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Plus, she liked Cass. She liked how she didn’t feed into any of it, how she laughed it off. Ira was always so stressed about everything, so serious about the secrets she kept and it was refreshing to have a friend that could shrug things off.

She also liked the way Cass smiled at her when she didn’t hate everything. They had just put down their fourth shot in about five minutes, deciding to get drunk enough that they’d have to take a cab home, or drunk enough that someone gets good at pool.]

If I drink one more shot, I’m gonna puke. Seriously, you’ve been warned. My stomach cannot handle five shots of tequila in a row.

But still -- she liked Ira best. Maybe because she was the easiest to chill with, or the fact that she's so detached from all the drama that makes these people a Texan soap opera.

Maybe it's because she talks more shit about Tongue Ring than even Cass does. All of it factors in, makes it so that when everyone else bails on getting black-out, she's happily settled at the bar with the other girl -- no complaints.

She knocks one back, pretending a little that it doesn't burn the back of her throat as bad as it does. She's toker more than a drinker; sometimes it shows.]

I mean, that's fine, if you wanna like, be a total lightweight about it. Whatever. No judgement.

But I will take being a bad person. I’ll admit that one. I’m sorry. You have to admit it was a logical choice to send you to them, though. [And he waits, but he doesn’t really expect an answer validating his thought. The man makes a playful swipe for the joint, misses, and settles back on his feet.] I didn’t know they were quite the soap opera.

[It’s not like Ira was following her, but as a frequenter of the system the new blonde drummer was using to get away, she was easy to follow. But not like she was following her, just that she was… behind her. And there. There was no real excuse to solidify how creepy it probably seemed, but it was a little better considering she wasn’t a male offender. Or something. Considering she wasn’t their landlord? Lucky for Cass, she didn’t have to deal with it. But, as a woman, chances were she was creeped on way more than she should have been.

And she extends upon that thought, offering the joint to the girl for a second time since they met. Take a hit, pass it back. She knows the drill. But then, Cass would probably let her take a few and not bother to ask for it back for a little while, just because she's cute.] Did you know that apathy is a documented medical condition that can be treated with organic substances such as these? [With smoke blowing out of her lips in slow puffs that she'd been holding in.] What a world we live in.

And that’s bad. He should not be happy that Parker’s girlfriend might also be cheating, but it makes it so much easier for him to sigh out and mutter:] Oh thank fuck, because I’m banging tongue ring. And TMI, but I’m not planning on stopping. Which you also don’t know, if anyone asks.

[Nigel takes the joint from her hands, and takes a hit. But he closes his eyes, because he anticipates the kind of expression she’s going to make. And if he laughs at it, she will make sure that no one finds his body.]

I do think she’s single, though. Which is more to say that I haven’t seen her running around with anyone.

See, this is why gay guys and lesbians don't get along. You're a bad person. You know that right? You overshare. You overshare and that girl looks like she might be dying like, she doesn't need to have her boyfriend swayed over to the gay side. She needs to be put in the make a wish program or something because this sounds like a sad story, that I don't want to know about.

But Nigel sheds the tension of that, and lets out a soft chuckle.] I’ll admit to being an asshole, but what did they do? [And it’s not like he doesn’t agree. He does, to a less knowledgeable extent. But he’s a gossip, and he’s curious.]

[She points the joint in his direction, knowing he's never been opposed to sharing, and she breathes out smoke with her inquiries.] Do you know if she's single? The hot one, not the blonde one.

She takes the joint from the girl’s fingers and sucks in. Quickly, so she can tell her:] But, I did that before I knew I was a lesbian. You could even say that the two of them combined, turned me. My guess is that they’re part of the gay agenda. Watch out because they’ll get you, too.

Ah, too late for me. This is California. I came out of the womb and was immediately handed LGBT literature and asked who I'd be voting for in the next election. You're looking at an actual hetero virgin. I'm like a unicorn.

Pick one? Well, I don’t know. They do really love me. Can’t pick, you know. I see no way to solve it. I guess, maybe, I should tell them that I’m a lesbian. Think it’ll help?

Whatever. She doesn't care enough to speculate.] So that's your friend, right? [She doesn't know why she's asking questions.] But you fucked both of them. [Maybe because she's curious if the group is as fucked up as she thought it was.] But you're a lesbian. [Or maybe it was just that bit that caught her attention.] Awesome. Awesome day.

Uh, Yale. Yeah. I barely got it, but they really liked my touching story in my essay. It’s just blue ice cream, though. If you want a different colour, you have to go to Harvard or something.

[Ira’s sure she has to go back soon, though. She was here for practice (because why else would she be here?) and she was probably tired of everyone, tired because of how late it was (that, yes, Ira was just coming home), and she probably didn’t want to spend the rest of her night hearing about ice cream. But Ira was going to milk the company of someone who wasn’t everyone else. The only person she could really stand to be around all the time was Maria.

Ira had to pass a guy on the couch on the way to her room, though, now. Cody, his name is. Maria’s brother. And that shit’s weird. And he’s got a Southern accent that reminds her of Republican conservatives.]

Right, yeah totally. Makes sense. [They're talking nonsense. And it's probably the dumbest conversation that she's had in ages. But she doesn't mind. Because it's one less five-minute period where the songs are good and the words are good, but the morons in the band are too caught up presumably fighting over Ira to put any effort into it at all. So, she, by default, doesn't put any effort in at all. And they're like that scene at the end of Scott Pilgrim, where the band is playing and everthing's good, but they sound like someone pulled out their souls and pushed them on stage.

Well, it’s a good thing I’m thirteen instead of twelve and totally cootie immune now. [Ira laughs at her own joke because she’s aware of how rude it sounded and she isn’t trying to be rude. She isn’t trying to make enemies. Cass was the new drummer and Ira liked her, for the most part, though apprehensive that she was gonna make a habit of calling them stupid nicknames and one day go over the line. If that day comes, she’ll deal with it then.

She hands the joint back to the blonde and stuffs the spoon full of ice cream back in her mouth.] So how did an ice cream-hater such as yourself learn how to play drums? [What a crass interview. It’s whatever, Ira’s trying. She was nice enough to share her weed. And Ira has to set aside the want to sleep with her so she can mama bear and mama cub the whole god damn group like Cass is a tiger (or whatever) trying to pounce. That was her role, a natural born mother.

Right well. Obviously I learned it in prison. Where they give you drum sets and teach you about the perils of ice cream sharing. [She doesn't let the girl in on the fact that she's only half-lying. That she learned to play the drums in high school so she could pretend she was Patty Schemel and fucking tear shit apart in a channeling the teen angst sort of medium. That she's not lactose intolerant and eats enough ice cream when she wants to. That she spend a year in an orange jumpsuit and learned how much cooler is to be a lesbian in prison than it is to be one out.

She licks her lips, remembering suddenly that the ice cream is a deep shade of blue with swirls of red and yellow and that her lips are probably coated in blue shit. But she says yes. She hadn’t smoked for a while, since her college days. And it sort of made sense, with how she seemed to just take everything as it was, a little weirded out by it.] Sure.

But they were idiots and for some reason Ira, who talks too much and has bad taste in men, is still sort-of friends with them. So she doesn't know. Maybe there's more to it.] I'm good, thanks. Wouldn't want to pass on all my germs. Give you cooties, or something. [As if they aren't putting the same piece of paper into their mouths.]

But she hadn’t slept well the previous night and she went to work looking like shit and there was some new girl that was really talkative, but not in the good way where they could have a conversation, but in the way where she had to tell her to take it easy with who she was talking about and ignore her even though she kept talking and because no one else liked her, they would dark the other way when they got to Ira’s desk.

But she’s home now and she managed to stop and get herself some horrible but delicious cake batter ice cream that was staining her lips blue. She walks up the stairs like she does every day, feet going slower than she’d like, but not so slow that she’s in any hurry to speed up.

And she sees Cass. And recognises the smell.] Look at that. You came back.

Your sort-of friends have some like serious shit to work out. It's worse than last time. Like, sad-eyes is almost actually being rude to tongue-ring. I mean, tongue-ring is too busy taking shots between songs to notice, but I'm pretty sure it's happening. [She grins, holding out the joint as a peace-offering to the girl.] You wanna partake?

And while this girl is blonde and a drummer, she doesn’t look like Nat. She doesn’t really look anything like Nat. And while this girl is blonde and a drummer, Ira’s really thankful she doesn’t look like Nat. Because despite that her feelings for Nat had really faded there in the last few weeks or months or however long she didn’t pay attention to them, she was still upset that the girl left. She was upset, maybe because she, as a roommate, didn’t give them much time to find someone else. Maybe it was because she didn’t seem like she cared when she left and almost as if she avoided Ira.]

[It wasn’t wholly true, but it was like a disclaimer. She cared, but should either Parker or Aaron get in prison, she’s not sure she’d take out a loan to pay bail.] I wouldn’t say friends as much as a friend of their friend. And, y’know, I fucked both of them. [Because at this point, who cares? She makes a note to, however, as she twirls her own cigarette between her fingers, tell the drummer to not let Maria know about fucking Parker.] Y’know how they say bassists go hard and guitarists go fast? —Pretty accurate. And not in the good way.

[Yes, Ira, tell the new drummer about your sex life. Good idea. She’s having a very “I don’t care about humanity” day. It’s a bad day to meet her.]

Thought the bassist was going hard on the blonde scientist. You know, the one who looks like she's dying? [She'd picked up that much. Figured out that she was his girlfriend and that they'd all known each other since the beginning of time or whatever other weird plot line from Dawson's Creek they decided to be. Maybe that's why it's all so campy and dramatic around here. Like, Texas, or something. Shit get's weird in San Fran, and probably even weirder at Berkeley because at least there everyone is half-educated and don't mind waving it around in your face. But it's not all "We're family, but we all fuck." Well, not most of the time. Maybe in the 70s.]