drunken alternate universe college crackfic... because um HEY LOOK A DISTRACTION
A tall, leggy boy/man knocked on the door in front of him and nearly lost grip on the rolled up bundle that was tucked under his arm. The way he handled it betrayed the weight and breakable nature of what was hidden inside the folds of tan fringed cloth. It took a few more bangs (and a fair amount of glaring at his girl, who did nothing to help him) before the door finally opened.
"So pardner," the newcomer said with a slow drawl as he handed off the precious cargo, "what is it that took the rest of the 'firewater' that y'all had--"
He was interrupted by a dramatic wail coming from the bright orange lump sprawled out in the middle of the less-than-sparkling floor.
"WHYYYYYYYY MAN!? WHY WOULD MY CINDY-WINDY LEAVE MEEEEEE?"
"Ah," the 'cowboy' said, "that's why."
Phoenix was caught between the instinctive apologetic shrug for Larry's behavior and glaring at Jake for unloading the bundle on him with no warning. Larry carried on, though quieter after a harassed 'shut up, pal' from the owner of the room. While his roommate was gone (and honestly, enough of a pushover not to think about reporting them), Dick was still worried about his RA finding out about this little impromptu 'pity party.' Particularly the contents of the two bottles being withdrawn from Jake's poncho.
"Hey, pardner, the Ol' Sunflower's not gonna be home tonight?"
Dick would have glared if not for the frosty bottle of Jack Daniels thrust into his hands. He unscrewed the cap and took a straight swig before replying, "Will's staying over at that guy Jack's house to study lines."
The girl remained in the doorway as if the room was toxic (to be fair, Will and Dick weren't that keen on the dirty clothes hamper). With an uninterested and yet demeaning glance around the meager abode, she crossed her arms and eventually settled her gaze on Larry, who at least was no longer wailing.
"Is this entirely necessary?"
"No," Phoenix replied with an air of long suffering as he poured his floor-bound friend a glass of vodka, only slightly diluted with orange soda. Most would think that adding alcohol to an already wailing Larry Butz was like throwing gasoline on an already raging fire, but he was actually a fairly calm drunk when he was depressed. At least, calmer than his natural heartbroken state. After a moment's pause, Nick poured himself a similar glass, though with far less vodka and cranberry juice instead of soda.
Jake continued his conversation with Dick.
"If Ol' Sunflower's AWOL, then kin I bunk here tonight?"
Dick lowered the bottle to eye Jake suspiciously, something that did little to intimidate since the cowboy already knew that Gumshoe was a big teddy bear.
"I just don't wanna hafta deal with Spitfire if she has to pick me up after she gits back from her date."
Nick settled into a chair that had been compared to a large excised tumor mounted on sticks. After taking a few gulps of his drink for fortitude, he asked her, "What, with your other boyfriend?"
"No," she said without a hint of shame, "yet another boyfriend."
Dick decided that dealing with a slightly hungover Jake Marshal in the morning wouldn't be as bad as dealing with a cranky Angel Starr at any time, and so allowed the cowboy to stay the night. Once she heard that, Angel left with a casual wave in Jake's direction.
Phoenix didn't like her that much. Specifically... "It doesn't bother you that she's seeing other guys?"
Jake grinned, knowing that Nick was concerned about a friend, particularly in light of the wreck who was still sitting on the floor working on his second orange tinted vodka. The cowboy sat down on the bed next to Dick and took a swig of the whiskey. "Don' worry, pardner. 'Sides, it's not like she ain't up front about it, unlike some--"
"She would have NEVER CHEATED ON ME!" came a subdued (for him) outburst from the mass of orange sprawled on the tile.
"Be quiet, will ya pal?" Dick said with the slightest of slurs, "I don't wanna get caught underage drinking."
"I'm the one buying; I'm the one that'll get nailed."
"Marshal, it's my room."
"Your sherrif knows you're a pushover. He's not gonna blame you."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Why can't you say 'RA' like everyone else?"
Jake didn't answer, but instead decided to play catch up to the mildly buzzed Gumeshoe and the steadily-approaching-trashed Butz. Nick gave up, tried to tune out Dick's argument about why he wasn't a pushover, and sipped on his cranberry vodka. He was technically the designated drinker/mom for the group, in charge of keeping the other three in line and quiet enough not to arouse suspicion. It wouldn't be that hard as Larry was mostly calmed down and Dick's RA really didn't care that much, just so long as bottles were never found during inspections. That was the reason they were in Gumshoe's room; they'd have used Larry and Nick's, but their 'sherrif' would have nailed them in a second.
"What's that, Wright?"
"Huh? Oh, just mumbling about our RA."
Dick made a face, "Oh, yeah, Redd's..." No words could adequately describe how much any of them disliked Redd White, and no one hated him more than Phoenix. The reason why he hated him led his mind to the subject of transfers and the information Jake hadn't heard yet.
"F.Y.I.," Nick said quietly as he gestured towards Larry, "she's gone to Paris to some modeling school, or something."
"Seems to be the year for that," Jake said, raising his eyebrow and then taking another swig.
"Yeah..." Phoenix mumbled as he sunk down in the tumor chair. He glanced at the clock and saw that Redd would be off at his night class. He chugged the rest of his glass and rinsed it out before pulling the fully plastered Larry off the ground, prepared for the long journey to the next floor up. It had been a subdued 'party,' not to mention the middle of the week, so Gumshoe and Jake decided to turn in as Nick left. He saw Jake drop into Larry's spot on the rug and Gumshoe trying, in vain, to be a gentleman and give the cowboy his bed. He closed the door and concentrated on getting Larry back to their room without incident.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fast forward to the weekend when they could have a proper party with the sizable remainder of the booze. Enough time had passed to heal Larry's wounded heart (at least enough to make him vaguely acceptable company), and as an added bonus Redd was out of town. Needless to say the attitude was much lighter as they hung out in Nick and Larry's room playing videogames.
"That way, man, that way," Larry enthusiastically and unhelpfully suggested while waving his arms around, nearly falling off the top bunk in the process. Nick didn't bother glaring at his friend--not enough time--and made the full circle of available options before finally finding the morphine.
"You know," he mumbled as he filled the digital syringe with green fluid, "this much morphine can't be good for anyone." He switched back to the ultrasound and almost immediately a slew of angry red lines appeared on the patient's liver.
"Vitals are yellow," Angel calmly pointed out with the usual disinterested tone.
The spiky haired boy sitting in front of the TV frantically gestured with the controller in an effort to get back to the morphine. A woman wearing pink scrubs appeared on the screen and started telling him what he was doing wrong.
"Shut up, Angie!" Phoenix yelled with the type of anger reserved for particularly annoying video game characters. The rest of the room instinctively chorused 'But Dr. Stiles' (even Angel), and Nick growled in frustration as the vitals dropped to the red zone. Another few seconds and the patient death dialog was playing.
"I dun know why you're playin' the hard stuff now, pardner," Jake commented, lifting the hand resting on Angel's shoulder to point at the screen, "'cause this game ain't no fun if you're not soused for it."
Phoenix set aside the Wii remote and switched the TV back over to cable. "It's a good game either way."
"Laser the thrombi!" Larry cheered as he hung upside-down off his bunk. Gumshoe, who was lying on Nick's bed, lifted his glass and echoed the sentiment in both enthusiasm and volume. Once the vodka actually started hitting Larry (this level of yelling was normal for him), he'd take control of the Wii and butcher the easy patients in the first few levels. The group had long since discovered that Drunken Trauma Center was a fascinating game.
At that particular point Larry was barely beginning to feel the effects and Dick was in the light-to-medium stages of buzzed. Jake and Angel had just gotten there, and Nick had only taken a few sips of his cranberry/vodka mix as he was too busy playing games. Jake decided that this situation needed fixing, so he pulled a pillow out from under Gumshoe's arm and threw it at Phoenix.
"Drink more."
"Okay," Nick said as he reached for the glass. He was often told to drink more at these get togethers since he had a habit of getting distracted and not touching his glass. He took a deep breath and chugged down the glass (so he wouldn't forget again).
Jake tipped his hat in admiration, and even Angel looked impressed. It wasn't a weak mix and it wasn't a small tumbler, and Nick drank it all without pausing.
"Man, Nick," Larry said from his now upright position on the top bunk, "I wish I had your 'skillz.'"
Phoenix set down the glass and shrugged. "All you have to do is swallow-" he cut himself off and whirled on the cowboy, "SHUT UP, Jake."
The cowboy's mouth snapped shut on the inquiry (questioning Nick's sexuality) and Angel laughed around her glass. Phoenix grumped over to the fridge and pulled out the mixers for Larry's poison of choice.
"If you want more, get off the top bunk now. Otherwise you'll try to get down later and break your neck."
"Awwwwwww," Larry said as he jumped down, "you take such good care of me, Nick!" he cried as he threw is arms around Nick's middle and held on too tight to be dislodged. Phoenix knew better than to try and finished mixing the drink despite the limited mobility. Once Larry became aware of the 'orange tasty' in his roommate's hand he let go so he could take the glass and hug it instead. Nick just grinned, the vodka in his stomach starting to sink in, and flopped back into his mushroom chair. He watched Larry take a few sips (making sure he mixed it to the right strength) and then suddenly frowned.
"Something wrong?" Angel asked (less disinterested; her cheeks were getting flushed).
"Larry..." Nick said slowly as he tried to remember dinner, "How much have you eaten today?"
Blank look. "Uhhhh..."
"Enough not to be sick all night again?"
Pause. "No."
Nick's drink hadn't quite hit him enough to conceal the fact that ordering out was a bad idea. Unfortunately, enough had entered his system that he didn't care.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled through the numbers while Larry and Dick (both well into inebriated by that point) argued about toppings. While the phone was ringing, Jake requested more coke for the whiskey and Angel asked for something desertish. By the time the other end picked up, Nick had already forgotten everything.
Phoenix really was an exceptional lightweight. Chugging didn't help matters.
"Hello, thank you for calling Domino's!" came the cheery voice on the other end. Nick smiled in response to the positive attitude (he was easily infected by others' moods while buzzed). "My name is Penny. What would you like to order today?"
"Hey. Hi." Those sober enough (Jake and Angel, though Jake was losing ground fast) watched Nick's verbal fumbling with great interest. Dick was far enough gone to lose what little grip he had on an indoor voice and he laughed loud enough to be easily heard by the pizza girl. Larry was ignoring the proceedings completely, and was instead intent on getting Trauma Center running again.
"I uh," Phoenix thought of delicious pizza and not having a puking roommate, "I'd like the... what're your speshuls?"
Between Dick's laughing (which had not ceased) and the definite slur taking over Nick's speech, Penny knew something was up. She'd been told she'd handle drunk/high calls, what with the store covering campus deliveries, but she was new and this was the first one she'd ever gotten. She resolved to do the best she possibly could and not laugh at the customers like some of the other CSRs.
"Well, we have a 5-5-5 deal..." she said brightly before realizing she forgot all the other deals.
"OH, that's the one!" came the enthusiastic reply from the drunk side of things. Penny did an admiral job in keeping up with all the changes made to the choice of toppings as the group argued with each other.
"We'z gotta git shum a' that whatsis..."
"Mushrooms?"
"Cowboys dun need no veggies. The meat whatsis... wha'z it called?"
"What kinda meat you have?"
"Pepperoni, hamburger, Italian sausage, Canadian bacon, regular bacon, um..." she waited while Nick repeated the list.
"Canadian? I wan' sum real meat!"
"Angel, what's he want?"
"Steak."
"Not. Helping."
"Hamburger."
"One hamburger pizza, please."
A pause.
"Sorry 'bout this."
Penny instinctively shook her head as she punched in the hamburger pizza.
"Oh no, sir, it's perfectly all-"
"No! Nonononono MORPHINE!"
Penny blinked.
"Larry! Stop... saying words. Hey, hey... what else'z there?"
"Pepperoni, pal!"
"Mushrooms?"
"Snaaaaaake, it's a snaaaaaake... what no ANGIE GO AWAY!"
"One pepperonis and one mushrooms and Larry what did I say?"
"No words!"
"YES."
"But Angies a ho!"
Wild laughter.
"I have one hamburger, one pepperoni, and one mushroom." Maintain the professional. "Would you like anything else?"
Nick immediately sobered, except not. He fought down the giggles just barely long enough to say, "'M really, really shorry, please dun be mad," before Larry shouted "FORCEPTSES!" and Phoenix completely lost it to hysterics. With his last shred of sense he waved the phone in Jake and Angel's general direction. By this point there was enough whiskey circulating through his bloodstream to render him mute (he couldn't keep up the accent so he simply didn't speak), so Angel took the phone. The fact that she was giggling was a sign of how many shots of Goldschlager she'd had (her Goldschlager, no touching, deathglare).
Luckily the promise of CinnaStix gave her the strength to maintain long enough to complete the order. Penny was having problems maintaining herself; she was starting to see what the other CSRs were talking about. She still did admirably, didn't so much as snigger all the way to the total. But then she remembered to check the address. There was a moment of silence on her end as she stared at what the computer brought up as the last entry for that phone number.
Goatboy
Narnia
There was no holding in the laughter after that. She choked out the ETA for delivery and hung up before passing the story on to the rest of her coworkers. With an evil glint in his visible eye, the shift manager picked the 'perfect' driver to deliver.
Thirty to forty minutes later and an irate delivery girl tailgated a guy into the dorm. With the mantra of 'Matt's a jackass' playing over and over in her mind she ignored the catcalls and guys offering to strip as she took the stairs to the fourth floor. When she got to the right door she kicked it.
"How d'ya miss on a suture?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
No one opened the door. The girl gritted her teeth and, for lack of any better ideas, leaned against the doorframe and shouted:
"GET THE DOOR, IT'S DOMINO'S!"
There was a moment of silence in the room that all too soon gave way to a lot of shouting and stumbling. At last the door was wrenched open by a barely standing Dick Gumshoe.
"Who's there?"
She was unintimidatable. Not to mention the fact that she was a member of the 'We Know Dick's a Softy' club. She impatiently shoved him aside and stormed into the dorm room to deposit the pizzas on the sliver of counter by the sink.
"You, you know," Angel said from her vantage point on the floor in front of Jake's chair, "thas not good dela... delili... derivery..."
"How do you know?"
For reasons unknown, that was enough to send Angel to rolling on the floor laughing (in the most literal sense), and that was almost enough to temper the delivery girl's irritation (emphasis on 'almost'). She looked down to where Phoenix lay at her feet, knocked to the ground despite his valiant attempt to get to the door before Gumshoe.
"I... hi," he said intelligently, "I kinda... hey, Adran. No, naha A-dran. 'S somethin' 'ls."
"A-dri-an." she pronounced as she reached up to adjust her glasses. She mentally declared them all a lost cause. Still a little disturbed by the fact that Angel Starr was still rolling on the floor and more worried by the fact that Larry Butz was intently concentrating on the TV for more than five seconds, she held out her hand for the bills that Nick had. Though some major brainpower he managed to figure out what she wanted and held the wad up high. With one more glance, or glare, around the room, Adrian took a reasonable tip, left the change on the counter, and just left. When she got back Manager Matt was going to get it.
Nick pulled himself up and somehow retrieved a slice of pepperoni without pulling everything down on himself. Shuffling forward on his knees, he half-waved the slice in Larry's face.
"Eat it!"
"Niiiiiiick..."
"'M not here 'nuff to drag yuh to the thing. The throw up place. Eat it."
Larry ate what was handed to him, but mainly remained more or less focused on the game. Angel went for the CinnaStix and was less successful in keeping the boxes balanced. Luckily it was only the desert that fell, leaving a large imprint of cinnamon sugar in her hair. Jake took the opportunity and tumbled out of his chair so he could get a piece of the 'cin'min f'av'red 'Nglecaaaake.' His plan somewhat failed when he got a mouthful of her auburn locks and realized there was foul tasting conditioner there. He dove for his drink while she laughed and put the CinnaStix back in the box before ripping off half of it and biting in. Dick stumbled back over to the bed, failed at climbing in, and sank into Jake's vacated chair instead. Nick continued to drunkenly mother everyone into eating and drinking water so the hangovers wouldn't be so bad, eventually retreating to the middle of the room to eat his own pizza.
They were going to regret it in the morning, but damn if it wasn't worth it.
Author's Random:
I think that the number of parenthesis correlates to the sillyness of the fic. Run ons that I can't seem to fix too. I'm cool that way.
THERE'S TOTALLY GAY SYMBOLISM IN NICK'S DRINK IF YOU SQUINT REALLY HARD AHAHAHA okay I'll stop now.
Drunken Trauma Center is an AWESOME game. Everyone should play it constantly and forever. Things like echoing Angie or LASER THE THROMBI and missing sutures directly from playing that game with my friends.
I work the phones at Domino's, and we serve the college. Drunk/high orders are fun because they want the pizza SO BAD and they're trying SO HARD to maintain long enough to get it. I actually fail and always forget to tell them my name, but Penny's sharper than I am. +5 pepperoni for remembering her.
Yes, it was a reference to badgers. Yes, I am that lame.
As for Narnia... no, I'm not joking. I have no idea. I mean, any street name that can be mangled will be by some CSRs, but Narnia related to absolutely NOTHING. Thanks guys.
CinnaStix are the Holy Grail of fast food deserts. God I love those things.
MORAL OF THE STORY IS PIZZA+BOOZE+WII=WIN. OKAY I THINK I'M DONE NOW.
Something businessy too... anyone up for being my beta? I used to have one but she decided to drop off the face of the internet. Right now I'm mostly writing from the Phoenix Wright and Metal Gear Solid fandoms. I need someone who'll destroy my spelling and flow errors with red 'pen,' and I'll of course do the same for you. Any takers?
"So pardner," the newcomer said with a slow drawl as he handed off the precious cargo, "what is it that took the rest of the 'firewater' that y'all had--"
He was interrupted by a dramatic wail coming from the bright orange lump sprawled out in the middle of the less-than-sparkling floor.
"WHYYYYYYYY MAN!? WHY WOULD MY CINDY-WINDY LEAVE MEEEEEE?"
"Ah," the 'cowboy' said, "that's why."
Phoenix was caught between the instinctive apologetic shrug for Larry's behavior and glaring at Jake for unloading the bundle on him with no warning. Larry carried on, though quieter after a harassed 'shut up, pal' from the owner of the room. While his roommate was gone (and honestly, enough of a pushover not to think about reporting them), Dick was still worried about his RA finding out about this little impromptu 'pity party.' Particularly the contents of the two bottles being withdrawn from Jake's poncho.
"Hey, pardner, the Ol' Sunflower's not gonna be home tonight?"
Dick would have glared if not for the frosty bottle of Jack Daniels thrust into his hands. He unscrewed the cap and took a straight swig before replying, "Will's staying over at that guy Jack's house to study lines."
The girl remained in the doorway as if the room was toxic (to be fair, Will and Dick weren't that keen on the dirty clothes hamper). With an uninterested and yet demeaning glance around the meager abode, she crossed her arms and eventually settled her gaze on Larry, who at least was no longer wailing.
"Is this entirely necessary?"
"No," Phoenix replied with an air of long suffering as he poured his floor-bound friend a glass of vodka, only slightly diluted with orange soda. Most would think that adding alcohol to an already wailing Larry Butz was like throwing gasoline on an already raging fire, but he was actually a fairly calm drunk when he was depressed. At least, calmer than his natural heartbroken state. After a moment's pause, Nick poured himself a similar glass, though with far less vodka and cranberry juice instead of soda.
Jake continued his conversation with Dick.
"If Ol' Sunflower's AWOL, then kin I bunk here tonight?"
Dick lowered the bottle to eye Jake suspiciously, something that did little to intimidate since the cowboy already knew that Gumshoe was a big teddy bear.
"I just don't wanna hafta deal with Spitfire if she has to pick me up after she gits back from her date."
Nick settled into a chair that had been compared to a large excised tumor mounted on sticks. After taking a few gulps of his drink for fortitude, he asked her, "What, with your other boyfriend?"
"No," she said without a hint of shame, "yet another boyfriend."
Dick decided that dealing with a slightly hungover Jake Marshal in the morning wouldn't be as bad as dealing with a cranky Angel Starr at any time, and so allowed the cowboy to stay the night. Once she heard that, Angel left with a casual wave in Jake's direction.
Phoenix didn't like her that much. Specifically... "It doesn't bother you that she's seeing other guys?"
Jake grinned, knowing that Nick was concerned about a friend, particularly in light of the wreck who was still sitting on the floor working on his second orange tinted vodka. The cowboy sat down on the bed next to Dick and took a swig of the whiskey. "Don' worry, pardner. 'Sides, it's not like she ain't up front about it, unlike some--"
"She would have NEVER CHEATED ON ME!" came a subdued (for him) outburst from the mass of orange sprawled on the tile.
"Be quiet, will ya pal?" Dick said with the slightest of slurs, "I don't wanna get caught underage drinking."
"I'm the one buying; I'm the one that'll get nailed."
"Marshal, it's my room."
"Your sherrif knows you're a pushover. He's not gonna blame you."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Why can't you say 'RA' like everyone else?"
Jake didn't answer, but instead decided to play catch up to the mildly buzzed Gumeshoe and the steadily-approaching-trashed Butz. Nick gave up, tried to tune out Dick's argument about why he wasn't a pushover, and sipped on his cranberry vodka. He was technically the designated drinker/mom for the group, in charge of keeping the other three in line and quiet enough not to arouse suspicion. It wouldn't be that hard as Larry was mostly calmed down and Dick's RA really didn't care that much, just so long as bottles were never found during inspections. That was the reason they were in Gumshoe's room; they'd have used Larry and Nick's, but their 'sherrif' would have nailed them in a second.
"What's that, Wright?"
"Huh? Oh, just mumbling about our RA."
Dick made a face, "Oh, yeah, Redd's..." No words could adequately describe how much any of them disliked Redd White, and no one hated him more than Phoenix. The reason why he hated him led his mind to the subject of transfers and the information Jake hadn't heard yet.
"F.Y.I.," Nick said quietly as he gestured towards Larry, "she's gone to Paris to some modeling school, or something."
"Seems to be the year for that," Jake said, raising his eyebrow and then taking another swig.
"Yeah..." Phoenix mumbled as he sunk down in the tumor chair. He glanced at the clock and saw that Redd would be off at his night class. He chugged the rest of his glass and rinsed it out before pulling the fully plastered Larry off the ground, prepared for the long journey to the next floor up. It had been a subdued 'party,' not to mention the middle of the week, so Gumshoe and Jake decided to turn in as Nick left. He saw Jake drop into Larry's spot on the rug and Gumshoe trying, in vain, to be a gentleman and give the cowboy his bed. He closed the door and concentrated on getting Larry back to their room without incident.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fast forward to the weekend when they could have a proper party with the sizable remainder of the booze. Enough time had passed to heal Larry's wounded heart (at least enough to make him vaguely acceptable company), and as an added bonus Redd was out of town. Needless to say the attitude was much lighter as they hung out in Nick and Larry's room playing videogames.
"That way, man, that way," Larry enthusiastically and unhelpfully suggested while waving his arms around, nearly falling off the top bunk in the process. Nick didn't bother glaring at his friend--not enough time--and made the full circle of available options before finally finding the morphine.
"You know," he mumbled as he filled the digital syringe with green fluid, "this much morphine can't be good for anyone." He switched back to the ultrasound and almost immediately a slew of angry red lines appeared on the patient's liver.
"Vitals are yellow," Angel calmly pointed out with the usual disinterested tone.
The spiky haired boy sitting in front of the TV frantically gestured with the controller in an effort to get back to the morphine. A woman wearing pink scrubs appeared on the screen and started telling him what he was doing wrong.
"Shut up, Angie!" Phoenix yelled with the type of anger reserved for particularly annoying video game characters. The rest of the room instinctively chorused 'But Dr. Stiles' (even Angel), and Nick growled in frustration as the vitals dropped to the red zone. Another few seconds and the patient death dialog was playing.
"I dun know why you're playin' the hard stuff now, pardner," Jake commented, lifting the hand resting on Angel's shoulder to point at the screen, "'cause this game ain't no fun if you're not soused for it."
Phoenix set aside the Wii remote and switched the TV back over to cable. "It's a good game either way."
"Laser the thrombi!" Larry cheered as he hung upside-down off his bunk. Gumshoe, who was lying on Nick's bed, lifted his glass and echoed the sentiment in both enthusiasm and volume. Once the vodka actually started hitting Larry (this level of yelling was normal for him), he'd take control of the Wii and butcher the easy patients in the first few levels. The group had long since discovered that Drunken Trauma Center was a fascinating game.
At that particular point Larry was barely beginning to feel the effects and Dick was in the light-to-medium stages of buzzed. Jake and Angel had just gotten there, and Nick had only taken a few sips of his cranberry/vodka mix as he was too busy playing games. Jake decided that this situation needed fixing, so he pulled a pillow out from under Gumshoe's arm and threw it at Phoenix.
"Drink more."
"Okay," Nick said as he reached for the glass. He was often told to drink more at these get togethers since he had a habit of getting distracted and not touching his glass. He took a deep breath and chugged down the glass (so he wouldn't forget again).
Jake tipped his hat in admiration, and even Angel looked impressed. It wasn't a weak mix and it wasn't a small tumbler, and Nick drank it all without pausing.
"Man, Nick," Larry said from his now upright position on the top bunk, "I wish I had your 'skillz.'"
Phoenix set down the glass and shrugged. "All you have to do is swallow-" he cut himself off and whirled on the cowboy, "SHUT UP, Jake."
The cowboy's mouth snapped shut on the inquiry (questioning Nick's sexuality) and Angel laughed around her glass. Phoenix grumped over to the fridge and pulled out the mixers for Larry's poison of choice.
"If you want more, get off the top bunk now. Otherwise you'll try to get down later and break your neck."
"Awwwwwww," Larry said as he jumped down, "you take such good care of me, Nick!" he cried as he threw is arms around Nick's middle and held on too tight to be dislodged. Phoenix knew better than to try and finished mixing the drink despite the limited mobility. Once Larry became aware of the 'orange tasty' in his roommate's hand he let go so he could take the glass and hug it instead. Nick just grinned, the vodka in his stomach starting to sink in, and flopped back into his mushroom chair. He watched Larry take a few sips (making sure he mixed it to the right strength) and then suddenly frowned.
"Something wrong?" Angel asked (less disinterested; her cheeks were getting flushed).
"Larry..." Nick said slowly as he tried to remember dinner, "How much have you eaten today?"
Blank look. "Uhhhh..."
"Enough not to be sick all night again?"
Pause. "No."
Nick's drink hadn't quite hit him enough to conceal the fact that ordering out was a bad idea. Unfortunately, enough had entered his system that he didn't care.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled through the numbers while Larry and Dick (both well into inebriated by that point) argued about toppings. While the phone was ringing, Jake requested more coke for the whiskey and Angel asked for something desertish. By the time the other end picked up, Nick had already forgotten everything.
Phoenix really was an exceptional lightweight. Chugging didn't help matters.
"Hello, thank you for calling Domino's!" came the cheery voice on the other end. Nick smiled in response to the positive attitude (he was easily infected by others' moods while buzzed). "My name is Penny. What would you like to order today?"
"Hey. Hi." Those sober enough (Jake and Angel, though Jake was losing ground fast) watched Nick's verbal fumbling with great interest. Dick was far enough gone to lose what little grip he had on an indoor voice and he laughed loud enough to be easily heard by the pizza girl. Larry was ignoring the proceedings completely, and was instead intent on getting Trauma Center running again.
"I uh," Phoenix thought of delicious pizza and not having a puking roommate, "I'd like the... what're your speshuls?"
Between Dick's laughing (which had not ceased) and the definite slur taking over Nick's speech, Penny knew something was up. She'd been told she'd handle drunk/high calls, what with the store covering campus deliveries, but she was new and this was the first one she'd ever gotten. She resolved to do the best she possibly could and not laugh at the customers like some of the other CSRs.
"Well, we have a 5-5-5 deal..." she said brightly before realizing she forgot all the other deals.
"OH, that's the one!" came the enthusiastic reply from the drunk side of things. Penny did an admiral job in keeping up with all the changes made to the choice of toppings as the group argued with each other.
"We'z gotta git shum a' that whatsis..."
"Mushrooms?"
"Cowboys dun need no veggies. The meat whatsis... wha'z it called?"
"What kinda meat you have?"
"Pepperoni, hamburger, Italian sausage, Canadian bacon, regular bacon, um..." she waited while Nick repeated the list.
"Canadian? I wan' sum real meat!"
"Angel, what's he want?"
"Steak."
"Not. Helping."
"Hamburger."
"One hamburger pizza, please."
A pause.
"Sorry 'bout this."
Penny instinctively shook her head as she punched in the hamburger pizza.
"Oh no, sir, it's perfectly all-"
"No! Nonononono MORPHINE!"
Penny blinked.
"Larry! Stop... saying words. Hey, hey... what else'z there?"
"Pepperoni, pal!"
"Mushrooms?"
"Snaaaaaake, it's a snaaaaaake... what no ANGIE GO AWAY!"
"One pepperonis and one mushrooms and Larry what did I say?"
"No words!"
"YES."
"But Angies a ho!"
Wild laughter.
"I have one hamburger, one pepperoni, and one mushroom." Maintain the professional. "Would you like anything else?"
Nick immediately sobered, except not. He fought down the giggles just barely long enough to say, "'M really, really shorry, please dun be mad," before Larry shouted "FORCEPTSES!" and Phoenix completely lost it to hysterics. With his last shred of sense he waved the phone in Jake and Angel's general direction. By this point there was enough whiskey circulating through his bloodstream to render him mute (he couldn't keep up the accent so he simply didn't speak), so Angel took the phone. The fact that she was giggling was a sign of how many shots of Goldschlager she'd had (her Goldschlager, no touching, deathglare).
Luckily the promise of CinnaStix gave her the strength to maintain long enough to complete the order. Penny was having problems maintaining herself; she was starting to see what the other CSRs were talking about. She still did admirably, didn't so much as snigger all the way to the total. But then she remembered to check the address. There was a moment of silence on her end as she stared at what the computer brought up as the last entry for that phone number.
Goatboy
Narnia
There was no holding in the laughter after that. She choked out the ETA for delivery and hung up before passing the story on to the rest of her coworkers. With an evil glint in his visible eye, the shift manager picked the 'perfect' driver to deliver.
Thirty to forty minutes later and an irate delivery girl tailgated a guy into the dorm. With the mantra of 'Matt's a jackass' playing over and over in her mind she ignored the catcalls and guys offering to strip as she took the stairs to the fourth floor. When she got to the right door she kicked it.
"How d'ya miss on a suture?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
No one opened the door. The girl gritted her teeth and, for lack of any better ideas, leaned against the doorframe and shouted:
"GET THE DOOR, IT'S DOMINO'S!"
There was a moment of silence in the room that all too soon gave way to a lot of shouting and stumbling. At last the door was wrenched open by a barely standing Dick Gumshoe.
"Who's there?"
She was unintimidatable. Not to mention the fact that she was a member of the 'We Know Dick's a Softy' club. She impatiently shoved him aside and stormed into the dorm room to deposit the pizzas on the sliver of counter by the sink.
"You, you know," Angel said from her vantage point on the floor in front of Jake's chair, "thas not good dela... delili... derivery..."
"How do you know?"
For reasons unknown, that was enough to send Angel to rolling on the floor laughing (in the most literal sense), and that was almost enough to temper the delivery girl's irritation (emphasis on 'almost'). She looked down to where Phoenix lay at her feet, knocked to the ground despite his valiant attempt to get to the door before Gumshoe.
"I... hi," he said intelligently, "I kinda... hey, Adran. No, naha A-dran. 'S somethin' 'ls."
"A-dri-an." she pronounced as she reached up to adjust her glasses. She mentally declared them all a lost cause. Still a little disturbed by the fact that Angel Starr was still rolling on the floor and more worried by the fact that Larry Butz was intently concentrating on the TV for more than five seconds, she held out her hand for the bills that Nick had. Though some major brainpower he managed to figure out what she wanted and held the wad up high. With one more glance, or glare, around the room, Adrian took a reasonable tip, left the change on the counter, and just left. When she got back Manager Matt was going to get it.
Nick pulled himself up and somehow retrieved a slice of pepperoni without pulling everything down on himself. Shuffling forward on his knees, he half-waved the slice in Larry's face.
"Eat it!"
"Niiiiiiick..."
"'M not here 'nuff to drag yuh to the thing. The throw up place. Eat it."
Larry ate what was handed to him, but mainly remained more or less focused on the game. Angel went for the CinnaStix and was less successful in keeping the boxes balanced. Luckily it was only the desert that fell, leaving a large imprint of cinnamon sugar in her hair. Jake took the opportunity and tumbled out of his chair so he could get a piece of the 'cin'min f'av'red 'Nglecaaaake.' His plan somewhat failed when he got a mouthful of her auburn locks and realized there was foul tasting conditioner there. He dove for his drink while she laughed and put the CinnaStix back in the box before ripping off half of it and biting in. Dick stumbled back over to the bed, failed at climbing in, and sank into Jake's vacated chair instead. Nick continued to drunkenly mother everyone into eating and drinking water so the hangovers wouldn't be so bad, eventually retreating to the middle of the room to eat his own pizza.
They were going to regret it in the morning, but damn if it wasn't worth it.
Author's Random:
I think that the number of parenthesis correlates to the sillyness of the fic. Run ons that I can't seem to fix too. I'm cool that way.
THERE'S TOTALLY GAY SYMBOLISM IN NICK'S DRINK IF YOU SQUINT REALLY HARD AHAHAHA okay I'll stop now.
Drunken Trauma Center is an AWESOME game. Everyone should play it constantly and forever. Things like echoing Angie or LASER THE THROMBI and missing sutures directly from playing that game with my friends.
I work the phones at Domino's, and we serve the college. Drunk/high orders are fun because they want the pizza SO BAD and they're trying SO HARD to maintain long enough to get it. I actually fail and always forget to tell them my name, but Penny's sharper than I am. +5 pepperoni for remembering her.
Yes, it was a reference to badgers. Yes, I am that lame.
As for Narnia... no, I'm not joking. I have no idea. I mean, any street name that can be mangled will be by some CSRs, but Narnia related to absolutely NOTHING. Thanks guys.
CinnaStix are the Holy Grail of fast food deserts. God I love those things.
MORAL OF THE STORY IS PIZZA+BOOZE+WII=WIN. OKAY I THINK I'M DONE NOW.
Something businessy too... anyone up for being my beta? I used to have one but she decided to drop off the face of the internet. Right now I'm mostly writing from the Phoenix Wright and Metal Gear Solid fandoms. I need someone who'll destroy my spelling and flow errors with red 'pen,' and I'll of course do the same for you. Any takers?