FTVS: Stars and Garters.
Oh my stars. Oh stars. Stars. My head hurt so bad upon waking up that not even Calgon could have taken me away. Every breath I took was on par to the kind of hit that would finally break through the Enterprise shields. Brutal. Oh... my... stars. And garters. Pretty yellow stars, on a flannely navy background. Garters with dainty pink silk roses. Oh my star... sheets?
My first thoughts upon waking were these: I don't have star sheets! OR a garter belt with roses on it!" But, sure enough, just beyond my blurry vision were both of those things. I don't have star sheets, and I definitely don't have a freaky mannequin wearing a garter belt and a Kangol hat. Where the hell was I? That was my second thought.
And then the horror unfolded. I retraced my steps. I went out with Tracy! We saw Return of the King. She told me to stop talking in the middle of it. We ate popcorn, and I got a stomach ache. I cried at the end, but I don't think she noticed. She took me to her hotel room (notice that I said HOtel, as opposed to my gauche MOtel -- she was snuggled deep in the lap of luxury at her place)... and, there were drinks... I think there were a lot of drinks. A lot of her favorite drink, in fact. Um, whiskey and Ginger Ale. She called it a Yippie-Ki-Yay-Muthafucka, and, god, they were endless. Delicious, though. At least the first one was delicious. I've never been much of a whiskey drinker, but, it's kind of a manly drink, if you think about it. I don't remember seeing Bond ever drinking Sangria, come to think of it. Whiskey drinks are quite suave.
Anyway, there was drinking and talking, and, oh god, I think I might have vomited. Yes, yes, there are some definite flashbacks to hugging the toilet bowl like I did when I got the stomach flu in Mehico with Jonathan. Jonathan didn't bring me a glass of water because he said he didn't have enough fresh water in his Crystal Geyser, but, Tracy did. Icy cold glasses of water from the mini-fridge. She's really nice. A very kind girl.
"Hey, sleepyhead." Speak of the ...whatever, Tracy's voice sent shards of glass flying into my cerebral cortex, or whatever part of me it was that was in so much pain.
"Oh, Tracy, hi..." I cleared my throat, and tried to sit up. At least I could look lively. As soon as I elevated myself about three inches off the star-crossed pillow, those tiny shards of glass in my brain turned into supernovas of pain. "Ow. I -- ow. Um, can you turn out the light? ...Is it really, really bright in here?"
"Haha... no, the lights aren't on. That's sunlight. It's noon. Are you ready for breakfast?"
I'm not sure what made me more nauseous, the idea that it was noon and I was supposed to be at the shop in ... now, or the fact that breakfast actually existed. At the moment, I prefered to think of eating breakfast as a distant, benign notion. A notion that I would never ever have... ever ever again.
Oh my stars. And what was up with that mannequin? What kind of girl owns a mannequin?
+++
The drive to the Blue Moon was horrible. I kept asking Tracy to pull over so I could dry heave with my head hanging out of the slightly opened car door. She was really nice about it, and spoke in a very quiet voice out of respect for my headache. She's a very patient person, which is nice... but, god, she must have like a 17 CON, because she didn't seem hungover at ALL.
"Oh, god, I'm ill. Tracy? Nothing... happened, last night, did it? When I was... indisposed?"
"Like what? What would happen? You're a seasoned drinker, as you put it, so this obviously isn't a hangover," she said softly. Did she giggle, right then? I think she giggled. I straightened up in my seat and opened the window all the way, in case I had to reboot. "You came down with the flu very suddenly, from what you said. You spent some quality time in the restroom and then fell asleep on my bed. I stayed up for a while writing, and then fell asleep too."
She certainly was very kind. I smiled at her weakly, trying to look like I wasn't wincing at the light. "Yes. The flu. I... I can't -- everything is kind of blurry from last night. I hope I didn't talk too much."
Tracy didn't say anything, she just smiled and turned into the parking lot next to the Blue Moon. How did she know I worked here? Did I tell her that? What else did I tell her? God, I hope I didn't go on and on about Faith or ...vampires.
There were a couple things wrong with the Blue Moon picture, and even in my weakened state, it didn't take me too long to figure it out. The door to the Blue Moon was open, and the front desk was vacant. Where was the Borg, and OH GOD, I think I could smell whiskey coming out of my pores! Oh, and there was a guy standing in the center of the "Antiques" section, twirling a cross in his hands like a baton.
"Hey, do you know if anyone works here? I wanted to buy this, uh... antique?" He said, looking at me hopefully.
"Yeah, I work here, but where is..."
Where was the Borg? She opened at nine, and there was no way she'd go to lunch without waiting for me to start the closing shift at noon.
"Ingeborg? Chuck? Hello?" I called. Maybe they were in the back. And just hadn't heard this kid asking for help. I looked at Tracy, who was supposed to just be dropping me off, not actually coming in. But there she was, standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. "Tracy, would you stay here with this young gent, while I ..."
"Go in the back and look for the owner? Yeah, sure. Of course, I mean," she said, nodding at the shopper.
Oh, crap. This was bad. Or, it COULD be bad. The Blue Moon could have been robbed. Or, maybe it was robbed last night? Did I lock up when I closed? I couldn't remember now. If Chuck found out... oh, jesus.
I grabbed a pencil and a stapler off the front counter and headed towards the back room and the office. If the perps were still in the house, I was going to need something to defend myself. Pencils can actually double as fairly good stakes, too, if the perps happened to be vampires.
There wasn't anyone in the office. I called for Chuck and the Borg a couple times, but all I could hear was the little clock radio that sat on Chuck's desk. Huh. That's weird. Hotel California. Warm smell of colitas, rising up in the air...
I froze as I rounded the desk. A body. Oh, god! It was Ingeborg! She was half hunkered under the desk, as if she'd been hiding under there. I couldn't see her face, because her head was lolling down towards her lap. Like she was a drunk hobo or something. A very pale, and -- when I touched her I realized -- very dead hobo.
"Oh, Ingie... Oh, no." I pulled on her shoulder a bit. I had to get her out from the desk. "What happ --"
Her body wasn't all rigor mortisy yet, and it tumbled out from beneath the desk. Her eyes, wide and staring. Panicked. And, yep... her neck was half torn away. Jesus. I had to get... Chuck? Chuck didn't believe in vampires? God! What if he thought that I killed Inge?
I had to get Faith. I left the Borg on the floor behind the desk and, taking the pencil with me, ran back into the other room.
"Tracy! Can you take me to my motel? There's been an accident," I said, taking the customer in the shop by the elbow and leading him to the door. "I have to get Faith. She's, um... an EMT. She can help the Borg... we need to..."
"Hey, I didn't pay for this!" The kid said, stopping short and jerking his elbow free of my admittedly puny grasp.
"It's on the house... Hold on to it." I snapped, and looked at Tracy.
Hey, look at that, my headache went away. I was going to poop my pants, and maybe barf at the same time, but, I had no headache.
"Yeah, let's get your EMT friend, Faith. Shouldn't we call the police?"
"No, I don't... we have to go. And, dude, you have to get out of here." I shuffled us all out through the door and shut it behind me. I didn't have time to introduce myself to the shopper that I just gave something to for free. There were bigger fish to shoot... in a barrel. What was that expression again? My mind wasn't working right.
"I'll wait here," he said.
Whatever floats your boat, hombre.
+++
It took me five full minutes to explain what happened to Faith what happened at the Blue Moon without using the word "vampire." I just said "Neck wound" a lot, and told her to bring a pencil. She looked at me like I was insane for at least the first thirty seconds of my story, and then she looked at Tracy and understood. Tracy, who was occupying herself my looking around my motel room, which Faith had been sitting in when I got home.
I stopped short in the middle of my stilted, confusing story, and said aloud the first thing that jumped in my head after glancing at Tracy. She was looking at my empty suitcases, and at a huge pile of clothes on my bed and floor.
"Why are my clothes scattered all over? And not in my suitcase? And all grassy?"
My first thoughts upon waking were these: I don't have star sheets! OR a garter belt with roses on it!" But, sure enough, just beyond my blurry vision were both of those things. I don't have star sheets, and I definitely don't have a freaky mannequin wearing a garter belt and a Kangol hat. Where the hell was I? That was my second thought.
And then the horror unfolded. I retraced my steps. I went out with Tracy! We saw Return of the King. She told me to stop talking in the middle of it. We ate popcorn, and I got a stomach ache. I cried at the end, but I don't think she noticed. She took me to her hotel room (notice that I said HOtel, as opposed to my gauche MOtel -- she was snuggled deep in the lap of luxury at her place)... and, there were drinks... I think there were a lot of drinks. A lot of her favorite drink, in fact. Um, whiskey and Ginger Ale. She called it a Yippie-Ki-Yay-Muthafucka, and, god, they were endless. Delicious, though. At least the first one was delicious. I've never been much of a whiskey drinker, but, it's kind of a manly drink, if you think about it. I don't remember seeing Bond ever drinking Sangria, come to think of it. Whiskey drinks are quite suave.
Anyway, there was drinking and talking, and, oh god, I think I might have vomited. Yes, yes, there are some definite flashbacks to hugging the toilet bowl like I did when I got the stomach flu in Mehico with Jonathan. Jonathan didn't bring me a glass of water because he said he didn't have enough fresh water in his Crystal Geyser, but, Tracy did. Icy cold glasses of water from the mini-fridge. She's really nice. A very kind girl.
"Hey, sleepyhead." Speak of the ...whatever, Tracy's voice sent shards of glass flying into my cerebral cortex, or whatever part of me it was that was in so much pain.
"Oh, Tracy, hi..." I cleared my throat, and tried to sit up. At least I could look lively. As soon as I elevated myself about three inches off the star-crossed pillow, those tiny shards of glass in my brain turned into supernovas of pain. "Ow. I -- ow. Um, can you turn out the light? ...Is it really, really bright in here?"
"Haha... no, the lights aren't on. That's sunlight. It's noon. Are you ready for breakfast?"
I'm not sure what made me more nauseous, the idea that it was noon and I was supposed to be at the shop in ... now, or the fact that breakfast actually existed. At the moment, I prefered to think of eating breakfast as a distant, benign notion. A notion that I would never ever have... ever ever again.
Oh my stars. And what was up with that mannequin? What kind of girl owns a mannequin?
+++
The drive to the Blue Moon was horrible. I kept asking Tracy to pull over so I could dry heave with my head hanging out of the slightly opened car door. She was really nice about it, and spoke in a very quiet voice out of respect for my headache. She's a very patient person, which is nice... but, god, she must have like a 17 CON, because she didn't seem hungover at ALL.
"Oh, god, I'm ill. Tracy? Nothing... happened, last night, did it? When I was... indisposed?"
"Like what? What would happen? You're a seasoned drinker, as you put it, so this obviously isn't a hangover," she said softly. Did she giggle, right then? I think she giggled. I straightened up in my seat and opened the window all the way, in case I had to reboot. "You came down with the flu very suddenly, from what you said. You spent some quality time in the restroom and then fell asleep on my bed. I stayed up for a while writing, and then fell asleep too."
She certainly was very kind. I smiled at her weakly, trying to look like I wasn't wincing at the light. "Yes. The flu. I... I can't -- everything is kind of blurry from last night. I hope I didn't talk too much."
Tracy didn't say anything, she just smiled and turned into the parking lot next to the Blue Moon. How did she know I worked here? Did I tell her that? What else did I tell her? God, I hope I didn't go on and on about Faith or ...vampires.
There were a couple things wrong with the Blue Moon picture, and even in my weakened state, it didn't take me too long to figure it out. The door to the Blue Moon was open, and the front desk was vacant. Where was the Borg, and OH GOD, I think I could smell whiskey coming out of my pores! Oh, and there was a guy standing in the center of the "Antiques" section, twirling a cross in his hands like a baton.
"Hey, do you know if anyone works here? I wanted to buy this, uh... antique?" He said, looking at me hopefully.
"Yeah, I work here, but where is..."
Where was the Borg? She opened at nine, and there was no way she'd go to lunch without waiting for me to start the closing shift at noon.
"Ingeborg? Chuck? Hello?" I called. Maybe they were in the back. And just hadn't heard this kid asking for help. I looked at Tracy, who was supposed to just be dropping me off, not actually coming in. But there she was, standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. "Tracy, would you stay here with this young gent, while I ..."
"Go in the back and look for the owner? Yeah, sure. Of course, I mean," she said, nodding at the shopper.
Oh, crap. This was bad. Or, it COULD be bad. The Blue Moon could have been robbed. Or, maybe it was robbed last night? Did I lock up when I closed? I couldn't remember now. If Chuck found out... oh, jesus.
I grabbed a pencil and a stapler off the front counter and headed towards the back room and the office. If the perps were still in the house, I was going to need something to defend myself. Pencils can actually double as fairly good stakes, too, if the perps happened to be vampires.
There wasn't anyone in the office. I called for Chuck and the Borg a couple times, but all I could hear was the little clock radio that sat on Chuck's desk. Huh. That's weird. Hotel California. Warm smell of colitas, rising up in the air...
I froze as I rounded the desk. A body. Oh, god! It was Ingeborg! She was half hunkered under the desk, as if she'd been hiding under there. I couldn't see her face, because her head was lolling down towards her lap. Like she was a drunk hobo or something. A very pale, and -- when I touched her I realized -- very dead hobo.
"Oh, Ingie... Oh, no." I pulled on her shoulder a bit. I had to get her out from the desk. "What happ --"
Her body wasn't all rigor mortisy yet, and it tumbled out from beneath the desk. Her eyes, wide and staring. Panicked. And, yep... her neck was half torn away. Jesus. I had to get... Chuck? Chuck didn't believe in vampires? God! What if he thought that I killed Inge?
I had to get Faith. I left the Borg on the floor behind the desk and, taking the pencil with me, ran back into the other room.
"Tracy! Can you take me to my motel? There's been an accident," I said, taking the customer in the shop by the elbow and leading him to the door. "I have to get Faith. She's, um... an EMT. She can help the Borg... we need to..."
"Hey, I didn't pay for this!" The kid said, stopping short and jerking his elbow free of my admittedly puny grasp.
"It's on the house... Hold on to it." I snapped, and looked at Tracy.
Hey, look at that, my headache went away. I was going to poop my pants, and maybe barf at the same time, but, I had no headache.
"Yeah, let's get your EMT friend, Faith. Shouldn't we call the police?"
"No, I don't... we have to go. And, dude, you have to get out of here." I shuffled us all out through the door and shut it behind me. I didn't have time to introduce myself to the shopper that I just gave something to for free. There were bigger fish to shoot... in a barrel. What was that expression again? My mind wasn't working right.
"I'll wait here," he said.
Whatever floats your boat, hombre.
+++
It took me five full minutes to explain what happened to Faith what happened at the Blue Moon without using the word "vampire." I just said "Neck wound" a lot, and told her to bring a pencil. She looked at me like I was insane for at least the first thirty seconds of my story, and then she looked at Tracy and understood. Tracy, who was occupying herself my looking around my motel room, which Faith had been sitting in when I got home.
I stopped short in the middle of my stilted, confusing story, and said aloud the first thing that jumped in my head after glancing at Tracy. She was looking at my empty suitcases, and at a huge pile of clothes on my bed and floor.
"Why are my clothes scattered all over? And not in my suitcase? And all grassy?"