Strange Times

Schuldich had never considered himself an umbrella drink sort of guy, but the fellow slouched next to him…Schuldich spent a few moments fumbling through an alcoholic daze for a name before giving up and assigning a name. Schuldich wasn’t a fruity drink sort of guy, though the little sword was oddly appealing, but the man he had just renamed Jens was, and that’s what mattered. Yes, it was the pinnacle of man’s social evolution, this sense of barstool camaraderie. A psychic band aid, of sorts, since Schuldich was more than a little convinced that if he came home after one more moody bit of physical catharsis Aya was going to send him back to sleeping on that awful couch.



Jens bought the next round (if one could consider a pair of glasses containing something orange and adorned with little fruits and plastic accessories a round) of his own free, if slightly inebriated, will. The man was infatuated with Schuldich’s long, soft hair and winning smile, not to mention the impossible pants and bare minimum of a shirt. Intoxicated fantasies involving taking Schuldich home to properly console his obvious woes flittered through Jens’ mind, and Schuldich decided to take it as a compliment for as long as his drinks came free.



A hand tentatively settled on his knee, and Schuldich smiled, flashing just a bit of tooth in a subtle suggestion that the man’s hand didn’t wander anywhere else. Jens downed his drink, and Schuldich chuckled. It was all fun and games until someone lost an eye, and Jens had almost suffered a tragic fate of Cyclops via umbrella.



It was the little things in life.



Schuldich stared thoughtfully at his glass, wondering just how one decided whether it was half empty or half full, before deciding he wasn’t in the mood for existentialist crap. It only made his head hurt and made him think of Farfarello. The drink was gulped with determined enthusiasm, and he looked over at Jens, hoping for another…



Alas, poor Jens was out of cash. And was depressingly certain he had just spent the better part of two hours pouring drinks down someone who had no intention of getting drunk or horny. Telepathy was a wonderful thing sometimes. Jens left the bar with a smile on his face, and a slight swagger to his stagger, convinced he had made a fantastic conquest in the dubious glory of the bar bathroom. Schuldich smothered a chuckle and pondered the wisdom of ordering bar food.



He decided on another drink. Drinking alone was not near as depressing as eating alone.



_______________________





Aya chased bits of lettuce around his plate, only half listening to the barbed banter that passed as Ken and Yohji socializing, and tried to ignore the way his muscles were twinging uncomfortably with the need to be moving.



“Aya, can you come over later tonight? I need help on some homework.”



Aya nodded, abandoning the scattered ruins of his sandwich. “Sure. What time?”



“Oh, I was thinking around nine. I have to get my notes together.”



“Alright.” Aya stood. “Let me get some things at home sorted out and I will head over.”



“Thank you!”



“Later, Aya.” Yohji waved with a deceptively casual smile. “Good luck.”



“You’ll need it.”



“Ken!”



Aya shook his head in a familiar mix of amusement and a fond inclination towards homicide, and left with what he hoped wasn’t overly apparent haste.



His first mission of the evening was to recover his telepath before he had to follow a swath of destruction back to its smiling source. Then he had to sort out how to sneak out of the house to get to a mission briefing…



Life had been easier when he had just been an assassin with dubious prospects, responsible only for his own bloodshed and mayhem.