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Rule 39	By : grimreaperchibi Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 3977 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor the places, people, or objects within. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
A/N: I think this chapter is cursed. I'm ahead of the game and it still took me waaaay too long to produce, let alone publish. Here's to hoping the trial has run its course so life can move on.
Amaronith: Agreed and seconded.
Robin: Phoenix needs to be resourceful. I'm pretty sure it's the only reason Razer hasn't railroaded him yet. I'm working on that, btw...
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Rule #31: Keep the argument between the parties arguing.
It was with a quiet sense of frustration that Razer hiked to the far side of campus. Phoenix could be a conniving, scheming, galling bastard when he wanted to be. The whole affair had been a trap from the start, carefully crafted to strike when his defenses would have been at their weakest, his ability to resist at its lowest.
He had been tired. Even with mid-terms come and gone, taking the quiet time to watch the film Phoenix had been dead-set to show everyone, and moving on to and through another week, he had been tired. Beyond tired actually, in that special level of hell where, despite feeling exhausted, sleep refused to come. Honest consideration had been given to ignoring the text message that had popped up Friday morning. With the way he’d felt afterwards, he should have. But it had been Friday, and one of his favorite locations, and the thought of leaving the world behind in a blur of speed and a haze of exhaust had been too tempting to resist. It had also been rather cathartic to once again grind his upstart of a rival back into the dirt in a way nothing else had, which in turn had released the last of the stress holding him upright. Something of a nap had been caught on the sad excuse of the couch one of his boys owned, but that was all the rest he’d managed to find during the weekend.
He had returned to the dorm with every intention of taking a shower and collapsing into his bed when Phoenix had cornered him about needing to do some shopping. It could have been done another time, but having already mentioned needing to get some things himself, there had been little point in putting it off further. The car was still warm, he was still standing, and there was a fresh wad of bills in his jacket ready to pay for expenses. So off they had gone to the glory that was Wal-mart at midnight on a Sunday night because it was the only place still open.
The whole purpose behind going shopping had apparently been to procure a costume for him—a goal achieved through the subtle manipulation of annoyances until Razer had blithely followed along just to end the torment. To make matters worse, somewhere in the middle of this whole process, he’d given what amounted to a promise to participate. Whatever the amount of guilt that had forced Phoenix’s confession about all the subterfuge hadn’t been enough to smother a fair amount of gloating about the ease of it all, which only scraped at him more. Had he not been the intended target of all that tricky handling, Razer probably would have appreciated, even admired, his roommate for managing to so thoroughly corner him. As it was, he found nothing to be appreciative of, and he settled for a quiet bout of cursing while trying to figure out how to get out of this mess.
There wasn’t a way out to be had, though. Not without some pretty harsh extremes he wasn’t willing to go to for something as dumb as a Halloween party. Yes, he’d been tired. Yes, he’d been coerced. Out rightly tricked, even. But in the grand scheme of things, the only part of him that was embittered about the whole thing was his pride. Going out to this gathering meant something to Phoenix. Going with him meant something as well, and a part of Razer couldn’t dismiss that. Just like he couldn’t dismiss the fact Jak and Daxter were going as well and that he felt a certain amount of older brother-type responsibility for all three younger men. If they wanted to get drunk and act like idiots, far be it for him to interfere. He could, and would, make sure they got back to their rooms safely, however. That meant attending.
And that meant adjusting his costume until he could wear the thing for a few hours without feeling like an absolute moron for doing so. He’d been set up to lose the argument from the start, but at least he had been able to choose how he was going to be dressed. The motley assortment presented had been examined until he found something that produced the least amount of internal cringing. What he ended up with was a passable imitation of a professional jumpsuit in a colour he liked. Not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, yet not so far gone that he couldn’t work with it. He’d taken a couple days to solidify a design that would suit and was now on his way to talk to the one person he knew could do what he wanted with it.
“You want me to do what?” The costume was waved in his face after a moment of silence following his explanation. “With this? In how many days?” It was dropped back to the worktable in disgust. “I’d ask if you were insane, if the answer wasn’t already so obviously yes.”
Razer refused to rise to the bait today. Instead, he reached out to take the jumpsuit back. “If it’s beyond your abilities, then all you needed was to say so.”
Rayn scowled at him, her pretty face scrunched up and darker than the sky outside, and turned just enough to block his hand. “It is not a matter of ability,” she replied a little too evenly. “It’s a matter of equivalent exchange. This is far above and beyond the trifle I owe you.”
If nothing else, the woman belonged in the drama department. No one else would have dared suggest that an emergency two A.M. call for a pick-up was a trifle. Considering Razer had refrained from a well deserved “I told you” admonishment at the time, he felt this favor now was well within his rights to ask.
“Besides,” she continued, “I’m far too busy to be helping you play dress up at the moment. I have seven, count them, seven, bimbos who’ve bleached out their brains to get a final fitting for, an errant Hamlet who will be very dead before his scene if he rips one more pair of hose with his shenanigans, and a paper due at the end of this week for the Antichrist of the History Department.” She leaned against her worktable, arms crossed over her chest, watching him intently as if challenging him to say something dismissive about her work.
She was phishing, too, though it was hard to tell for what exactly. Did she want him to play shepherd to some airhead sheep, living doll she could stick pins in, or unpaid scripter for her paper? Not that she wasn’t capable of doing it all and more herself. At a tender twenty-one years of age, Rayn was already a master seamstress. Her workload for the theater department’s costuming section was something she did as much for fun as it was for a grade. Why on earth she was also a history major was a question he never felt brave (or stupid) enough to ask. But just because she could do something herself didn’t mean she was above manipulating someone else into at least helping her, if not blatantly doing it for her. So the real question was which task did he have the least stake in if it went wrong?
“You’re not sticking me with pins again,” he said mildly.
A malicious light filled her amber eyes, acknowledging that because this was the task he chose to complain about, it was also the one he was willing to perform. “And risk sending you back damaged to whatever boy-toy convinced you this was a good idea?” she asked innocently. “Please. I wouldn’t be so cruel. I was thinking more along the lines of hard labour, personally.”
Personal slave is what she really meant, but he was short on time and options. “Afraid I’d enjoy the pain too much?”
“You and I both know I don’t need the pins to hurt you.” She sighed, finally tired of their habitual arguing, and held out a hand. “I assume you already have something designed for this walking disaster you want to wear.”
Of course he did. He wouldn’t have dared shown up with his request otherwise. The only thing that kept him from doing it all himself was a lack of skill and materials. Rayn looked over the paper she was given critically, glancing between it, him, and the costume piled onto her table. He nodded to her silent request to mark up the design, moving to stand next to her as they started to hash out details. All in all, it took about ten minutes to figure out what could or could not be done and another five for measurements. They argued about material for almost twenty. Happy at last with all her notes, Rayn pinned the paper to the jumpsuit and set it all aside.
“Okay, I’ll see you in three days to make sure it fits. And don’t argue about the time frame, or it’ll look cheaper than it already is.”
Razer knocked the pencil she was waving in his face aside, deciding not to issue a challenge that looking cheaper was impossible. She might just accept it. Instead, he leaned down and kissed the empty air next to her cheek as she did the same to him. “Three days,” he confirmed. “You know my schedule. Try to adhere to it.”
“Only if I get to meet this new toy of yours.”
The door was pointedly shut behind him on his way out.
***
This year, All Hallow’s Eve landed squarely on a Friday. It also coincided with the exhibition game the university’s football team was engaged in to fill out the last of the regular season, their position already assured in the coming playoffs. To say that the entire campus was fairly buzzing with excitement would be almost a literal statement to make. And no one seemed to blend that giddy type of childish glee and hot blooded excitement better than Phoenix.
To be sure, the man had been practically vibrating since cornering Razer into following the whole team to a frat-hosted party the previous weekend. He’d even become something of a pest about it in the days immediately preceding. But come that Friday morning, the sometimes blindingly bright enthusiasm was overlaid with a self-assured poise that instantly drew attention, and in Razer specifically, a liquid type of lust that was about sex and simple attraction in equal parts. A glorious prediction of what Phoenix would be like given a few more years to finish maturing.
It was almost enough to forgive him for wearing his costume all day like a five year old. It probably made up for the fact Razer barely managed to get his together at all.
Even being the miracle worker she was, Rayn had run into a few snags. She was supremely unhappy with a dozen different things and almost didn’t want to give the costume back until she’d fixed them all. The lack of time had her handing it over anyway. With a firm understanding of the consequences inherent with revealing her participation in the atrocity, which was very creative even if it was anatomically impossible, Razer was left with just enough time to grab a few extras and dress before running to the agreed meeting area.
The party had already been going when he finally arrived, but Phoenix’s steampunk pirate was both easy to spot as well as almost painfully normal compared to some. Take away the aviation goggles on his head, the bandolier across his chest, and the nearly nonsensical additions of gears and machinery bits here and there and he looked decently normal, if not somewhat outdated in style. It did take Razer a full minute to realize the person his roommate was talking with was Jak, who had donned a white wig of some sort and done something to gray out his normally tanned skin. Everyone made the appropriate expressions of awe for everyone else’s choice of outfit, including exactly one insult both ways with Daxter (“Race car driver? ‘Cuz everyone knows how hard it is to make left turns all day.” “At least I can make those turns. Even as a fake, you’re still lacking something of a credible talent.”). Then they were leading the charge into the night.
It was a charge that didn’t last long. As more people started to cram themselves into the limited space of the house, it became easier to get lost in the crowd. It took less than twenty minutes for their little knot to completely dissolve in the mixture, eventually leaving Razer standing in a corner unobtrusively by himself while Phoenix’s “just a minute” turned double digits. Annoyed at finding himself alone, Razer found a defensive drink and installed himself near the largest offering of alcohol there, confident that sooner or later one of the others would come wandering by. They did—he saw Phoenix a handful of times and Jak and Daxter several as well, though he doubted they ever saw him. Time saw more and more people trying to pack themselves in, raising both the volume of voices and the stereo until it all mashed together under a bass beat that throbbed through walls and bodies alike. He watched quietly from his chosen spot, fending off the increasingly drunk advances of several co-eds until he could take the heat, the noise, and the nauseatingly sweet come-ons no more. He pushed his way outside somewhat unkindly, retreating to a relatively clear space just off to the side of the house. He lit a cigarette and took a minute to clear the excess noise from his head.
The parties in the other houses had also spilled over, leaving an impressive number of people still milling around the communal front lawn. At least the weather had decided to play nice tonight. Cool without being cold, a good breeze just strong enough to keep the air fresh, and enough cloud in the sky to threaten rain or worse without actually doing so. It was a welcomed change from the cramped inside, and one Razer took advantage of. He shrugged out of the top part of his suit, glad he’d chosen some of his own gear to augment the costume. Specifically, the pale blue shirt designed to wick sweat from the skin and the heavy jackboots that had saved his toes a couple of times from careless other feet and a pair of unhappy stiletto heels. A moment was taken to admire the black paneling that had been added over the original red in certain areas, the cut-outs within the new fabric leaving an abstract flame motif he was particularly fond of behind. Then he rolled the excess material up and tied it comfortably around his waist.
For a while, his attention drifted, focusing randomly on various conversations, costumes, and nothings as they came to him. At one point, he even pulled out his cell phone and created an emergency text should he be unable to actually find anyone. Then, at about hour two of his isolation, after turning down another advance from a girl he’d put down at least twice already, Razer decided he’d had enough. Promise or no promise, he was more than a little sick and tired of the whole mess. Screw good intentions; they were nothing but a bother anyway. He lit a second cigarette, determined that if he didn’t see someone he recognized by the time he finished, he was just going to leave without saying anything.
Of course, as soon as that decision was made, Phoenix appeared from a knot of people not too terribly far away, making an unerringly straight line right for him. The other was slightly rumpled but all smiles, eyes vaguely glassy and ears edged in pink from drinking. The patina of self-possession had rubbed away, revealing that overtly callow part of his personality.
“There you are!” was the overly cheerful greeting. “I was half afraid you’d taken off at some point.”
Razer stopped the advance with a hand on the chest before Phoenix could completely invade his personal space. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he allowed.
“Oh, come on. You’re not still mad about the shopping thing, are you? I only did that because you really need to get out more. And those weekend disappearances you make don’t count; they just wind you up in a different manner. And the costume looks great on you.”
“Looking good does nothing to diminish the fact that I was practically abandoned for two hours at a party I never had an interest in in the first place. In fact, looking good has been a serious detriment. Had I realized how many times I’d have to reiterate that no means no, I would have tried for Quasimodo.”
There was a flash of concern. “Who’s been giving you problems?”
“Mostly the succubitches that make up the cheer squad, I believe. Though there’s been a fallen angel, a vampiress, and a poor man’s Venus who’ve tried their hand at it as well.”
The sly, teasing smile that appeared on the other’s face was almost more insolent than the words that followed. “There’s a lot of guys out there who’d be jealous of that kind of attention.”
“Then they can have it,” Razer snapped in frustration. “The day I want one of those mewling quims to service me is the day I should hope to die of a delusional fever.”
The weak attempt at humor died away, leaving shock and dismay in its wake. “You’re really not having fun, are you?” Phoenix asked, clearly disappointed.
Razer winced, feeling like a heel for causing that tone, and put out his cigarette. He hadn’t meant to lash out like that. Yes, he was angry about being dumped for all intents and purposes, but it wasn’t Phoenix’s fault someone else couldn’t take no as an answer. He pulled back hard on his temper and pushed it off to the side. “Being scared senseless is not anything I consider to be fun, no,” he started, feeling like he should explain. “It wasn’t a lie, what I said about my nightmares. They were quite horrific as a child and would go on for weeks. I may not have them now, but I just as well assume not to give them a reason to return.” He watched Phoenix sharpen up. “I’m quite fine,” he interrupted before the question could be asked. “But coupled with my lack of interest in sugar and drinking to say I’ve been drinking, I’m sure you can see why this all holds little appeal for me.”
“It isn’t just that, you know.” There was a pause as a group of streakers ran by, crowing like madmen. “Well, okay, for some it is,” he amended. “For me, though, it’s about being out and having a good time with my mates. A little beer and a few mixers helps everyone relax and have a good time.”
Razer glanced at the cup in his roommate’s hand. “And that is rum and cola number what exactly?” Something of a sheepish grin was his answer. “As I thought.”
“In my defense, it’s mostly cola.”
“Only because coconut rum is an awful substitute for spiced.”
“Not the point. Point is, this is just one big corroboree to be enjoyed, and you, my good—”
“A what?” Razer interrupted. He’d heard a lot of slang he only half understood from his roommate and been able to figure out meanings. He’d never come close to a word like that before. Phoenix stared at him for a minute, owl eyed, obviously trying to figure out what was being talked about.
“What did I say?” he finally asked in confusion.
“That this is one big kero-something.”
“Corroboree.” The word was enunciated for him. “A big get together, lots of people, festivities.” Phoenix’s attention shifted to his cup. “Wow. Haven’t done that in years,” he mumbled as he took a drink.
“Completely make up words?” was the dry response.
“It’s a real word. It’s just not used really anywhere except Australia. Doesn’t sound much like it anymore, but I was born a bounder,” he admitted with a conspiratorial smirk. “Lived there nearly half my life before we packed up and moved in with my granddad, all the way on the other side of the bloody world to York, England. I picked up the nuances pretty quickly all things considered. Then I’d get overexcited or something and out would pop some slang term that’d leave people staring at me. Not a great thing when you’re the new kid from an ex-colony.”
What followed was more information than Phoenix had ever shared about a family he very obviously cared about, even if he rarely spoke beyond inferences. His father was actually from New Zealand and carried more than a touch of Maori in his bloodlines while his mother had several ties to a Welsh heritage, making her about as staunch British as one could get. That went a long way in explaining the unique colouring of Phoenix’s skin and eyes, the way he blended terms and accents. His adventuring spirit was also mostly from his father, who had apparently travelled extensively before he settled in for a university career at Cambridge, where said father met said mother. As those things were ought to go, they married after finishing their schooling and somehow ended up in Melbourne after that. Phoenix had completed the picture of a happy young family a couple years later.
Around the age of ten, his maternal grandmother had passed away. The grandfather (who was the one most often mentioned) had apparently been well on his slide into dementia by then and couldn’t be left alone. So the only daughter and her family had moved back in with him. That had been what set Phoenix off on his mad quest for flight and most things steampunk, living with a man who told endlessly amusing stories from his days as a Second World War fighter pilot to a bright, adventurous child who saw nothing but wonder in the words. Though he talked with great affection about this grandfather who’d been such a driving force in his life, including his name (which was apparently from the RAF badge the man had flown under), there was a lingering sense of sadness. Nothing was ever said outrightly, but Razer gained the distinct impression this adored adult had passed away in an unkind manner that had left a still very tender wound deep in Phoenix’s heart. That alone told him more about their relationship than all the other things combined.
“So,” Razer said once the exposition wound down, “it’s true that insanity can be inherited directly rather than simply retroactively. And from both sides of the family, no less. Then to give you a name of a mythic bird on top of it all—you never stood a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
“The extraordinarily uninteresting life of Sal, the milkman.”
Phoenix stared at him for a moment. “Strike me blind, was that supposed to be a joke?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was!” The grin on Phoenix’s face was wide and beautiful, his laugh unrestrained. “My God, you do have a sense of humor!”
Suddenly, Razer wanted nothing more than to keep his roommate this light and happy. He racked his mind for something, anything, he could use to prolong this moment between them only to realize the answer was already quite literally in front of him. With only a little cajoling needed on his part, he got the other once more onto the subject of flight. Knowing next to nothing about the subject himself left Razer with little to add to the conversation, but all he really had to do was gently prod with questions to keep Phoenix going. His experience with mechanics helped him follow what was being said. The enthusiasm alone ensured his attention. And the more Phoenix talked, the more immersive the experience became despite an initial lack of interest in aeronautics. Without notice, his tightly coiled self-control began loosening with every flash of smile or over-exaggerated hand gesture, no doubt helped along by the alcohol already in Razer’s system, until he felt relaxed enough to do more than politely listen.
Somehow, the topic strayed from planes and piloting to the attraction of steampunk, to history, to art, to music and everywhere else that their wandering words decided to take them. The chaotic mess that was frat row in full swing party mode vanished in the background, only managing to reassert itself in the rare moments someone either stepped close to say hello or made a noise loud enough to drown out whatever was being said. The distractions were always brief and quickly forgotten, taken in stride with barely a pause between acknowledgement and the continuation of whatever they were talking about at the moment. It felt good to be the sole focus of Phoenix’s attention. Razer didn’t even realize he craved it until it abruptly stopped.
How long they had spent talking was anyone’s guess, but it was long enough for their cups to run dry. The weight of the world around them crashed in heavily, effectively ending the last struggling steps of their conversation before it lingered into awkward territory. He smiled and nodded with an understanding he didn’t feel as the other got up to get them something more to drink. Then he relit his half-finished cigarette and tried to ignore the sudden feeling of exposure. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This was a relationship that was supposed to be solely about sex. His attraction to Phoenix was meant to stay on the physical level. They could certainly become friends of a sort somewhere along the line, but by and large, emotion stayed out of the bed. He’d already learned that lesson the hard way. This was just the setup before the fall. He was too old to believe things would work out any other way.
But now the need for a deeper connection had been sparked. It had been so long since he’d had a conversation with someone who understood. Absolute obsession. Tireless compulsion. Heart-stopping passion. A never ending need to be involved somehow, some way with the object of their desire. His boys came close to matching his level of dedication; they wouldn’t be able to run together otherwise. They were still there for the money. The thrill was just an added bonus. Not for Phoenix. The drive may have been aerial instead of terrestrial, but Razer knew it was the same. He could see it in his roommate’s eyes, hear it in his voice. Given a chance to actually pilot, he could probably even taste it on the other’s mouth afterwards. He wanted that connection as he’d wanted few other things in life. It was exceptionally dangerous territory to tread…and a line he could not cross.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t—
“A handsome man like you shouldn’t be out here alone.”
It was like being doused with ice water. The internal walls snapped up with an almost audible noise, locking the hot, flustered feelings down behind stone and steel. If only because the interruption had stopped him from making a seriously bad decision did he not immediately snarl at the unwelcomed hand that touched his shoulder. He still sidestepped away before turning to face this new irritation.
She was very obviously drunk, wobbling unsteadily on her much too high heels. Her outfit was an open invitation that had been accepted several times already, given the disarray of her hair and the freshness of her lipstick. Her perfume was sickeningly sweet and applied far too heavily, but wasn’t enough to cover the raw scent of sweat and sex. She probably though the pout on her face was sexy and irresistible. It really just made her mouth puffy and even less attractive. “I can keep you company if you want.”
He shifted back a step, drawing himself up. “Given my choices, I prefer my own.”
“Don’t be that way,” she cooed, taking a step toward him, angling her body in a way that was supposed to draw the eye to her nearly bare breasts. “I can show you a really good time.” A hand traced down the center of her chest in emphasis.
Razer pointedly kept his gaze on an invisible spot just above her head, making use of his height to stare down at her with all the arrogance he could muster. “A good time can be achieved with my off hand and the only thing you haven’t shown me is exactly how unflattering that shade of lipstick is for both of us.”
Partially bloodshot eyes blinked at him with no real understanding, just confusion. She’d apparently never had to work this hard before. Revulsion rippled through him, ugly and sharp and the reminder of a hundred other faces that had all pressed for something he wasn’t willing to give. The feeling settled heavily in his stomach, adding ice to his words. “Is the concept that hard to understand? That just because man has a cock, he doesn’t also have a brain that works? That neither have any use for a harlot so dissatisfied with herself that she needs a prick pounding between her thighs to remember she’s a woman at all?”
That should have been the end of it, but her mouth opened to protest and the already thin tether holding his temper back snapped. “Even if you could manage to seduce me, which you can’t, why would I even care? A whore has more self respect and most certainly a better technique to entertain with than one who counts the stains on her dress as badges of conquest. All it really signifies is an inability to tell when you’re being used.” This time, Razer stepped forward, taking a malicious sort of delight in the overly bright eyes that now simply stared at him. The dumb sheep look only made him want to hurt her more. “You’re not even a memory. Just one more shade of lipstick to add to the rainbow around a couple men’s dicks, a lingering scent and a bad taste to be washed away. The only thing that makes you more convenient than a box of tissues is the fact you can be used more than once before being tossed aside.”
He could have kept going. A part of him wanted to, until she was in tears, until everything she was shattered under the weight of his words. He wanted to inflict as much pain and lasting damage as he could until the poison in his own blood was spent. But his words were a noose, choking him back into compliance lest he manage to truly hang himself.
How many one night stands had he had? How many times had he gone out to clubs and parties and bars with the express purpose of finding a body to sleep with? How many of those people had been something of a serious interest as opposed to a need for a warm body and a touch that wasn’t his own? He could defend himself with all the pretty words he wanted, be as passionate and as engaged as possible with the body laying under his. The truth remained that he was little better than she was—worse, in fact, given his harsh tirade when simply ignoring her would have worked twice as well. And now all those venomous words were hanging in the air, irrefutable, unforgivable, damning. The world stalemated.
The cigarette was put out more because it gave him something to do than to ease the still growing tension. No matter what happened next, Razer knew he was going to feel the sting of that backlash. He was waiting for it when some small twist of fortune, be it for the better or the worse, had a commotion start up. His attention momentarily shifted to the loud disturbance, drawing as many people in as it sent running away. He didn’t have to wait long to find out which was the better course of action. The loud wail of a siren sent a ripple through the crowd, though only those who were still somewhat sober heeded the warning.
There was a moment’s hesitation. Technically, he owed nothing to anyone, but he still leaned in toward the girl in front of him. “Go home. There’s nothing for you here.”
Without waiting to see if she took his advice or not, Razer began his self-imposed task of making sure his roommate got out of the line of fire. His preset text of warning was sent to Jak since he had no intention of trying to physically find them in the crowd. Though if the boy needed it with all the sirens starting to sound, he had several other problems to deal with. The repeated blarings were coming from everywhere by the time he pushed his way passed the crowded doorway, the music and noise inside loud enough to drown out even the squalling being produced outside. He worked through the oblivious partiers towards the back where the alcohol had been served, hoping Phoenix was still back there. He didn’t relish the idea of sifting through the five frat houses to find the easily distracted man. And distracted he was, embroiled in an animated conversation with someone else, the two empty cups still in his hands. Razer stamped down on the flare of jealousy just as ruthlessly as he did the flutter of pleasure that came when Phoenix automatically turned to him when his hand landed on the other’s shoulder.
“Time to go.” Even though it was said right next to the ear, Razer had to shout to make sure he was heard. His hand tightened as he began to push his roommate towards the back door. Phoenix stumbled along for a few steps before getting his feet turned in the right direction. He opened his mouth, but the unasked question was answered by yet another whoop of a siren and some smart individual’s exclamation of “Oh shit, the cops!”
“Wait!” Phoenix tried to dig his heels in, but Razer had the advantage of momentum. “What about Jak and Daxter?”
“They’ve been warned. Now they’re on their own.” At least, they would have been, provided Jak hadn’t lost his cell phone sometime during the night. The blond didn’t seem that inept when he was drinking, unlike the loudmouth he roomed with, but Razer didn’t hold out much hope for anyone right now, including himself.
Like most homes in the neighborhoods surrounding campus, this one was backed by an alleyway rather than the next immediate property. Both ends were blocked by campus security vehicles, no doubt to catch people like them trying to sneak out that way. It was ignored as they continued straight across the darkened area and onto the following property, jumping the bushes that acted as fencing. They had just slipped past the dark house to the next street over when a shout came from behind. Razer didn’t wait to see who it was or what it had been about. He sprinted across the street, cutting through another yard, up through the next alleyway, over a fence, through another hedge. He didn’t glance back to see if Phoenix was following, counting on the secondary crunch of boots to follow where his roommate was. One more burst though an otherwise quiet neighborhood finally left them on campus grounds.
“Woo!” Phoenix panted as he stumbled to a stop. “Well, that was fun! Though next time, might I suggest skipping the tour through the rose gardens? The flowers are beautiful in the moonlight, but they’re bloody vampires to slip past.”
The acidic retort on Razer’s tongue melted when he turned to look at the other. It might have been a trick of the streetlamps, but Phoenix looked decidedly pale, his eyes not really focusing. “How much exactly have you had to drink?” he demanded instead. A somewhat blank stare returned his gaze. “At least tell me you were smart enough to drink some water in between rounds.”
“Do I look that bad?”
Declining to answer, Razer simply grabbed Phoenix’s arm and began leading him to the nearby parking garage. It was closer than the dorms with the added perk of drawing fewer people’s attentions. As long as there was a sticker in the window, students could park wherever they wanted in the structure. Out of habit, Razer tended to park away from the other cars rather than simply taking the closest spot available. He was rather happy that hadn’t been the case the last time he’d been out; Phoenix might not have survived the three story climb. He was having enough trouble making it across the ground floor.
“Okay,” he admitted when he was left to lean against the car. “Maybe that fifth rum and cola wasn’t a great idea before a run around the block.”
“Sit down, you fool, before you fall over.” With the car opened, Phoenix was pushed into a seat. “And don’t puke on my upholstery.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He crumpled with a groan.
Razer rolled his eyes and opened his trunk. After fishing out a bottle of water and some aspirin, he forced them on the other. “All of it. Slowly,” he commanded. At least Phoenix had the presence of mind not to argue, though he very clearly expressed his thoughts with an immature tongue sticking out. The urge to smack him upside the head was suppressed, however, leaving them in something of a terse silence. Even once half the bottle was gone several minutes later, the colour didn’t return to Phoenix’s face. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Can we not have this conversation right now? I really don’t need a lecture about responsible drinking practices,” Phoenix groaned.
“Why bother to lecture when the hangover will accomplish the job for me?” Razer leaned in to get a better look. “But food would help absorb the excess alcohol.”
“At this point, I don’t think it would matter.” Blue eyes fluttered open, still slightly glassy, but no longer vague. There was something of a sardonic smile pulling at his lips. “I’m going to be sick here in about an hour.” He sucked in a breath and held it for a second. “Maybe sooner.”
“Can you make it somewhere decent, or do I need to find a convenient piece of landscaping?”
“Are you going to hold my hair back for me as well?” was the rather snippy comeback. A hand was held up to stave off the following retort. “Sorry. I’ve never been a good patient. I still think my mum hasn’t forgiven me for that one time I caught chicken pox.”
“Then I shall send her laurels and praise her as a saint. Water closet or shrubbery. Choose.”
In the end, they did actually make it all the way back to their floor before the sickness set in. While Phoenix’s body finished rejecting everything it had been saddled with, Razer pulled the mattress and all the bedding from the top bunk onto the floor. His roommate had tried to assure him it was an all or nothing deal, that once he was sick, he was fine from that point on. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t believe that statement, it was just that he didn’t want to deal with the idiot falling while trying to scramble in or out of the bunk. He forced more water and aspirin on the grumbling would-be pirate before allowing him to finally lie down. It didn’t take long for the combination of metabolizing alcohol, a long day, and a late hour to send Phoenix to sleep.
With one ear listening for anything unusual, Razer peeled out of his costume and readied for bed himself. It was mechanical, prescribed. With his focus narrowed down to making sure the other didn’t end up worse for his night of irresponsibility, there was little room to think or feel much else. It did have him checking his phone, however, sending another text to Jak declaring himself available if they needed something during the night. Then he clicked on his desk lamp and hit the room lights, stepped over a lightly snoring Phoenix, and settled into bed for what promised to be a very long night alone with his worst enemy: himself.
***
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To be continued.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Rule 39