[Ira was probably Cass’ favorite person in the group — these people that she’d unwittingly befriended by way of music and spectator infidelity. How she became privy to all of the information that she’d had thrown her way, she had no idea. But she’d grown used to Maria and the Fuckboys: playing live five nights a week. She liked Jules plenty, as well. And somehow Nigel had become a part of the group as well, so it was easier to have a friend around.
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.
[God, she's cute. The kind of cute, too, where if she batted her eyelashes, Ira would probably do most anything she asked. She'd draw the line at really murder someone-- depending on who it was. She wasn't too far away from the two guys that had already approached them as if because they were at a bar meant they were both heterosexual and looking for some macho man to take home tonight.
Ira just smiles at her, that inadequate, somewhat snarky smile that means she knows she's gonna take this shot, even if her stomach will probably hate her as much as her head will tomorrow. Hard alcohol doesn't process the way it did when she was twenty.]
This is peer pressure. And I won't do it. ...After this shot. [What was the fun in being there if she couldn't get drunk? She tosses the shot back, makes a slight face, then looks at Cass expectantly, as if she's gonna get some medal or a kiss or some medal for not being a lightweight.] There. There. It's gonna be drinks now, because that fruity shit is delicious. [Sure, all the sugar was a guaranteed hangover, but it was a lot better than this. She was twenty-seven, she didn't have to pretend she liked beer or anything she didn't like anymore. And though, she did like tequila, it was already making her stomach gurgle.] I say we order a few of those, or whatever you want, and then go suck at a game of pool. Unless you're actually good-- then just suck for my benefit.
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