#deathchrist2000

When the waiter swung by, he decided to get a double shot mojito, and a dish that was marked as spicy. It was a fun night, after all, and it took a lot to get him drunk.

And, as for spice, well… he was used to making a fool of himself. But he was absolutely going to drag her down with him if it was the last thing he did. Conversation continued as he took his drink fast, enjoying the odd burn that slipped from his throat to his belly - the beginning of a sleepy fuzziness starting to creep across his brain.

“Connie’s always been a nerd,” he remarked, grinning, because it was hilarious that everyone seemed to forget that but him. “No one notices because she’s so cool now, but she’s a huge nerd.”

“We’re all a little nerdy,” Patricia said. But he had vibes from that - the kind of vibes that said Patricia meant she watched sci-fi sometimes, or that she was very good at school.

“No,” he corrected. “I mean she’s a huge dork.”

Before he could see his wife’s face, the waiter slid by the table. Steven asked for another mojito and whatever look Connie had before is replaced with warning. “Should you?”

“Shouldn’t you?” he retorted, then beamed at the idea. “Can we get a long island iced tea?”

“Who’s going to drive?’ Connie said, and the waiter hovered by the table as he waited for them to settle it.

He waved his phone. “Rideshare.” He could tell that she was tempted. She rarely drank, but long island iced teas were her favorite. They were also very alcoholic, and she was very bad at alcohol. He said, with only the slightest bit of condescension in his tone, “Do you want wine? I know you’re a lightweight.”

She took it like a challenge, like he knew she would, and made up her mind straight away. She looked up at the waiter with her politician smile and said, “No, I want the tea. Thank you.”

She was a lightweight though, and he was quite happy with himself as he looked back at Patricia again. “I don’t mean that, like, Connie likes Star Voyage. I mean that Connie has an Eris account so she can fight about whether there’s a bias against interracial couples in fandom.”

“Well because there is,” she started, her temper went half-up just from the thought of it. But she took a breath and smiled and said, “But, you know politicians. We’re always politicizing everything.”

Boo! 

Boring. 

He tried not to pout, though he was pouting very hard in his mind as he ate his salad. Polished Connie was boring. Professional Connie was boring. Connie with her face on was amazing and wonderful and he loved the work she did but

he was already a little tipsy 

and she was boring. 

He was absolutely delighted when her tea came, and destroyed his mojito with a speed that made Patricia whistle. Connie was slower with her drink as she tried to maintain a normal conversation, but it was a heavy drink. It was her favorite drink.

It vanished, probably faster than she planned, and she ordered another because Daniel and Patricia were drinking too. Of course, he noted as he took a breather with an on-tap beer, the two of them could probably hold their liquor better than his love.

When his food came, he humiliated himself as he expected. His face went red. He felt sweat on his neck. He chugged water like he needed it to live. It was enough to get a giggle or two out of the other couple, and enough for his tipsy wife to regularly be overcome by them.

He was drunk but not drunk enough for walking to be a challenge. Perfect. He’d rather not look stupid if he wobbled on the way to the bathroom. In the meantime, Connie’s composure had plummeted down. Her voice was full of emphasis, exaggeration, excitement - the bubbly girl she kept under-wraps all too often.

Daniel was laughing. “Oh my god, are you serious? By the time you got to high school you were, like, full swan. We only knew you as sword girl.”

“And I worked very hard to cultivate that image,” she insisted, her words slightly blended together with delight and drink. “It’s a delicate balance. I leaned from Pearl. It’s about knowing what is and isn’t refined, and speaking only of the refined things.”

“Exactly,” Steven agreed, trying to sound properly Britishly posh. “We only speak of how compelling the draaaama was on Under the Knife, and never the fix fic you wrote because your favorite children’s book had too much kissing.”

There was laughter all around the table, Connie slipping down her chair as she giggled helplessly, shaking her head. “No! No that’s not why! You are taking-”

“Lisa says ‘you can’t fix an evil empire by kissing’, Connie! You made her say that!”

“This is bullshit! You are oversimplifying a complex situation to the point of no longer adding anything useful to the discussion!”

“That’s a meme!” Patricia cried. “That’s a seven year old copypasta!”

“Steven used to eat flour,” Connie said, a heavy swallow coming from her throat as she struggled to catch her breathe. “He still does sometime. I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him!” “Everyone eats flour. I can just appreciate it without other flavors.” He grinned, looking to the other couple with relish. “In Connie’s fix-it fic Archimicarus gains power whenever Lisa is in pain. So Lisa wears a-”

“Stop! Not the grimdark phase!” she gasped between peals of laughter. “Anything but my edgy phase, please!”