Holiday
Part Twenty-four

by Nightfall

Fortunately, Zelas had brought one. "Proud year death," she greeted him, snaking into the room.

"Same to you," he smiled listlessly, without moving. She smiled languorously back, and insinuated one of the glasses hanging off her fingers into the relaxed hand on his chest. He rose to a sitting position as though gravity didn't apply to him, and watched her fill their glasses with bloodwine. Almost dreamily, he asked, "What's it like to get drunk, Zelly?"

"It's," she started, then peered at him suspiciously. "How drunk?"

He thought about it for a moment and answered, "Good'n drunk," with a decisive nod.

"Graaaaaand," she sighed expansively, and sank down beside him. He lay back, until his head was resting in her lap. She played idly with his fringe as he thoughtfully swirled his wine up in front of his eyes.

"How?" he asked finally, when the wine didn't seem to have any answers.

"Well, to begin with," she started, toying with his collar, "it... it brings you to life." A collar was no substitute for a thick ruff of dark fur, but any kind of petting would relax him, and this sounded like a conversation he wanted to be bipedal for. "You can feel it all through your veins, like blood on fire."

"Can you?" he asked wistfully. "Does it make you warm?"

She nodded solemnly, although she didn't know if he'd see it. Her own eyes had drifted shut with the lassitude of lying down with a packmate and murmuring comfort-stories. "N'after a while," she smiled lazily, "you start to know."

"What do you know, Zelly?"

"Oh... you just do, that's all. You feel... I d'no. Important."

He wiggled a little, and she could hear him smiling in satisfaction. "That must be good."

"Good," she echoed, her lips curling up. Then she thought of something else, and shook him a little, a quick rub over his collarbone just to get his attention. "Oi. But then the game starts."

"What game?" he asked drowsily, putting the glass down and snuggling up to her, his pointed little chin resting on her knee, his cheek resting on crossed arms and his feet dangling up behind him.

"Mm," she smiled. "Like hunting in the water. In sand. You think sharp as pain, clear as diamond, eeeeeasy. But every move, every sentence is a problem." She sank comfortably into the couch. "It gets pret-ty int'resting," she warned, smiling like a sleepy shark.

He frowned, tilted his head up at her. "You get beaten, though, don't you," he confided.

"Sure," she comforted him, petting his neck soothingly, "but that's good too. And you don't mind anything, baby," she whispered, stroking down his back. "None of it matters. You don't mind anything at all. And you can sleep."

"How long can you keep it up?" he asked solemnly.

She opened her eyes and looked down at him surprised. "Long while; long as you last."

She watched his face crumble before he buried it against her leg. "Oh, Zelly, that's awful."

"Think so?" she smiled lazily, bitterly. "Other things're worse."

"Where does it end up?" he asked bravely, wide-eyed, as though it were just the end of a fairy tale.

"Where does everyone end up?" she laughed down at him, not unkindly. "You die." He sighed, disappointed, and she caressed him again. "But that's all right, too."

"Zelas?" he asked curiously. "Can you do it on bloodwine?"

"Can you..." she started, puzzled. He'd developed the stuff himself; it was about three hundred proof. But then she looked down. And she'd thought he was crumbling before. She fisted his chin hard, pulled him up, dug her claws into his jaws to keep him with her. "What's'a matter, baby?"

"Nothing," he smiled up at her, and she'd never seen a thinking entity look quite so miserable. His closed eyes were in danger of spilling over with blood.

She pulled him roughly up, head on her shoulder, and wrapped herself around him. "I know."

"Oh?" he sniffed, blinking hard.

She knew he kept handkerchiefs up his sleeves, but she didn't take them out. "Zel?"

His face turned to iron and, forgetting about the untouched glass on the floor, he demanded, "Give me some more wine, Zelas."

"Between tigers and hyenas?"

"Give me some, Zelly."

"You can tell me, cublet." He vibrated against her for a moment, then, defeated, drooped into her neck and spoke quietly, just a few words. She nodded for a moment--satisfied? Resigned? Whatever else, she wasn't surprised. "That so. Something else, isn't it."

He laughed bitterly. "Terrific."

"Luck to you," she wished him, and raised her glass to clink against his eyebrows.

At once, he recoiled violently, scrambling off of her and tearing her stockings with a careless motion of his boot. "I don't want any of that," he said fiercely, and tore away on foot, just like a male, through the door and to the elevator, going up to Val.

It was probably too much to hope that he'd manage to sabotage matters by failing to pull himself together and opening the doors with that face still on. She sighed, and downed her wine. And then, reflectively, she sipped away at his until it was gone, and poured them both another glass.

Back | Next