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vila_restal) wrote2004-10-19 07:14 pm
Drunk and incapable
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theatrical_muse: What happened the first time you got drunk?
First thing you have to know is that my brain's wired a bit differently; mind-altering drugs don't work on me--unless I want 'em to. That's why I'm still me and not the good little citizen they kept trying to 'readjust' me into. It's easy for me to have a drink and let it move reality away a bit, then turn sober when I need to. Useful when you're in my business, whether it's thief or rebel. And why else d'you think they let me knock back an A&S or two when I'm on teleport duty?
Anyway. I suppose you could say the first time I really got drunk was when I was 18 or so. We'd just knocked off a local bank--nothing too spectacular but a nice little earner--and we celebrated by gate-crashing a party in a Gamma pub. Full of media types and people who liked to think they were, and I suppose they thought we were rebels or something because they let us stay and a fellow with a beard bored us silly talking about grade rights. I thought to myself, keep your wits about you, Vila, while all the time my mates were setting me up with silly cocktails, trying to see if they could get me drunk. "Here, Vila, try a Martian Sunset!" Red thing with half an orange slice on the edge of the glass. "Have a Plasma Bolt!" Three layers of drink with different specific gravities and firepower. "Wash that down with an Ultra Violent, Vila." Purply-blue with a touch of fluorescence.
And there I was, just as clear-headed and articulate as always, chatting with Beardy about education versus nurture (well, grade) and trying to convince one of my friends that painting revolutionary slogans on the walls of the Alpha boardroom she was going to clean that night wasn't a good idea. (She never made it there--just as well--but she must have met Beardy again because she disappeared a year later after a roundup of Freedom Party rebels.) By the end of the evening,everyone else around me was slurring their words and swaying in their seats, but I was all right.
Until I stood up to go. Then I found my body wasn't connected to my brain any more. It felt like someone else's. I could think as clearly as ever, but there I was, stumbling into every table on the way to the door. Getting through it was harder then putting a probe in a lock; I hit the sides at least twice. Then I dropped my transporter ticket on the platform and had to have three goes at picking it up with fingers that had turned into huge rubber sausages. The final indignity was having to sleep at a friend's place.
That scared me, you know. Never again did I want to get into a state where I couldn't pick my own lock.
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[does a bouble-take] How long've you known?
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