Plug Suits and Penguins
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Chapter 4: Jet Fuel Alone
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It was busy for a Tuesday night. Not that she minded. More customers meant more tips, in theory. That's how things were supposed to work at work. The evening was a bust so far. Lots of miserable middle-aged men buying a reprieve from mid-life crises, throwing their paychecks at decent alcohol but forgetting to acknowledge the gratuity ghosts serving them. She was used to near-invisibility. But every new suit in the door was another opportunity, another reason to force a smile, ignore wandering eyes, reduce herself. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and she had chosen to beg for this job. As a student she was already being paid under the table. The occupational murder-suicide pact wasn't ideal, what was in this hardscrabble world, but it was the best she could muster at the moment.
But once in a while it tricked her into seeming worth it. Worth the debasement and passive humiliation. Worth the long hours, the enveloping stench of sweat and dead dreams, the uniform. The steadily slipping sense of human dignity. Once it a while, it all paid off.
Tuesday night was not one of those times.
The two women entered The Crow's Nest just after eight. Usually an off time, situated between the rush of after-work desperation and after-hours deviancy. They were newcomers, "Eggs," the boss, Hiro, called them, later attaching "soft-boiled" or "hard-boiled" to the moniker as he saw fit based on behavior and consumption ability, which wasn't unheard of nowadays. While the Nest enjoyed a regular clientele the city was forced to welcome more workers of late, NERV drawing in a stream of technicians and manual laborers to repair and rebuild Tokyo-3 on an increasingly habitual basis. The two Eggs did not appear to fit either category, unless there was a secret fashion model division in the Geofront.
Hiro let out a near-silent whistle at them, stationed behind the bar. "Impressive."
He was a stocky, prematurely bald, dark-tanned son of a bastard, in his words, who abandoned the life of an itinerant coastal fisherman to open a tavern, his word again, in his hometown. She doubted the majority of it, although he was stocky, bald and dark-tanned. And he could be a son of a bastard sometimes.
Hiro surveyed the Nest, his other waiters were occupied with customers, and turned to her.
"Kodama," he said, "fresh Eggs on deck."
She hopped off the stool by the register she used running payroll. She smoothed her uniform, a technically well-made outfit that looked like a French maid and a pirate captain fell down a long flight of stairs together.
"On it," Kodama Horaki said.
"… So this is the place Aoba recommended?" one of the Eggs was saying, incredulous. She was tall, strikingly pretty. Long dark hair tumbled down her back.
"Not to me, personally," the other Egg replied, also no slouch in the looks department. "He was trying to pick up Yamada. Again."
"Points for persistence. Not for the place."
"You pessimist. Looks can be deceiving. Who knows? The cuisine and liquor may justify the décor."
Kodama slid before them at the crook of the bar. She opted to dial back the flirty persona, mostly out of hurt feelings. She felt utterly outclassed by these two sleek, confident, S-rank fighter jets. She waved a rickety wing of her rustic chassis in welcome, hoping to escape immediate annihilation in their sights.
"Ahoy! I'm Kodama. I'll be your waitress. Welcome to The Crow's Nest."
"Hi. I'm Misato. And this is Ritsuko, who will generously be picking up the tab tonight."
"Why on earth would I—"
"A thanks, for my unsung heroism in saving your ass."
"… I'm Ritsuko. My ass will be generously picking up the tab tonight."
History~, Kodama sang in her head. "Great! Let me show you to an unprivate private booth." The fewer inebriated slobs who caught a gander at these Faberge Eggs the better.
She gave them a booth in the back. They were all endearingly crude, deceptively comfortable, with the look of an unfinished garage craft project. A narrow plank attached to the wall served as a table, decorated with vaguely nautical items. The napkins had blue anchors printed on the corners, tilted at a jaunty angle. God forbid anything in here made too much sense.
The menu was sparse on food options, nothing but easily grilled, heavily salted snacks designed to necessitate a need for liquid refreshment. Ritsuko grasped this immediately. She ordered a vegetable platter with a variety of dips. The least unhealthy option.
Misato may have realized the scheme, but chose not to care. Or she was just really into making her intestinal tract earn its keep. It would save Kodama time to list what she didn't get.
"You're taking advantage of my generous nature," Ritsuko grumbled.
"It's not generous if you keep telling me about it."
They ate over idle chatter. Kodama picked up bits and pieces as she swept up orders between patrons at neighboring booths. Misato's car was in the shop, again. Ritsuko's cat had taken to throwing up hair balls in the shower. The illness that kept Hyuga out for a week hit Maya. Ritsuko hated Hyuga.
The salt worked, as it always did. The pair ordered drinks. Medium-grade beer for Misato, but her tone communicated it was preamble. Ritsuko requested the wine list.
"Fresh out since forever," Kodama told her.
Ritsuko frowned. An expression that looked far too at home on her face. She echoed the beer order.
More idle chatter. Lips a little looser. Misato had sweet-talked her way out of three separate traffic violations last week. Ritsuko's cat would not stop puking. They both hated Hyuga. They both liked facial hair.
Well into the first round of shots, Ritsuko's phone buzzed. She managed it out of her purse on the second try.
"Yamada? I took tonight off for—" A sigh. A sigh, like the world, briefly off her sore shoulders, came rolling back on. "Understood. On my way." She packed up.
"Duty calls?" Misato asked, already resigned.
"Mom's acting up." She stood, successfully not wobbling on her heels. "It would be a tragedy if you averted disaster just to have her decide to blow up this city or something a few hours later."
"Boo. Let her. We'll be too plastered to care."
"You, maybe. Stay. You've earned some respite. And what better way to celebrate risking your life than by devastating your liver?"
"Puh-lease. I was more worried about your tolerance."
"For radiation? Normal human range. Alcohol? Admittedly less than yours. But you're hardly in any sort of normal human range."
"An urban myth. College boys see a girl who can hold her own at one frat party and start saying all sorts of things."
"You were hardly dissuading the rumors."
They parted on friendlier terms than they walked in with. History.
But it wasn't until much later, running her high-heeled pirate boots bare for other customers, that Kodama realized Ritsuko left without paying. She noticed Misato, alone at the booth, constructing a pyramid out of empties that spanned most of the plank table. Then she clawed her hands into a person, maybe some sort of animal, and finger-walked up one side, uttering low growls. The pyramid, and Misato, was too high. She lost her balance and fell into it. The crash was impressive, both in scope and sound. It silenced the entire Crow's Nest, even the jukebox, changing tracks.
"Get her out of here," Hiro rumbled.
Kodama was the closest, and felt mildly responsible besides. And if she acted fast enough, maybe the broken glasses wouldn't come out of her paycheck. She offered a hand up as two other waiters tended to the mess.
"I can myself," Misato declared, and walked into a wall. She spun on her heel, landed against Kodama who kept her upright.
"She pay yet?" Hiro asked as they approached the register on the way to the exit.
A once-over discovered negative wallets. "Hey. You got a credit card or anything?"
"I'm not, not dying here. Not with the… robots falling out of the sky. Dumb skin-tight radi-adiation suit."
"She's not making sense."
Hiro shook his head. "Her friend left a number. In case she couldn't leave under her own power." He passed a slip of paper across the bar to Kodama.
She read the name on it. She read it again. "No shitting way."
"Hello?" Shinji Ikari answered after she dialed the contact number.
"No shitting way."
"Excuse me?"
"Hey. Ikari. This is Kodama. Kodama Horaki."
"… Oh." Delayed recognition. "Hi?"
"How are you?"
"… Okay? How are you?"
"Eh, I shouldn't complain until you buy me dinner."
"… Okay." A pause. "Did your sister give you my number?"
"Strike one. You got two more swings." She could hear the gears spinning in his head.
"Um…" Another, longer pause. A sigh. "You're not at some bar, are you?"
"… Yeah. Wow. Nice guess."
Another, longer sigh. "Is Ms. Misato, uh, unabled?"
Kodama chuckled. "Fine detective work, Inspector Ikari. It was the bartender, with the bourbon, in The Crow's Nest." She relayed location and directions. "If I had known she was with you, I would have comped a taxi." Lies. "Do you mind coming in anyways to pick her up? My shift isn't over until ten."
"Your shift?"
Frickin' shit frick. "Um…"
She could tell he could tell that was not supposed to be public knowledge. Kodama silently groaned. Well, he would have seen the uniform.
"You work there?"
"Work is such a loaded term. While I do perform certain duties in exchange for monetary compensation, I—"
"Kodama!" Hiro finally yelled. "Get off the phone!"
"Aye aye, Cap'n. Listen, Ikari. Just come down here. Please. Your Ms. Misato is slobbering on my uniform."
"Sorry. I'll be there soon."
Ten drool-filled minutes later, Shinji walked into The Crow's Nest. That had to be the start of a fantastic joke, Kodama felt. Perhaps something carrot-related. But it was near the end of her shift after a busy night after a busy day of classes and her funny gland was sputtering. Or something. She was failing Biology.
She was on a bench by the door with Misato, who intermittently tried to get up and return to the booth for her lost alcohol pyramid. Kodama waved with the hand not grappling Misato back. She accepted some level of defeat here, remembering how fetishistic her work clothes were, waiting for him to blush and stutter.
Shinji eyed it briefly, more out of concern. She got the impression he had seen stranger.
"Ikari," she said, grateful to have a second pair of hands on Misato. "What a coincidence, meeting you here of all places. Are you legal, young man?"
He wore contrition. "Sorry about her. She said she wanted to drink until she forgot who she was." He frowned. "I didn't think she was serious."
"I've dealt with worse. Oh, but if you wouldn't mind paying for her food and booze and the mess she made…"
He paid. Getting Misato out to the taxi idling on the curb was an adventure for all of them.
"You can handle her from here?" Kodama asked, discreetly making sure she hadn't popped out of her top.
"Yeah. Thanks. And sorry again."
"Like I said, I've dealt with worse. This could be considered something of a career highlight." Kodama had to inquire. "Before you got here, she called you her house husband." She gauged his reaction.
Embarrassed, but in a put-out sort of way. Like a house husband. "Of course she did."
"You two aren't really married." There was a sliver of something there. Maybe Shinji was a secret playboy, hooking up with older chicks, turning tricks and cooking vegetable soup for room and board. "Are you?"
"No."
Kodama raised her eyebrows. Not the reaction she was looking for or expecting. Shinji saw her surprise, realized his tone, and had the manners to look ashamed. His shoulders sank.
"I…" His brow knitted, putting words to thoughts. "I'm grateful to her. For a lot of things. Really. But…" He glanced at her in the cab, sprawled over the backseat, talking to her reflection in the window pane about a hedgehog nightlight while drawing it with her drool. Shinji shook his head. "No."
The cabbie, although not complaining about the chitchat running up his meter, was complaining about the saliva on his upholstery. Misato swatted him away, head sinking into unconsciousness.
"Well, it is way past at least her bedtime," Kodama said. She cleared her throat, unused to attempts at being demure. "Uh, hey. Ikari. Can we, ah, keep this whole thing between us? The more people who know I'm working kind of narrows my chances of working." Dad and Hikari thought she was at cram school. It was a skill, juggling so many explosives in these shoes.
Shinji almost smiled. Almost. "Afterschool jobs are tough, huh?" It vanished. "I won't say anything."
Another secret with another Horaki sister. What a day. Sky-diving in Unit-01 holding his commanding officer in the palm of his metal-shod hand to place her on a runaway walking nuke. Now this. Somehow, this was more worrying. He mentally shrugged. What was one more thing to be paranoid about? A drop in the anxiety bucket, this.
He fought his way into the taxi. They said goodbye. Kodama watched until the cab was no longer in sight. She returned to The Crow's Nest.
Hiro was at the register, going over receipts as the rest of the wait staff began the shift change. He grinned at Kodama as she passed, on her way to the backroom to don her normal, non-European seafaring attire.
"Hey," he said after her, "that kid was super cute."
"And super underage, you pedo."
"You prude. Aren't you single again? Or don't you think you can compete with that Hard-boiled Egg?"
Kodama sat at the bar. The urge to defend Shinji overtook her fatigue. "They're not hooking up." Ikari did not strike her as the best fibber.
"They don't look related, though…"
"Who knows? Step-siblings, maybe." She'd have to pick Hikari's brain.
"That does not preclude hooking up," Hiro said.
"Lord, stop. Please. Get your deviant mind off this. That chick is not his sugar mommy." She hopped off the bar stool.
"Probably not." Hiro did his best impression of nonchalance. "That kid, he didn't use cash or a credit card to pay the tab. He used a NERV debit. His own."
"… Huh?"
He shrugged, a gesture of cautious uncertainty.
Which was his final communication on the matter. Kodama drifted to the employee backroom to change, back into her school uniform, back into eldest Horaki sister. She absently misted perfume, something Dad disapproved of, but necessary to cover the stench of salty sweat and booze. She left the bar, missing Hiro's wave farewell, missing the late shift workers, missing the tram ride home. She reached her front door, unlocking it on autopilot. Greeting her family likewise. Going upstairs, one foot after the other, finding her room. All without conscious attention. The thought held her, refused to unlatch its dominating claws.
Ikari might be rich.
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Next chapter: I promised you both penguins and plug suits. I kind of deliver.
