2009-10-30: People Like Colors



Date: October 30, 2009


Jenny tries to drown her sorrows away in a bottle of tequila. Tanya watches and then helps her to bed when she becomes completely wasted.

"People Like Colors"

Old Lucy's — Maine

In the wee hours of the night, long after Old Lucy's has closed, Jenny has slipped downstairs into the bar proper for some self-medication. It's not something she usually does— at least not generally. Tonight, however, just seems to be one of those nights where she can't be content to just mope around and needs to engage in some hardcore escapism, which is precisely why she went straight for the tequila. It may be something the other girls may have noticed, at least in how she's slowly become more nervous at times, particularly when not out dancing. Of course, nobody really knows why she turned up at Old Lucy's in the first place. She seems to have an awful lot of mood swings.

Jenny's not the only one up late. Reaching up to play with a cobweb in the corner of one of the bigger windows, Tanya carries on a conversation with… Well, with herself it seems like. "Well yes, but if you mix the vodka in first you get a much better color. People like colors." There's a pause. "Well, I like colors." Another pause. "Hmm… Bright ones. And dark ones. Ooh, and those ones with so much grey in them you can barely tell what they're meant to be." A creaking floorboard betrays another body's presence, though when Tanya looks, it isn't directly at Jenny. Rather it's to the vicinity of somewhere above her head. To Tanya, there's a silvery vine creeping along the ceiling like some sort of twisted guardian angel. It's an instant identifier. "Tequila's in the fridge." Another pause. "Well I didn't know she was coming down for it, did I? I would have replaced the canister for the hose before people came."

Jenny goes completely rigid when she hears the voice address her, and she comes about really quickly to see Tanya's form near the wind. "Oh gawd, you scared me," she says, vowels lengthy and with a certain amount of twang, indicative of a mild southern accent or drawl. Her hand immediately going to this little gold stylized eye hanging from an equally gold chain around her neck. Once it seems that she's not going to be bothered, she seeks out the fridge and pulls out a bottle of tequila. Despite her desire to get blitzed, she still only pulls a shot glass from the shelf. She could just as easily grabbed a lowball.

At first, Tanya says nothing - though the odd accent has her tilting her head to one side. She lets Jenny have her first shot, if she's going to have one at all, before she says anything. "Where'd you pick that up, then?" she inquires with an attempt to hide her curiosity reminiscent of a child's. "I didn't see any southerners in the bar tonight." Her eyes shift to something just above her shoulder, then back again. "Or have you already been at the bottle?"

"What?" is the question Jenny asks after downing another shot. Her cheeks redden sightly, like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. She immediately tries to evade the question. "I didn't realize anyone would be up." She tries very hard to make her 'I' sound normal, like someone without a drawl, but all she really manages to do is cut it short. She sniffles slightly as she pours herself another shot.

Shifting her head from side to side, Tanya doesn't even try to hide her giggle at Jenny's off-the-wall response. Popping herself up so that she's sitting just on the edge of the bar, she kicks her feet back and forth in a slightly silly fashion. "Soooo, you talk like a redneck only when you think no one's listening?" She's got a very cheeky sort of grin on her face, but it's half hidden in shadow. "And people say I'm the crazy one." Another pause then, and she shrugs one shoulder as if to agree with some unspoken point. "Are you from the south, then? Baton Rouge? Little Rock? C'mon, you can tell me…"

Another shot of tequila downed. "It's not like that," Jenny responds, shaking her head back and forth, a few stands of her red hair ending up in her shot glass as she seats herself on a stool. She felt no need to sit earlier, but now that the bar is starting to tip the ground over on her, she feels a need to sit. "Really, it isn't, ah swear."

"Oh, okay then." Tanya accepts Jenny's argument at face value, gaze dropping to focus on her still-swinging feet. There's a long stretch of silence between them, then; Tanya letting Jenny drink herself just a bit further into the bar. Just as the silence starts to become its own, uncomfortable sound, she ventures a question. "What is it then, if it's not that you lived there?"

"Who said I didn't?" Another shot. And another. What number Jenny's gotten up to now, she's lost track of. Not that it matters to her at all. This whole thing has been about getting out of the moment and to somewhere where things don't matter. Where what she has to do doesn't matter. Only it doesn't seem to be helping, because she can still feel herself getting choked up, and scared. Horrified, really, of what she has to do. When her head tips back with another shot, there are tears glittering in her eyes. Her mascara's already running.

Tanya can't see the tears. They don't glow to her like Jenny's Half does. Running mascara makes dark streaks in the darkness; impacting the shadows, but not the light. This back and forth is starting to make Tanya's head spin - an odd occurrence given that there's only one Evolved in the room with her. "Well," she begins, a bit hesitant since she's fairly certain that Jenny has passed the line of 'pleasantly buzzed' into 'trashed'. "You just did. Didn't you?"

Another shot. "Jus' didwhat?" Jenny asks. Yes, she's well beyond pleasantly buzzed. And well beyond unpleasantly buzzed Tanya's perfectly logical assessment and question go right over her head. Funny how she can fry her concentration and attention and yet still manage to dwell on whatever it is that drove her to drink in the first place. One more shot and she's knocked flat on her ass. Literally, since she tumbles off the stool while knocking it back, letting out a quiet yelp when she hits the floor, followed shortly by a prolonged, "Owww." Most of the tequila from the shot glass that now rolls away from her on the floor is on her face and shirt, some covering the little gold necklace. The stylized eye.

"Never mind…" Tanya heaves a sigh and pushes herself up and off the bar. Moving on silent feet, she grabs a couple of paper towels and gets the worst of it off of Jenny's face at least. That done, she chucks them in the bin and crouches down to sling one of the other girl's arms over her shoulders. "Come on, then. Time for beds and sleep now, I think. No, not nightmares, those are unpleasant. Dreams are okay, though. I like dreams."

Jenny seems to both accept the physical support and be repulsed by it at the same time, to the extent that she grabs at Tanya's shoulders — with admittedly compromised motor coordination that makes it look more like flailing than anything. "Duno why'mere?" Tears scatter along her face as she looks at her surrogate sister as though she had a death warrant on her or something equally tragic. Of course, the look on her face is also under the impression that her words were comprehensible.

One can only work in a bar so long before the ramblings of the drunk become more sensible than the lucid speeches of Oxford and Cambridge. Still, understanding words is different than understanding meaning. "You came down for the tequila, sweetheart. Don't you remember?" Crazy she might be, but a shattered mind has nothing to do with the heart and Tanya's is in the right place. "Come on now, small steps and we'll have you dreaming sweet things." Her free thumb goes to wipe the mascara from her sister's cheeks, fingers brushing against the necklace's pendant as they fall away.

What's more frustrating that not being properly understood? Not being properly understood while trying very hard to walk in a way that even remotely resembles the proper ambulation a person should be capable of, all the while people are tilting the whole bar on her. For that, Jenny is rather grateful for the support from Tanya. The fact that she can't seem to lucidly convey her other frustrations to try and lessen her personal burden makes her more tearful, though, and she holds onto Tanya for dear life. For more reason than one.

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