No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Nine

The tie around my neck has got to be the thinnest tie I've ever seen in my entire life. On the contrast, I'm lucky to go through the doorways without my hulking shoulder pads stopping me from going through them.

The eighties must have been hated by a lot of the models having to show off the ridiculous styles the fashion designers had.

"You ready, m'lady?" Jeremiah asks from my right, just in front of the doors to the nightclub. He's adjusting the top hat he spent hours gluing plastic steampunk gears and a couple blue feathers around the hat band.

With a shudder, I respond with, "Do you know how bad the neck-beards have ruined that phrase? I'd rather jam glass shards in my ears than to be called 'm'lady' again."

He rolls his eyes. Satisfied with the hat's position, Jeremiah picks up a cane with more gears painted on it and uses it as a pointer. "Follow the goddess," he announces in a deep voice. "For wherever the goddess leads you... leads to infinite knowledge."

"Knowledge... of what?" I ask as we finally go through the doors. The bouncer wasn't completely convinced the picture of Lucinda Walsh matches the girl who managed to get a perm bigger than the shoulder pads, but doesn't do much other than handing me back the fake ID and gesturing inside the bar. I don't blame him; I look like Lucinda's sister who'd been the Goblin King's prisoner for years.

RIP David Bowie.

Jeremiah doesn't answer me. Or if he did, he hasn't bothered yelling over the spooky music the bar was playing through the massive speakers. Dozens and dozens of freaks from other worlds (which I'm saying lovingly) are having a grand time with the dancing and drinking. I've had to grab Jeremiah by the hand as a lot of them keep bumping into us and moving us from where we're trying to go.

Persephone waits for us at the bar counter, having already ordered a cocktail. She's studying the contents in the glass, as if a voice was going to speak to her if she waits long enough. She doesn't even notice until Jeremiah taps her on the shoulder.

"Oh, hey, you took awhile," Ikra says. I have to crane my neck to hear her. "And did you get your Oreos, Niamh?" she adds in a tease, pointing out the crumbs around my mouth.

Embarrassed, I wipe them off. Jeremiah takes the seat next to Ikra. I stay where I am, because there aren't any seats left.

"How is it?" I ask Ikra, who's now sipping the drink.

She makes a face, and then reconsiders. "It's a good taste, but personally, I think there should be a little more vodka."

"Why, you trying to get drunk?" Jeremiah laughs.

"No, for balance." 

Finishing the rest of the drink, Ikra gets the bartender's attention and requests a gin and tonic next. Jeremiah asks for a 'mango margarita' with extra tequila. That boy's gonna be sick later on.

"Do you want anything?" Jeremiah asks me. I shake my head. "Okay, your loss."

"I'm the designated driver, you dumbass."

He acts like he hasn't heard me. I know him for years; his ears wiggle when he's trying his hardest to 'unhear the bullshit', as he explained to me last year when I pointed it out.

It's not long before Ikra finishes her second drink. Usually she'll go into her 'arguing stage' when she's had maybe four drinks, but she's getting into it early. I can't hear anything she's saying, since I've moved away from her. Jeremiah, on the other hand, can not just hear her, but also has some opinions he can't keep quiet.

"Say all you want about scream metal, but leave Metallica out of it," I hear Jeremiah saying. "They're heavy metal, not scream. And they're a good band."