Vodquila

Wilson blinked again. Hit list. All the people he'd lost. It was scary to get attached to people when they could just lose them, and they'd get hurt. That she could get. It made sense. He had a lot going on that made it hard to have attachments without that stuff getting in the way.

She looked up in thought.

"What if you had a friend who could never get hurt? Like me?"

"Couldn't tell you, I've never found one," he replies, tipping his empty bottle over and sighing as nothing dripped out.

"Yeah. Yeah, uhkay. Thank you. Then I will continue to fight for my freedom." Damascus gave Schadel a weary smile. He still had doubts, but it was nice to know that at least someone was encouraging his dreams.

With his mind fogging even more, he scrubbed his face with both his hands, trying not to spiral into the anxiety that came with his being in the open like this.

If he could only occupy his mind with something- anything- else. His drink had spilled on the floor, and besides, he didn't particularly want to become intoxicated any further. Trying to watch the film only made his head hurt.

With a glance across the bar, the perfect distraction came to him. The two men who he had talked to earlier (both very separate tones of conversation, albeit) seemed to be having a friendly conversation of their own- and the sad man seemed to no longer be crying.

"If you wih escuse meh, I'm gonna go ovah theh." He turned to Schadel and the boy, gesturing clumsily across the bar. "It was wwwonderful to meet chu. And soreh for offending you, spector!" He waved and made his way toward Boris and the other man, walking very unsteadily.

"Boorish, mah man! And.. shad guy." He leaned an elbow on the table, more to support himself than anything else. "I am in theh mood tah explore tah ehcstruhdinahreh featuhs of dis world, an I nehd shome companeh."

Sad guy. That's what he was now. Sad guy. James stared down at the table, not sure why Damascus, the formerly screaming man, wanted to explore the world with them, but in any event, he didn't deserve it, not could he afford it. Once he left the bar he wouldn't be able to just explore the world.

He shook his head. "No, no, Damascush. Soon as I leabe here I'm alone again. No people. No exploringh. I'm done exshploring. F-in' ex... always -" he leaned on the table and sighed. "Ends poorly."

"Who were... werrre you, again? Ashtrid. You have Ashtrid's eyesh. Did she have a brother?" I asked the friendly newcomer.

"No ekshplorin'? How vereh unforchineht." Damascus sighed and shook his head, almost loosing his balance from where he was leaning in the process. He turned to Boris and squinted.

"Az-trid? That soundsh lahke mah neme." With a frown, he thought for a moment. "Wait- no it doshesn't. Mah neme esh... Damehscush. I mean, -asscush."

More squinting at Boris, and then he broke into a grin.

"Oh! Das righ'! I was wearin' a dresh! Mah top-shecret diskishe. It was good, righ'?" His smile suddenly faded, and his eyes widened seriously. "Totalleh didn' mean tah trick you, by teh way."

"I hope I don't get that drunk," Schadel said, staring at Damascus as he went to join the people who he had been talking to earlier.

"Oh," Edward said, his words slurring just a little bit more than before, "you definitely will. Even if you're a 'reaper, you're going to get drunk."

She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. "Says the drunk guy."

He shrugged, then took a large swig of his drink. "If I'm already dead, I can't die from alcohol intoxication." He took another swig. "And we don't need a designated driver."

Schadel grabbed her drink off of the table and took a sip of it. "Seeing that you're a ghost who's never driven a modern car, I don't think I'd want you driving in the first place."

"Good point. I'll drink to that."

And Edward did exactly that.

I frowned, confused. But after a moment of trying to work it out, I decided that I did not need to understand, and gave up. I waved dismissively.

"Oh, that'sh fine. Don' worry about it. Jusht don't ask me which shape is more attractive. I will never, never decide, and you can't make me." I asserted defiantly.

Then I put a hand around James' shoulder.
"This sneaky bastard," I said. "I tried to help him out, and the sneaky bas- James! hish name is Jamesh. Lovely fellow. He went and gave me a bloody epiphany."
I teased, and topped it off with a merry chuckle.

James's shoulders scrunched up around his ears and he looked down and around the room, avoiding eye contact at having attention brought to himself. "Ha..." he laughed weakly.

"Ah, that'sh right, he did that tah meh too. It was actchually very exchiting." Damascus beamed at James, nearly giving him a thumbs up before he thought better of it.

"Oh- Jamesh. You look uncomfurdable." With a rub of his eyes, he attempted to pat the man's shoulder. Instead, he clipped an ear with his hand and rubbed his hair.

"I know jessst theh thing." He turned to the direction bartender, who seemed to be consoling a man several stools down, and called to her loudly."Ekscusse me, miz, couldya pleashe turn ohn shome.." he frowned and thought hard. "shuhme.. uh.. tunes! On the magic shurround-y-thingy?"

With a wild wave of his arms to demonstrate the effect speakers had, he very nearly missed slapping Boris in the face.

James's whole face contorted in discomfort as Damscus's hand made contact with his ear, and then his hair. His chin pulled down into his neck and he proceeded to stare at Damascus with a frown as Damascus yelled at the bartender.

Wilson's ears perked up and she looked over at the man dressed in red with a smile. Finally, something to get everyone's minds off their sad, sad, pasts. She smiled cheerfully, and hopped down from the stool, giving Kratzer a little pat.

"Get some beats going? Ohoh, Damascus, I thought you'd never ask!" she laughed, hurrying back behind the counter and grabbing her ipod that was hooked up to the sound system. She looked back at Kratzer with a sly little grin as she scrolled into the "S" section and selected a Sinatra song.

In moments, it began to blast across the speakers:

Spoiler

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Fortunately, Damascus missed hitting me. I did not miss hitting the floor, but that was irrelevant.

With great effort, and the most foolish of grins, I pulled myself back into the chair, and drank in the music. And also gin. Perhaps that was inadvisable, but I was ready to meet any criticism with accusations of hypocrisy, and unprecedented displays of sentimentality.

He perked up the moment the music came on, distracted from his empty bottle of vodquila. "Blue skies smilin' at me," he sang under his breath, words slurred. "Nothin' but blue skies do I see~"

"Marvelousss!" Damascus roared, giving a clumsy salute to the bartender. Realizing that he was still standing, and starting to lean sideways, at that, he took the stool between James and Boris.

"Shee, gennelmen, who needs tah echploreh de world when you have... mushic." The goofy smile that had been on his face only seemed to get wider as he remembered the word he was looking for.

He attempted to hum along to the tune of the song, despite never having heard it. Needless to say, he produced some very strange tones- he had some sort of throaty garbledness that turned the hums into little more than stifled shrieks.

With a burst of drunken energy, he kicked off the side of his stool and did a small spin. This quickly turned out to be a terrible idea. His head spun and his stomach flipped as a bout of dizziness washed over him.

"Ugh... nuh danshing fuh me." With another soft groan, and without a second thought, he dropped his forehead to rest on Boris' shoulder.

James continued to shy away from the very drunken man as the music mysteriously filled the room despite lacking a band or a singer present. He didn't know what kind of magic it was but it was making his head throb in a way that made his mind feel numb.

"I don't know thish shong," he admitted quietly to himself. "And I don't dance."

The latter of which was a lie, sort of. He knew how to dance. He just rarely ever did.