Have a Drink on Me

"Whiskey, gin and brandy
With a glass I'm pretty handy..."
AC/DC, Have a Drink on Me

Well, that kerfuffle with the rites and the old ways is over. Yesterday was the day I pissed off Aphrodite. This morning my plane landed in Chicago. Tomorrow is W-Day.
So what is today?
Today is a day to party, and hard.

I have a plan. I think it's a good plan.



Ok, it was a fantastic plan.
It occurred to me that after tomorrow a lot of things are going to change. It's kind of a tradeoff, I guess. I mean, I get Gunnar but I also get a lot more responsibility. He's worth it.

Anyway, I decided that today should be less about saying goodbye to a single life and more about saying goodbye to a mortal life. I wanted to do all the stuff I love to do when I have spare time. I'm not really counting of having much of that, not anymore.
I started the day about seven in the morning, literally bouncing off the buildings of downtown Chicago. I won't lie, I've got some seriously sexy moves when it comes to free running. I invited Susan to come with and we both had a crazy great time scaring the hell out of our fellow pedestrians.
We did that until about noon, after which we joined Alison at some spa place. She seemed really excited about her pedicure idea and I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd never cared enough to get my nails done before. That killed a few hours and it was kinda nice, if not a little weird, to have some stranger rubbing heated rocks on my legs. Alli said they were too hot, though they didn't really bother me.
From there we parted ways with Alli, I figured she wasn't going to be up for what I had planned the rest of the night and even if she wasn't, Nate would have a fit if I gave her back with a black eye. Susan and I went back to the hotel room I'd set her up with and got dressed to go out. Not like clubbing "out," but concert going "out." There's less makeup and more muscle involved in the second. I was headed out with a goal in mind, I wanted to find someplace crowded with loud (good) music. Heavy bass, wicked guitar work and the potential to throw an elbow or two. It didn't take long to scout out a skeezy basement show. The band wasn't great by any interpretation of the word and they changed their name 8 times between 7 songs. First they were something like "Tyrannosaur in Trouble," but I think by the end they were "Jack's Raging Bile Duct." They were loud though, and their songs were fast. I pretty much just needed a wink and a bodycheck to get a mosh pit going. I was satisfied.
I had one last item on my checklist to accomplish: Drink. A lot.
I sent Susan back up to her room for that one. Yes, she fought mecha-wolves, yes she's been the den mother for a house full of kids for the past couple of months and no she is still not 21 yet.
I did invite Ciara for this part, and Camila but I was kinda glad when only Ciara accepted. I had no clue how well she'd hold her drink, but I figured she could tell herself when to stop. I wasn't here to get her drunk anyway, I wasn't even here to get me drunk. Mostly I just wanted to enjoy the experience of drinking a guy under the table again - especially considering that with the way Gunnar drinks it's not something I'm likely to manage for a very long while.
I changed my voicemail message before we went in, just in case I lost. Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Laurel Kladakos. I'd answer your call but I'm probably busy getting ready for my wedding.

I sat down with Ciara and decided that the victim was going to be the first guy who hit on me.
It took all of ten minutes for a guy to approach Ciara and I. We were sitting at a table, the kind with one of those green glass lamps that hangs too low and gets in the way of any attempt at conversation. Ciara's eyes fixed on something over my shoulder; she grinned a little. I think out of pity.
"Did it hurt?" I heard behind me.
I turned, resting an arm on the back of my chair. I raised an eyebrow and suppressed my own grin. "Beg pardon?"
"Did it hurt," he repeated, "when you fell from Heaven?" The guy smiled gently. He moved as if to put a hand on my arm, which I withdrew. I'm getting better, kinda, but I still don't like people touching me.
I wonder if he heard my eyes rolling. "Actually I fell from a bridge in Ireland, but yes. It hurt like Hell." I figured he probably wouldn't know what Mag Mel was and left that out.
He looked confused, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Kinda like a fish. "Uh... Look, I... just wanted to talk to you."
"Mission accomplished?" I smirked. I hoped he wasn't going to give up that easily.
"Well, um, no. I... Ok, yes but I wanted to talk to you for more than a minute. I... can I do that? Do you mind?" He stuttered. I've missed being able to do that to people, instead of being the one stuttering all the time.
I smiled, pushing back an empty chair with my foot. I jutted my chin at it. "Nah. So what would you like to talk about?"
"Your phone number, specifically," the guy grinned. He took the seat I offered him, taking a longer look than I'd have liked at my legs.
I peered at him for a long second, and I imagine my smile was a little villainish. "Tell you what," I leaned forward, folding my arms under my chest as I did so. Distracting him. That wasn't fair of me, I know. Neither was challenging a mortal to a drinking contest. I wasn't trying to play fair tonight. "If you can outdrink me, I'll happily give it to you." I already had a shot in front of me, though I hadn't touched it yet.
"Yes." His attention took a long minute to move back to my eyes. "I mean... what? Yes. You're drinking... what? Uh, I" he shifted nervously as I moved to rest my chin on my palm. I batted my eyes at him, just 'cuz I've missed doing that too.
"I'm drinking whiskey, and you will be too," I laughed.

Ten shots later he was on the floor. Ciara was still drinking, but I slowed down, happy with the buzz. A hangover would not look good on me tomorrow.
Just after he hit the ground I got a picture message from Gunnar. There was... a very scantily clad... yeah, it was a stripper. There was a stripper, all over Jack. And he was pretty clearly enjoying it. "This is how Jack almost died," the text attached to the image said.
Another message followed it quickly. The woman was running for a door, wearing less than she had been. She looked a little scared. "And this is how he lived."
"LOL Looks like you're having a good time?" I texted back. I took a picture of the lightweight on the floor, making sure to get the table with the all the shotglasses in the picture. "This is what I've been up to :) "
I left some money with the bartender, paying for floor-guy's drinks, and leaving him money for a cab and some aspirin.

Guess I can change my voicemail back.