Chapter 22: Old Chums

"There you go, Jeffrey old thing, you just sleep it off, what?" McKale had had some trouble in getting Jeffrey up the stairs, through various doors, and finally in his bed. He didn't even bother attempting to wrangle the poor man out his clothes, but did pluck off his shoes and toss them haphazardly on the other side of the room. Sleeping in stiff clothing would be the least of Jeffrey's troubles when he woke up. He'd probably end up with a horrid hangover. McKale had never seen him drunk before. Not that he didn't drink, McKale knew full well about those occasional midnight excursions into the wine cellar, but the chap had had mind enough to keep from getting himself inebriated. McKale smoothed the bed covers over Jeffrey and shot him a smile. Jeffrey reached up out of the blankets to grab McKale's retreating hand. He frowned ('he' being Jeffrey, not McKale), and pulled him down a little closer. McKale's smile quivered slightly, and he attempted to jerk back, but Jeffrey's grip tightened around his wrist, holding him in place. Biting his lip, McKale relaxed a little and plopped himself down on the bed. "Jeffrey, really, you should go to sleep, old thing, you're rather...drunk, at the moment." "I am not drunk, Sir,” his words were slurred,” I do not get drunk." McKale cleared his throat and averted his gaze,” Either way, you're not thinking quite right, and-" He snapped his jaw shut. Jeffrey had propped himself up a little and was touching his face. McKale swallowed hard,” Jeffrey?" "I will, of course, give you my resignation tomorrow." McKale's brow furrowed,"Resig-what? Whatever for, Jeffrey? What-." Jeffrey pressed his fingers a little harder against McKale's cheek. A little jolt of muted pain erupted in the area. "Oh. Right-ho,"McKale eased Jeffrey's hands away and rubbed the bruise,” Forgive and forget, what? No need to give me your whats-it. Honestly, I wouldn't last a week,” he grinned sheepishly. Jeffrey frowned and eased himself down against the pillows, clasping his hands on his stomach. "Jeffrey?" "Go away, sir." McKale bit his lip and nodded, rising from the bed. He slunk toward the door, pausing between the room and the hall to cast a look at Jeffrey from over his shoulder,” Good-night, Jeffrey." Jeffrey rolled over and flicked off the bedside lamp. McKale moved out of the room and shut the door behind him with a mental note to never let Jeffrey get drunk (or angry) ever again. Cyilume was draped over the arm of the couch when McKale reached the living room. She twisted her neck and squinted her eyes, trying to focus properly whilst upside down,” Is Jeffrey okay?" "Oh, yes, of course,"McKale grinned sheepishly and sat himself down in the armchair across from the couch,” Just had a bit too much to drink, what?" "Hn,"grunted Cy. McKale peered around the room,” Where’s the other one?" "What?" "The ah...the purple one. With all the legs." "Oh,"Cy flipped herself over and flopped down on her stomach,"Shar went for a walk." The last word was unusually stressed, accompanied by a roll of Cy's glowing green eyes. McKale frowned,” A walk? Really? Whatever for?" Cy shrugged, grimacing. Silence descended between them. McKale stirred uneasily and laced his fingers together so he could effectively twiddle his thumbs. Twiddle! Who came up with such a word? Honestly! Bally weird sounding thing, wasn't it? Twiddle. Normally, of course, one would never thing of that. People don't think about words anymore, they just accept them. One simply goes 'twiddle thumbs', and thinks everything is right with the world, not even taking the time to think that the word 'twiddle' is a dashed odd word all by itself. "You know what?" McKale stood and brushed down his pants and jacket,” I think I'll go for a walk too." Cyilume rolled her eyes again and let out a sigh. McKale strode purposefully toward the door and jerked it open,” You’ll keep an eye on poor Jeffrey, won't you?" Cy nodded. The action seemed a little stiff, perhaps reluctant. McKale forced his lips into a grin and bobbed his head at her,” Thank-you. Toodle-pip, Cy!" He slipped out the door. McKale, of course, knew exactly where he was going, much unlike Shar. Or, rather, Shar probably did know where he was going, and what for, but McKale didn't have the knowledge. The whole concept was rather confusing so he shook the thought from his head and hurried out the building into the streets. Imagine! Meeting Burnig here! Of all places. McKale grinned as he strode down the sidewalk, waving his walking stick back and forth over the street with abnormal bounciness. He jerked off the main street and sauntered up toward Burnig's bar, tapping his hat (a fedora) down over his eyes and plunking himself on a bar stool. "Hello again Tierney,"Burnig appeared from the back room, carrying drinks. He placed them on the counter before a couple other patrons before turning his attention back to McKale,"Get yer butler home all right?" "Yes indeed, giggled the whole bally way too. What did you give him?" he paused, brow furrowed,” And when, by Jove, did you take up bartending? Last I saw you, you were-" Burnig lifted a hand to stop him,” I remember quite well where I was when you last saw me." McKale grinned, cheeks coloring. Burnig produced the same bottle of plum-colored liquid he had forced upon Jeffrey, setting it on the counter without bothering to pour McKale a glass. McKale gasped and gripped the bottle, drawing it up to eye level,"Burnig!" He narrowed his eyes around the bottle,” How dare you go about feeding my valet this, of all the bally things! I thought you only gave it to the-" "Hard 'uns, yes. I tried him out on some Amarian ale firs'. Didn't suit 'im well so..." "I see,"McKale narrowed his eyes at the bottle and set it down. He flicked his gaze back up to Burnig's,"Dashed long time since I've seen you, old chap, how're doing?" Burnig's thick mouth split into a grin,” Well enough. Been livin' here for a few years now, taken quite a liking to bartendin'. You?" "You always were a social butterfly,"McKale grinned,” I moved to earth, actually. I think it was nine years ago? Bally nice planet, wonderful history." "And ye were always interested in history,” he raked his gaze up and down McKale's form, as well as he could with him sitting behind the bar,” Victorian?" "Not quite,” he tapped his hat,” But close enough, what? Lord, it's dashed easy to sink back into this, isn't it? You haven't changed one bit." Burnig smiled,” Aye, neither 'ave ye, Tierney. Still after the lower class?" "Lower class, upper class, middle class,” he waved a hand dismissively. The action froze mid flip of his wrist and his brow furrowed,” Wait...what?" The thick, plate-y scales over Burnig's eyes shot upward. He said nothing, turning around to sift through a few bottles of alcohol,"Ye wanna drink while yer here?" "Oh, yes please, Burnig. Something from home, what?" Burnig nodded and poured out a glass of clear liquid, pushing it across the counter to McKale. McKale curled his hands around it and took a long drag, slapping it down on the counter and wiping his mouth on the back of his hands. He let out a prolonged 'mmm', letting his eyes flutter shut. Burnig refilled the glass before returning the bottle to the racks behind the counter,"Yer butler didn't seem too happy." "He's been having a bit of a rummy time of late,"McKale frowned, cupping his chin,” I suppose getting him drunk isn't going to help any,” he shot Burnig a hooded glance, scowling. Burnig let out a hearty chuckle,” So, what brings ye here, Tierney?" "Here, here?" McKale jerked a finger down at the bartable,"Or here....here,” he flung his arms out, flapping his hands about like a headless chicken. "'Ere, 'ere,” replied Burnig, imitating his rather wild hand gesture. He reached across the table to grasp McKale's flailing wrists, drawing them gently back down to the table top. "Ah,"McKale gave a sheepish grin,” Well that's a rather rummy story, really..." "Tierney, I'm a bartender, I'm use t' "rummy" stories." McKale squirmed a little. Burnig turned away, snatching up someone's abandoned mug and taking a cloth to it,"Somethin' t' do with Yaidom, isn't it?" McKale shot forward in his seat, eyes wide,” How did you-" "Yer butler stopped by a few weeks ago, asked me if I knew where 'e could find 'im. Did he?" McKale nodded, frowning. Found Yaidom and more...blast that horrid cur Bress. He pressed his lips together and sank lower over the table top, hiding a fair bit of his face behind his hands and glass. Burnig arched an eyebrow and set the (almost clean) mug underneath the counter,” An' how did that go?" "Dashed rummy, really, but it's all over and done with no, so no worries, what?" "Hm. Leavin' then?" "Well, ah,"McKale pressed his hands to the rim of the counter and leaned back, glancing once to left, then once to the right. Satisfied that no Wilbur Winquist's were going to pop up, he returned his attention to Burnig,"I can't actually,” he puffed out his chest,” I’ve signed up to bond a dragon. We won't be able to leave until after Christmas." "Christmas?" this seemed to interest Burnig more than prospect of McKale's potential bond. After all, Burnig had been bartending for Star City for a very long time, and he's witnessed more than a few bonding ceremonies. The fact that Tierney McKale, who he knew not from earth but rather a much different planet, filled with quite a few species, none of whom were very prone to celebrating religious holidays brought about by humans, mentioned Christmas, with no small amount of wistfulness in his voice, was a tad more intriguing than the every day. "Yes, yes,"McKale waved a hand dismissively,"Everyone celebrates Christmas on earth. Or rather, an awful lot of people do. Bright lights strewn about the Christmas trees, jolly Germans flouncing down one's chimney with a sack full of presents, eggnog and a festive home cooked meal, complete with turkey and ham and that wonderful cake-thing Jeffrey always makes for desert. Rather hard to resist getting into the Christmas spirit, what?" "Seems like." "Perhaps, oh,"McKale reached back and fiddled with his hat,” Would you like to join us for Christmas dinner, Burnig old thing? I know festive holidays of earth aren't really your thing, but a home cooked meal is a home cooked meal, what?" He grinned, toying with the rim of his glass. Burnig smiled,” Never 'erd truer words, Tierney, and I'd be 'appy t', so long as I'm not intruding'." "Oh, pish posh,"McKale waved a hand dismissivly,"It's nice to have company on Christmas. Even Jeffrey thinks so,"McKale slid off the barstool and dusted imaginary dirt from his suit jacket,” Right-ho then, Burnig, all this talk of Christmas has reminded me I've some shopping to do. You wouldn't perchance know of any shopping plazas or the like, would you, old chap?" Burnig craned his neck and checked the time,” Aye, and I think I could risk a quick break if ye'd like me t' show ye around." "Oh!" McKale brightened,” Could you? That'd be dashed convenient." Burnig smiled and bobbed his head,” Anything for an old friend, Tierney." McKale grinned. .:.:.::.:.:. Again it seems I have neglected you. It appears I've become much to enthused with writing the events of our story to update you, dear reader, with my soliloquies. My deepest apologies, I shall endeavor to continue with these as often as possible. Christmas had crept up on me with little warning this year, as I was much too busy fretting about Miss/Sir McKale's unhappy circumstances concerning Wilbur Winquist, and the very recent update to our task, to retrieve Erich Emmanuel Bishop for delivery. There were no tell-tale signs of the holiday spirit throughout the port of Star City, neither gently falling snowflakes nor brightly colored lights to line the street lamps. It would appear, as there was such a clash in cultures, that no one holiday was outwardly celebrated. Which was all very well, for I have always preferred a quiet Christmas. It came as quite a surprise to me when Miss/Sir McKale returned to our apartment sporting armfuls of bags and brightly colored wrapping paper. My employer had never been one to...restrain his/herself when gift giving commenced. Never the less, when he/she returned home, even after the late hour, I was still...not in my right mind, and I believe I acted crassly to his/her good-natured holiday cheer. After all, we had much too much to worry about to participate in such frivolities as gift giving.