I

What was a good time? Ask anyone and they'll tell you that it means either getting hammered with a couple of buddies, smoking out with the lowlifes behind a shack, or spending a good amount of time in bed, a different person each time.

What was my idea of a good time? Well that could take some explaining.

I wasn't one to get high, or sleep around for that matter. Not saying I didn't have my days. I liked getting drunk, yes, but not because I had nothing better to do. I'm fucking Buttercup Utonium. I kick ass for a living because that's what I've always done. Don't get me wrong, the adrenaline rush is sweet especially when you know you decked out the criminal who's messing with your city and your people. But it does get a little much. And when it does, this lovely bottle of Jack is a great turn-to.

I'm not, by any means, an alcoholic. Let's get that straight right now. I drink because it's there, not because I need to.

Well that didn't help my case at all, did it?

Partying is something I enjoy doing on my down times. You know, when my sisters are too whipped up on their homework or some guy they happen to be "dating" at the time, they don't have time to spare for little ol' me. Not that I mind—we had our family Sundays. Besides, we have our own personal lives that extended past each other and the Professor.

Mine just so happened to be kicking back with a couple good friends of mine and a few sips of the bubbly.

I'm not fooling you guys. We all know I'm not so sophisticated as to actually drink a bottle of champagne because I like it. I save those for press conferences and formal parties. Whenever I'm not being the perfect heroine everyone expects me to be in public, I'm the night owl who really just wants to live young, wild, and free.

To me, my good time is the escape from the superficial world.

And tonight, my escape is Ricky's birthday party.

He's 22 now, been legal for a year so there's a lot of booze to go around. Not so sure how the drug system is working around here but I knew better than to get myself involved with that junk. The way I see it, I don't get involve with that; it won't get involved with me. It wouldn't look good for the media to catch the 20-year-old hero doing a couple lines on the bathroom floor. There're kiddos who look up to me. I need to protect my image as best I can for their sake.

Even now, I make sure to conceal my identity so that no one can make me out from the crowd. The only people who know I actually show up to these scenes are my close friends, my sisters, and Ricky of course.

All of whom I have to threaten to keep their damn mouths shut. Especially Bubbles.

So here I am, watching how many people went upstairs with a willing boner or a desperate set of tits. My little secluded corner was reserved for me and three of my closest friends: Darlene, Kathryn and Mitch.

You guys know Mitch Mitchelson. He was without a doubt the only person I can honestly say is my best friend. We've been through a lot since our days at Pokey Oak's. And to be honest, the guy's good looks definitely kicked in our freshman year, but I wouldn't tell him that. It'd add too much to his ego.

Our friendship's had some ups and downs, I won't deny that. We always said we'd do everything together first before we went out into the big bad world. And when I say everything, I mean everything—kiss, relationship, sex. Oh yeah, the sex was definitely good, but that's just another thing on the list I would never admit to him.

It's been a while since Mitch and I have hung out openly. See, the cameras love the Powerpuff's and will eat up anything that relates to Townsville's super heroines. You have the reporters, who cover the crime as we stop it, and then you have the paparazzi, who are only interested in getting the dirty details of the "real" Powerpuff Girls. Those are the guys I despise the most. Things with Mitch went south because of the constant coverage we were getting in the tabloids—Mitch hated being in the limelight and that's what ended it. It's taken months but he's finally gotten comfortable hanging around me again and we've basically gone back to the same routine.

"Butterbutt, what's your damage?"

See, that's another thing I love about me and Mitch. Our friendship can never change no matter what shit we put ourselves through.

I looked over at him and saw that he was giving me a weird stare. "I've been calling you. Go get me a beer."

"Get off your ass and get it yourself, Mitchelson." I bit back playfully and Mitch flipped me one. "Where'd they go?" I asked conversationally and took a quick swig from what's left of my bottle. He shrugged and went back to his phone.

"Dunno. Left."

"No shit."

"Don't like the answer? Don't ask me then. Now go get me a beer." I gave him a deadpanned stare, but he was too busy sexting to really pay attention to me.

Same old Mitch.

But I wasn't keen to just sit around with a bore so I got to my feet and went in search of Kat or Darlene, whoever came first. One of them had to know where the coolers were at.

Kat is that one older chick who likes to hang around guys a few years younger just because. But it's not like she's in her thirties or anything, she's just 25. To me, age didn't matter. I've never been the type to meet someone and be like "Oh, how old are you so that I know whether or not I can be your friend." No. That's stupid and I'm not one to judge someone. I mean, look at me. I'm a science experience gone wrong (or right, I'm still debating on what good I am to the Professor) so I'm in no position to tell someone to piss off because they're older or younger, or whatever the fuck is different about them.

Besides, Kat's the only person in Townsville who doesn't mind going all the way to Citiesville to snag a bottle of the good stuff. All we have here is the generic shit the local gas stations have to offer. By generic I mean completely tasteless and hardly gives you a buzz, but what can you expect from the perfect town like this? Citiesville has a track record full of track records; therefore better beer is always in their stock.

The struggles of living in a shallow city.

Not that I mind. I actually prefer the cheap stuff down here because it's got some kick, but not enough to have me totally drunk or belligerent.

Have you ever gone to a party and see that one ditzy bitch that won't shut up? That's Darlene. She's usually the calm one but you hand her a beer and all bets are off. It's actually pretty funny. Everyone knows that if she doesn't have alcohol in her system then she's the biggest turn off ever. People always try to get her to the nearest keg just so she can loosen up.

When I turned the corner into the kitchen, I saw that a few guys were working on helping her unwind. She was perched upside down on a keg stand while everyone formed a circle around her, whooping and hollering like idiots. I watched them for a good few minutes, just relishing in the carefree, albeit drunken, smile that she had plastered on her face.

With parents like hers, she deserved a few hours to let loose.

I left them in search of Kat. Another thing about her is that she's like a fucking little kid. She'll show up, keep us company, give us beer, and then she'll wonder off. Sometimes I don't even know what the hell she's thinking when she's roaming the place, but she ends up passed out in the weirdest places. I remember Ricky nearly busted a nut when he found her unconscious in the bathtub with another guy while his parents were sleeping literally four feet away.

Needless to say, Ricky had a lot of explaining to do.

So you can imagine my surprise when I managed to actually find her, conscious and whatnot, watching the game with a few frat boys from her university. I tapped her shoulder and she didn't even look up.

"Whaddya want, BC?" Charming.

"Where's the beer?"

Kat clicked her tongue, "Always usin' me. Ya never ask me how my day was; just go straight to the beer. Fucked up."

"How was your day?"

"Shitty. Beer's in the blue cooler."

I rolled my eyes but nevertheless went to the blue cooler sitting in the corner of the room next to the artificial plants. Ricky says it'd be easier to hide if the cops ever raid the house. I think he's a fucking moron.

Just as I bent down to open it, a foot stepped on the top and kept it closed. I looked up, glaring at this bold son of a bitch through my shades. "Sorry there, B. You passed your limit. I'm not driving you home again."

So drinking has a negative effect on my powers, what of it? I came here with the intention to have a good time like everyone else. Granted Ricky did have to drive me home on some occasions, I always could call Blossom or, hell, Mitch could walk me.

"You're testing a superhero? Not a smart move."

Ricky laughed and removed his foot, opening the cooler and taking out two beers. I straightened up and he handed me one, patting my back with his free hand. "I'm just messing with you, kid."

I hated it when he called me 'kid'. He's two years older than me and he never lets me forget it. He likes to treat me like a child and it takes dangling him off a rooftop for him to quit his shit—for a moment.

I let his comment slide just this one time. It was his birthday after all. I popped the cap and chugged a good half of it. Ricky watched me and shook his head when he pulled his bottle away from his lips. "You never change, do you?"

"You sound a little disappointed there, Ricky."

He shrugged. "I don't like my girls drinking more than me."

"Good thing I'm not your girl then. You wouldn't be able to keep up." Ricky choked on his beer and started laughing.

When he calmed down, he wiped the side of his mouth. "Damn, ain't that the truth."

I liked Ricky. He may not be somebody I'd tell all my shit to, but he was a pretty okay guy. Loaded too, but let's not get into that.

All I'm saying is that if Ricky ever inherits his parents' money, then I may or may not be the first to jump on the bandwagon.

He looked over my shoulder and jerked his head. "Looks like the gang's back in town." I looked behind me and resisted the urge to gag.

Ace.

Let me tell you something about Ace. I've been kicking his ass since I was 5, ok? I never thought I'd ever have feelings for him. But I did, back in my floozy days. I was 15 and he, I wanna say, was about 27. So you could see where the problem started. Any self respect I had was gone the first time we messed around. I won't try to justify it. I was stupid and naïve, so let's just leave it at that.

Ricky, of anyone, knew my beef with Ace so he knew better than to leave me alone with him. I met Ricky because the gangrene fuck left me stranded at one of his parties. Ricky took me to a corner, introduced me to Kat who handed me a beer, and told me to chill out. "Friends don't let superheroes drink alone." He said to me, and clanked the rim of his Jagermeister against mine.

I slept over at Kat's. I was too ashamed to face my sisters that day. But I gave Ace a good ass kicking the following morning, even though my hangover was giving me a good beating of its own in the process.

"Well, well, look who it is." I almost rolled my eyes when I saw he had Snake and Big Billy flanking him. Granted the whole Gangrene gang were idiots, these two definitely took the cake. Big Billy was always clueless and dimwitted, and Snake was just... Snake. He kissed Ace's ass every chance he got. "How ya' been, Buttercup?" He pronounced every syllable my name in a way that made my skin crawl.

Ricky stepped forward in between us, offering Ace a beer. "Have a beer, mate." Ace looked at him from over his sunglasses and frowned. "Where you guys been? Last I heard you were taking care of the bank in Citiesville."

That seemed to do the trick. Ace grinned cockily and the two walked away while discussing the success of his heist. Ricky looked back at me and winked. I nodded gratefully back at him. Wherever there was tension, he always cooled it. That's just the type of guy he was. He'd take the heat for anybody, especially me, and I owed him.

But that left me with two morons to keep me company.

Snake smirked at me. "What's good, BC?" The way he hisses always got to me. Out of the gang, I liked him the least.

"Piss off, Sanford." Snake flinched and I left.

I've made peace with my mistakes. I don't need it to keep slapping me in the face.

Now a comfortable distance away from trouble, I took the time to take in the atmosphere of this party. It was still lively and upbeat, something I was thankful for. I needed a distraction from Ace. I didn't want to deal with any shit tonight and I'll be damned if I let a good party go to waste on me.

Taking a beer from a stumbling pair of idiots, I downed it and grinned when I felt the kick.

Finally.

I do not own Powerpuff Girls. Any recognizable character is credited to its original owner, Craig McCracken.

I do not claim complete idea ownership of Behind Bottles of Vodka. It was originally penned by author Fantasy Delight. This story is adopted. Any unrecognizable content added to this story is my own. Any recognizable content from its original upload is not my own.

Copyright © 2013 by scorpialin
All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permissions of scorpialin. Copyright infringement not intended.