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Chapter 3: drinks
They talked about getting drinks.
Well, he made a very inappropriate remark during a life and death situation.
But it's stuck with them, this absurd idea that they'd still be alive and willing to partake in alcohol after everything was said and done.
Boomerang sets two plastic cups on the square plastic table in the middle of his cell.
Tatsu perches herself warily on the kiddie stool he offered her.
"What is that...stuff?" she asks, eyeing the plastic bottle in his hand. It's transparent and clear. She thinks it may be vodka, but the smell is enough to burn off her nostrils.
"Ever had moonshine, sweetheart?"
"No."
"Well, today's your lucky day."
"...does it have to be today?" she asks with a wince. She can't outright refuse him, but she's never been much of a drinker, and that stuff looks illegal.
"Is the tough warrior ninja afraid of getting drunk?"
Tatsu picks up the cup. "I am not a ninja."
He shrugs with a grin. "You're definitely something."
She closes her eyes, pinches her nose, and downs the contents in one swig.
It's horrible. Her throat is burning. She desperately wants to cough it all out, but she doesn't want to look like a fool. She grips the edge of the table. There are small tears at the corner of her eyes.
He laughs heartily. Of course he's enjoying himself.
"Looks like you need another one."
He pours her more of that poison. Tatsu inhales deeply. "What about you?"
His cup has been empty so far. She doesn't think it's fair.
Boomerang taps his chin. "Ah-ah. Professional boozers don't bother with intermediaries."
He grabs the moonshine bottle and downs at least a quarter of it in one impressive gulp.
"Whoa," she whispers.
He wipes his chin gruffly and takes a dramatic bow. "And that, ladies and gents, is the extent of my résumé."
Tatsu stifles a giggle.
His display should be more grotesque than amusing, but Captain Boomerang somehow manages both.
She empties her second shot, harmful as this may be for her bloodstream. Let it never be said she's a coward.
This time, the burning sensation doesn't cripple her senses. But it's still terrible.
"Why do you drink this?" she asks, wrinkling her nose. She can feel the beginning of a headache.
"Don't tell me you don't like it," he drawls sarcastically. "Here, have another -"
"No, please no!" she begs, covering her cup with her palm.
"Hehee, here's a lesson from the Captain. You're not supposed to enjoy alcohol. Liking alcohol is for twats and children. And children who are twats."
Tatsu leans forward a little. "Is that true?"
"Of course not!" he barks with a laugh. "They don't give me anything better to drink in this place. You think I wouldn't ask for a Merlot if I could?"
Katana makes a face, but her lips twitch a little against her will.
"I guess I could have another small –"
"That's the spirit!" he cheers and pours copiously into her cup.
She regrets almost everything about what she's currently doing and whom she's doing it with. But she swallows down his disgusting moonshine. She's been through worse things.
Now she is definitely feeling that headache. She slams the cup down and puts her head in her hands. Oh, this is going to be nasty.
Boomerang has taken the only other chair in the room, turned it around and sat himself across from her. He takes another big swig straight from the bottle, then he pours some of it into his cup and drains that too.
Tatsu is definitely feeling a little buzzed. She lifts her chin. "When you said...we should have drinks...I did not think it would be like this."
"Me neither. I was hopin' for some mood music and some candles."
She almost snorts into her cup. Everything is suddenly funnier. "Candles."
He leans forward with a smile. "I don't know, what do you girls like? Bath salts? Rose petals? Those really smelly sticks they use in church?"
Katana shakes her head. "I never had bath salts." She feels warm and woozy under her mask.
"Oooh, they're the best, we've got to try them sometime," he grins with delight, and maybe it's the word "sometime" used in relation to yet another ambiguous get-together that makes it all click together in her head.
Rose petals...candles…
She has seen the movies. She knows what it means.
"This is not a date!"
He stares at her as if she's a total nut. She realizes, a moment later, that she's yelled at him in Japanese.
"I...this is not a date," she reiterates more calmly in English.
If he looks a little bit disappointed, he doesn't let it show. "Yeah, no, course not. Just a friendly check-in with your friendly convict. How about another friendly shot?"
She lets him fill her cup more out of guilt than anything. It's ridiculous, she shouldn't be feeling guilty. He's a grown man. He should know she cannot afford to get involved with anyone, especially someone like him.
She tilts her head back and makes herself ingest the vile liquid. It's like a sick game of truth and dare she never agreed to play.
"Thanks, by the way. Don't know if I said that already." He's got the bottle to his lips but he is looking straight at her and his eyes are dead sober.
Tatsu nods in acknowledgement.
"Who did you cut in half to get me this place?" Boomerang inquires with a teasing smile.
"I told you...I made a convincing case to Flag and Waller," she says dismissively, not wanting to dwell on the details of his relocation. Safe to say, she's got a lot of work cut out for herself in the following year.
His new cell looks like a miniature apartment. Better than her old place in Osaka, which is saying something. The important thing, though, is that he is not in solitary confinement anymore.
She'll make do with the extra months of thankless assignments. She always has.
"I owe ya one, sweetheart," he says after a pause.
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I do. And I'm gonna make good on it when I get out. Unlike...y' know, all the other times I didn't."
Tatsu feels queasy and groggy and like she's about to throw up. She grits her teeth and tries to chase away the alcohol fumes. "You have betrayed a lot of your...uh, your uh… what's the name...parents...parks...particles…"
Boomerang bursts into guffaws. "Oh, luv, you're drunk, aren't you?"
"Partners!"she slams her fist triumphantly. "You've betrayed a lot of your p-partners."
"There you go! You got it in the end," he squeezes her arm in encouragement.
"Well, you did," she reiterates stubbornly.
"Looks like someone's read my file. Find anything juicy?"
"Is that why you drink a lot?" she asks, teetering slightly on her kiddie stool.
The question catches him off-guard. Then again, she is known for her rather merciless style, which apparently only gets worse when she's drunk.
"...what's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs. "People like you tend to hate themselves."
"People like me."
"People with vices they cannot - " she suppresses a burp " - control."
His jaw locks against his will. For once, he doesn't know how to respond. He is a man of improvisation and quick fixes, and she's just cut off his branch.
He smiles, although the mirth doesn't really reach his eyes. "You sure get deep when you're wasted, luv."
"I'm not wasted."
And to prove it, she yanks the bottle out of his hand and presses its mouth to her lips.
"Shit, you don't want to do that, Kat -"
Too late.
.
He has to hold her hair so she can throw up in his toilet. It's kind of surreal.
"Here, hold -" she mumbles frantically, and she pulls off her mask and hands it to him hastily. He doesn't get to see much of her face as she's hugging the toilet again.
Another long string of vomiting follows her words, and he caresses her back in sympathy. "Guess you're a lightweight."
The guards barge in quickly after, demanding to know what happened to Flag's trained assassin.
She waves an arm at them and sniffles, still very much attached to Boomerang's toilet.
Later that night, he's sitting up in bed, playing with her mask. She left it behind by accident. Well, when they escorted her out of his cell she was barely walking, so it couldn't be helped.
But he likes to think she left it behind on purpose.
He doesn't sniff it, he's not that big of a pervert. But he likes touching it, likes knowing it's such a big deal to her. It's surprisingly soft and flexible. He wonders if that's what her skin feels like -
And he stops there.
Don't be a fuckin idiot. She think you're a bum.
And why is he thinking about her so much? She's not even his type. She's kind of a dork, actually.
He hangs the mask over his bed.
.
Maybe later he does sniff it.
It predictably smells a little bit like vomit.
Shit.
I like her.