Restricted (part one)

After returning home, Res got a call on her comms. It was Dec, right on schedule. “Hey Res, just returning your call. What’s up?” He was playing it cool, as if none of this was his idea. “Dec, thanks for calling me back,” Res said, “I think you wanted to meet with a friend.” She lingered on the word friend, and bit her bottom lip, hoping that came out right. Dec didn’t seem to mind as he said, “Yeah, I could meet with a friend. This friend would probably have to come over here though. I’m in for the night but have time for some discussion.” Again, Dec was coming off a little too formal. Res was having trouble reading him, her head swimming in liquor and some ideas starting to bubble up. Meet at his home? She really wanted to, but she wasn’t sure about the circumstances. Still, the idea of pushing forward to explore her fate was too tempting. “Do I need to bring anything with me?”, she asked, probing. “Maybe a toothbrush and some origami paper”, Dec replied dryly. She couldn’t tell if he was joking around or there was something else going on here. “I’ve got a few shots of your favorite whiskey if that’ll seal the deal”, Dec added, trying to tip the scales. He heard some hesitance in her voice, and they weren’t exactly dating, but more liquor would probably loosen her nerves a little. It was a bold ask.

Res hemmed and hawed for a minute, glanced at the clock, and cleared her throat. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stop by, but what about coming over here?” Dec sensed the mistrust. She had every right to distrust him at this point, and in her own home, she would probably feel safer. “Only if I can borrow your toothbrush,” he said with a half grin. The subtext was clear. Dec wasn’t just planning on stopping by for a nightcap. He was up to something. Res knew exactly what that something was, it wasn’t her first rodeo. “Give me about 15 minutes,” she said, “let me get this place in some kind of order real quick. You know where I live, I assume?” Dec knew, but feigned ignorance, to avoid giving away the plot. “I’m over on Spectre Street, unit 3050. Third floor, top of the stairs,” she said. “See you in 10-15 minutes. Does your roof have a (landing) pad?”, Dec asked. “Yeah, they installed it a few years ago. Nobody uses it, not too many fancy quads flying around this neighborhood. It’s all yours,” Res said, as her anticipation began to increase. How could he afford to fly a quadcopter on his pension? With Dec, it had been one question after another, and she was dying to get some answers.

She took a few minutes to punt her floor clothes into the laundry closet and check her breath. Funky. This called for a mint, but it would just turn her breath into Goldschlager, a peppermint laced liquor. Even brushing her teeth briefly wouldn’t have changed the funk, just mask it for a few minutes, and Dec was bringing whiskey anyway. She rinsed out a couple of shot glasses and checked the fridge for a few beers. Some Jamaican lager, Red Stripe, was about all she had left. It would have to do. Time was running out and she did another once over in the bathroom mirror, just making sure everything was in place. Teeth, check. Lipstick, bright. Nails, glued on. Legs, depilated. Other areas, also depilated. This was as good as she got on short notice. As she left the bathroom and the light automatically faded off, she heard the tell-tale high-pitched whine of a quadcopter landing, above, and the motors spinning down. A few moments later and there was a knock at the door, and she was already standing there. Before she opened the door, she quickly messaged Sheep on her comms.

Got company. Not really sure if it’s good news or bad. Will talk tomorrow. – Res

With the way things worked, from her point of view, if anything bad was going to happen, at least Sheep would be suspicious if she didn’t follow up the next day. Just a precaution. She wanted Dec there.

She waved her hand in front of the door sensor, and two bolts retracted immediately. A third mechanism silently began opening the door, and Dec came into full view. She had forgotten how he absolutely towered over her when they were both standing. Dec cracked a crooked grin, held up the bottle, and said, “nice place. Real nice. Mind if I come in?” Res was still reeling by the absolute size of him, heart pounding in her chest, and stammered, “oh, yeah, of course. Make yourself at home.” She smiled, but it was simultaneously a nervous grin and a hungry, toothy smile. She broke eye contact as Dec made his way into the room. “You live alone here?”, he asked, making small talk. “Most of the time, yes. Sometimes Sheep crashes on the couch. I’ve offered him the second bedroom but he never makes it that far.” Dec got about halfway into the room and motioned, with the bottle, towards the shot glasses in the kitchen. “How about we do a little damage first?”, he asked. Res obediently retrieved the glasses from the sink and placed them carefully on the table, lined up vertically in the center. Dec removed the cork cap and poured two fingers of whiskey each, before re-capping the bottle and placing it on the table. “Chasers?”, he asked, and Res opened the fridge to retrieve the Red Stripe beers, carefully setting them down on opposite sides of the table. Dec took a seat opposite Res and lifted his shot high. “How about a toast? To strangers, to ghosts, to Sheepdog and Res!”. Res dutifully lifted her shot, tapped glasses, and emptied her glass before taking a swig from her Red Stripe. She noticed Dec didn’t touch his beer, yet.

Res was feeling, well, a lot. Dec had walked in like he owned the place and started guiding her around like it was a regular thing. Then again, did it say anything about him, or the kind of soldier he was before? Or did it say something about Res, that she was happy to have company, especially this company? “What was that toast about, honestly?”, Res probed. “Well, I figured it was perfect, for setting the stage here. Hey, do you like music? I swear, I can’t go ten minutes without some background noise. Ears ring most of the time; old injury, and music helps,” he replied. Res looked away and thought for a second, trying to guess his genre. “Iris, play artist Metallica, song, Harvester of Sorrow”, she said to her automation system, and instantly, Metallica was streaming from seemingly everywhere. “Louder,” Dec said. “Iris, increase volume 30 percent.” Now it was rocking as the intro built up tension, primal drums pounding out the beat. Dec was looking directly at Res, eyes half closed, before closing his eyes and doing a little headbang motion to the beat. He didn’t see Res blush for a moment as she tried to keep eye contact. He’s funny, she thought, as she watched him rhythmically bob to the song, and it was undeniable at this point. He will get what he came for; information, or something more…personal. Maybe both. Maybe neither. That toast said just about everything she was worried about and nothing more.

As the song began to end, Dec poured another shot and, noticing Res’ glass was empty, went ahead and poured hers too. This time it was her turn. “A toast, to friends, mysteries, and whatever the hell this whole thing is tonight”. Dec chuckled, tapped glasses, and downed the shot. Now it was time to crack open the beer, that second shot had some heat with it. “Look,” he started, “we can play games for a while. That’s fine by me. I like your place, I like this whiskey, and I’ll be damned if I don’t like Metallica, loud. Most of all, I’m pretty sure, I like you.” Res felt another blush but couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or his statement. “The feeling is mutual,” she chirped, “but you didn’t just come here to throw back shots with a pretty girl. What’s on your mind?”