Soleil came home from work around one AM, surprised to find Alex wasn't at the apartment yet. She threw her bag down on the ground by the door, completely disregarding the fact that Alex would probably trip over it whenever he came in later. She put it there every time she got home, and inevitably it'd move somewhere else and she'd have to ask where it went. And then she'd be told that she needed to stop leaving it there because it was "a fuckin' death trap" and she'd say she was sorry and she'd try to remember.
The thump of the bag punctuated the night pretty fully, and she abandoned it halfway in the middle of the foyer as she wandered into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of 3 Olives vodka from the liquor cabinet, knowing the flavour by the weight of the bottle. It was the rootbeer, because lately that had been her favourite. She got a can of A&W diet from the fridge and set the bottle on the counter, swapping it for a tall cup that she filled with ice. She dragged her flip-flopped feet across the floor, ignoring the sensation where the heels stuck from spills she'd been guilty of earlier in the week. As she drew closer to the cabinet, rolling on her toes to put the vodka back (because Alex had moved it higher to "discourage ants" and by ants he meant tiny blonde girls who drank too much) she made a little grunting noise. Her calves were killing her. She could feel her toes brush a dorito that she'd dropped a few hours ago, before she'd left for work; she'd nudged it under the ledge of the counter with her foot, like she always did. In retrospect Alex had a good reason to suspect the alcohol was causing the ants, since she did most of her food spilling in front of that part of the kitchen.
She left the empty rootbeer can on the counter, picked up her neon blue cup, and headed for the living room, kicking her flip flops off into the middle of the floor as she walked. She wandered back into the bathroom to get something and caught a glimpse of a red bag in the shower. She paused, leaning in to push the curtain back. There was a bag of doritos in the shower, rested along the ledge next to a decrepit bar of soap.
"What in the fuck?"
She heard the door slam and a loud swear come from the foyer, so she picked up the bag with her free hand and took it out to meet Alex, who was bent over the hall table after having tripped over her bag and smashed his knee into the structure.
"Hey, why was there a bag of chips in the shower?" she asked, completely ignoring his pain. She took a sip of her drink, dark-lined eyes studying him. Sometimes, she really just had no idea how high maintenance she actually was.
Oh, tripping over her bags. What a delight after a night spent on mostly humdrum emergencies. No interesting ones always made the night boring as balls. At least she was home, he supposed. Going to find her after work was usually an ordeal that involved multiple texts and trying to figure out drunk texts. Always a good time.
As it were, he was bent over clutching his knee when she questioned him about the chips found in the shower. "Because i'm fucking amazing, that's why. Can YOU eat a bag of Doritos, shower and shave at the same time? No, you can't."
"How long have you been home? It's kinda early for you." Not that he was in the least bit pissy about it, just curious what had caused her to be there before him.
He straightened up after he was done rubbing his knee. "One day, i'm going to fall and bust my face on something. Or i'll train you to not leave things right in the doorway. Bets on which happens first?"
"That's because shaving your face doesn't take as much talent or concentration as shaving your starfish, dumbass," she retorted, although she was actually a little jealous that he had eaten the chips in the shower. Soleil could only just master drinking in the shower, and she still managed to spill a fucking Zima all over herself. Fucking Zima.
She turned and began walking back into the living room as soon as he stopped acting like he'd broken his leg, dropping onto the couch with a blank expression on her face. "Early? I guess. Usually I go in, come home for a little, then go back. Tonight I never came home, so I just cut out early. It was kind of dead anyways. Didn't pull what I hoped." Of course, what she hoped versus what was good money were two different things. Soleil felt a loss if she walked out with less than three or four hundred. But, she banked nearly all of it and except for buying random stupid shit (a tiki head, a slingshot monkey, bacon scented soap) she was responsible. She obviously didn't budget alcohol into that, either.
When he remarked that he was going to bust his face, she rolled her eyes. "I doubt sincerely you could train me to do anything," she said. She felt a little argumentative, and she knew she sounded more wry than she meant to. Falling silent, she took a long swallow of her drink, then set it down on the end table next to the photo of Alex and his friends at Splash Mountain playing Monopoly. She patted the seat next to her. "Come here," she said, changing her tone of voice to something less bitchy. "I'll fix."
She held her hands up, which definitely signified that she was offering a back rub, which Alex would be stupid not to take since she rarely did so. "Anything cool happen tonight?" she asked hopefully. She liked hearing about wacko cases... unfortunately, most of them involved his own friends being brought into the ER - with alcohol poisoning.
"It's so hot when you're jealous of my amazing achievements in life, doll." Of course she was jealous. How could she not be? Alexander didn't even pause to think about it when she offered him a backrub, he was all in on that business. He settled in next to her and shrugged.
"I got called a white devil by refusing to write a pain prescription for some dude. I think that was the about the highlight of the night for us all. Apparently a cut that requires 3 or 4 stitches also requires heavy duty pain meds, learn new shit everyday. Pretty dull and boring for a Saturday, honestly." He relaxed visibly as she rubbed his back. And she claims she can't be trained. Not that he'd ever mouth it, for fear of the massaging being stopped.
"No big tippers tonight, then? That's a letdown. How am I supposed to quit being a doctor and follow my true passion of drinking and watching TV if you're not making big bucks?"
"Oh, AL," Soleil crooned, all Married with Children style. She dug her wolverine-like nails into his shoulders as she gripped down, though, just to remind him that she was currently in charge. "Oz sent me a text tonight looking for you. Evidently they got three kegs and a backhoe and were looking to do some damage. I almost cut out earlier than I did, but I had some customer up my ass. I took him for a couple, too, but not enough to buy that new outfit I want. Trashy needs to lower their fucking prices or I'll never fulfill my dream of owning every bird costume they make," she ranted.
The costume in question was a "canary" costume, which really consisted of light yellow glitter, sequins, a corset, some feathers, and - well, basically, she'd wear it for all of three minutes, which would be long enough for Alex to figure out how to get her back out of it while she drunkenly screamed, "WATCH THE FEATHERS" into his ear like he was completely deaf. It had happened before, only then it was a swan costume she wanted.
"Three or four stitches for some pain killers? What a pussy. Oh, that reminds me," she exclaimed. Suddenly, she had slipped from around him and was stretching her legs across his lap. "Look! I broke two toes tonight at work!" It was such a normal thing for her at this point that Soleil thought showing him was more like a novelty rather than something to worry over. "I was going to tape them myself, but I remember the last time I used masking tape and you got mad at me..." she trailed off. She really just had no fucking clue of how to maintain her existence in a healthy, safe way. It was good that he was around to stop her from contracting staph. Or ebola.
"What is it with you and costumes? You already have the swan one. Why do you need a canary?" Maybe it was a stripper thing that he wasn't supposed to understand. "Yeh, they weren't really in pain. Junkies are a bitch to deal with, if I give them what they want they keep coming back, if I refuse i'm a racist or a sexist or a sizeist or whatever the latest buzzword is that means i'm an asshole."
He face palmed. Literally. "How do you keep breaking your toes, Soleil? How? Maybe we should just chop 'em off." He was inspecting them gingerly. Broken things were neat, even if they were on your significant other. "At least they're not swelling as bad as the last ones did. I'll tape them as soon as I can muster to get up and get the kit."
Soleil rolled her head back, resting it on the arm of the couch. She never let anyone touch her feet except Alex, and only when she broke something or otherwise damaged herself. Being in a pair of six inch heels for five to eight hours three or four days a week did a significant amount of stress on your ankles and feet as it was; it was undeniable that even the lightest pressure felt nice. As for the broken toes, they didn't really hurt at all. Once upon a time, it hurt, but after a year of dancing or so, she got over it. Now - well, she only knew they were broken because they were pointed the wrong way again.
"I want cyborg foot implants so this stop happening," she said.
She opened her eyes a little and squinted at Alex, pressing her lips together. "I want them all. The canary costume is totally different from the swan costume. For one, it's yellow and not white, colourblind," she said, nudging him a little. She settled back in, reaching above her for her drink and taking a long sip. The ice had melted, giving it a strange layered effect where there was watery soda on top, then soda next, and finally that burning vodka at the end. She held it in her mouth a moment to let the flavours mix, then swallowed it before it got to tasting bad.
"You don't have to get up right now," she said, unwilling to move at the moment herself. "Did you eat already or are you hungry? Didn't fill up on chips, did you?" she asked slyly.
"I want you to have cyborg foot implants for totally different reasons. None of them sexual. Having a stripper girlfriend is crazy enough for most people, if I could add that you have cybernetic parts? Even better." Not that Alex told everyone and anyone Soli was a stripper, sometimes it just kind of happened. "But what happens when the machine revolution happens and I wake up with your feet trying to choke me? Hm, i'll have to think about this and get back to you on if I really want you to have implants or not." He was rubbing her feet now, because c'mon, tit for tat. She had given him a backrub.
"Whatever, they all come off in the end. I guess that's the important thing. And no, I didn't fill up on chips. I ate shitty hospital food because everyone was a lazy bum and wouldn't contribute to the 'Lets order some damn pizza' fund. And I can't eat a whole pizza." Yes he could. "But that was..I don't know. Six or seven hours ago, why? You hungry?"
Her eyes popped open. "I... you have to specify that you mean reasons other than sexual when discussing foot implants?" she asked, trying to understand what had just happened. "Like I've ever used my feet in a sexy manner before," she snorted. She was interrupted when he hit an area that actually hurt, and stopped talking in favour of making a squeaking noise. "You're amazing," she intoned, abandoning her train of thought.
"Yes you can eat a whole pizza. I've seen you do it. Could you just not justify twenty bucks for one meal?" she challenged. She sat up, shifting so that she was leaning against him. "I didn't really eat. Well, I had like, a Snickers from the vending machine at work and some Chex Mix. But it's late, nothing is open, and nobody is delivering. However. There are Bagel Bites and fish sticks. I'm confident I can operate the oven." Translation: I'm sober enough to operate the fire hole.
Alexander continued to casually rub her feet, nodding. "I never said you did. I was just making sure you realized that I wasn't into you getting cyborg implants for some kind of weird foot fetish reason." He sighed heavily and nodded. "It's a harsh life, but I try to just get on with it. I don't want any real attention drawn to my greatness. So, try to keep it on the downlow."
"Oh, like you've never eaten a whole pizza. Don't say you haven't. I've seen it. And yeh, you caught me. I couldn't justify paying it." He lifted a brow at her. "Are you sure? I mean, the oven is awfully unfamiliar territory for you. It's hot and you're prone to accidents..i'm not certain I should let you around it for fear of our safety. But if you insist, I could go for some fish sticks. Just..you know, be careful. I already have to bind your toes. And if you lose all your skin in a horrific burn accident I won't love you anymore. Just a heads up."
"I can do it," she said confidently. She stood up, picked up her cup, turned to give her loving boyfriend a rootbeer flavoured kiss, then went into the kitchen (where she fucking belonged) to fire up some food. She, despite having a broken toe, still moved rather quickly and gracefully, despite being accident prone like a fucking boss. She got up into the cabinet for her second rootbeer mixer and poured while she got out the aluminum foil. She accidentally poured too much, which she found out after she'd already put in her soda and ice and was trying to open the bag of fishsticks. She yanked the bag a little too hard and a few exploded out and hit the floor, but mostly, she was okay - except for that burning in her chest where the vodka hit her in a special way.
"Ah fuck," she hissed. She threw the two into the trash and managed to hand-scoop the rest onto the foiled pan. She threw them in the oven, setting it for 450 degrees, and went to the bathroom to pee, which she'd been holding for a while now. She realized when she was in there that she'd forgotten to take her makeup off, and finally managed that after she was done. She came out with raccoon smudged eyeliner and fresh, dewy cheeks, while the very closest hair to her face was still damp. She hated how she could never NOT soak her head when she washed her face, but, whatever.
She came back out to the kitchen, the din of the television drowning out the texting Alex was doing on his phone. Probably talking to Oz, who was no doubt stuck sitting in an ambulance somewhere in the city thinking of ways to hijack hydration packs for their next party. She took a few more hits off of her drink as she poked at the cooking sticks with a spatula, then decided it was too strong for a "quiet evening with the missus", and dumped it down the sink.
She poked her head out when she heard Prodigy and realized that he'd found Hackers in the Netflix queue. "Hahaha, no fucking way. I'm not even old enough to enjoy this movie legit and I love it. Food will be done in a few minutes." And she turned back into the kitchen, saying, "My name is 'The Plague'. Mr. The Plague...," to herself and laughing.
"I have all faith in you, babe. Go with God." He gave a mock salute after the kiss and flipped the TV on, switching channels until he found something suitably amusing. TV bore no fruit he turned on the Netflix queue and popped through it. Flipping through he settled on 'Hackers'. Because you didn't get much more amusing that hackers in the 80s that was completely fictional.
He ignored the sounds in the kitchen, chalking them up to the usual Soli cooking sounds of things getting broken or dropped in the floor. He had been texting, but turned off the phone for a 'quiet evening with the missus'. After all, they probably rarely got a chance to be completely alone for a while.
"This movie is awesome. The end. And we're watching it. Maybe twice if the mood strikes me. Are the fish sticks done and safe to eat yet?" He paused it and got up to get himself a glass of soda and find the first-aid kit. He'd fix her toes after the movie, since she didn't seem to be in too much pain as it was. "There's a reason you're awesome. Knowing what a good flick Hackers is when most of your generation doesn't even know what it is. That's the reason."
"Yes, the food is done," she finally announced. She skipped doing two plates and did one, piling them up super high on it. She made a moat of ketchup around it and brought it and the salt out to the living room, dropping down on the couch with two sodas cradled in her arm.
"Take these please before they freeze off my tits," she said, referring to the two Dr. Pepper cans she had smashed between her forearm and chest. She was trying NOT to drop the food everywhere, and she was going to fail if he didn't get the sodas from her ASAP. When he finally did get them from her, she sat down and put the plate on the coffee table, setting the salt down next to it.
"Okay, so I'll throw this plate away this time when we're done," she promised. She was referencing an incident several weeks prior in which she was home after a party and Alex was at work - she'd made herself nuggets and then licked the plate of the ketchup before putting it back in the cabinet, then chose to inform him of her thoughtfulness. In her defense, they were "fancy" paper plates and it looked clean to her. It still warranted a "discussion" about Proper Dishware Care and You: The Path to E-coli. Sometimes being in love with a medical professional was such a drag.
"I seriously can't believe I was only five when this movie came out. I've seen it so many times. I used to want a bright yellow pager so bad," she confessed, cracking open her soda. She took a swig before cramming too-hot fishsticks drowned in ketchup and salt into her mouth. She began fanning her face as she was forced to do the reverse cool - trying to drink more soda would have been a horrible idea at the moment, so she had to suffer. It was either that or spit the shit out, but she was way too manly for that.
Alex took the dr pepper and poured one of them into his now empty drink cup. "We wouldn't want that." In reference to freezing her tits off. "That'd be swell. I don't enjoy foodborne illnesses festering in my cabinet..."
There was a pause as he turned his attention to the movie and picked up a fishstick off the plate and dipped it into the ketchup moat around the plate.
"Yeh, basically. If you don't have a bright red or yellow pager you can fuck off. That's my new motto. We're going to get some of those sweet ass pagers tomorrow. First thing." He said in between bites off a fishstick that was drenched in ketchup but wasn't salted at all. Salt wasn't that great, but Soli seemed to eat that shit on everything.
"Speaking of tomorrow, are you working? I managed to snag a day off if you wanted to go out and do something. Or just stay at home and watch shitty movies all day. We could order chinese." Tempt tempt.
She nearly snorted her soda when he suggested they go and buy pagers, but rolling her eyes at him would have to suffice while she continued to race him through the fish sticks. She didn't know why she liked them so much, but god she did. She was thoroughly disappointed that she couldn't just nuke them, since waiting nearly twenty minutes was agonizing. She had to plan ahead to eat, which she disliked. Soleil was not a planning sort of girl. Clearly.
She didn't care that Alex didn't like salty food; it left more salt for her to consume. That she actually remembered to bring the shaker out was nice. Usually, she'd just load the food down then have to listen to him bitching about how she was a deer in a past life for all of the salt she ate. He'd threatened to gift her with a salt lick more than once, and she didn't doubt that he'd looked at them on Amazon in the past.
Soleil looked at him, surprised he actually had a day off. "I wasn't planning on going in really, since I've been working all week." She paused, then lowered her voice. "Are you trying to seduce me?" she asked, arching one of her defined brows a little.
"You can snort and roll your eyes all you want but it's going to happen." Alexander was the planner of the duo, usually did most of the cooking too most likely. The real cooking that is, since it took time and prep and all that jazz.
"Well, I mean..maybe. Is it working? I know I can be rather seductive when I turn on the charm." Said through a mouthful of fishstick, of course. He finished his fill of the dinner and laid down on the couch, top of his head against her hip and his feet hanging over the arm of the couch.
"Or maybe I just wanted to spend time with you, if I happen to seduce you, all the better." He shot her a wink whenever she looked down at him.
"It's so hot when you spit crumbs everywhere," she said, mock-brushing them off of the couch. She made a mental note to eBay two pagers when he'd forgotten about it. That ought to make a conversation piece at the club. She knew that Jason would appreciate it, being a massive geek and all.
"If you happen to seduce me? Oh, I don't know," she said, doubt heavy in her voice. "I work around half naked women all day. I'm starting to think I'm setting the bar higher. Flinging your boxers in my face and saying, 'Let's do the damn thing' isn't quite what it used to be," she said. Of course, Soleil had her own train of faux pas to consider. For instance, once she insisted she had to turn all of her stuffed animals to face the wall. Of course, she was drunk, and that was also the night she threw a bag of chocolate chips around the room.
Of course, joking about Soleil leaving Alex for one of her co-workers would be as far as that ever went. And if he joked about doing the same thing, she might have a heart attack. Jealous, much? At any rate, she leaned down and kissed him when she caught that wink, successfully smearing ketchup, salt and crumbs on his face before she wriggled out from under him to throw the trash away.
"I don't recall ever flinging my boxers in your face. Or saying 'Let's do the damn thing' in regards to sexy time." Of course you don't recall, you were a smidge wasted. A smidge meaning holyshitoutofthisworldgone. "I don't see what half naked women have to do with anything. I had to shave dude's jollies while I was in med school and it didn't turn me into some kind of raging cockmangler. I assume the same works for girls. Exposure to vagina doesn't make you crave it."
He was left salted, crumbed and ketchup'd, but whatever. The kisses were totally worth it. Hackers ended, sad day and Alex began fishing around in the queue for something else to watch, preferably just as bizarre as mid-90s computer terrorist flicks with a happy ending.
He called out from his place on the couch, as he wouldn't disturb her while she was doing a woman's work of cleaning. "Hey, you ever seen Labyrinth? David Bowie's package is fucking amazing in it."
Soleil paused. "It was the same night you threw up in my bong. How do you not remember?" she asked, poking her head around the corner. He gave her a look, and she nodded, a little smile on her face. "Nevermind. I answered my own question." She went back into the kitchen and washed the rest of the crumbs off of her hand, then went back into the living room and sat down, pulling the soft throw off of the back of the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Labyrinth? Of course I've seen it. And, you know I'm into chicks, so your statement sucks," she said offhand, taking the XBox controller from him so that she could surf through the instant queue herself. "Hrm. The Lost Boys? Krull... oh, that's gay, Legend is order only. Yeah, I guess Labyrinth is okay," she said, a sigh escaping at the end of her accord.
"We need to do a horror night soon. Maybe we can invite some people over and make a party of it. We'll invent a drinking game." She stopped and considered that. "On second thought, we can do it at someone else's house. Did you know the chick whose house Oz is renting saw his Facebook and upped his deposit an extra two-hundred something? He had to have told you. Anyways, he felt obligated to live up to it. Last week they played some Lord of the Rings drinking game.. it ended badly."
She nestled up against her man, glancing over at him for a second. Honestly, she didn't know why they were together. Or, why he was with her. She was weird. She had bad habits and she wasn't very grown up. Also, she'd been in love with him for as long as she could remember. Idiotic. However, thanks to Soleil and her bank-ass job, she'd gotten him out of that ugly little one bedroom and upgraded them to a two bedroom in a neighborhood not scary to walk through. That must be it. He was after her cash.
"I still think you're making that whole night up. I have zero recollection of it. So, until I start remembering something it never happened, woman. Never. Happened." He cut his eyes back at her. "Are we on the same page here?" He raised a fist to shake it at her across the room.
Mollified that she'd got the message as she turned to go wash her hands off, he let the subject go..mostly because there was always something new and embarrassing about that night that no one had told him yet. It was like they were saving tidbits of it for the best times to throw it at him. ..Yeh, of course they were, that's exactly what he would do. If any of his friends had a sense of shame or guilt.
"I don't know. Drinking with groups of people always seems to end up with me blacking out and running naked or otherwise humiliating myself." Which meant catch him on a super stressful week and he'd probably agree to that shit in a heartbeat, Soli had probably learned how to work him already though. Blackout drunks were amazing when you were taking your shit too seriously. "Jesusfuck, two-hundred bucks? It's not like his parties are that bad."
Alex leaned over to kiss her. Sometimes you didn't need to explain why things how they were. Alexander had just been going with it since she'd shown up on his doorstep unannounced after nearly a decade of separation. And yeh, the doctor wanted her for her bankroll. obviously.