Theo

"Oh knock it off you two. Second graders... Good to see you, Theo." Luka is next to Mick and hugs me as Luka is wont to do. His motto: "Shaking hands is for strangers and business deals. I hug my friends." This would mean more if Luka didn't cease considering anyone a stranger the minute they entered within his visual periphery. The guy is the easiest to get along with out of all of us and, I suspect, out of the entire university we attend (Arbortown U. Fifteenth in the state racquetball championships. Thirty-seventh in academic standing in our state. Cheapest out of all of them, if you grew up here: tuition paid for any Arbortown natives.).

He's textbook friendly guy: dark brown hair, super tan ethnically ambiguous skin ("god damnit I'm not fucking mexican guys...er, fuck, not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just, you know...not."), a little shorter than me. Dresses nicer than me too because he comes from more money but never flaunts it too much. I suspect he's investing it all. After our hug he stands back and stretches, I smile at him, and nod to the last of our group, Sai.

How to describe this man? I'd first ask you how you would describe a mountain. By its color? By its place in a broader scenic context? By the shape of its peak, or its height? How wide is its base? All of the above? No matter your choice, a listener will never truly get an accurate picture of the mountain -- a certain depth, to whatever degree, will always escape him. This applies to any description of a person, really, but without a doubt, Sai is the most like a natural force of the world than any other person -- more than anyone I've ever encountered, Sai resists description. Perhaps this is because I truly don't know him as well as I could.

Our group only really coalesced a year ago (Mia and I, two months ago, when Mick hadn't been able to join us one night and everyone else had left. I mentioned something about her needing to leave soon, to give her the out, when she calmly put down her glass of wine, looked me in the face, and told me, verbatim, "I'm going to fuck you, Theo. Don't say another word until I've drained you of everything, and we'll talk about it tomorrow." I shut up pretty quickly.) We all hang out regularly enough but Sai has the hardest time integrating into the group because he can't speak.

He isn't mute -- I've heard him talk on the phone a few times in a foreign language, but he hangs up the minute someone comes around. Over time we've been able to approximate a vague notion of a religious or cultural imposition that he not talk to us. He's Asian, shorter, jet black hair which I don't think I've ever seen at any other length than it was the first time I saw him: long ponytail in the back. You may wonder why it is we like him so much -- and we do -- or why he hangs out with us.

I may one day get to the story of the first time I met him and brought him into our group, which at the time was me, Luka, and Mia (Mick was a sporadic addition at this time), but for now, content yourself with knowing that Sai speaks sign language, as do I, and that I translate him to the group. He occasionally will correct me, but usually I'm pretty spot on. I'm proud of my signing abilities: I had to learn when my sister went deaf. But that's again, another story.

Sai signed hello to me and I back to him, then we all crowded into my car, an old Civic I'd acquired miraculously from a government sale for two hundred and thirty nine dollars, and headed to the party. The car drives well enough, but I haven't put any money into it in the two years I've had it so it runs a little poorly in some places. Turns are something I have to take slowly, which has led people into the mistaken assumption that I am a good driver. I don't correct them.

Sai takes the front as he always does when we're all together because it's easier for him to talk to me this way. He has to hold his hands really far forward and to the left so I can "hear" him without taking my eyes too far off the road. Luka's making some jibes toward Mia and Mike because they're starting to make out.

"Geez, Theo, you should really consider getting a limo. That way Starsky and Hutch over here can have a little more room for themselves." Through the rear view mirror I see Mike break away from Mia, they're not feeling each other up or anything, just kissing a little longer than would be technically appropriate (can you blame him though? Just being in the same car as Mia is enough to drive a man insane. I have to keep the fan on because otherwise I can smell her and then, as I learned the hard way, I end up getting out of the car with a boner I have to hide. Not a fun thing when it happens every time, so I had to adapt. Boner-killing fans: the extent of my technological ingenuity). He clears his throat.

"Actually, Luka, Starsky and Hutch weren't lovers. They were just partners on the job." Luka rolls his eyes at this, but Mia interjects before anyone else can say a thing.

"I dunno Mike, you don't think there weren't any underlying homoerotic feelings between those guys? I'd be gay for you if I was a guy for sure." She kisses his neck and probably gave his junk a surruptitious squeeze because Mick grins and says something inane about him not being gay but if he was boy-Mia would be his first choice. Blah blah blah I can't stand when this guy talks, so I switch the conversation from the relationship between Mike and the girl I was choking and pinning up against the wall before brutally fucking her mouth and having her walk out on me to something more pleasant, like the party we were going to.

"So, who knows the host here? Luka, was it you?"

"Na, man, it's one of Mike's friends. I've heard of him though, he's a nice guy. Recent graduate, working at some techie job. Sounds like he wants to relive the college days and he puts together these parties every so often to get it out of his system, that about right Mike?"

"Yeah, more or less. Declan is a fine man, but isn't much of a host. I had to coach him on how to throw parties. Speaking of which, it starts in ten minutes, so if molasses-foot over here wants to maybe turn into maple syrup we could get there on time?"

Perhaps you are beginning to understand why the thought that this man gets to bury his cock into Mia's pussy whenever they hang out infuriates me so. I certainly hope so, because I need to ask you for a favor. I need you to forgive me for what I ended up doing to him.

Ch.3 -- Interlude

-Really? Him? You want this fucker? He's, what, twenty-two?

-Yes.

-I mean, you know me, boss, I don't make the rules here. It's your TV know what I mean? But like, Theo doesn't have anything. No resources, no capital. Guy won't make much of a show. Hard to get far when you don't have much to start with.

-There have been modifications made to the Source.

-Modifications? You fuckin' kiddin' me? Source ain't been changed in, what, two millenia?

-Two and a half.

-Right, that's what I'm sayin'. Think they'll be happy with this? You know...upstairs?

-Yes.

-Alright, alright, well, you're the boss, boss. What sort of modifications?

-His power has been uncapped.

-Right.... very funny. Really though? What's the new deal?

-I do not make jokes, Teffer.

-You're serious. Uncapped.

-Innovation is the key to success. We shall see in what ways his innovations take form.

-You're fuckin' crazy, you know that?

-No.

-Fuck... Aw shit, I know that smile. You're really lookin' forward to this, huh?

-I believe it will be of great amusement.

-Alright, alright, well, I'll drop in the Beginning.

-Good.

-What do you think is going to happen?

-...

-Boss?

-I think he is going to seriously fuck shit up.

-...Wow.

-Indeed.

-Well, shit. Let's see. Beginning's been dropped, they should meet in roughly a human hour.

-Would you mind grabbing me some popcorn?

-Er, what?

-It's a human expression. I believe it means to convey a substantial degree of excitement.

-Boss, leave the human expressions to the humans.

-Perhaps that is best.

-Uncapped, though...He could, well, he could get to my level. Or even, shit, even up to you. Or higher. Shit, with what little we know 'bout the Source, he could kill us all.

-That is unlikely.

-Yeah, well, unlikely yeah, but...

-But it is possible.

-...Fuck.

-Fuck indeed.

Ch.4: Party pt. 1

As with most parties, I found this one to be a greatly undesirable thing when I first got there. It was way too crowded. The only good parties, in my opinion, are when there's enough breathing room and space to meet somebody and then draw them away from the whole thing and to connect with them one on one. Too much pressure otherwise, I feel like suffocating. When I first walked in, I knew I wasn't going to stay for long, which I signed to Sai. He never drinks but still enjoys himself, so, miraculously, we have a permanent dedicated driver.

I handed my keys to him and let him know not to look too much for me when they left because I may have decided to walk home. He understood, and we parted ways. I have no clue what he does at these things, he seems to disappear until precisely when we start to want to leave, at which point he is the easiest person on Earth to find. Luka, Mia and Mike had all diffused into the crowd.

Me? I was going to get hammered.

It was an apartment much larger than my own but not large enough for the amount of people that were here. I slid my way through the throng, lubricating my passage with a series of apologies and excuse-me's and made my way to the makeshift bar that had been set up. I wasn't sure if it had been Mike's idea or if he had actually even made any recommendations to Declan in the first place, but whoever organized the bar was my favorite person in the moment, for several reasons.

The first: it was fucking stocked. I don't even know how many types of beer and hard alcohol I saw, and not only that, but they were all listed on a well made aesthetically pleasing posterboard hanging on the wall behind the bar. You don't often get a list of the available booze at a function like this, much less the variety offered. I say bar, but it was just a table with a white tablecloth over it and a metric fuckton of liquor on top of that.

The second: there was a person behind the bar whose job it was to actually bartend. If you've never been to a function like this, you don't know how shitty it is to have an unmanaged supply of alcohol. It disappears in an instant, people steal, or horde it, people knock shit over, it becomes a mess faster than you can get drunk enough not to care. A dedicated bar worker significantly mitigates the consequences of having alcohol, they could cut people off, for instance, and contributed noticeably to the classiness of the party.

The best reason, though, was the fact that the barmaid was gorgeous. As I approached the table I'd been so distracted by the wide assortment of liquor that I hadn't noticed her (uncharacteristic of me, but perhaps more indicative of my desperate need to get shitfaced before the social claustrophobia set in). Settling on starting off with a nice Sapporo, I looked up to request it and the words in my brain turned into pudding -- I felt like that animated coyote whose tongue falls out of his mouth and rolls onto the ground, and I probably looked like it too.

She hadn't seen me quite yet and was dealing with somebody on the far end of the table, so when I first saw her, it was from the side. She had long blonde hair in a ponytail but also with long bangs crossed diagonally over her face, and a simple gray v-neck which I couldn't immediately see down, though I sure planned to. Her bust though, from the side, was startling: forgive a momentary loss of eloquency I don't pretend to really ever obtain, but my fucking god those tits were huge. I'd only really ever seen DDs in porn before, at least I assumed that was what these were, and the bra she wore only served to render their form more perfect and delightful.

Her t shirt was largely backless and I saw her black clasp in that gap, and, frankly, I believe I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for not jumping across the liquor-laden table, unclasping it, ripping her shirt off and fucking her cleavage right then and there. Call me a pig, I deserve it, at that point I would have accepted being called anything to just have her turn ninety fucking degrees so I could see her face. But I only wanted that because I'd also had ample opportunity to admire the nicest bubble butt I have ever seen.

I mean, please, can we all just take a moment to thank god for lycra? To all the women who wear yoga pants, as a horny college student, thank you. I'm glad dressing for your own comfort has the added benefit of showing off your asses. This blonde in front of me, she must work out extensively. Despite her ridiculously large breasts and ass, her shirt fell short of her pants and her navel was left seductively exposed. I was grateful that it wasn't pierced -- and that's just me- but what absolutely floored me was that she was skinny to boot. I had a brief moment of confusion: I thought photoshop was only something that worked on pictures and not real life? There was no way this person could be real. But when she turned to me, having handed a cheap plastic platter of four shots to the previous man, I saw that her face was very, very normal.

And for some reason, that just did it for me. It put the bow on the whole thing, I desperately needed to inquire about the availability of this woman. In an age of constant smoothing over, of endless make-up, of forged personalities and forged appearances, here was a woman who had a great body and whose face was not that of a supermodel. No Mia, that's for certain, Mia who had everything tuned perfectly, whose face could stay any blade or bullet, Mia whose realness I would also doubt had I not kissed almost all of it. But there was something more real about this blonde, perhaps I was just deluding myself, because I hadn't even talked to her yet, this is about ten seconds we're talking about here, but I was very drawn to the fact that she had this "flaw" of having a face that didn't stand out too much.

"Hi! What can I getcha?" And a cute, bubbly voice too. Nothing like Mia's sardonic voice. The very thought of answering "Hey, I'd love a Sapporo. So how did you end up here?" was as impossible as Mick waking up and not being a complete waste of oxygen. I coughed, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and must have looked as shy as the first time I asked out a girl, when I responded "The uh, big silver one looks nice. I think."

She smiled a warm smile and pointed to the stack of Sapporo. "One of these guys? Nice choice. A favorite of mine, personally."

"Oh, cool."

"Here you go!" She cracked one open and poured it into a plastic red cup. Very college. Sapporo's are too big for one cup full though, and so when she handed me my red party cup she held the Sapporo in her other hand and raised it in a toast. I followed suit awkwardly, feeling rather stupid toasting with a red cup. Though I'd done it many times before, doing anything that signified anything less than confidence and sexuality right now seemed to me a failure of the utmost degree.

"To beer, and to cute, awkward boys who don't know how to hit on the bartender." I had hurried and began to drink my beer after she finished the second word, and as she finished I was so startled that I coughed mid drink and got beer all over my shirt. To her credit, to her absolutely angellic credit, she laughed, downed her drink, crushed it in her hands (impressive -- those cans are sturdy) and tossed it in the recycling. She looked at me again and smiled, brushing her bangs out of her face.

"I'm Stella, you dork."

I looked down at my shirt, grateful that it was black. As I wiped off the residual beer from the shirt and from my arm I looked up at Stella and found only compassion, and a beauty reserved for beings with halos and wings.

"I'm Theo, and you are far too kind to idiots like me." She seemed to like that, but a couple people had detached from the nameless crowd and come up to the bar, and she turned to them, but not before winking at me. I wasn't sure if she was just being business-flirty or if she actually was into me, and, leaning toward the former, I resolved not to try too hard and assume too much.

It's not easy working behind the counter as a chick, I have been told by Mia and my other, less close girl friends. Every other guy hits on you, which is annoying, but if you don't dress to show off and act flirtatiously, your tips plummet. It's a stupid world, and as a guy who no doubt has historically mistaken such an act for genuine interest and acted stupidly, I apologize. One day I hope these things change.

Stella otherwise occupied I tried to find anybody I knew at the party, and failed. Which is to say, I saw Luka but he was getting a lapdance already, the bastard, Mia and Mike were on a couch making out and feeling each other up, Sai was nowhere to be seen, and I didn't know anyone else. From that point, it was a haze of feeling awkward and occasionally talking to strangers about their jobs, or their majors, and periodically returning to Stella for another round of liquor. After the fourth time I came back and asked for another Sapporo, she mock-glared at me.

"You just order these because they're bigger than the cups and it makes me drink, aren't you?"

"Well, I mean I'm not exactly making you drink them, am I?"

"I suppose not. I wonder what on Earth that could mean." She winked at me again, a gesture I was becoming rather fond of, we toasted again, though to what I can't remember because at this point I was becoming definitively drunk, and, like a dumbass, I walked away from the table.

I know. I just left. I could have had Mick's panache and done something more productive than what I did. Maybe if I had stayed, the night would have ended differently.

I'm glad it didn't. And yet, I also wish, and this is just one part of me, that literally any other sequence of events could have happened.

Ch. 5: A Breath of Fresh Air

Okay, I was drunk. I admit it. Nothing shameful about it, it was exactly what I was looking to accomplish. Maybe not so quickly, that would have been nice. I'd only been there about an hour or so, and I was feeling pretty maxed out. I don't party all that often, and so I don't really have much of an alcohol tolerance.

A lot of my friends have a conception that you can only build up a tolerance to pot, or other drugs, and that alcohol is consistent in its ability to alter your consciousness. They are wrong. At the peak of my collegiate alcoholism, it took me roughly ten or so beers (not Sapporos, a drink I rarely ordered unless there was an open bar, usually Coors or Bud Lite) to start to feel anything other than mildly tipsy.

Regardless, my drunkenness and the stuffiness of the inside air didn't combine well, and I left beautiful Stella to go outside and get some air, beer in hand. I sipped it on my way out. Once outside, I felt amazing: there's something about suddenly divorcing yourself from a huge social situation and being, out of nowhere, alone with the city you grew up in, under the stars you have wished upon your entire life. It's wonderful.

And Declan's place was in a pretty nice neighborhood. More accurate would be to say that this particular street of apartments was better lit and each building was wider and not as tall, better decorated, the street was well paved. That sort of thing. No cars had passed by here in a while, it seemed, or maybe it was just that night, but the air was sweet and fresh, and appeared to be untainted by the usual toxicity inherent in all city air. Or, fuck, maybe I was just drunk and glad to be out of the house.