BEER IS GOOD. ; open.

[kenadie alexandria augustine]

BEER IS GOOD
BEER IS GOOD
BEER IS GOOD
AND STUFF!

» She should have been used to it. Hell, she should have expected it. Turn on the TV, pick up a newspaper, listen to the radio- it's there all the time, sometimes several times a day. Most people can handle it without getting too heavily worked up. [insert number] US Soldiers (Marines, Sailors, etc.) died today following a bombing (/suicide bombing, roadside bombing, attack by insurgents) in Iraq (/Kuwait, Afghanistan, etc.)... Sure, a few Hippies might get pissed off, and find some way to blame it on the government- just another "point" they can use to strengthen their arguments to end the war. The families of the dead might cry- though they'd probably been informed by a chaplain or something before the news stations even got ahold of the information. The average person may take a moment to think-'oh, that's sad, they're dying' - and then simply go about their day. Hell, even the soldiers at home- recovering from injuries, or reservists- probably do that. And they certainly wouldn't make it a habit to go drink themselves into a stupor following the delivery of that news. Even they might hear it and think, 'oh, crap...I just talked to him last week...now he's dead....that sucks...' and then maybe have a couple moments of silence, but then they'd get on with their lives, grateful to still be alive.

» Kenadie normally didn't do this. Normally, she could hear the news of Marines' deaths and simply move on, maybe with a short lament about how it could have been her- Oh, I was there! Wow...Just a week more and I could have died. Wow.- or how she knew some of the people that were dead, knew their wives, or had played mud football with them. Something along those lines. The point is, it normally didn't affect her. At least, not this badly. She normally couldn't even understand how people could get worked up about it unless they were directly related to, married to, or very close friends with the deceased. She'd tell them to suck it up if she saw them being depressed, drinking, etc.

» So what made her come here? It couldn't have been hearing the same announcement three times- different people each time- within an hour of each other- she'd almost gotten used to the multiple announcements. It couldn't have been hearing about close personal friends dying- she'd heard it before, multiple times, and was barely affected- They died doing what they knew was right. They knew they could die when they signed up. Crying for them would be disrespectful.- so what was it? It couldn't be just an excuse to get shit-faced, could it? She never needed an excuse before. She'd drink for whatever reason she damn well pleased, to hell with a cover story.

» It had to be one person in particular. He'd emailed her about ten minutes before the news report said he died. She wasn't sure why, but it greatly affected her- why had she simply read it, and not replied? Did it make her a horrible person? She knew full well there was nothing she could have done to prevent his death. But if she'd replied to his email, would it give him some level of happiness to know that someone gave a damn about him?

» It was that thought, looming in the back of her mind, that drove her to Mercury. She'd been meaning to try to lessen her drinking, just because she knew if she were to be deployed- which wasn't the mostly likely thing in the world, but just in case- she'd be going without it for a long-ass time, but tonight, her goal was to get very, very drunk. She wanted to forget, and just wanted to be smashed.

» She didn't really think too much about what she would wear. Appearance wasn't high on the list of things on her mind, and besides- she knew she'd probably get so drunk she'd get sick, and she wasn't too keen on the idea of puking all over her favorite shirt. So she decided on some clothes she'd been meaning to get rid of anyway, simply because she next to never wore them for whatever reason; a white somewhat-frilly skirt that came down to halfway down her thigh, a pair of white flip-flops, and a white tank top, which covered almost everything it needed to- not that she had a lot to 'reveal' anyway- and left no abdomen uncovered. Her hair, she simply pulled back into a black banana clip. She sat down in a seat at the corner of the counter, her back to the front door. "Two shots tequila," she said quietly to the barkeep, who nodded and turned to get the drinks.

_{BEER IS GOOD
BEER IS GOOD
BEER IS GOOD
LET'S GO DRINK SOME BEER!}

OPEN FOR ANYONE

[orls03]

&m e m o r i e s of you surround me;
& and i'm afraid the tears might d r o w n me;

Yet another long day was dragging its feet on the way out the door. It seemed like it would never end, and it needed to end ... badly. The SWAT rookie could feel nothing but the slow pounding that was beginning to build at an alarming rate just behind her eyes. Fatigue clamped heavy bags of sand to her limbs, making her shuffle around like a zombie; and her eyelids felt as though they must have weighed over 100 pounds each. While the job usually provided settings that caused fatigue, meaning that SWAT officers should be used to working through it, this rookie was feeling double effects from the bout of insomnia that had been tagging around in her shadow for weeks. Some nights were good, others were not. The past 3 nights had all been not so great. As it was, the woman was going off of 3 ½ hours sleep in the past 72 hour period. So, not only was she physically exhausted; she was mentally drained as well. It was not a pretty sight. Thankfully, the past few days had been slow going, enabling her to at least rest up a bit. She did not get any more sleep than usual, but it allowed her to not have to exert her already overexerted self.

As it was, Charlie was watching the clock. She hated doing it, because it always made tie seem like it was going slower than it was, but she couldn’t help it. It was getting close to the end of the day, and she wanted nothing more than to just go home and sleep. And, if she could not sleep, she could at least go home and be a nerd. She was pretty good at that, having fiddled around with all sorts of electronics in those many hours spent unable to sleep. She had taught herself how to fix the majority of the small appliances around the house, like the toaster than had not worked for years until Charlie had tinkered with it over the course of a few sleepless nights. But, Charlie’s biggest guilty pleasure was a massive multiplayer online role-playing game, otherwise known as an MMORPG, called World of Warcraft. It gave her hours of entertainment and even some stress relief after those less-than-sunny days. She had 3 characters in the game, a human paladin, a night elf druid, and a human mage. Her favorite character was the paladin, simply because they tend to get all the really cool abilities and are really popular for their healing spells. World of Warcraft was always Charlie’s fallback if she could not sleep and had no motivation to do anything else.

As it was, she had barely half an hour left and all she could think about was getting out of here and going home. She just wanted to sit and do nothing—not even think—for at least an hour. But, she had been holing herself up for the past few weeks, and wanted a little interaction outside of work. Not much ... just a little. Maybe she would hit a bar or club. Knocking back a few drinks might be just what the doctor ordered to get her some decent sleep. It was a poor excuse to go drinking, but Charlie was up for any excuse she could get.

With a final glance at the clock, Charlie let out a relieved sigh. She could finally go home! Heading for her locker, Charlie grabbed her keys, jacket, and hat before heading for the door. Although it was plenty warm outside, Charlie always wore her black SWAT windbreaker, and when she was off duty it was very rare to see her without the black SWAT ball cap. Deciding not to even bother going home to get changed first, Charlie went to the parking lot and fired up her Harley Davidson V-Rod. Yeah ... she is not your typical female at all. Thankfully, the bike was easy on gas, and since everything was close it just made things so much easier.

Within a few minutes Charlie had parked her Harley out in front of the Mercury, and sauntered in. She walked up to the bar in time to here the woman next to her order two shots tequila. With a grin, Charlie looked over, recognizing Kenadie from around the PD. “Rough day?” she queried before turning to the barkeep. “I’ll just have a TNT,” she said, eagerly anticipating the bourbonized drink.

&oh, i t h i n k i'm doing fine;
&until i cross that b o u r b o n borderline;

[trenton james somerset]

TJ did not consider himself a workaholic. There were times when he stayed in the office until four in the morning, went home, slept for three hours, then got up, showered, and came right back in at eight the next morning. But it wasn't because he was addicted to his job so much as it was that he didn't have anything better to be doing. Truth be told, the social life of Trenton Somerset was something pitiful to behold. Thankfully, there weren't that many people to behold it. He had the good fortune of being relatively photogenic, so when the Whisperer's photographer had taken a shot of him for the header of all his columns, it had turned out remarkably well. That is to say, it made him look happy. So anyone who read his reviews, or any of his articles, would take a look at that little one by one and a half black and white photo and think (if they thought anything) that he was a man who was pretty satisfied with his own life to be making fun of other people's work the way he routinely did when he was reviewing things. Yes, T.J. Somerset must be one self-contented son of a bitch, many an artist, actor, or director might think bitterly, reading one of Trenton's merciless commentaries on their latest release. And in thinking so, they would be wrong. Dead as John F. Kennedy wrong.

Satisfied was not exactly the best word that could be used to describe him. Discontented might have been a bit more appropriate. Sardonic was also good. Smugly cynical...now that was right on the money. He knew that he was moderately good at what he did, and that gave him a touch of arrogance every now and then (all right, more than every now and then) but it also made him painfully aware that he hadn't ever tried very hard to be good at anything else, particularly in the social department. And lately, he'd gotten the feeling that there was something missing. Maybe, he thought, there was something that actually talking to other people could offer him that a bottle of cognac and some soft-core porn couldn't. Maybe there was more to being away from work than just...not being at work.

So tonight, TJ had done something particularly daring. Instead of making his weekly stop by the liquor store and heading home, he'd gone out to do his drinking. Of course, that wasn't a lot different than just sitting in his living room drinking alone, but at least there were people, instead of just the television and the stuffed eagle on his mantlepiece. He spotted two women, sitting alone by themselves. and wondered if they were lesbians. It was quite like Trenton to assume all sorts of sordid things about people before he was ever introduced to them, it was in his nature to make awful assumptions. But hell, maybe he'd get lucky. Maybe they weren't. Maybe they were bi. He didn't have any dreams of three-way trysts lurking in his mind, but it would be nice to snag some female company, however brief it might end up being once they started talking to him. He slid into the barstool to the right of the two of them, and waved to the bartender.

This posed the problem, though, of ordering something he'd like, but that wouldn't make the ladies think he was an insufferable snob or worse, gay. Appletini was out of the question, as was any incarnation of cognac. "Long Island Iced Tea." he decided, after a moment. "Light on the gin, heavy on the Triple Sec and do whatever you like with the rest." Having ordered, he turned to Kenadie and Charlie, and gave them a winning smile. "Evening, ladies. Could I buy you anything?"

[kenadie alexandria augustine]

» She wouldn't consider it a problem- her getting drunk because of something so seemingly trivial. She wouldn't say she hated herself for reacting in such a way. But she did, kind of- the remaining soberness left in her allowed her to think clearly- though that ability was starting to dwindle even as she was starting to think- and realize that she could, quite possibly, become the kind of person she regularly "tore apart"; the kind of person she'd berate, yell at, verbally abuse- usually if she was just in a bad mood anyway- for being a pussy/pansy/sissy, whatever you want to call it. She'd tell them to suck it up, to get over it- and now she was starting to do it to herself.

» She was an impatient person, truth be told- she'd been like that even as a young girl, and always had had very short patience. She could hang on for what she thought to be a reasonable amount of time, and after that, she'd get irritated, and from there, pissed off. Such was the case now. She knew perfectly well that the bar had quite a few people, most of which were ordering drinks in close proximity to the time she herself was, but still, after about forty-five seconds without having that shot in front of her, she felt quite a bit irritated. Not at the bartender himself, per se, but just at the fact that it was taking her longer to get where she wanted to be- drunk. "Oh, come on," she grumbled, barely taking note of a woman next to her, asking her a question.

» Kenadie was by no means a people-person. While she could seem friendly to some, what with the way she tended to make awesome conversation, but in order for that to happen, the other person would need to start it. She could see someone infinitely interesting, and they could be standing within inches of her, but if she could find something- anything else to occupy herself, she wouldn't start up a conversation with them. And while she tended to dislike someone on the spot, she did appreciate it when the conversation starting wasn't left up to her. Along with not being a people-person, she was horrible at remembering names. She could remember faces almost perfectly, but ask her to attach a name to the face, and she'd fail. Unless she heard the name and saw the face repeatedly, or at least for a long enough time so that she could commit it to memory, chances were she wouldn't remember the person. Like now. As Charlie spoke to her, she vaguely recognized the woman's face, but where she'd seen it before, she had no idea, let alone the name.

» She shrugged a little. Until she knew who this was, she wasn't talking about shit. It would take more than what she'd ordered to get her to open to someone she did know, let alone someone she didn't. "I guess." That was her defense mechanism for everything; act like it didn't matter. Hopefully, if the person speaking to her didn't think Kenadie really cared about the matter at hand, even if it had been bothering her previously, they would let the matter drop. One of the many things that irritated her was people that kept pressing a matter when nobody else wanted to hear about it. "Shit happens."

» She had to resist the urge to laugh as she heard a man's voice. God. Why, just because she was wearing a skirt and about to start drinking, did this guy think it was okay to just come over and talk to her like that? Granted, he hadn't really said anything wrong or even close to perverse, but it was implied. In any given crappy TV show or movie, when a guy was asking to buy a chick a drink, what he really wanted was to get her drunk so he could get laid. Well Kenadie was still being chased by unicorns, and didn't really much like the idea of giving them up any time soon. With a deceivingly sweet smile, she swiveled her bar stool around to face TJ, and spoke, "How about a nice tall glass of go to hell?" She would have said more- would have really laid into him- but just then she heard the soft clink of the two shot glasses on the counter, and whirled to face them. She picked them up and downed them, one after the other, and then slammed the glass onto the counter with enough force to cause a small noise, thus calling the attention of the barkeep again. As soon as he looked at her, she held up two fingers, asking for two more shots.

[orls03]

Charlie was often a good judge of character and knew instinctively when she wasn’t wanted around. When Kenadie hardly even registered that she’d been spoken to, Charlie had been prepared to just politely excuse herself and head off in an attempt to find a less apathetic conversationalist. It wasn’t that Charlie needed conversation per se, but it sure as hell beat simply drinking alone. Drinking alone was never a good idea with Charlie. She was a dweller, and by that you could say she slipped away from the present and stayed in the past when under the influence. She got so deep into it that one night, after drinking herself stupid in her apartment, Charlie could have sworn she felt the baby kicking. But, that was, of course, merely her gastrointestinal system deciding that it couldn’t handle the amount of poison that had been poured into it. The next few hours had been spent inelegantly sprawled in an awkward prayer position at the foot of the porcelain god. She had sworn off alcohol once she’d sobered up from that less-than-pleasant trip. Well, said swearing off of the liquid killer had lasted about 2 days before she found herself slowly getting stoned in the back corner of some bar that, to this day, she still place a name to.

Thankfully, suck memory locks were few and far between. Charlie supposed that she was finally beginning to let go of Ricky. But, some small part of her would stubbornly refuse to let go until her final breath on this earth, and that she knew for certain. Just like she knew that she could never truly let go of Jon. He had been her first true love and they had shared so much. So much joy, so much love and happiness, and then so much anger, hurt, and grief. Like it or not they were somehow bound together, and she’d be damned before she ever let that part of her life fade away.

So lost in thought was she, that Charlie jumped slightly when the barkeep thunked her drink down in front of her. The dull thud of a filled glass on the old polished wood coincided with the soft words from the woman beside her. Charlie peered over the top of her glass at Kenadie, wondering what she was supposed to make of the other woman’s reaction. Deciding that she would allow Kenadie to finish her thought before saying anything else, Charlie toyed with her drink. Now that she had it, she wondered if she wanted to go down this road again. But, once Kenadie spoke again, Charlie’s lips curved into a knowing, yet oddly pained smile. “Amen to that,” she said softly, lifting her glass in a quick toast before throwing the liquid back down her throat.

She had just signaled the barkeep for another of the same poison in a glass when she and Kenadie where joined by someone else... a male someone else. She cast a quick, yet scrutinizing gaze over him as her fingers wrapped around her second glass. She’d just been about to raise the glass to her lips when he spoke. She cast a quick glance at Kenadie, her brows raised. Then, just as she was about to throw back her second TNT of the night, Kenadie flung off a quick reply to the man that almost made Charlie snort half of her drink up her nose.

She turned her face slightly before wiping her mouth, still grinning. Turning back, she flashed the guy a quick grin. “Nah, I’m good thanks,” she said, holding up her glass. “But, the offer is appreciated.”

[trenton james somerset]

Apparently, the two women were bemoaning their lives together. Well, TJ wasn't much of a Pollyanna himself, but he could be amusing when he wasn't trying too hard. If he was trying too hard, he usually just came off as annoying or offensive. But when he was in the right mood, his naturally sarcastic, acerbic sense of humor served him well. From the looks of this, though, and the sound of the girl's response to his (he thought) kind offer to buy them drinks, he wasn't the only one who liked to get cranky in order to relax. Tall glass of go to hell. That was a new one. Maybe he'd use that in a review. It would take some working to make it fit in, but he thought he could probably do it. Wouldn't be that hard. Whatever, though. He tried to overlook the hostile greeting he'd gotten, and didn't move from the seat.

When his drink came, he took a rather judgmental sip, and made a face. He'd said heavy on the Triple Sec. If he wanted something that tasted this much of gin, he would have ordered a gin and tonic or shot the stuff. It didn't matter. It would get him drunk if he downed enough of it, and that was what he was after. He'd have to call a cab to get home, but that didn't matter either. Actually, not much mattered at the moment besides just doing something outside of his normal routine, which he was currently in the process of trying to do. So far, all he'd done was gotten a drink and nothing had changed but the variety and the location. He was still hoping to do something about the companionship. Daring another try and gambling on the fact that she might be in a little better mood once she had some alcohol in her, he slapped a twenty down.

"Next two are on me." he persisted. "Or I'll write an incredibly sordid review of this establishment in next weeks' paper." It never hurt to use one's social influence, although it might have been a little unethical. TJ wasn't in the sort of reputation where people often got sued for saying inappropriate things, though. If anything, he had the ability to get away with that sort of thing more than people in other professions.

The other woman had turned him down, too, and he sighed inwardly. Two no's, and no more than a twenty dollar gamble on a second chance. Things weren't looking so wonderful. At least he could introduce himself...Maybe that would help.

"I'm Trenton." he said, offering his right hand, the one not holding the drink, to the both of them, in the event that either of them would shake it. Generally speaking, he only used his initials as his pen name, and tended to go by his first name when he was actually in the company of other people (although the newspaper staff did call him TJ). Hopefully at least one of them would be desperate enough, or polite enough...maybe crazy enough, to actually shake his hand and pretend to be pleased to make his acquaintance.

[kenadie alexandria augustine]

» Kenadie sighed a little as Charlie politely declined the offer. Why did people have to do that- be all polite. Did politeness ever get anyone anywhere, unless they were into politics? Sure, it might help to be polite if one wanted to acquire a friend or two, but right now, in a club bar thing, with some random guy offering to buy them drinks, was that really the kind of friend anyone wanted? People that were polite for the sake of being polite- the kind of person who was perpetually nice, even if the people around them were being total assholes- pissed her off like very few things in the world were capable of doing. "Nice going goody-two-shoes," she grumbled under her breath. She was taking a dislike to Charlie already, though that was probably because she was having a bad day anyway, and was grumpy about the barkeep taking "too long" with her drinks.

» Sighing, she looked back at Trenton. "What, you think I give a damn what anyone says about this place?" Kenadie wasn't exactly the caring sort that wanted to make sure everyone thought everything was great, and everyone got along. Really, she couldn't care less what he said about the place. He could say it was disgusting, the drinks tasted like piss, and there were rats everywhere, and she wouldn't so much as bat an eye. He could also say it was better than any other bar he'd ever been to, and she honestly wouldn't give a damn. It was Mercury's problem, not hers. It wasn't like she worked there, managed, or owned it. Hell, she didn't even come here often. She actually was at the other bar more, on the rare occasions that she went out to drink, and so was more attached to that one than this. Still, sighing again, she rubbed her eyes, and looked him over as her next two shots were handed to her. "Fine. On you. Are you happy now?"

» She continued to look him over, and shrugged a little at his name. It was a name, big whoop. Did she need to know who he was? Unless she was going to end up waking up naked next to him- which she seriously hoped wouldn't happen- she really didn't even want to know his name. But since he'd irritated her by identifying himself, she figured she should return the favor. "Kenadie," she said, taking one of the two shots. "Yes, like the dead President." She took the second shot. "Spelled different. Not that you'll ever be writing it down." Sighing a little, she stared at the four empty shot glasses. This wasn't doing it for her. While she was starting to calm down a bit, be a tad more relaxed, she wasn't drunk so much as she was just mildly buzzed, and at the rate of two shots at a time, she wasn't going to get drunk fast enough. She signaled the barkeep over and requested more shots- three this time.