“A little of both,” I say with a curl at the corner of my mouth.
“Can I touch?” she asks, emboldened by alcohol and the crowds. No one is who they really are at these things. Except me, if I’m out of costume. I’m not saying Denny’s criticism of the costume was wrong, but I did spend over a grand on the prosthetics he applied to my forehead, nose, and ears to make sure I remain anonymous.
“Go for it.”
The moment her fingers glance over my pecs, I glance back over to Sotchoku.
I’m completely sober. I don’t drink much in general. I’ve smoked pot twice in my life and hated it. So I know this is totally fucking dumb, but I remember the time that Sotchoku told Mokushiroku she’d castrate him if he ever slept with another woman. Sotchoku is not a character prone to violence, but she speaks only in truths. If Mokushiroku ever fucked another woman, she’d have chopped off his entire dick.
When Harley Quinn touches my chest, that fear wells in me, and the only thing that soothes me is the way the Star Trek dude is helping Sotchoku down from the wall. Okay, Sotchoku would have never cheated on her man, so if that dude’s her dude, I’m good.
“Well fuck me sideways, thisisall real,” Harley Quinn says with genuine wonder.
It’s not all real. Like, I’m not even talking about the contouring Denny did, which made my muscles look more like comic book art. I’m dehydrated as fuck all. I chose this costume today because I’m going to drink a gallon of water tomorrow and still be pissing orange throughout the weekend as my skin rehydrates, smoothing and softening and adding all its lumpy bits the paparazzi loves to claim is proof I’m getting fat. Instead of just being, you know, a healthy human being who’s concerned with their kidney function.
But I say, “Yeah, baby, I’m all real,” and fuck, thatbabytastes like licking a battery.
I glance over to Sotchoku once again to remind myself that this is fine, my dick’s safe. She’s with her guy.
Only, she’s been led to the bar, and now there are three guys talking to her, and she’s looking like a rabbit that’s been trapped by hounds. She smiles, but it’s a confused smile, maybe a stressed one. She’s closer now, and I can see betterthat she does have a sickly color. The way she moves is unnatural. I think she might be on drugs.
“So what are you up to tonight?” Harley Quinn asks, her implication clear enough.
“No plans really,” I mumble, trying to keep my attention on her because I try not to be an asshole in general, but I’m worried about Sotchoku.
No, I’m not worried about Sotchoku. Sotchoku isn’t real. I’m worried about the woman who dressed up like Sotchoku and then got high without anyone around to watch out for her.
I don’t judge her for that. Maybe she has friends here and got separated from them. She could have been on that wall to get a better view to find them. These jackasses, who are obviously preying on her, may have even slipped her something.
Even if she did make a bad call tonight, this should be a safe place. Instead, she looks confused and intimidated but playing nice. That’s what girls do when they’re scared and have to make difficult choices about sacrifices they’re willing to make to protect themselves. One of the dominatrices at the BDSM club shares facts like that while men lick her feet, and the other women always nod quietly in agreement.
Sotchoku is doing all those things Mistress Lisa proclaims.
Fuck.
Star Trek dude takes a step back. She gets off her stool, but I’m really good at reading body language — or at least guessing what people are doing and about to do. Ghostface is in full black robes, but the set of his shoulders tells me he’s got a hand on her back, propelling her forward.
“Why don’t we go take a walk?” Harley Quinn says with a wink.
Harley stands between me and the quartet working their way toward the exit. My instinct puts me on a football field, in a shit situation where my running backs have been taken down and I’ve lost track of my wide receivers, so my only option is to carry that ball through the minefield of linemen. On the field, I use any means necessary. Those guys? They’re giants. I have most of them on height, but they will destroy me if I don’t force my way through. If I follow my instincts right now, I’ll send Harley Quinn flying.
People will get pissed.
I’ll get tackled, not an unfamiliar thing for me, but it’s going to end in a headline.Sinclair’s lost his fucking shit, kicked off the Jugs, going to jail for assault.
“Yeah, a walk sounds good.” It’s a good reason to follow Sotchoku and her predators, if nothing else. Harley falls in line, staying at my side but letting me lead, not questioning the way I track the group. She probably doesn’t even notice.
Everything happens quickly. Sotchoku is wobbly and unsure, her body tipping left as she goes right, practically falling backwards, pinballing through the men, so it’s hard for me to track, but I’m right there to catch her. She slams into me with a softwumph, and as her would-be accosters spin to catch her or watch her go, I take hold of her arm possessively. If she’s bothered by this, I’ll apologize a million times once I get her to safety, but priority right now is getting her to safety.
Harley Quinn is going to be pissed about this, but that’s not something I care about, like, at all.
Sotchoku takes a dramatically long time to look up at me. If this were a movie, it would be one of those slow-motion takes, checking out someone for the first time and stunned at what they’re looking at. I’m not going to act flattered about it; everything I’ve seen of her so far tells me she’s underwater,moving as fast as she can but fighting the resistance of her dense surroundings. Her eyes finally reach mine, and for the first time, I feel like I’m looking at her.
I can’t call her pretty. Not conventionally so, and it’s not the face that would attract a modeling agency in search of unique features, either. But everything about her is at odds. Her coloring is pale but like she has a darker complexion that was photographed poorly, the heavy coat of dark but muted freckles across her cheeks indicating that she’s been in the sun, but it hasn’t darkened her any. Her eyes are a desaturated brown. There’s a weight to her face, but her cheeks are gaunt.
Her lips, painted in grayscale for her character, are broad and thick, exaggerated in their scale. I have this errant thought of biting one. I’d never do that, of course, not without her permission, but the thought is there.
God, I could make a meal out of those lips.
