A Little Rest and Relaxation
Kick back with the Syndicate as they regroup in the wake of a Mary Sue attack. Oh, how I wish I owned these characters but I do not, I only play with them in the company of remycognac and vanillahellsing. In any case, enjoy. There are sides to the Syndicate yet to be seen.
Part Ten
O-Ren breathed a sigh of relief and surveyed the damage.
“Elle, I know this is a foolish question, but are you okay?” she inquired.
“Oh, I’m just fine and dandy, Ren,” Elle snapped. “Couldn’t be better, you know? It’s a fine day for a picnic, don’t you think? What the fuck?”
“You’re alive, right?” Blonde commented, wetting a clean bar rag and putting it in Elle’s hand. “So shut up and be grateful for that much.”
“Fuck you all,” Elle grumbled, wiping off her face and hands. “This shit fucking hurts. It stinks, too. Smells like some of the stuff Bill used to make.”
O-Ren nodded. “Indeed. Let’s get you washed off.”
***
Orange and White were already in the men’s room, rinsing White’s eyes and face.
“I’m fucking blind,” White growled.
“You’re not blind, you’ve just got pepper spray in your eyes,” Orange answered.
White shook his head and blinked experimentally, his vision returning. “No, whatever the hell this crap is it’s not pepper spray, I can tell you that much. And it’s not Mace, either. This shit’s worse than either of them.”
“And I suppose you’d know what both of those felt like?” Orange chided.
“What can I say, Kid? I’ve been around, you know that.”
“I know.” Orange handed White some napkins so he could dry his face. “I just don’t like thinking about that.”
White’s bearing softened and he rubbed Orange’s arm reassuringly. “Hey, the past is the past and I’m not looking back. Okay?”
Orange smiled a little. “Yeah, okay.”
He brushed some errant hair back from Orange’s eyes. “And I’ve only got my mind on the future these days, you know?”
The younger man nodded, letting himself relax and lean into White’s touch. “I know.”
“And if that little bitch ever shows her face around here again, I’ll kill her myself.”
Orange sighed.
***
O-Ren retrieved her sword and sheathed it after inspecting the blade and assessing it was still in good condition. I need to be more careful, sword smiths are less than common in this city. Her kimono’s wide sleeves were sticky from the spray and she was careful not to touch her face in any way. Whatever this stuff was, O-Ren hoped it didn’t destroy silk. She made her way over to the bar sink where Blonde was helping Elle wash out her eye.
“Any better?”
Elle frowned. “Of course, I feel like I’m on top of the world.”
“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?” Blonde asked Elle, giving her the middle finger.
“Fuck you,” she sneered. “I ought to break that finger off and shove it up your ass.”
Blonde laughed. “Yep, she’s fine.”
“I would say so,” O-Ren agreed.
Elle dried off and made her way up the staircase. “I hate you all. If any of you bastards wakes me up, I’ll kill you.”
“Sweet dreams, Girly,” Blonde called out.
She glared at him with her reddened eye and then vanished upstairs.
Blonde laughed again and went off to occupy himself at the pool table.
O-Ren sighed, shaking her head lightly. Those two are nothing but trouble. She regarded her ruined fan and gingerly disposed of it in the trash bin. “This place is going to turn me into an alcoholic. I could really use a sake.”
“Alcoholics go to meetings,” Orange quipped as he re-entered the room, White close behind him. “At least that’s what Pop used to say.”
“Well, I do suppose that would be one way of looking at it.” O-Ren took another look at her sopping kimono sleeves. “I do hope this isn’t beyond salvaging.”
White’s eyes were still sore even after the spray had been completely rinsed out. He groaned, feeling the knots in his back. “I need a hot, relaxing shower; see if I can wash the evening away so the rest of my night isn’t a waste.”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Orange responded.
***
White and O-Ren met each other at the base of the staircase.
“Going up?” White inquired.
O-Ren nodded and held up her arms, saying, “Indeed, I’m a bit on the peppery side. Yourself?”
“The same. You did good today, by the way.”
She grinned faintly and responded, “You don’t pay me to stand around, do you?”
“No, I suppose not,” White chuckled.
Brown came strutting down the hall as White and O-Ren ascended the stairs.
“Hey, White, what’s happening?” Brown asked, enthusiastic and unaware of the past few hours’ drama. “Jesus H. Christ, man, you look like shit. Did something go down?”
Mr. White just sighed and unlocked his bedroom door, anxious to reach its adjacent private bathroom. “Long story, Brown.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Mr. Brown turned his attention to O-Ren Ishii. “Renny baby! How’s my katana-wielding geisha? You look haggard, my dear, like you’ve just been through the third and possibly fourth layers of Hell. What happened?”
O-Ren sighed and maneuvered away. “Long story, Brown.” She glided down the hall and disappeared around the corner.
Ever since the great Cheesecake Disaster of 5th Grade, Brown couldn’t stand secrets that he wasn’t privy to. Fingers gnarled, he jerked around spastically, muttered incoherent words that weren’t located anywhere in the English dictionary. He ran down the stairs and nearly collided with Mr. Orange, whom he gripped tightly by the shoulders.
“What in the holy name of Andy Kaufman happened down here?” Brown exclaimed. “And so help me, Orange, if you say ‘long story’ to me I will slap you like a red-headed stepchild.”
Orange blinked and responded, “I’ll need a smoke and a drink first.”
Like a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat, Brown quickly plucked a cigarette from his pack, stuck it in Orange’s mouth, and proceeded to light it.
“Damn it to hell, why do I always miss the good stuff?” Brown muttered. “Speak, lad, speak! I need the details, all of them, especially the gory ones.”
Orange took a drag from the cigarette and meandered over to the bar where he began putting together a White Russian.
“Right, so, let me tell you what the hell just happened here today while you were trapped in an alternate dimension upstairs, Brown,” Orange declared.
“I am all ears,” Brown said excitedly, settling himself on a bar stool like it was story-time at kindergarten.
Orange nodded and poured a bit more vodka than he usually did into the drink. “So, I get back from running errands - we have our liquor license now, by the way - and find Mr. Blonde talking to some weird girl. And when I say weird, I mean WEIRD. She was pink from head to toe, from her clothes to the color of her hair. She looked like she had been dipped in Kool Aid, like a Power Ranger gone horribly wrong.”
“Was she hot?” Brown asked hopefully.
Orange shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess so. She looked like a typical male fantasy, you know: big eyes, skinny body, big tits, skimpy clothes, that sort of thing.”
“Big tits?” Brown smiled like a dirty little boy.
“Huge tits, like melons or something.” Orange, coincidentally, added the milk to his drink at that moment. “They had to be fake, though.”
“Who am I to judge? I love them all equally.” Brown kept smiling. “What about the skimpy clothes? What was she wearing?”
Orange raised an eyebrow. “If you start jacking off I swear to God I’ll break this bottle of vodka right over your head.”
Brown chuckled nervously and raised his hands up. “Who? Me? I’d never.”
“Good, then keep them on the bar where I can see them.”
Brown complied. “So tell me more.” His leg, in the meantime, twitched up and down like the mechanism in a sewing machine.
“Yeah, well, let’s just say that back when I was a cop I busted prostitutes with more modesty,” Orange continued.
Brown nearly drooled. “Oh man…”
“Oh, and she was crazy.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“No, I mean, she really was psychologically unstable. She made the Manson family look like normal, functioning members of society. And on top of that, she was really fucking annoying. White comes in and she says she wants to work here. First he says yeah, but then he says no because I talked some sense into him.”
“Aw, why’d you go and do that?” Brown sulked. “I would’ve gotten a chance to see her.”
Orange shook his head, mixing his drink and pouring it. “No, trust me on this, there was just something not right with her.” He paused for a pull from the cigarette and a gulp from the glass. “Did I mention that Blonde had his gun pulled on her?”
“No, you conveniently left that part out,” Brown said.
Orange and Brown looked over at Blonde, who was playing pool by himself, contentedly ignoring them. He had a few drinks in him and Manfred Mann’s “Blinded by the Light” was playing on the juke, which made Blonde - at least for the moment - a happy man.
“Well, he did,” Orange went on to say. “Blonde pointed the gun right at her head and she didn’t pay it any attention, like that kind of thing happened to her on a daily basis.”
“Yeah, that sounds like old Blondie,” Brown responded. “Wow, didn’t flinch, huh? She must’ve been something else.” He smacked his hand against the bar in a gesture of frustration. “Damn it, I was taking a shower, you know? You didn’t hear my stirring rendition of ‘Old Man River?’ No?”
Orange tilted his head to one side and regarded his friend quizzically. “You were in the shower for two and a half hours?”
“I had to put myself together, you know? Looking this good doesn’t come easy, you’ve got to invest time and effort into it.”
“I see, the results are…uh…”
“Impressive?” Brown said as he smoothed his hair back and smiled, which gave him the appearance of an insurance salesman getting ready for a pitch.
Orange nodded. “Yeah, sure, we’ll go with that.”
Both men laughed.
“But wait, there’s more,” Orange continued. “Then O-Ren and Elle came in and the shit really hit the fan. The girl starts insulting Elle, who attacks her.”
Brown rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Ooh, I love chickfights.”
“She sprayed Elle with some super-strength mace, got her right in the face.”
Brown laughed and was grateful Elle wasn’t around to glare at him with one reddened eye.
***
Elle Driver sneezed as she woke up, her ear itching. With a grunt she heaved herself up out of bed, a few joints making small bothersome popping noises in the process. Damn it, I am out of practice. One her way to the bathroom around the corner she passed White, who inquired how she was feeling - he almost sounded sincerely concerned. Which only made Elle think she must have looked like shit; after all, why else would the old bastard even ask?
She almost didn’t want to catch a glimpse in the mirror of what the magenta nightmare had done to her face. Elle had always taken pride in her appearance; after all, not everyone can pull off the whole eye patch look.
***
“So let me get this straight,” Brown said, watching as Orange poured a pint of Guinness for him. “This chick takes down Elle, takes down White, evades O-Ren, and then confesses her love to you and says she wants you to run away with her?”
Orange nodded, watching the tap. “Yeah, that’s about what happened.”
“Craziness, man,” Brown laughed, lighting himself a cigarette. “That’s freaking hysterical. So she’s like, ‘I love you, Orange, I want your babies?’ Crazy.”
“She didn’t mention anything about babies but you’re right on everything else.”
Brown kept laughing. “Orange, Orange, you tangerine dream, sounds to me like you’ve got yourself a fangirl there.”
Orange pointed a finger at the other man in warning, “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Hey, not one more word out of you, Brown.”
“Did she throw her panties at you? Does she already have the names of your five children picked out? What do the china patterns look like?”
Orange placed the pint in front of Brown, grumbling, “Shut up and drink your damned Guinness.”
Brown’s laughter was reaching hyena proportions. “Yes-sir-ee, you’ve got a fangirl. Talk about irony! ‘Cause I mean, really, let’s be honest here: what on God’s green earth are you going to do with a fangirl? You know, seeing as you…yeah…you know.” He winked at Orange but did so with such exaggeration that one would think his facial contortion was the result of a small bird having just flown into his eye.
Orange rolled his eyes, chuckling with annoyance and amusement. “I know.”
“Fangirls, yeah.” Brown’s laughing fit finally died down as he stared into his dark drink, taking a drag off his smoke. “Yeah, fangirls, I’ve got a million of them…”
Footsteps on the stairs drew Orange’s attention and his expression softened when he saw White approaching. “Hey, how are you feeling?”
“I’ve seen better days but I’m fine,” White replied with a wink as he sat at the bar a seat away from Brown.
Orange touched White’s hand. “Do you want anything?”
White smiled. “A Seven and Seven would make my night, Kid.”
***
I cannot believe that horrid little creature ruined my kimono. That was the purple one, a gift from Budd last holiday.
With latex gloves on to keep her hands clean, O-Ren carefully folded the battle-damaged kimono into a plastic bag. It still smelled quite sharply, like toxic chemicals and flowers. She cautiously sniffed the silk, trying to place where she had encountered that bouquet before - there was something familiar about it. Elle had been correct, it did recall some of the mixtures Bill made himself famous for creating. But that wasn’t where O-Ren remembered it from.
She closed the plastic bag and set it aside, making a mental note.
With any luck a good dry-cleaning will take that out of the fabric.
Clad in a clean blue kimono, O-Ren descended the stairs and hoped that this one would not meet so sticky and bothersome a fate as the last.
She found the juke playing, as usual, lending life a soundtrack all its own. Blonde was in the middle of a billiards game, alone, most likely polishing up his skills so as to beat Elle more thoroughly next match. White and Brown were sitting at the bar with Orange behind the counter.
“And then O-Ren threw her out,” Orange announced, gesturing to her cheerfully.
I what? Oh, that girl from before. O-Ren chuckled, “Yes, I did.”
“A toast to our hero,” Orange proposed, raising his White Russian. “Thank you, O-Ren, for saving my hide and kicking some ass.”
“I’ll drink to that,” White agreed, lifting his Seven and Seven. “You’re one hell of a lady.”
“Three cheers for Renny baby, destroyer of fangirls,” Brown chimed in, holding up his Guinness.
“Stop calling me that,” O-Ren told Brown. She arched an eyebrow. “What’s a f…”
“Don’t get him started,” Orange cautioned, “trust me, just don’t.”
She nodded. “I see, never mind.” O-Ren perched herself at the bar to White’s left, making him a human shield between herself and Brown. “But as I began to say earlier, thanks are not required, Mr. Orange. Looking after you was one of the stipulations of my employment.”
Orange looked at White and sighed. “You hired me a bodyguard?”
White chuckled and shrugged, looking at the younger man with affection. “Came in handy, didn’t it?”
Brown shook his head. “Alright, that’s enough you two. If you get any sweeter I’m going to go into a diabetic coma.” He then took a big gulp of Guinness, pondering how he hadn’t been on a date in way too long.
“However, Mr. Orange, if you would still like to do something nice for me,” O-Ren went on to say, “I could use some sake. My favorite brand is Shiro no Jumon and you should be able to find the same bottle that I was drinking from last night in the store room sitting on the floor to the left of the door.”
Orange snapped his fingers. “Not a problem.” He ducked into the store room.
“Well, well, well, look who’s decided to join us,” Blonde remarked, leaning on his pool cue as he watched the figure walking down the stairs. “Feeling better, sleeping beauty?”
“Shut up,” Elle Driver snapped. “My head still hurts, my throat is sore, and my eye is dry.” She sat down at the bar beside O-Ren. “I feel like shit.”
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Mr. Brown put in.
“For once, I agree with you,” Elle muttered.
“Scary, isn’t it?” Mr. White quipped.
Elle smirked. “First and last time, I can guarantee you of that.”
Mr. Orange returned with the green and purple bottle of sake. “This is it, right?”
O-Ren nodded. “A shot glassful will suffice.”
“You still drink this stuff?” Elle commented, inspecting the label.
“Have you ever known me not to drink it?” O-Ren replied.
“Good point.” Elle turned to Orange. “Hey, barkeep, pour me a shot.”
“Is that stuff any good?” Mr. Blonde inquired, abandoning the billiard table.
“It’s my preferred brand,” O-Ren answered. “Of course, not everyone is fond of sake.”
“I had sake once,” White said. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“This is the finest sake I’ve ever tasted.” O-Ren looked encouragingly at White and Blonde. “You should try it.”
White grinned faintly. “Count me in.”
“I remember this stuff,” Elle said, lifting the shot glass to eye level and gazing into the pale amber liquid. “We used to go through at least two or three carafes of it whenever I visited the House of Blue Leaves. You gave us all bottles for the holidays one year.”
For all of a moment, Elle’s demeanor thawed. Whatever carefully constructed walls that surrounded her came down, her blue eye glistening with an instant of sentimentality. She blinked and the emotion was gone as quickly as it had surfaced.
“This stuff’s good,” was all Elle finally said. Up the walls went.
“Well that settles it then,” Blonde said. “Pour one for me.”
“Ooh, ooh, all the cool kids are doing it,” Brown exclaimed. “Peer pressure, peer pressure. I want one, too.”
Orange looked at the five shot glasses he had lined up. Oh well, why not? He added a sixth and handed everyone their sake. “What shall we toast to then?”
“To wives and sweethearts,” Brown declared, “may they never meet.”
“Well considering the fact that you don’t have either, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Blonde quipped. “How about this: may we get to Heaven at least an hour before the Devil knows we’re dead.”
“That one isn’t half bad,” Elle begrudgingly admitted, trying not to smile. “I’ll drink to that.”
Blonde shrugged. “My big brother taught me that one.”
“And I’ll add one more,” White said. “Here’s to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking. If you cheat, may you cheat death. If you steal, may you steal your beloved’s heart. If you fight, may it be for a true friend. And if you drink, may you drink with me.”
“I like that one,” Orange remarked with a smile.
Brown nodded. “Salud to that.”
“Sounds good to me,” Blonde chuckled.
“I agree with that sentiment. Now remember, don’t down it in one gulp, sip it or you lose the flavor.” O-Ren smiled. “Kampai.”
They clinked their glasses and drank. Brown, of course, forgot what O-Ren had said precisely five seconds after she had said it and gulped his sake down in one mouthful. He then began to spasm and make strange gurgling noises akin to the sound a cat makes upon hocking up a hairball.
“She warned you,” Elle chided.
Blonde sneered a little while White rolled his eyes. Orange just sighed. Brown never learns.
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate
Part Four: Gambling with the Syndicate
Part Five: Cards and Crazy Bitches
Part Six: Hangovers, Dancing, and a Lack of Pants
Part Seven: The Great Breakfast Quest
Part Eight: Enter the Pink Nightmare
Part Nine: In Which the Garbage is Taken Out.
Part Ten
O-Ren breathed a sigh of relief and surveyed the damage.
“Elle, I know this is a foolish question, but are you okay?” she inquired.
“Oh, I’m just fine and dandy, Ren,” Elle snapped. “Couldn’t be better, you know? It’s a fine day for a picnic, don’t you think? What the fuck?”
“You’re alive, right?” Blonde commented, wetting a clean bar rag and putting it in Elle’s hand. “So shut up and be grateful for that much.”
“Fuck you all,” Elle grumbled, wiping off her face and hands. “This shit fucking hurts. It stinks, too. Smells like some of the stuff Bill used to make.”
O-Ren nodded. “Indeed. Let’s get you washed off.”
***
Orange and White were already in the men’s room, rinsing White’s eyes and face.
“I’m fucking blind,” White growled.
“You’re not blind, you’ve just got pepper spray in your eyes,” Orange answered.
White shook his head and blinked experimentally, his vision returning. “No, whatever the hell this crap is it’s not pepper spray, I can tell you that much. And it’s not Mace, either. This shit’s worse than either of them.”
“And I suppose you’d know what both of those felt like?” Orange chided.
“What can I say, Kid? I’ve been around, you know that.”
“I know.” Orange handed White some napkins so he could dry his face. “I just don’t like thinking about that.”
White’s bearing softened and he rubbed Orange’s arm reassuringly. “Hey, the past is the past and I’m not looking back. Okay?”
Orange smiled a little. “Yeah, okay.”
He brushed some errant hair back from Orange’s eyes. “And I’ve only got my mind on the future these days, you know?”
The younger man nodded, letting himself relax and lean into White’s touch. “I know.”
“And if that little bitch ever shows her face around here again, I’ll kill her myself.”
Orange sighed.
***
O-Ren retrieved her sword and sheathed it after inspecting the blade and assessing it was still in good condition. I need to be more careful, sword smiths are less than common in this city. Her kimono’s wide sleeves were sticky from the spray and she was careful not to touch her face in any way. Whatever this stuff was, O-Ren hoped it didn’t destroy silk. She made her way over to the bar sink where Blonde was helping Elle wash out her eye.
“Any better?”
Elle frowned. “Of course, I feel like I’m on top of the world.”
“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?” Blonde asked Elle, giving her the middle finger.
“Fuck you,” she sneered. “I ought to break that finger off and shove it up your ass.”
Blonde laughed. “Yep, she’s fine.”
“I would say so,” O-Ren agreed.
Elle dried off and made her way up the staircase. “I hate you all. If any of you bastards wakes me up, I’ll kill you.”
“Sweet dreams, Girly,” Blonde called out.
She glared at him with her reddened eye and then vanished upstairs.
Blonde laughed again and went off to occupy himself at the pool table.
O-Ren sighed, shaking her head lightly. Those two are nothing but trouble. She regarded her ruined fan and gingerly disposed of it in the trash bin. “This place is going to turn me into an alcoholic. I could really use a sake.”
“Alcoholics go to meetings,” Orange quipped as he re-entered the room, White close behind him. “At least that’s what Pop used to say.”
“Well, I do suppose that would be one way of looking at it.” O-Ren took another look at her sopping kimono sleeves. “I do hope this isn’t beyond salvaging.”
White’s eyes were still sore even after the spray had been completely rinsed out. He groaned, feeling the knots in his back. “I need a hot, relaxing shower; see if I can wash the evening away so the rest of my night isn’t a waste.”
“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Orange responded.
***
White and O-Ren met each other at the base of the staircase.
“Going up?” White inquired.
O-Ren nodded and held up her arms, saying, “Indeed, I’m a bit on the peppery side. Yourself?”
“The same. You did good today, by the way.”
She grinned faintly and responded, “You don’t pay me to stand around, do you?”
“No, I suppose not,” White chuckled.
Brown came strutting down the hall as White and O-Ren ascended the stairs.
“Hey, White, what’s happening?” Brown asked, enthusiastic and unaware of the past few hours’ drama. “Jesus H. Christ, man, you look like shit. Did something go down?”
Mr. White just sighed and unlocked his bedroom door, anxious to reach its adjacent private bathroom. “Long story, Brown.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Mr. Brown turned his attention to O-Ren Ishii. “Renny baby! How’s my katana-wielding geisha? You look haggard, my dear, like you’ve just been through the third and possibly fourth layers of Hell. What happened?”
O-Ren sighed and maneuvered away. “Long story, Brown.” She glided down the hall and disappeared around the corner.
Ever since the great Cheesecake Disaster of 5th Grade, Brown couldn’t stand secrets that he wasn’t privy to. Fingers gnarled, he jerked around spastically, muttered incoherent words that weren’t located anywhere in the English dictionary. He ran down the stairs and nearly collided with Mr. Orange, whom he gripped tightly by the shoulders.
“What in the holy name of Andy Kaufman happened down here?” Brown exclaimed. “And so help me, Orange, if you say ‘long story’ to me I will slap you like a red-headed stepchild.”
Orange blinked and responded, “I’ll need a smoke and a drink first.”
Like a magician conjuring a rabbit from a hat, Brown quickly plucked a cigarette from his pack, stuck it in Orange’s mouth, and proceeded to light it.
“Damn it to hell, why do I always miss the good stuff?” Brown muttered. “Speak, lad, speak! I need the details, all of them, especially the gory ones.”
Orange took a drag from the cigarette and meandered over to the bar where he began putting together a White Russian.
“Right, so, let me tell you what the hell just happened here today while you were trapped in an alternate dimension upstairs, Brown,” Orange declared.
“I am all ears,” Brown said excitedly, settling himself on a bar stool like it was story-time at kindergarten.
Orange nodded and poured a bit more vodka than he usually did into the drink. “So, I get back from running errands - we have our liquor license now, by the way - and find Mr. Blonde talking to some weird girl. And when I say weird, I mean WEIRD. She was pink from head to toe, from her clothes to the color of her hair. She looked like she had been dipped in Kool Aid, like a Power Ranger gone horribly wrong.”
“Was she hot?” Brown asked hopefully.
Orange shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess so. She looked like a typical male fantasy, you know: big eyes, skinny body, big tits, skimpy clothes, that sort of thing.”
“Big tits?” Brown smiled like a dirty little boy.
“Huge tits, like melons or something.” Orange, coincidentally, added the milk to his drink at that moment. “They had to be fake, though.”
“Who am I to judge? I love them all equally.” Brown kept smiling. “What about the skimpy clothes? What was she wearing?”
Orange raised an eyebrow. “If you start jacking off I swear to God I’ll break this bottle of vodka right over your head.”
Brown chuckled nervously and raised his hands up. “Who? Me? I’d never.”
“Good, then keep them on the bar where I can see them.”
Brown complied. “So tell me more.” His leg, in the meantime, twitched up and down like the mechanism in a sewing machine.
“Yeah, well, let’s just say that back when I was a cop I busted prostitutes with more modesty,” Orange continued.
Brown nearly drooled. “Oh man…”
“Oh, and she was crazy.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“No, I mean, she really was psychologically unstable. She made the Manson family look like normal, functioning members of society. And on top of that, she was really fucking annoying. White comes in and she says she wants to work here. First he says yeah, but then he says no because I talked some sense into him.”
“Aw, why’d you go and do that?” Brown sulked. “I would’ve gotten a chance to see her.”
Orange shook his head, mixing his drink and pouring it. “No, trust me on this, there was just something not right with her.” He paused for a pull from the cigarette and a gulp from the glass. “Did I mention that Blonde had his gun pulled on her?”
“No, you conveniently left that part out,” Brown said.
Orange and Brown looked over at Blonde, who was playing pool by himself, contentedly ignoring them. He had a few drinks in him and Manfred Mann’s “Blinded by the Light” was playing on the juke, which made Blonde - at least for the moment - a happy man.
“Well, he did,” Orange went on to say. “Blonde pointed the gun right at her head and she didn’t pay it any attention, like that kind of thing happened to her on a daily basis.”
“Yeah, that sounds like old Blondie,” Brown responded. “Wow, didn’t flinch, huh? She must’ve been something else.” He smacked his hand against the bar in a gesture of frustration. “Damn it, I was taking a shower, you know? You didn’t hear my stirring rendition of ‘Old Man River?’ No?”
Orange tilted his head to one side and regarded his friend quizzically. “You were in the shower for two and a half hours?”
“I had to put myself together, you know? Looking this good doesn’t come easy, you’ve got to invest time and effort into it.”
“I see, the results are…uh…”
“Impressive?” Brown said as he smoothed his hair back and smiled, which gave him the appearance of an insurance salesman getting ready for a pitch.
Orange nodded. “Yeah, sure, we’ll go with that.”
Both men laughed.
“But wait, there’s more,” Orange continued. “Then O-Ren and Elle came in and the shit really hit the fan. The girl starts insulting Elle, who attacks her.”
Brown rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Ooh, I love chickfights.”
“She sprayed Elle with some super-strength mace, got her right in the face.”
Brown laughed and was grateful Elle wasn’t around to glare at him with one reddened eye.
***
Elle Driver sneezed as she woke up, her ear itching. With a grunt she heaved herself up out of bed, a few joints making small bothersome popping noises in the process. Damn it, I am out of practice. One her way to the bathroom around the corner she passed White, who inquired how she was feeling - he almost sounded sincerely concerned. Which only made Elle think she must have looked like shit; after all, why else would the old bastard even ask?
She almost didn’t want to catch a glimpse in the mirror of what the magenta nightmare had done to her face. Elle had always taken pride in her appearance; after all, not everyone can pull off the whole eye patch look.
***
“So let me get this straight,” Brown said, watching as Orange poured a pint of Guinness for him. “This chick takes down Elle, takes down White, evades O-Ren, and then confesses her love to you and says she wants you to run away with her?”
Orange nodded, watching the tap. “Yeah, that’s about what happened.”
“Craziness, man,” Brown laughed, lighting himself a cigarette. “That’s freaking hysterical. So she’s like, ‘I love you, Orange, I want your babies?’ Crazy.”
“She didn’t mention anything about babies but you’re right on everything else.”
Brown kept laughing. “Orange, Orange, you tangerine dream, sounds to me like you’ve got yourself a fangirl there.”
Orange pointed a finger at the other man in warning, “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Hey, not one more word out of you, Brown.”
“Did she throw her panties at you? Does she already have the names of your five children picked out? What do the china patterns look like?”
Orange placed the pint in front of Brown, grumbling, “Shut up and drink your damned Guinness.”
Brown’s laughter was reaching hyena proportions. “Yes-sir-ee, you’ve got a fangirl. Talk about irony! ‘Cause I mean, really, let’s be honest here: what on God’s green earth are you going to do with a fangirl? You know, seeing as you…yeah…you know.” He winked at Orange but did so with such exaggeration that one would think his facial contortion was the result of a small bird having just flown into his eye.
Orange rolled his eyes, chuckling with annoyance and amusement. “I know.”
“Fangirls, yeah.” Brown’s laughing fit finally died down as he stared into his dark drink, taking a drag off his smoke. “Yeah, fangirls, I’ve got a million of them…”
Footsteps on the stairs drew Orange’s attention and his expression softened when he saw White approaching. “Hey, how are you feeling?”
“I’ve seen better days but I’m fine,” White replied with a wink as he sat at the bar a seat away from Brown.
Orange touched White’s hand. “Do you want anything?”
White smiled. “A Seven and Seven would make my night, Kid.”
***
I cannot believe that horrid little creature ruined my kimono. That was the purple one, a gift from Budd last holiday.
With latex gloves on to keep her hands clean, O-Ren carefully folded the battle-damaged kimono into a plastic bag. It still smelled quite sharply, like toxic chemicals and flowers. She cautiously sniffed the silk, trying to place where she had encountered that bouquet before - there was something familiar about it. Elle had been correct, it did recall some of the mixtures Bill made himself famous for creating. But that wasn’t where O-Ren remembered it from.
She closed the plastic bag and set it aside, making a mental note.
With any luck a good dry-cleaning will take that out of the fabric.
Clad in a clean blue kimono, O-Ren descended the stairs and hoped that this one would not meet so sticky and bothersome a fate as the last.
She found the juke playing, as usual, lending life a soundtrack all its own. Blonde was in the middle of a billiards game, alone, most likely polishing up his skills so as to beat Elle more thoroughly next match. White and Brown were sitting at the bar with Orange behind the counter.
“And then O-Ren threw her out,” Orange announced, gesturing to her cheerfully.
I what? Oh, that girl from before. O-Ren chuckled, “Yes, I did.”
“A toast to our hero,” Orange proposed, raising his White Russian. “Thank you, O-Ren, for saving my hide and kicking some ass.”
“I’ll drink to that,” White agreed, lifting his Seven and Seven. “You’re one hell of a lady.”
“Three cheers for Renny baby, destroyer of fangirls,” Brown chimed in, holding up his Guinness.
“Stop calling me that,” O-Ren told Brown. She arched an eyebrow. “What’s a f…”
“Don’t get him started,” Orange cautioned, “trust me, just don’t.”
She nodded. “I see, never mind.” O-Ren perched herself at the bar to White’s left, making him a human shield between herself and Brown. “But as I began to say earlier, thanks are not required, Mr. Orange. Looking after you was one of the stipulations of my employment.”
Orange looked at White and sighed. “You hired me a bodyguard?”
White chuckled and shrugged, looking at the younger man with affection. “Came in handy, didn’t it?”
Brown shook his head. “Alright, that’s enough you two. If you get any sweeter I’m going to go into a diabetic coma.” He then took a big gulp of Guinness, pondering how he hadn’t been on a date in way too long.
“However, Mr. Orange, if you would still like to do something nice for me,” O-Ren went on to say, “I could use some sake. My favorite brand is Shiro no Jumon and you should be able to find the same bottle that I was drinking from last night in the store room sitting on the floor to the left of the door.”
Orange snapped his fingers. “Not a problem.” He ducked into the store room.
“Well, well, well, look who’s decided to join us,” Blonde remarked, leaning on his pool cue as he watched the figure walking down the stairs. “Feeling better, sleeping beauty?”
“Shut up,” Elle Driver snapped. “My head still hurts, my throat is sore, and my eye is dry.” She sat down at the bar beside O-Ren. “I feel like shit.”
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Mr. Brown put in.
“For once, I agree with you,” Elle muttered.
“Scary, isn’t it?” Mr. White quipped.
Elle smirked. “First and last time, I can guarantee you of that.”
Mr. Orange returned with the green and purple bottle of sake. “This is it, right?”
O-Ren nodded. “A shot glassful will suffice.”
“You still drink this stuff?” Elle commented, inspecting the label.
“Have you ever known me not to drink it?” O-Ren replied.
“Good point.” Elle turned to Orange. “Hey, barkeep, pour me a shot.”
“Is that stuff any good?” Mr. Blonde inquired, abandoning the billiard table.
“It’s my preferred brand,” O-Ren answered. “Of course, not everyone is fond of sake.”
“I had sake once,” White said. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“This is the finest sake I’ve ever tasted.” O-Ren looked encouragingly at White and Blonde. “You should try it.”
White grinned faintly. “Count me in.”
“I remember this stuff,” Elle said, lifting the shot glass to eye level and gazing into the pale amber liquid. “We used to go through at least two or three carafes of it whenever I visited the House of Blue Leaves. You gave us all bottles for the holidays one year.”
For all of a moment, Elle’s demeanor thawed. Whatever carefully constructed walls that surrounded her came down, her blue eye glistening with an instant of sentimentality. She blinked and the emotion was gone as quickly as it had surfaced.
“This stuff’s good,” was all Elle finally said. Up the walls went.
“Well that settles it then,” Blonde said. “Pour one for me.”
“Ooh, ooh, all the cool kids are doing it,” Brown exclaimed. “Peer pressure, peer pressure. I want one, too.”
Orange looked at the five shot glasses he had lined up. Oh well, why not? He added a sixth and handed everyone their sake. “What shall we toast to then?”
“To wives and sweethearts,” Brown declared, “may they never meet.”
“Well considering the fact that you don’t have either, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Blonde quipped. “How about this: may we get to Heaven at least an hour before the Devil knows we’re dead.”
“That one isn’t half bad,” Elle begrudgingly admitted, trying not to smile. “I’ll drink to that.”
Blonde shrugged. “My big brother taught me that one.”
“And I’ll add one more,” White said. “Here’s to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking. If you cheat, may you cheat death. If you steal, may you steal your beloved’s heart. If you fight, may it be for a true friend. And if you drink, may you drink with me.”
“I like that one,” Orange remarked with a smile.
Brown nodded. “Salud to that.”
“Sounds good to me,” Blonde chuckled.
“I agree with that sentiment. Now remember, don’t down it in one gulp, sip it or you lose the flavor.” O-Ren smiled. “Kampai.”
They clinked their glasses and drank. Brown, of course, forgot what O-Ren had said precisely five seconds after she had said it and gulped his sake down in one mouthful. He then began to spasm and make strange gurgling noises akin to the sound a cat makes upon hocking up a hairball.
“She warned you,” Elle chided.
Blonde sneered a little while White rolled his eyes. Orange just sighed. Brown never learns.
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate
Part Four: Gambling with the Syndicate
Part Five: Cards and Crazy Bitches
Part Six: Hangovers, Dancing, and a Lack of Pants
Part Seven: The Great Breakfast Quest
Part Eight: Enter the Pink Nightmare
Part Nine: In Which the Garbage is Taken Out.