I Don’t Know How Much Vodka I Put In This But I’m Going To Drink It Anyways: a memoir
Let me just say that I got high once, and then I went to Taco Bell and I was giving the employee there a really weird time.
After sliding the notebook along the table, she blinked at his unusual tic for a moment. Then she shrugged it off, taking a nonchalant sip of the half-finished soda in front of her. Dr. Crane was a quirky type, yet still infinitely more palatable than his peers.
Basics. “…Of course. That makes sense,” she nodded through her sudden crash of insecurity. Asking for help always seemed a great idea until she remembered how useless it made her feel - moreso, somehow, when she wasn’t being openly scolded for her shortcomings. Harleen suddenly wondered whether Crane was secretly judging her, in lieu of making it obvious. And the worst thing? She genuinely cared what his impression was. Ugh. Covering it up with an even larger smile than before, she tugged the textbook closer toward her. “I guess maybe I should re-read the chapter, try and simplify things in my head. My brain’s just all,” she drummed her fingers against her temple in a manic, squiggly gesture, “this week. Been working too hard.” Or partying too hard. Going out last night had been a mistake.
"But, it isn’t complete garbage, right?" She added, earnestly, peering over his shoulder at the essay.
Peering over the essay one last time, Crane then shook his head. Even if he kept journals habitually, writing essays were not exactly something he prided himself on. Too much of a perfectionist, Crane would edit the absolute Hell out of every sentence, and it was painstaking as it was time-consuming. So--giving a quick glance at the clock, he knew that he certainly wouldn't have the time to help her that much. He was a man with an agenda and a schedule; keeping time was important to him.
"I highly suggest that, as well. Re-reading the chapter will definitely help you figure out what you should focus on, even if it may seem like a waste of time. When I was in school, the difference between a passing grade and a failing one usually depended on if you've read the textbooks, or not. In essence, I do believe it's highly important to go over things before and during the writing of papers."
Then, the doctor looked over at Harleen, a little smile appearing on his lips briefly. She was a likable girl, he thought. "Don't work yourself too much, Harleen. You don't want to be exhausted during more important parts of your schoolings. Like my class, for example." And he chuckled a little. "Ignore that last bit. Anyways--I'm sure you can do it. This essay can't be that difficult, can it?"
Of course, knowing the curriculum these days, he might have been totally wrong. In his class, essays were not necessarily a standard issue, but more-so response papers and tests.
"--There's that place down the street that sells barszcz. But do we have the money?"
Puscifer - Man Overboard
There was no doubt about it Crane was like a child on Christmas Day waiting impatiently, and very uneasily for his present from Santa that his parents insisted he'd get in good time. Edward was the poor parent who was putting distance between him and his prize and he would not keep him waiting much longer because that would just be cruel of him wouldn't it?
He proceeded to press his lips together and he nodded his head, "You're excited, I like it." He beamed with amusement. Crane was extremely obsessed with his stuff as his head cocked to the side before he turned his head to the side and allowed the door to open.
His head cocked backwards before his tongue darted across his teeth and he let his head fall to the side slowly. "Enjoy Crane, it was extremely easy for me to get your precious things back, I assume they're all there." He admitted honestly as his brow raised. "Feel free to count though." He amused as his body slowly leaned against the doorframe as his gaze peered into the room.
"Merry Christmas, darling." He spoke with a keen amusement before he cleared his throat and allowed himself to step into the room once he had let Jonathan through his gaze glanced around at the collection of toxins within the room. "Should be all here, I made the idiots who stole them an offer they couldn't refuse." He beamed with amusement.
Allowing himself to lean back against the wall and amusement washed over his features. "Not bad right?" He confessed as he shifted his arms over his chest and his cane beneath his arm as his tongue flicked out against his lips. He glanced around the room.
"I always deliver guess this means you owe me a favour now doesn't it? That's exciting."
It was with utter surprise that Jonathan looked at the collections of toxins. He almost couldn't believe it, but there they were, as real as anyone could see. In tall jars and small syringes, even in giant canisters. Every last bit of his shipment was here, in Edward's warehouse. Now--Crane almost felt bad for doubting the other, even if it was just for a second. And, it was hard for him to even believe, but there was a smile forming on his face.
"Edward--" The doctor called out quickly, and then he ran over to him, wrapping his arms around him in a fast hug. "Thank you, thank you. Really..." And, as soon as he hugged Edward, Crane let go and walked over to the shipment. All in all, he really didn't know what else to express; he was simply to joyous in these moments. Fingers were shaking, and quivering. It might have been just one shipment of toxin--but, it meant more than the world to him.
As his eyes scanned over every bit of the scenes before him, Crane turned his attention back over to the other, raising a hand slightly. "I don't really know how you did it, but I am highly impressed, Edward. I'm--" and then, his voice trailed off slowly. "--Sorry for giving you such a hard time. I really should give people more of a chance, shouldn't I?" And things were getting stranger and stranger, as he felt that Edward was becoming a friend. Was this what it was like to have a friend? Someone you could rely on, who would be there to help you? Rarely did Crane take anything back, especially his words, but perhaps he was treating more harsh than he should have, provided everything he did to get the toxin back (even if Edward claimed it was easy to do).
Slender hands reaching down to pick up a cold syringe, Crane ran his fingers over it, and around the pump for a moment. He gazed at the liquid that floated within, admiring it----it was his work, after all. A smile that wasn't happiness, but something else, appeared on his face. "I suppose I do owe you something, Edward. Whatever it is I can help you with now, I will be more than glad--my friend."