Tequila, Vodka and Shrooms


daphne_icon.gif melissa_icon.gif

Scene Title Tequila, Vodka and Shrooms
Synopsis Melissa is drinking, Daphne joins in. Men bashing and pizza ordering ensue.
Date July 28, 2010

Staten Island Melissa's House

It's just two-thirty in the afternoon. A time when most people are at work, or otherwise doing useful things. The rare few people who work strictly at night are sleeping. Then there are people like Melissa. People who buzzed and slowly working their way towards falling down drunk.

The front door is open, as is the back door, with only the screen door closed there. The sound of a movie playing blares out of the house, the volume turned up entirely too loud. It's Mel Brooks. Of course it's Mel Brooks. But who doesn't like Men in Tights? Well, not Melissa right now. She's yelling at the screen and making large gestures with her hand — and the 3/4 full bottle of tequila that is held in it. "Don't you do it, bitch! Don't you know it never works out? Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em all!"

With all this noise, poor Jerry Lee is hiding in the kitchen, under one of the chairs. Poor puppy.

One moment, Daphne is not there, and the next she is, accompanied by her own rustle of wind that blows away any loose papers from the coffee table. She quirks a brow at the television, and then at Melissa. "Psst," she says, in a faux whisper. "You know the people in the little box can't hear you, right?"

She glances at the bottle next, and then steps a little closer to peer into Melissa's eyes, gauging how drunk the other woman is. "Oh, man, straight from the bottle? No lemon and salt ritual? Uncivilized drinking. This is bad news."

There's a girlish sounding squeak of surprise and Melissa jumps, spilling a bit of the pungent alcohol on her shirt. "Holy sssshit, Daphne! Don't scare me like that!" There's a pause and a frown at the bottle, then at her shirt. "It's lime. And not uncivilized." She looks up at Daphne, eyes wide and hopeful. "Wanna drink with me? Prolly not good, might bleed more, but…I need a fucking hug and the bastard wouldn't give me one and Kendall's gone," she whispers, the sound almost lost in the noise of the movie.

A hug. Daphne's brows lift. She knows how good it felt to be comforted by Raquelle in a purely friendly, companionable sort of way. "Bleed more? Did you get hurt again? Shit, Mel," Daphne says with a frown, and sort of shyly moves to put her arms around the taller woman. "I don't know where you're hurt, I don't want to … squish you," she says with a self-conscious laugh; her hands lightly touch Mel's upper arms and shoulders, to test for bandages or winces, before finding safe places to hold on to. Her little displays of affection are usually spontaneous and not-asked for, so… this is new. And awkward. But she can try.

There's a loud sigh and Melissa leans into Daphne, head falling over to rest on the other woman's shoulder. "Stomach. Back. Head. It was a clusterfuck. I'm gettin' a collection of scars, and they're not sexy." Her brow furrows as she struggles to think, then she looks embarrassed. "Ohmygod Daphne, I'm so sorry! You want some?" she asks, offering the bottle out.

"Oh, hell, why not, but only so you're not ready for the Twelve Step program for drinking alone. It's the first sign, you know!" Daphne says brightly, taking the bottle and taking a swig, her nose scrunching at the sharp taste and burn as she swallows. "Can you imagine me in a Twelve Step? I'd be done in a day! 'What? I thought that's what you meant by one day at a time!'" she quips, stepping away from the hug.

"Glad I stopped by. You know, I almost dyed my hair dark the other day? I ran into some cop sort of guy who can run like I do. That shouldn't even be allowed. It's not fair to the poor normal criminals," she mutters, flopping down on the couch.

"Wait, what? Cop sort? Oh! You mean Felix of the kitty cat clock?" Melissa asks. Yep, she knows him. "And don't go dark. Dark is bad on chicks. It's like, a bad sign. It's an omen!" she exclaims, inspired and looking pleased with herself. "And I'm not an alcoholic. I only drink when things are all gone to shit and no one hugs me," she says with a definite nod.

The name brings Daphne's eyebrows up and she nods. "Yeah, Felix. Faylix." She exaggerates the Russian pronunciation. "He was all streaking about in the park, and I made the mistake of asking him if he was some other speedy guy… of which I've never met a single one, and now suddenly they're all freaking over the place, you know? I thought I was unique." She makes a face, taking the bottle and pulling another swig. "And that is a sign of an alcoholic, lush. Especially here. When aren't things all gone to shit, seriously? Like, seriously?"

"You are unique!" Melissa insists. "You are totally cuter than Felix! Plus, cop. Eww. All cops are eww. And I mean really gone to shit. Like, worse than usual! I'm used to the usual gone to shit. People disappearing and explosions and all that. I can handle that," she protests, shrugging and taking the bottle back to take a swallow.

"Explosions and disappearing is handleable? Shit, woman," Daphne says with a laugh. "Anyway, Faylix is apparently FRONTLINE now. I guess it's not really their thing to track down the unregistered and throw them in jail. DHS and all can do that noise. But still, it threw me. I mean, he's the first guy I've ever met that would have a chance of catching me." She doesn't know Felix can't go the distance, that he's a short-burst sort of speedster. "I mean. If I were to do anything illegal." She coughs and then smirks. "So what's all gone to shit, that's worse than Evo flus and bombs and getting shot and all that?"

There's a shrug. "It's becoming the lesser of the issues I'm dealing with," Melissa explains. Then she snickers softly. "And you would totally do something illegal. I know you well enough to know that, miss stealing famous paintings." Then she sobers and shrugs slightly. "Kendall's scared of me. He didn't come home last night. That's worse," she says softly. "Killing people in worse. Those I can't deal with. I want to escape for a few minutes."

"Oh." Daphne stops the joking and nods. "I get that." Her mind turns to Hiro, her personal ghost of sorts, even if he never died. She could have killed him. He almost died, because of her. "I won't ask, unless you want to talk about it. Sounds like you want to not talk about it, so we won't unless you want to," she babbles a bit, not so good at the confidante role she may or may not have been cast in. "So we drink. But hold on. I need to drink something besides tequila."

And with that, she is gone, a streak of green and gray, the air displaced rustling through the room and Melissa's hair. Not too many moments later, she returns, two bottles in her hand. "I couldn't decide, so I got blueberry and sweet tea flavors," she says, holding up the vodka bottles triumphantly.

"Nah, I don't wanna talk about it. I mean, part of me does because I haven't told anyone, but I can't get you involved, so I can't talk about it, because if I do then you'll be in it and you could get hurt and I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt because of me," Melissa says with a sigh, barely breathing during that extremely long sentence. Then she's frowning. "Tea flavored vodka? I haven't heard of that. Is it good?" she asks, holding a hand out for the bottle.

"And whatcha been up to? Besides almosty dying your hair and meeting Felix? Please tell me it was something fun. Oh! Oh, oh, oh. We should go somewhere. Like…I don't know. Soon. A break from all the shit here. The Caribbean maybe. We could drink fruity things out of coconuts with those cute little paper umbrellas," she says, making hand gestures to demonstrate said drink.

"Decide for yourself," Daphne says, handing the Southern-tea inspired vodka to the Southerner. "I probably shoulda bought some mixers, huh…" Oh, well. she unscrews the blueberry's cap and takes a swig. No need for glasses. "I haven't really been up to much. A couple of jobs here and there." She sits again and studies Melissa.

"I get the whole 'I can't tell you' thing but telling me and me getting involved are two verrrry different things. I'm an independent contractor, but I know a lot of people involved in a lot of things I shouldn't. I don't squeal, you know. You can trust me. But… I'm also not a very trusting person myself, so I get if you don't. And it's okay," she says, wiping her mouth. The hits are starting to affect her; her cheeks are growing a touch flushed and not from the run to the nearest liquor store.

Melissa shakes her head before taking a swig of the tea flavored vodka. "Nah, it's not that I don't trust ya. It's that I don't want you getting caught up in the clusterfuck that is my life. Hell, it may not even be safe to be my friend. I mean, look at Kendall. God I hope he's alright," she says, turning slightly, then falling back against the couch.

There's a minute of silence, then, "Daphne? You've got a guy, right?"

"You want me to find Kendall, Mel?" Daphne says softly. "I mean, if you tell me people he might go to, or where… I can cover a lot of ground, faster than anyone else. Well, except me and the 50 bazillion other speedsters who suddenly exist," she says, clearly irritated at the fact she's not the only one, even if that was a ridiculous idea in the first place.

"Yeah. Corbin. The guy who got us out of the Den that night," she says. "Kinda … my first real relationship, I guess, if it's real. At least, he's the first person that I ever went back to and gave a second chance, so that's something. It's the longest I've ever stuck around for someone, at any rate, but…" But. There is always a 'but.' This one, she isn't sure how to finish. But he's in love with a dead woman just sounds stupid and emo.

"I honestly don't know, besides maybe Magnes. I hope he'll just come home by himself," Melissa says, shrugging a little. "But your guy, Corbin. You guys, like, date? I mean the whole go out places and all that date. I've…decided to start dating, but I've never had a guy all my own, just fuckbuddies, so…I have no idea where to begin."

"We went on like a couple, before everything got all nutty with the flu and …" Hokuto, but she just trails off there, then takes another sip of the vodka. "And then one day I went to leave something I found for him at his apartment, and he was there, and …we made up, and now we're just sorta a thing, you know. Not real dating. I donno. He's so busy with work and half the time we're not together and I'm not the person to ask how dating works, Mel." The words come out fast and her cheeks flush more, this time from the past and not the alcohol.

"I didn't date anyone before because of what I was like, and in a small town, you know, there's not like, a lot of options, and then after… you know. Flings. Nothing real." She sighs and leans back, closing her eyes. "I don't know if I'm capable, to be honest. I forgave him, but I still don't totally trust him. I don't know if I know how to trust anyone that much."

She rubs her eyes and sits up again. "Shit, that stuff works fast. There are people who are normal and know how, though, Melissa. You could ask them. Maybe Abby?"

"Well, Abby's the one who suggested that I date. See if I can find someone who can love me," Melissa admits. "But yeah, I should talk to Abby. Her and Robert seem to work alright. I mean, he works for Linderman, but he seems like a mostly normal guy, and she's a mostly normal chick." Though she doesn't sound certain.

She bursts out laughing suddenly, shaking her head. "Jesus…Why do guys gotta be so fuckin' frustrating and confusing, Daph? I thought they were just supposed to think with their dicks and make everything easy? Aren't we supposed to be the confusing ones?"

"I haven't really met one that can make anything okay yet, except maybe Francois and he actually uses his brain to think, so you know, there goes that theory," Daphne says with a snicker. "Not that his life isn't confusing." More confusing than she can wrap her head around — how the hell was he in 1945, anyway? How did he lose his ability to heal? "Someone will love you, Melissa. If I found someone, screwed up as we are, to love me, I'm sure you will, too. And he'll be a lucky man."

"Francois is an awesome, awesome man. Too bad he's gay," Melissa says with a heartfelt sigh. Then she smiles crookedly at Daphne. "Maybe they will, but I don't know about lucky. I'm not exactly the easiest chick to get along with. I'm in so much shit, and I work too much, and I'm always hurt. But we'll see. I guess I should just take things one step at a time."

Daphne wrinkles her nose at the aphorism. "One step at a time is way too freaking slow," she says, rubbing her eyes again before taking another sip of the vodka. "But you won't always be getting hurt and in so much shit, or at least I hope not." She screws the lid of the bottle back on and sets it away. "Shit, I feel like I'm gonna turn into a giant blueberry like that girl in the Chocolate Factory book. Let's get something to eat to soak up some of this drink or we're going to have hangovers of hell tomorrow."

Melissa looks embarrassed and apologetic. "Daphne? I can't cook. I've tried. I've taken cooking lessons. It hasn't helped. But! I have some delivery places on speed dial! You want Italian or Chinese?" She grins. "And one step at a time is only too slow if you're you."

"Did I ask you to cook for me, woman?" Daphne says with a laugh. "Get back in the kitchen and dial me a pie!" This said in a faux-Cartman voice, the impish speedster points to the kitchen, then rests her head on the back of the couch, laughing at her own stupid joke.

It's amazing what's funny when you're drunk. And how funny it is. So Melissa cracks up, shaking her head, and it takes a minute before she can speak. "I don't have a bakery on speed dial! Ooooh. Or did you mean pizza pie? 'Cause I can do that! What d'ya want on it?"

"Pizza is perfect. Salty and bready to soak up the vodka," Daphne says. "Anything but anchovies or pineapple. Those don't belong on pizza." She stands, picking up the bottles to carry into the kitchen. They will surely need more before the night is through, but for now Daphne's had enough. "One step at a time… really, how else can you do anything? That's a stupid saying," she mutters.

Melissa leans over to snag her phone off the table, giggling. "Well, you could hop? Or skip? Or jump? Or swim? Or fly? Or teleport? There are lots of ways to get from point A to point B! Oh! Pizza place! Hiiiiii. We need a pizza. No, two pizzas. One with everything but anchovies and pineapple, the other with pepperoni, sausage, black olives and mushrooms! 'Shrooooooooms."

The speedster's dark eyes widen. "I hope that's really a pizza place and not like a secret drug dealer with real shrooms because I don't think I wanna see you actually tripping. You're frightening enough as it is," says Daphne Millbrook, the voice of reason as Melissa finishes the order. "Come on. Let's put something in that has absolutely no romance at all in it so your television doesn't have to be screamed at and your dog doesn't have to cower. C'mon, Jerry-Berry, it'll be okay!" she croons to the dog.

That, of course, limits their choices in movies tremendously.

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