That was the only thought that was crossing Charlie's mind at the moment. This was one of the most uncomfortable moments he had ever experienced in his 32 years.
"Yeah, Brad," he droned in a tone that said he had long since become used to being patronized by his younger cousin, complete with an over-pronounced eye roll. "I stocked up on hangover stuff. We'll ne-"
And then there was Rose. More importantly, there were Rose's asscheeks. Hanging precariously just under the hem of her dress. Charlie swallowed hard.
Scratch that. This was the most uncomfortable experience he had ever endured. He briefly thought back on what he could remember of his previous lives. Hm. Three horrible wars. Four fiery deaths. No, this was still definitely the worst experience.
"Hello Rose," he practically hissed-not from malice so much as he did not want to risk the chance of his voice squeaking like a pubescent boy. Needless to say, no, this was not how Charlie liked it at all. In fact, if the truth was to be known, Charlie would have liked it if Rose had put on something a bit more comfortable. Like a suit of armor.
At least Brad was there to divert her attention. Charlie felt a bit of relief to know that his cousin was good for something that didn’t necessarily involve jail time.
Then came Napoleon, wheezing and winding up the stairs. Just as Charlie was about to introduce Brad and himself to the newcomer, Jess opened the door. For a moment, his mouth hung slack as he looked at her, not even managing so much as a ‘hello.’ Clearly, Charlie had been absent the day that lessons on being suave and debonair had been taught at private eye school.
Then she fell.
"Jesus Christ," he finally said, words coming to him as he moved into the apartment, dropping his bags by the door. He stooped over Jess, a lopsided smile on his face. "Easy there. You all right?"
Unfortunately, Brad lost the overtly dramatic eye-roll Charlie had managed to practice quite often, just in case he ever got the chance to use it on Brad. All of his practice was for naught as Brad's attention was quite clearly elsewhere. Which is to say, he was looking at Rose. A lot of Rose. Being a good liar was one thing, but Brad couldn't hide his surprise as the scantily clad very young woman continued to croon his cousin's name. He didn't think Charlie had it in him, matter of fact, he didn't want to picture anything of his cousin's in anything at all, either. Looking very directly at Charles, he also raised his eyebrows, also very directly. He also wiggled them. Directly. Breaking his gaze, he looked back over at Rose, and down at Rose (directly, again, but discreetly, too) but he was interrupted from his ... thoughts by the sudden appearance of a rather sweaty man.
Very interested to know at what kind of place this Rose worked at in order to warrant such a memorable appearance, but not willing to ask, Brad just stuck to being rather perturbed with the magically appearing man. Smirking confidently, Brad's eyebrows cinched together as he looked over the man, "Take a breath of your puffer, kid, before you start asking all manners of questions that you really don't need to know the answer to," Glancing over at Charlie, he gave him a look that clearly said, 'Who does this guy think he is?' before turning back to Napoleon, "We were invited over for a time, I guess, I'm not really sure but the pizza will be worth the trip, kid, so catch your breath, watch your step and keep quiet while the big kids talk."
Brad would have continued, but the door was presently snapped open and his attention was drawn to the very drunk woman who was entirely incapable of standing on her own. Charles seemed keen on playing the hero as she fell and he rushed in to sweep her off her feet, or whatever, and Brad just rolled his eyes, inviting himself inside as he lofted the pizza over the obstacles and navigated into the kitchen. "Always have to be the hotshot, always have to be the knight on the white fucking steed," Brad muttered under his breath, setting each of the boxes out, opening them before taking out a large slice of meat lovers, "Oh, let me stop my entire life and the time of my handsome cousin who has better things to do to come over here and hold back your hair as you vomit up your longs my precious sweet," Brad ranted quietly, making his voice annoying nasal, which is how Charlie had always appeared to sound to Brad. However, he braved the drunks by returning to the front room as he leaned against a wall, watching the scene unfold as he slowly devoured his pizza slices, having already made himself at home. At least he had a snack along with entertainment.
There was a time and place for snorted laughter; seeing something get run over? A-okay. Watching adult males cry? Certainly. Making Napoleon want to roofie himself to forget the sight of her asscheeks? Fuck YES. And laughing hard, almost dropping the tequila filled bag, it was very possible she may have almost peed herself a little bit, had it not been for the distraction of Jess's apparent collapse.
"Jesus fucking CHRIST. What are we, on a soap opera?" People collapsing, a cripple playing Romeo, Napoleon being fugly, it was like an episode of All My Children right there and then. God, she fucking hoped Napoleon ended up having a tranny breakdown and revealing he had a penis. But picking up the dropped bags of food, making VERY SURE to bend over right in front of everyone's favorite club owner as she reached down for the groceries, it was time to get drunk. And food'd. Just so she could handle this little Charlie/Jess love fest without puking up her lungs. Finding a free corner, the bags were dumped; because, obviously, walking to the kitchen was such a TREK, and there in began the rummaging search for food. Bread? No thanks. Milk? Yeah no. Anything healthy didn't have a chance when there was pizza being held by a rather fortunate looking man leaning against a wall.
The combination of his looks and her addiction to make-up leading to her ignoring whatever the shit was going on with the tragic love couple in the middle, and reaching into her purse and pulling out lipgloss. Because six coats was never enough for Rose Bloom. And picking up the tequila bottle, grimacing as she took a healthy swig, it was one oh so hip swinging walk over and she was leaning next to Brad. "So I think your cousin wants to fuck Jess." No, it was not whispered. Nor said in any sort of indoor voice. Because what was the point of being a cow, if you didn't do it loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Jesus God, life was not fair. Why should he, of all people, have to suffer that particular sight? He gave to charity! He held doors open for little old ladies! He even went to church twice a year. And synagogue once, if his mother forced him.
However, it was kind of difficult to keep his eyes averted when he heard a faint "Hi" and a thud. Ignoring the vast expanse that had opened up when Rose bent over, Napoleon followed Charlie step for step to make sure Jess was okay. The other man seemed to have the whole dashing and saving thing down pat, however, so Napoleon simply stood in the doorway and looked concerned. Yeah, that worked. "Wow, you weren't fucking kidding," he said to Jess, who was looking rather discombobulated, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling slightly out of place. Apparently everyone knew everyone else here except for him.
... Why was he there, again?
Oh, well. Nothing for it now but to make the best of it. "You probably need to rehydrate," he said before striding across to the kitchen. He could probably just hang out until he was sure everything was okay and be on his merry way. Hopefully his car would still be there when all was said and done.
Staring around the kitchen for a moment for a filtered tap or a water bottle in the fridge, Napoleon decided Nesquik would have to do. "Hey, where's the milk?" he asked, peeking out of the kitchenette. And a wince at Rose's oh-so-subtle remark to Brad. Did she ever stop?
That was going to leave a mark. Or several. Jess hit the little table near the door, scattering message pad and pen (for the phone on the wall; answering machines? Please) and earning what would inevitably be a nasty mark along her upper arm in the morning. "Ow. What. OW. Fuck. Shit. Hi," she said again, and once the monosyllabic tirade was over, "Rose got milk. Maybe. Rose. Rose."
She had, of course, not at all heard anyone's remarks besides 'where's the milk.' It was just as well, as Bradley's mutterings, Rose's less than subtle insinuations, and Napoleon's awkwardness might have made this situation particularly less enjoyable. Or as enjoyable as being an emotionally unstable drunken mess could possibly make it. She sat up much too quickly, fell half-backward again, and then propelled herself forward to put her head in between her knees. "I can't get up."
Which meant, naturally, that she would try. Jess was not a large woman by any means, or even average-sized: alcohol did not sit with her well. As such, she latched the un-bruised arm onto whatever part of Charlie's coat she could grab, and began to haul herself bodily from the floor. It was a process. There was flailing. Lots of flailing. And then, a questioning, bleary-eyed look at...some point near Charlie's ear, as if she'd missed something. "What?"
Charlie expression had warmed as he helped Jess up-or rather, stood still as she climbed up the arm his coat-but then darkened as he heard Rose’s commentary. (Luckily, Brad’s less-than-flattering imitation of his cousin had gone unheard.) With his hands chastely positioned in the middle of Jess’ back for support, he gave the loudmouth in question a reprimanding look, but said nothing in response.
“That’s a good idea. I brought milk,” he answered, once again glancing over his shoulder to the man who looked as uncomfortable as Charlie felt. He gestured to the bags...just in time to see Rose bend over to retrieve them, and for a moment wondered if he was going to choke on his own vomit. There was nothing in his fairytale about being visually assaulted by a former dwarf with anger management issues.
Thankfully, however, there was no blowing of chunks on Charlie’s behalf-although he did have to suppress a violent shudder, lowering his eyes.
“In the bags,” he managed. By now, our favorite private investigator had paled considerably. He swallowed hard, trying to pull his composure back together. “Brad, share the pizza with Rose.”
After all, she’d have a significantly harder time with her mouth full of pizza. Then again, Charlie thought with a grimace, she spends a lot of her time with her mouth full.
Ugh.
“Jess-are you okay now?” he asked with a reassuring smile. “Let me help you over to the couch, okay?”
THIS IS A TRAP, CHARLIE. GET OUT NOW.
That was the only thought that was crossing Charlie's mind at the moment. This was one of the most uncomfortable moments he had ever experienced in his 32 years.
"Yeah, Brad," he droned in a tone that said he had long since become used to being patronized by his younger cousin, complete with an over-pronounced eye roll. "I stocked up on hangover stuff. We'll ne-"
And then there was Rose. More importantly, there were Rose's asscheeks. Hanging precariously just under the hem of her dress. Charlie swallowed hard.
Scratch that. This was the most uncomfortable experience he had ever endured. He briefly thought back on what he could remember of his previous lives. Hm. Three horrible wars. Four fiery deaths. No, this was still definitely the worst experience.
"Hello Rose," he practically hissed-not from malice so much as he did not want to risk the chance of his voice squeaking like a pubescent boy. Needless to say, no, this was not how Charlie liked it at all. In fact, if the truth was to be known, Charlie would have liked it if Rose had put on something a bit more comfortable. Like a suit of armor.
At least Brad was there to divert her attention. Charlie felt a bit of relief to know that his cousin was good for something that didn’t necessarily involve jail time.
Then came Napoleon, wheezing and winding up the stairs. Just as Charlie was about to introduce Brad and himself to the newcomer, Jess opened the door. For a moment, his mouth hung slack as he looked at her, not even managing so much as a ‘hello.’ Clearly, Charlie had been absent the day that lessons on being suave and debonair had been taught at private eye school.
Then she fell.
"Jesus Christ," he finally said, words coming to him as he moved into the apartment, dropping his bags by the door. He stooped over Jess, a lopsided smile on his face. "Easy there. You all right?"
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Very interested to know at what kind of place this Rose worked at in order to warrant such a memorable appearance, but not willing to ask, Brad just stuck to being rather perturbed with the magically appearing man. Smirking confidently, Brad's eyebrows cinched together as he looked over the man, "Take a breath of your puffer, kid, before you start asking all manners of questions that you really don't need to know the answer to," Glancing over at Charlie, he gave him a look that clearly said, 'Who does this guy think he is?' before turning back to Napoleon, "We were invited over for a time, I guess, I'm not really sure but the pizza will be worth the trip, kid, so catch your breath, watch your step and keep quiet while the big kids talk."
Brad would have continued, but the door was presently snapped open and his attention was drawn to the very drunk woman who was entirely incapable of standing on her own. Charles seemed keen on playing the hero as she fell and he rushed in to sweep her off her feet, or whatever, and Brad just rolled his eyes, inviting himself inside as he lofted the pizza over the obstacles and navigated into the kitchen. "Always have to be the hotshot, always have to be the knight on the white fucking steed," Brad muttered under his breath, setting each of the boxes out, opening them before taking out a large slice of meat lovers, "Oh, let me stop my entire life and the time of my handsome cousin who has better things to do to come over here and hold back your hair as you vomit up your longs my precious sweet," Brad ranted quietly, making his voice annoying nasal, which is how Charlie had always appeared to sound to Brad. However, he braved the drunks by returning to the front room as he leaned against a wall, watching the scene unfold as he slowly devoured his pizza slices, having already made himself at home. At least he had a snack along with entertainment.
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"Jesus fucking CHRIST. What are we, on a soap opera?" People collapsing, a cripple playing Romeo, Napoleon being fugly, it was like an episode of All My Children right there and then. God, she fucking hoped Napoleon ended up having a tranny breakdown and revealing he had a penis. But picking up the dropped bags of food, making VERY SURE to bend over right in front of everyone's favorite club owner as she reached down for the groceries, it was time to get drunk. And food'd. Just so she could handle this little Charlie/Jess love fest without puking up her lungs. Finding a free corner, the bags were dumped; because, obviously, walking to the kitchen was such a TREK, and there in began the rummaging search for food. Bread? No thanks. Milk? Yeah no. Anything healthy didn't have a chance when there was pizza being held by a rather fortunate looking man leaning against a wall.
The combination of his looks and her addiction to make-up leading to her ignoring whatever the shit was going on with the tragic love couple in the middle, and reaching into her purse and pulling out lipgloss. Because six coats was never enough for Rose Bloom. And picking up the tequila bottle, grimacing as she took a healthy swig, it was one oh so hip swinging walk over and she was leaning next to Brad. "So I think your cousin wants to fuck Jess." No, it was not whispered. Nor said in any sort of indoor voice. Because what was the point of being a cow, if you didn't do it loud enough for the whole room to hear.
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Jesus God, life was not fair. Why should he, of all people, have to suffer that particular sight? He gave to charity! He held doors open for little old ladies! He even went to church twice a year. And synagogue once, if his mother forced him.
However, it was kind of difficult to keep his eyes averted when he heard a faint "Hi" and a thud. Ignoring the vast expanse that had opened up when Rose bent over, Napoleon followed Charlie step for step to make sure Jess was okay. The other man seemed to have the whole dashing and saving thing down pat, however, so Napoleon simply stood in the doorway and looked concerned. Yeah, that worked. "Wow, you weren't fucking kidding," he said to Jess, who was looking rather discombobulated, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling slightly out of place. Apparently everyone knew everyone else here except for him.
... Why was he there, again?
Oh, well. Nothing for it now but to make the best of it. "You probably need to rehydrate," he said before striding across to the kitchen. He could probably just hang out until he was sure everything was okay and be on his merry way. Hopefully his car would still be there when all was said and done.
Staring around the kitchen for a moment for a filtered tap or a water bottle in the fridge, Napoleon decided Nesquik would have to do. "Hey, where's the milk?" he asked, peeking out of the kitchenette. And a wince at Rose's oh-so-subtle remark to Brad. Did she ever stop?
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That was going to leave a mark. Or several. Jess hit the little table near the door, scattering message pad and pen (for the phone on the wall; answering machines? Please) and earning what would inevitably be a nasty mark along her upper arm in the morning. "Ow. What. OW. Fuck. Shit. Hi," she said again, and once the monosyllabic tirade was over, "Rose got milk. Maybe. Rose. Rose."
She had, of course, not at all heard anyone's remarks besides 'where's the milk.' It was just as well, as Bradley's mutterings, Rose's less than subtle insinuations, and Napoleon's awkwardness might have made this situation particularly less enjoyable. Or as enjoyable as being an emotionally unstable drunken mess could possibly make it. She sat up much too quickly, fell half-backward again, and then propelled herself forward to put her head in between her knees. "I can't get up."
Which meant, naturally, that she would try. Jess was not a large woman by any means, or even average-sized: alcohol did not sit with her well. As such, she latched the un-bruised arm onto whatever part of Charlie's coat she could grab, and began to haul herself bodily from the floor. It was a process. There was flailing. Lots of flailing. And then, a questioning, bleary-eyed look at...some point near Charlie's ear, as if she'd missed something. "What?"
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Charlie expression had warmed as he helped Jess up-or rather, stood still as she climbed up the arm his coat-but then darkened as he heard Rose’s commentary. (Luckily, Brad’s less-than-flattering imitation of his cousin had gone unheard.) With his hands chastely positioned in the middle of Jess’ back for support, he gave the loudmouth in question a reprimanding look, but said nothing in response.
“That’s a good idea. I brought milk,” he answered, once again glancing over his shoulder to the man who looked as uncomfortable as Charlie felt. He gestured to the bags...just in time to see Rose bend over to retrieve them, and for a moment wondered if he was going to choke on his own vomit. There was nothing in his fairytale about being visually assaulted by a former dwarf with anger management issues.
Thankfully, however, there was no blowing of chunks on Charlie’s behalf-although he did have to suppress a violent shudder, lowering his eyes.
“In the bags,” he managed. By now, our favorite private investigator had paled considerably. He swallowed hard, trying to pull his composure back together. “Brad, share the pizza with Rose.”
After all, she’d have a significantly harder time with her mouth full of pizza. Then again, Charlie thought with a grimace, she spends a lot of her time with her mouth full.
Ugh.
“Jess-are you okay now?” he asked with a reassuring smile. “Let me help you over to the couch, okay?”
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