. Texas pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboro Light Reds out of his back pocket, lifted one out and lit it. He zoned out as he took a big puff, absently watching the lights at the crosswalk change from red to green.

Tex meandered his way across the white lines, flipping off the pissed off honking of the cars behind him, "Christ, the light's red, vá lam–"

He never got to finish that insult, because a sedan blew through the light and slammed into him at a speed that would've killed him if he were human. No, instead of losing his life and saving him some pain, it just rocketed him about twenty feet into the intersection, gave him some serious roadburn and hurt like all hell. Texas layed there for a moment, taking stock of himself and blinking up at the few stars bright enough to burn through the smog and city lights of New Orleans, before letting out an emphatic, "Fuuuuuuuuuuck…"

There was some yelling on his left, or what was probably his left, his head was really spinning. How fast were those assholes going? Texas had half a mind to play dead and really freak 'em out, but the thought of laying on his torn up arm and back for longer than he already had stopped him. With a groan, he rolled onto his side, pulling his right arm out from under him, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Yep, he cracked a rib, great. Tex winced as he attempted to rotate his shoulder, oh, and his collarbone was broken. Magnificent.

"Oh my god, dude! Are you okay!?" A voice yelled.

"Obviously not!" He yelled back, even as his bones knit back together.

A man that looked to be in his twenties ran to his side, his hands hovering near the more serious bits of road burn, but never touching. He had the look of someone who'd never really seen blood, and wouldn't know what to do with himself if he was given written instructions. Texas scoffed, pulling away from him and getting to his feet; his body would push out the rocks and glass underneath his skin a few minutes, and he wanted to run off to some dark alley and hide there until then.

"Woah, man! You gotta sit down!" Hands grasped at his shoulders, gently pushing him back down. Well, it might've been a gentle push, if the man wasn't putting direct pressure on Tex's snapped collarbone. He hissed, shoving his working arm out in front of him with maybe a bit too much force, but anything to get this guy away from him. The man let out a surprised wheeze as Tex's open hand slammed directly into his gut, the force of it causing him to stumble backwards.

Finally free, Texas began to limp away from the intersection. His vision was swimming a bit, probably a mild concussion that would be taken care of before the hour was up, but that did nothing but spur him onward. He didn't want to deal with good Samaritans trying to help him, or, god forbid, someone calling his emergency contact to take him to a hospital. There was nothing more embarrassing than having to explain to Al that his injuries were from something as mundane as being run over. And he didn't even get run over this time! Bastards didn't even have the decency to hit him right…

A hand gripped onto his upper arm, "Yo, man! We gotta call an ambulance or some–"

Texas wrenched himself away from the man, spinning to face him, "Get off me! And do not call an ambulance, for God's sake!" He screamed, "I'm assuming you're the one that hit me," He jabbed a finger into the man's chest, hard enough to feel his collarbone snap back into place, "so do me a favor and leave me alone!" Movement behind the man caught Tex's attention, three more man-boys were leaning out of the car that was still stopped in the intersection, "You and them sorry sapsuckers behind you!" With that Texas marched away and prayed to the Lord above that they would listen to him.

Of course, Texas hadn't been to church in a long time, and, as such, he hadn't garnered much good grace from the Almighty (maybe it had something to do with all that sinning he did with no confession to balance it out), and so God didn't listen. Or maybe he did. Either way, not more than a block away from the sight of the accident, a very familiar car rolled up beside Texas as he wandered down the brightly lit street. The car slowed to a crawl, keeping pace with Tex's increasing speed, and the passenger window rolled down to reveal a different man. This one had frosted tips and a gangly frame that told Texas he was still due for a few growth spurts, "Hey, bro, me and the boys are really sorry! Like we feel super bad. Is there any way we can make it up to you?"

Texas let out a loud sigh, giving up the pretense of not seeing them, "Will you leave me alone if I say yes?"

The car of twenty-somethings looked between each other for a moment before Frosted Tips leaned back through the window, "Yes."

Tex shook his head, wondering what he did to deserve all this, "Okay. Buy me a new shirt, and then drop me off somewhere far away from you lot." They all nodded frantically, and Texas reluctantly got into the now dented sedan.

Now

"Oh my God, y'all really hit me with your car…"

Lucas, who Tex now recognized as Frosted Tips from his fuzzy memories, let out a laugh, "Yeah, we did! What a bunch of assholes, right?"

Texas shoved him off, a startled laugh bubbling in his throat, "Yeah, you dickheads! What were you going so fast for!?"

"Dude, don't you remember? We were trying to get to Razzoo before they filled up." Dylan piped up from behind Texas, "And Zander really wanted some beignets."

"So I'm a hungry drunk! Sue me!"

Conner elbowed Zander, "Tex should! You made me run that light and hit him!"

Zander let out a cut off laugh, "I didn't make you do nothing! I just said if I didn't get some Razzoo beignets in me soon I wasn't gonna do your English homework for you no more!"

"Yeah, that's basically extortion at that point!"

"Extortion is with money, genius." Lucas said from the front of the pack, not even bothering to turn around.

Conner just shrugged, resting his hands behind his head as they walked into the grassy expanse of a public park, "Whatever! Point is, if Zander didn't have a blackhole for a stomach we wouldn't have a new, awesome drinking buddy!" The basketball court was near the back, and looked to be abandoned for now. That didn't surprise Tex, it was noon on a Wednesday; most park goers were busy with school or work.

Zander scoffed at Conner, "Just be happy Tex didn't get hurt in that crash! Or we'd be in some deep shit right now with your parents right now." He turned back to Tex as they reached the court, "But I do agree about the drinking buddy thing. You're a real beast man!"

Lucas looked up from where he was retying his shoes, "Yeah, you got hit by a car and still kept partying! I mean, I woulda tapped out immediately, but you went for days with us!"

The boys all laughed around him, praising him for his iron stomach and alcohol tolerance, but all Texas could think about was how little he remembered of the past week. Usually, the blackouts happened the day of Mardi Gras, and he would wake up in some random motel or car he'd broken into, but this time he'd ended up with some rich frat boys and what was shaping up to be a days long bender. One of the boys jostled him, and Texas found himself smiling along to whatever they were saying. Eventually, Conner took charge, dividing up the boys for a two v two with a rotation for who was reffing. An argument started up over who was playing this round, but Tex volunteered before it could gain any steam, citing his very persistent headache and the fact that he was still hungover.

As the game was about to start, Lucas handed a squeeze water bottle to Tex, "S'my sister's hangover cure; she made it when she was still cool. You'll be good to play by next round."

Texas swirled the bottle in his hand, noting its strange weight, "Do I wanna know what's in this?" Lucas shook his head frantically, so Tex just let it be and thanked him. He shoved the bottle under his arm, before tossing the ball for the tip off and heading back towards the bench. Tex stared at the bottle for a moment, hoping he wasn't going to regret this, before deciding he'd been through a lot worse than some chick's hangover cure, and took a big swig of it.

A shudder ran through Tex, violent and full body, as the…mixture was the only word he could think of that described it, made its way down his throat. It landed in his stomach hard, and Tex was almost sure for a moment that he was going to break his decades long no spewing streak. After a moment though, his stomach settled and his brain cleared a bit. Gently setting the bottle as far away from him as possible, Texas leaned back and focused on forcing his hangover away and his memories to unblur.

Anything to stop him from having to take another sip of that devil drink.

One Day Until Mardi Gras…

Texas' new best friends were a riot! He didn't even remember why he was so upset with them in the first place! It might've had something to do with Sandy the Sedan, but Tex couldn't see a reason he would be angry with her. She was a wonderful car with a wonderful sound system and he would punch anyone who said otherwise! In fact, he'd punch anyone who said anything bad about his best friends Lucas and Conner and…and the other ones that he couldn't remember the names of. But just because their names escaped him that didn't mean he wouldn't die for them!

Texas leaned forward from his place squeezed between his nameless friends, "I love you guys!" He slurred out, trying to take another swig of whiskey from the empty bottle clutched in his hand.

The best friend on his right, the one with bangs and warm green eyes, wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him backwards, "We love you too, Tex!" Dylan, his name was Dylan, laughed out.

His other friend, Zachariaus or Zeke or, oh, Zander! Zander laughed as well, loud and just a little jarring to Texas' swimming head, "Ha! You didn't say no homo, you gaywads!" He scooted away from them, leaning into the cool glass of the window, "Tex and Dylan sitting in a tree, b-u-t-t fu–" Texas thumped Zander in the back of the head with maybe a little too much force, but his dignity was at stake here! He'd never mess around with someone like Dylan, dude was way too into pop music for his tastes. Zander yelped at the pain, but it did but it did get him to shut up, so he'd take that win.

Lucas turned around from his place in shotgun, a drunk flush to his face, "Hey man," He pointed a wobbly finger at Zander who was rubbing his head and whining about how Texas couldn't handle a little teasing, "so not cool. My sister is gay an' she says stuff like that is degaru–degorga–she says it's mean! So don't say shit like that again or I'll beat you up!" He yelled, splashing the last of his drink onto the console.

Texas finally untangled himself from Dylan's drip, swapping his empty bottle for one of the lukewarm BudLights stashed near their feet, "Dudn't that make her lesbain?" He asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well I mean, is she gay or lesbian?"

"...Both?"

"Guys, we're here!" Conner yelled from the front seat.

They all clambered out of the car, some more gracefully than others. Zander had actually fallen out of the car and onto the tarmac when Conner had pulled it open for him. Lucas said he deserved it for being mean to his sister, and Zander whined that he didn't even know Lucas' sister's name, and how could he be mean to her if he didn't even know her? Dylan just laughed at how long it took the boy to get to his feet and stay there. Texas laughed too, but only so no one would notice his own stumbling feet.

The Masquerade was a fancy night club in New Orleans French Quarters, one that would never have let Tex in this drunk if it weren't Mardi Gras. But, luckily, it was Mardi Gras, and everyone was happy and tipsy and more than willing to allow a few more college kids in as long as they brought their wallets. Texas chugged the last of his beer as they approached the entrance, crushing it on his head as he finished to the applause of everyone around him. He let out his own whoop of victory, before stumbling after his friends who had already begun flashing their IDs at the brickhouse of a bouncer.

Tex flashed a winning smile at the man, one that made people's eyes slide right off of him, and showed his military ID for a split second, before running under the rope and disappearing into the depths of the club. Conner was already at the bar, and Zander must've already made a break for the dancefloor. Dude was a dancing machine, and Tex could respect that. Tex took a few more steps into the pulsing lights of the club, noting the hallowed ice bar and the swirling colors on the media wall, before he bumped into someone.

Oh, not just someone. Someone pretty.

"Well, howdy." He said, taking in the girl in front of him. Her bleach blonde hair fell in loose curls down her back, her sparkling dress dropped low near her chest and cut off just above mid-thigh. Texas cleared his throat, "Sorry 'bout that, miss. Lookin' for my friends and got a little overwhelmed." He shrugged, "You know how it is…"

The girl smiled at him, her blue eyes crinkling in the low light, "I do, indeed." She shifted her weight to one leg, her hand on her hip, "Name's Porsha, you?"

He let out a long breath, a smile spreading on his lips, "Tex."

"Well, Tex, you ever bored of your friends, me and mine can keep you company. We'll be over there" She tilted her head to the back of the club before reaching over and flicking his hat up, "'Kay, cowboy?" Then she sauntered away.

Tex nodded slowly, watching her go. Once she had left his line of sight, Texas turned and walked over to the bar. Dylan had materialized next to Conner, and both were already nursing a drink. Tex slid into the seat next to them and ordered a margarita, ignoring the ragging he got for buying a fruity, girly, drink. What did they know? Drinks were drinks, and margaritas got him drunker faster.

And Tex was right. That margarita did get him drunk, but that also might've been the slew of other drinks he ordered immediately afterward, that wasn't the important part, though. The important part was the fact that, hours later, he was nearing blackout territory, and in an attempt to sober up, wandered in the direction Pretty Porsha had walked in. This time, his memory served him right, and after a few minutes of aimlessly walking around, a waving hand caught his attention. And there she was! Pretty Porsha and her equally pretty friends, who hadn't had the chance to meet Tex and tell him all about themselves.

Well, that just couldn't stand.

So he walked over, making sure to not appear as drunk as he was, leaned on the edge of the divider they were sitting in, and opened with ole reliable, "Hola, mi amors." He purred. Hm, something was majorly wrong with that, but he didn't have time to wonder about it because Pretty Porsha's friends were all giggling behind their drinks, and one scooted over to allow him to sit.

"So, Tex," Porsha said, "this your first time in New Orleans?"

Texas leaned back, stretching casually before sidling just a bit closer to his new pretty friend, "Oh no, you got me all wrong. I been coming here for a long, long time, Cher."

She tilted her head, intrigued, "Maybe that's why I feel like I've met you before."

Tex huffed out a laugh, resting his head on his hand and looking her in the eyes, "There's no way I'd forget someone like you."

Porsha smiled again, before leaning back and taking another sip of her drink. The two other girls took that as their cue to introduce themselves as Bianca and Jessie, her sorority sisters from Zeta Phi Beta. Texas asked what Greek Life was like for them, and for the next hour or so he found himself regaled with all the juicy details about the Pan-Hellenic Council and all the ways the fraternities had scorned them. It was all incredibly interesting and by the end of it, Texas had a grudge against nearly every girl in Zeta Tau Alpha for what they'd pulled. Disgraceful was what it was! Sororities were about supporting each other and the fact that they'd even thought to do something so–oh it just made Tex's blood boil!

Just as Tex was about to ask about infiltration tactics so he could help avenge Bianca's destroyed leave-in conditioner, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see an angry Lucas glaring down at him, "Bro, we been looking all over for you! The place is about to close; we gotta head!" He pulled Texas to his feet and began dragging him away, "Say goodby to your girlfriends!"

"Bye, Tex!" The girls said, like a chorus of beautiful sirens, and it took all of Tex's strength to not wrench his arm away from Lucas and run back to them. Still, he waved goodbye, an embarrassed smile on his face. Just as they were about to turn the corner, Porsha pulled out her phone and waved it in the air, "I'll text you where to meet us tomorrow! Me an' the girls have something planned we think you'd really enjoy!" She smacked her gum, "You can bring your friends too!"

Now

The sound of shouting pulled him away from his reverie. Texas looked from his lap to see Zander and Conner in a shouting match over whether a certain move was illegal. From what Tex could gather, Zander had been playing by street rules and Conner with official. And now they were all running over to him to rule whether Zander's shot counted. Faced with such an important decision, Tex did the only thing a man like him could do.

"Uhhh…why don't we just do another tipoff and start from there?"

His friends groaned at the middling verdict, but after a few more insults were passed around and some more smacktalk, both teams wandered back to the court and waited for Tex restart the match. The ball had rolled off to the side of the court and Tex moved to grab it, but was interrupted by Lucas, who had followed him, "You weren't paying attention to the match, huh?"

Tex snorted as he grabbed the worn basketball, "Nah, you're sister's 'cure' damn near took me out."

Lucas chuckled, "Yeah, it does that. But your hangover's gone, right?"

Texas took stock of himself, searching for the ever-present headache that had begun to blend into the background noise of the day, and found it gone. Not only that, but the sun wasn't burning his eyes, and his limbs didn't feel like they were made of lead. Tex shook himself, trying to find a single ailment, but no, his hangover was gone and Tex said as much, "Imma have to get that recipe. You're sister's magic, Lucas."

Lucas bumped shoulders with Texas as they neared the rest, "Agh, sorry. Can't. She calls it a family recipe, and if she ever found out I gave it away, she'd kill me." He got into position next to Zander, "Or tell our folks what actually happened on our Disney vacation back in '96." He shuddered, "A fate worse than death, lemme tell you." Tex just shook his head, before stating the actual rules of the match this time (something he probably forgot to do) and tossing the ball in the air.

He actually watched the game this time, and was surprised how fast paced and exciting it was. Basketball sure had come a long way since that first match he and Al had played in. It always amazed Texas to see how quickly humans could catch onto new things and become prodigies at them. It was inspiring, in a way, even if it did leave Tex feeling a little apprehensive about the next round. He was probably about to disappoint whoever was on his team.

It'd been a while since he'd had time to play any sport, let alone basketball. Don't get him wrong! Texas loved b-ball, in fact he was the one that insisted he and Al join in on the strange game happening back in the other nineties. But, to be honest, Al was the one that fell in love with the game, and the one that was actually good at it. Texas was more of a football guy; he threw long, not high! Not that his preference mattered right now. Tex was gonna have to learn all the new skills and moves invented in the years since he last played now, or he might just end up ref for the foreseeable future.

After a few more laps up and down the court, with Texas getting more and more into the game with each play, Conner and Dylan were declared the winners. Zander spent the next few minutes complaining about how he woulda won if it weren't for Tex's hangover. Tex shot back that maybe he should try aiming for the hoop next time. Of course, that set him off again and before Tex knew it he was climbing up the nearest tree to avoid the wrath of a pissed off frat boy. The others jeered at them both, swiping at Tex's feet with Zander all the while still ragging on him for being such a blowhard.

"Alright, Tex! Come on down; we'll hold back Zee!" Lucas yelled from below him, a strong arm wrapped around the other man's front and steadily dragging him backwards. Conner nodded in agreement and grabbed a hold of one of Zander's flailing arms.

Texas slid off the low hanging branch, his laughter finally tapering off, along with Zander's faux anger. As they walked back to the court he rapped his knuckles against Zander's arm, "You're a lot faster than you look. I was gettin' worried there for a second that you'd catch me."

His friend huffed out a laugh, "So are you, man! Did you do, like, track or something back in highschool?"

"Nah, just spend a lot of time running after my little brother s'all." Said Texas, "Speaking of runnin', the hell is Dylan?"

They all looked around for a moment, suddenly aware one of their own was missing, before Lucas let out an 'ah' sound and pointed to the bench Texas had stashed the hangover cure, "He's over there. Probably texting that Bianca chick from last night." He nudged Texas conspiratorially, "You know they really hit it off while you weren't lookin'!"

Tex squinted at him, trying to recall if Bianca met Dylan while at the Masquerade, but came up frustratingly blank, "What d'you mean?"

Conner threw an arm around Texas, his face close enough to smell the Waffle House on his breath, "Dude, while you were off dancing like a male stripper at the front of that float yesterday, Bianca and Dylan were getting pretty cozy in the back. Don't you remember?" At Tex's blank look he chuckled, "Eh, you were pretty out of it at the time. I mean, when you saw them together you shouted something about the beauty of young love and then a whole bunch of Spanish. Then you ripped off your shirt and went back to nailing people in the head with beads."

Mardi Gras…

Texas wasn't entirely sure when he went to sleep last night. Or if he did. But that wasn't important because he and his best friends were on their way to meet up with Pretty Porsha and her pretty friends. They were heading towards Uptown, and the excited buzz in the air was nearly as intoxicating as the hard lemonade he'd picked up from the gas station a few streets back.

Texas rolled down the passenger window, finally sober enough to call shotgun (though, by the looks of it, that wouldn't last), and let out the yeehaw that had been building in his chest for the past week. The people lined on the streets responded in kind, a few even throwing some beads in their direction. Tex caught one, a miracle really, and shoved it over his head, "We almost there, Con?" He asked, taking another gulp of his drink.

Conner glanced over at him, novelty sunglasses perched on his nose, "Yeah. Few more minutes and you can reunite with your amors." He snorted. Texas waved him off, too drunk to feel the usual embarrassment he would at being caught speaking Spanish, let alone using it to flirt. Gah, he was just like–Texas took another long sip to avoid that line of thinking. Mardi Gras was about having a fun time and reveling in his burgeoning French spirit, and there was only thing less French than Spain and that was England. Tex shuddered at the thought.

Ugh, British people…

They pulled to a stop soon after, and Texas was immediately assaulted by three very enthusiastic girls. They chattered on about how they were so happy he showed and that he brought his hunky friends with him! Tex smiled at that, opening his mouth to thank them for, well, whatever was happening, but was cut off by a set of clothes being shoved in his face.

"Put those on!" Said Porsha, snapping her gum, "You four can steal some of the t-shirts in the back."

Texas examined the clothes as he was shoved into a makeshift changing station, a black t-shirt and a set of jewel encrusted overalls. The jewels were gold, purple, and green, running up the side seams and meeting in the middle. It was incredibly gaudy, and, if Tex was with his army buddies he'd protest at the sight of it. But he wasn't, and Texas loved being the center of attention! So he shoved off the beer stained pants he'd been wearing since he blew into town and got to admiring himself.

When he exited the changing room, Jessie was standing there waiting for him. She squealed when she saw him, jumping up and down, "Oh em gee! You look amazing! Porsha's gonna be so happy she guessed your size right!"

"Well you don't look too bad yourself." Tex drawled, jutting his hip out as he took in her appearance. Jessie was wearing a very similar outfit to him, except her overalls were low rise jeans and her tee was a tight black crop top. Her thick black hair was pinned back and her face was bedazzled with similar jewels as their pants.

Jessie giggled, grabbing his arm and walking him to a dirty lawn chair under an empty party tent, "I'm glad you think so, because you're gonna look even better when I'm done with you!" She pulled out a makeup brush from somewhere Tex couldn't see and leaned in real close.

Now, usually, Texas would be all for a pretty girl like Jessie being near his face, but crazy look in her eye and the way she was waving that brush made Tex back up quick, "Woah, wait–Jess, are you tryna put makeup on me?" He asked, high pitched and frantic. God, he was cornered and had been driven from his men.

"Well, yeah!" She said it like it was a foregone conclusion. And suddenly Texas remembered why he steered clear of girls like Porsha and her pretty friends. They were domineering and knew what they wanted, which, by itself, was never a bad thing, but they were the types of girls Mexico would surround herself with when they were growing up, the type of girls that ran circles around Tex, kissing him one day and scorning him the next. The type of girls that liked to play dress up.

Elsewhere, deep in the heart of Rio de Janeiro, Azura felt the incredible urge to punch her brother. Which one, she didn't know, but if the feeling persisted they'd all get what was coming.

Forty minutes later, a very sullen Texas stumbled up the stairs of an extravagant float. His friends were already there, setting up throw stations, dancing, drinking, and generally having a good time. Of course, they had an even better time the moment they all got a good look at Tex's face. At the sound of their laughter, Tex grumbled out, "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, chucklefucks! Just you wait!"

Bianca ran up to him, beads hanging off her arms, "Don't let 'em get to you, Tex! They're just jealous you got to spend some alone time with Jess!" She winked at him, "Besides, look!" She gestured to her cheeks which were lined with bedazzled jewels, "We match!"

They did indeed match, and Texas hated to admit it, but he thought the guyliner kinda worked for him. Could do with less glitter, but beggars can't be choosers. And this definitely wasn't a choice. More laughter sounded from behind them, and the sound of it was so lively that Tex couldn't help but laugh with them, but not before flipping them off. Jerks.

A few minutes of mindlessly setting out beads and hauling ice to the beer coolers on board, Texas finally caught up to Porsha, "How'd you even get us all in your Krewe?"

"Oh, we're running this one. Sorority thing, ya know?" She said without looking up from her phone, "I want you to go up top, we're about to leave."

Tex raised an eyebrow, "You want me on the top level?" Seemed like something a sorority girl should be doing, but who was Tex to question Porsha about her float?

Porsha rolled her eyes, an easy smile playing on her face, "I'll be up there as soon as we kick off. Just make sure you don't fall." With that she walked away.

"Don't fall?" Texas frowned. He wasn't that drunk. Yet.

A set of rickety stairs and one more round of ribbing from his friends, and they were off. Up top Texas could see all the people gathered to see their float. The smiles on their faces, the waving of their hands and the sound of their cheers, filled Texas with the type of mania he only got during Mardi Gras. The music pounded in his ears, urging him to fill the city with the joy it was giving him. Texas started dancing wildly, singing along with The Meters and The Haweketts, and whipping out the beads Bianca had given him. He was making a fool of himself and a small, muted part of him despaired at losing yet again to the pull of Mardi Gras.

"Oh great, you already started!" Porsha said, popping up behind him.

Texas turned to face her, still stepping in time to the music, "Yeah, well." He shrugged, "When the Zulu King tells you to dance, you don't argue!"

She snapped her ever-present gum, "Perfect! Just stand," She put her hands on his shoulder and maneuvered him until he was standing right in the middle of the float, "here!"

Texas frowned, "How am I supposed to do my throws from here?"

Porsha just smiled and took a step back, "Don't worry about it! I've got it all sorted!"

Suddenly, the ground underneath Texas shook, the low hum mechanical whirring thrummed in his ear, and then he was being raised into the air. Tex stumbled at the movement, a startled shout ripping from his throat. He gripped onto the railing he hadn't noticed, and leaned over it, searching for Porsha, "What's happening!?" He yelled down to her.

"You're the king of the Krewe, Tex! Congrats!"

"I thought this was a sorority Krewe!"

"It is!" She yelled back, "You're our first king! It's, like, progressive!"

Texas opened his mouth to argue, but, well, it was progressive. If she said it was, it must be. And Texas had never been the king of a Krewe before, so this was kind of a big deal! He should just let it go and enjoy the moment. He yelled out his thanks to her, then resumed his kingly duties of dancing and singing.

About halfway through the procession, Texas noticed a basket of throws being sent up to him via an incredibly simple pulley system. He grabbed the basket, filled with stuffed animals, beads, and beer. Texas quickly chugged one of the beers, as Canal Street Blues played, before he started tossing out his goodies for the parade-goers. Somewhere along the way, probably between beer four and five, he must've thrown his shirt alongside the plushies. Not that that was a problem, Texas had a lot of issues but body ones were not on the list. "Je t'aime la ville de New Orleans! Ça ne m'allait jamais aller!" He screamed out, still dancing to the jubilant music buzzing in his bones.

Now

Something in Texas withered away at the memory of that final parade.

He'd lost again. And not only had he ended up on the streets of New Oreleans, but he'd spoken French! How much lower could he stoop? Spanish was something he couldn't ever get rid of, it was written into his DNA the same way being a passive-aggressive ass was written in Matt's. But French? Tex was better than that! He knew he was better than that!

He shook his head. It was this damn city! All it did was turn his head around, fill his mouth with cotton and slur his words until he could barely understand himself. It was evil and Texas needed to get out or the Frenchness of it all was going to seep into his bones the way he knew it always wanted to. And he'd die before he let that happen.

Zander made a cut off noise in front of him, and Texas looked up to see a smarmy look on his face, "Oh man, you remember it all now don't you, Cowboy King?"

Beside him Conner and Lucas laughed, jostling him, "Ah, shut up! Like you remember most of the weekend!" Texas shot back, already forming a plan to wipe any image of his Mardi Gras adventure off the internet. Some guys in the CIA owed him a few favors; he could set them to task right now if he hurried. And he did need to hurry; every second he waited was another second where Al could stumble upon some picture of him shirtless and gyrating on top of a gaudy parade float.

He really couldn't have a repeat of the Polaroid Incident of '82.

"Well, now that you have your memories back; let's get loverboy over there to play ref for us." Zander said, "I still gotta show you what's what on the court." Texas' attention was pulled away from the frantic email he was crafting, and upon seeing the smirk on Zee's face, he flipped his phone shut.

Well, just one game can't hurt.

And that one game didn't hurt, because Alfred F. Jones had already seen every selfie, grainy video, and blog post about the Cowboy King of New Orleans. And by the way he was giggling to himself, Texas G. Jones would not be living down Mardi Gras '05 for a long, long while.