on_thecouch: 15.2
15.2. What's on your agenda?
Chase had hoped envisaged that his bachelor party would be a few drinks in the pub for a few hours so he could go home relatively early and pass out after a really hard and heavy week at work. When Lachlan had revealed who was coming to the night, he had only listed about one third of the people that actually turned up. Chase’s ‘last night of freedom’ had gone from a handful of mates having a beer at the pub to at least forty blokes packed out in a private function room at a Princeton hotel. Lachlan had paid for the open bar in advance, so the alcohol was literally free-flowing, even if the Scotsman himself couldn’t partake in the timeless tradition of getting completely shit-faced for his mate’s Stag Night.
Chase had been more than nervous. He’d grown up in Australia where the tradition of a Stag Night raged brightly and outrageously. He had a friend in university who woke up the morning after his Buck’s Party chained and handcuffed to a lamp post in the middle of Melbourne’s busiest street at peak hour in nothing but a bridal veil and a Post-It note stuck to his forehead saying ‘Just Married’. He had another mate who got painted head-to-toe with Gentian Violet, both eyebrows shaved off and dumped on the shores of St Kilda Beach to walk ten kilometres home dragging a fake ball and chain behind him. Bachelor Party tradition in his home country (and his Best Man’s home country, scarily enough) consisted of finding the most amusing way to get the groom completely piss-drunk and put him in the most humiliating position they could come up with… then laughing their arses off at it for years to come.
The only thing was, Chase wasn’t sure if the same sort of thing happened in America. He had no doubt people were going to try and get him off his face. House had already offered him three joints and a drink Chase highly suspected was a triple shot of Scotch in the guise of Scotch-n-Dry. Still, Chase was only beginning to feel the effects of the intoxicating substances spreading through his system. He’d given himself a shot Metoclopramide before coming out, having been pretty convinced he would never have made it through the night otherwise. The couvades had seen him not be able to drink anything but water in a week and the last thing he wanted to look like at his own Bachelor Party was a wuss. Even Lachlan, who hadn’t been able to drink alcohol the night of his own party back in May, had gotten so off his face on weed for his Stag do that he still couldn’t remember the details. Though, there was video evidence floating around that he tried to give Foreman a lap dance and stripped to ‘I’m Too Sexy’ on a tabletop.
Because of all this, Chase’s senses were piqued and when he’d first arrived to find the crowd, found himself watching everyone suspiciously. Lachlan had met him at the door with two shots of Tequila and told him he had to drink or be tried down and shaved all over. Chase drank, of course, and the shots were just enough to get him to relax and start to enjoy himself. His speech was already starting to slur a little and his hand gestures weren’t as pointed as they were before House’s drink. He took a slow drag from the joint and then passed it on to his Best Man. “Are you gonna sing t’night?” he asked, blowing the smoke out in a ring. He might not be a smoker now, but he had been in the past. It wasn’t a skill one ever really forgot.
“Get me high enough, maybe,” Lachlan replied with a shrug as he took a quick puff on the joint and passed it on to Taub who passed it on to Kutner without taking any. He blew the smoke out quickly and picked up his glass. “Still cannae seem to tap into the necessary mojo for my music. I’m hoping it’s just taking a wee rest.”
“What about if I get ya’ high and get the DJ t’play any song ya’ want?” Chase bargained as he teased an ice cube in his glass. “I r’member ya’ singin’ I Was Made For Lovin’ You’ by Kiss at your party and ya’ even got the high bits. We had bets that ya’ would, ya’ know.”
Lachlan snorted and signalled the barman for a large top up of Chase’s drink. All he had to do was point at the Groom’s glass and a bottle was there for a re-pour. Chase was more drunk than he realised and was playing right in to everyone’s hands who planned to get him more drunk than he had been in years. Lachlan knew the string of questionable things Chase had gotten up to when drunk over there years and he’d taken it upon himself to stick to his side like balls to a dick. He had even less trust in the party guests than Chase did and he’d heard what some of them were planning. He wanted Chase to let his hair down and was even planned for the more outrageous things the Aussie might come up with (a Karaoke machine had been hired for a start), but he wouldn’t let him get hurt or worse. Still, House was one of the guests, so who really knew what was going to happen? “Aye, well, nay point singing a song if you’re nay going to sing it properly,” he said with a shrug. “Speaking of, why dinnae you get up and give us a smashing rendition of something from Queen? Someone has to christen the fecking machine.”
Chase looked between the Karaoke machine, then Lachlan, then back again. “Think I should?”
“Fuck, Campbell. Don’t encourage it,” Foreman advised from Chase’s other side. “Have you heard him murder drunk Karaoke?”
Lachlan merely smirked. “Be relieved I didnae arrange for him to give his own personal pole dance show. Once you’ve seen him do that, you willnae have been complaining about the Karaoke,” he said knowingly.
Foreman snorted and sipped his beer as Chase stumbled off the bar stool in the direction of the Karaoke machine. So, maybe he was a bit more drunk than he thought. But who cared when there was a microphone and Queen at his fingers tips?
- drcampbell used with permission. Not binding on any House, Foreman, Taub or Kutner muses
Word Count | 1,076
Chase had hoped envisaged that his bachelor party would be a few drinks in the pub for a few hours so he could go home relatively early and pass out after a really hard and heavy week at work. When Lachlan had revealed who was coming to the night, he had only listed about one third of the people that actually turned up. Chase’s ‘last night of freedom’ had gone from a handful of mates having a beer at the pub to at least forty blokes packed out in a private function room at a Princeton hotel. Lachlan had paid for the open bar in advance, so the alcohol was literally free-flowing, even if the Scotsman himself couldn’t partake in the timeless tradition of getting completely shit-faced for his mate’s Stag Night.
Chase had been more than nervous. He’d grown up in Australia where the tradition of a Stag Night raged brightly and outrageously. He had a friend in university who woke up the morning after his Buck’s Party chained and handcuffed to a lamp post in the middle of Melbourne’s busiest street at peak hour in nothing but a bridal veil and a Post-It note stuck to his forehead saying ‘Just Married’. He had another mate who got painted head-to-toe with Gentian Violet, both eyebrows shaved off and dumped on the shores of St Kilda Beach to walk ten kilometres home dragging a fake ball and chain behind him. Bachelor Party tradition in his home country (and his Best Man’s home country, scarily enough) consisted of finding the most amusing way to get the groom completely piss-drunk and put him in the most humiliating position they could come up with… then laughing their arses off at it for years to come.
The only thing was, Chase wasn’t sure if the same sort of thing happened in America. He had no doubt people were going to try and get him off his face. House had already offered him three joints and a drink Chase highly suspected was a triple shot of Scotch in the guise of Scotch-n-Dry. Still, Chase was only beginning to feel the effects of the intoxicating substances spreading through his system. He’d given himself a shot Metoclopramide before coming out, having been pretty convinced he would never have made it through the night otherwise. The couvades had seen him not be able to drink anything but water in a week and the last thing he wanted to look like at his own Bachelor Party was a wuss. Even Lachlan, who hadn’t been able to drink alcohol the night of his own party back in May, had gotten so off his face on weed for his Stag do that he still couldn’t remember the details. Though, there was video evidence floating around that he tried to give Foreman a lap dance and stripped to ‘I’m Too Sexy’ on a tabletop.
Because of all this, Chase’s senses were piqued and when he’d first arrived to find the crowd, found himself watching everyone suspiciously. Lachlan had met him at the door with two shots of Tequila and told him he had to drink or be tried down and shaved all over. Chase drank, of course, and the shots were just enough to get him to relax and start to enjoy himself. His speech was already starting to slur a little and his hand gestures weren’t as pointed as they were before House’s drink. He took a slow drag from the joint and then passed it on to his Best Man. “Are you gonna sing t’night?” he asked, blowing the smoke out in a ring. He might not be a smoker now, but he had been in the past. It wasn’t a skill one ever really forgot.
“Get me high enough, maybe,” Lachlan replied with a shrug as he took a quick puff on the joint and passed it on to Taub who passed it on to Kutner without taking any. He blew the smoke out quickly and picked up his glass. “Still cannae seem to tap into the necessary mojo for my music. I’m hoping it’s just taking a wee rest.”
“What about if I get ya’ high and get the DJ t’play any song ya’ want?” Chase bargained as he teased an ice cube in his glass. “I r’member ya’ singin’ I Was Made For Lovin’ You’ by Kiss at your party and ya’ even got the high bits. We had bets that ya’ would, ya’ know.”
Lachlan snorted and signalled the barman for a large top up of Chase’s drink. All he had to do was point at the Groom’s glass and a bottle was there for a re-pour. Chase was more drunk than he realised and was playing right in to everyone’s hands who planned to get him more drunk than he had been in years. Lachlan knew the string of questionable things Chase had gotten up to when drunk over there years and he’d taken it upon himself to stick to his side like balls to a dick. He had even less trust in the party guests than Chase did and he’d heard what some of them were planning. He wanted Chase to let his hair down and was even planned for the more outrageous things the Aussie might come up with (a Karaoke machine had been hired for a start), but he wouldn’t let him get hurt or worse. Still, House was one of the guests, so who really knew what was going to happen? “Aye, well, nay point singing a song if you’re nay going to sing it properly,” he said with a shrug. “Speaking of, why dinnae you get up and give us a smashing rendition of something from Queen? Someone has to christen the fecking machine.”
Chase looked between the Karaoke machine, then Lachlan, then back again. “Think I should?”
“Fuck, Campbell. Don’t encourage it,” Foreman advised from Chase’s other side. “Have you heard him murder drunk Karaoke?”
Lachlan merely smirked. “Be relieved I didnae arrange for him to give his own personal pole dance show. Once you’ve seen him do that, you willnae have been complaining about the Karaoke,” he said knowingly.
Foreman snorted and sipped his beer as Chase stumbled off the bar stool in the direction of the Karaoke machine. So, maybe he was a bit more drunk than he thought. But who cared when there was a microphone and Queen at his fingers tips?
- drcampbell used with permission. Not binding on any House, Foreman, Taub or Kutner muses
Word Count | 1,076