InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Inebriation ( Chapter 83 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
~~Chapter Eighty-Three~~


'I'm so addicted to all the things you do
'When you're going down on me in between the sheets
'All the sounds you make with every breath you take
'It's unlike anything when you're loving me …'

-'Addicted' by Saving Abel.


"Hit me."

Eying the face-up king of spades, Evan tapped his fingertip on the top of the stack of cards before slowly pulling the one on top and tossing it across the table with a flick of his wrist.

Valerie lifted the corner, stared at it for a moment, then let it go.  "Hit me."

"You sure?"

"Come on, Roka.  Just do it, would you?"

Evan chuckled and tossed another card to her.  "You over?"

Those brilliant eyes of hers gazed at him for a full minute before she slowly lifted the edge of the card and peeked at it then tapped the table to indicate that she wanted him to deal her another card.

"As the lady says," he muttered, flicking her another card.

"Hit me," she said again, this time without bothering to look at the card he'd just dealt her.

Evan cocked an eyebrow.  "You've got to be over, V," he said mildly.

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie shoved the cards across the table at him.  "This isn't a fun game," she said in an accusing sort of way.

"You don't think so?"

"No, I don't," she complained.  "You said you'd teach me a fun one, and this one isn't, so you owe me, Roka.  You owe me big."

Heaving a sigh, Evan gathered up the cards and tapped them against the table to straighten the deck.  "Every time I try to show you something big, you wig out on me, baby."

That earned him a droll look as she leaned back in the chair and rubbed her arms.  "It's cold in here," she stated.

Evan grinned, not at all surprised that she didn't deign to comment on his off-color commentary.  "It's damn near eighty degrees, woman," he reminded her, jerking his head at the digital thermostat nearby.  "If you turn up the heat any more, I'm going to start stripping."

Valerie heaved a longsuffering sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of that idea, but she didn't stand up since she probably thought that he wasn't really joking.  "I want to go back to Hawaii," she pouted.

He could understand that, he supposed.  Valerie always seemed to be cold, after all.  He'd told her that he would be happy to keep her warm.  She'd rolled her eyes and told him to go away . . . "If you're still cold, V, why don't you go take a nice, hot shower?  Since you won't let me warm you up . . ."

Valerie pondered that for a moment—at least, the first part of it. She'd taken to ignoring his more inappropriate commentary of late, which was a pity.  "I think I will," she said, standing up and arching her back as she thrust her balled up fists over her head.  When she did it, though, the cute little pink tee-shirt she was wearing rode up, exposing a very nice expanse of tanned skin.

Evan swallowed hard.  'Da-a-a-amn . . .'

"Think of a better game while I'm taking my shower," Valerie tossed over her shoulder.  "That one was stupid . . . and change that shirt, will you?"

His chuckles followed her into the bathroom, and he set the deck of cards aside.  She really had tried not to laugh when she'd seen the shirt after he'd emerged from the bathroom earlier.  It just a plain black tee-shirt with white lettering that said, 'My favorite toy is my weenie', but he figured that she probably objected more to the giant penis outlined on the back of the garment . . .

She hated the cold.  He could understand her complaint, of course.  Flying straight into Portland, Maine during an early season snow storm was not exactly his favorite thing, either, but Valerie had looked completely offended as they were shuffled into a rented car to take them straight to the hotel where five interviewers were waiting for their arrival.  She'd spent the rest of the evening, hanging out with Bambi.  Evan had suggested that Valerie spend some time in the hotel's spa, and the two women had made themselves quite at home in the gym, she'd said later.

He had been stuck with Mike after the interviews going over the tentative plans for the filming of the video for the single 'Under My Skin' that he was going to do shortly after getting back home, and since the manager was in an uncharacteristically good mood since the visit from his better half, Evan had enjoyed the company for once.  Mike had a few ideas that he'd gotten from Ryder Talbot, the only person whom Evan trusted to direct his videos these days.  Shortly after the release of the second album, Evan had started directing his own videos, and while he enjoyed it, he had to admit that it really was a lot of work, but he'd seen a video that Talbot had directed about a year ago, and he was so impressed that he'd gone out of his way to meet the man, and it hadn't taken Evan long to figure out that Ryder was absolutely brilliant with a vision that tended to compliment Evan's.

Talbot had done a couple low budget movies right out of film school, and while they hadn't been blockbusters, they were good—damn good.  Good enough to have caught the attention of the Rat Bastards, a band out of Tempe, Arizona, and they'd hired him to do their video, which was the one that Evan had seen.  Dieter had gotten along famously with the director, mostly because both of them shared the same macabre obsession with all things dead and dying.  Funny thing was, Ryder wasn't exactly the type that one might normally associate with that kind of fixation.  A California boy, born and bred, who looked like he'd be more at home on a beach with a body board and a gaggle of buxom babes hanging off his every word than a brooding director of neo-gothic physiological horror, Ryder was just about as all-American as one could be.

Anyway, the idea that he had of shooting the videos for the album's singles in a series of shorts that stood on their own but created a featurette if they were watched back to back.  Of course, it didn't hurt that his idea for the location for the first one was a beach somewhere with a backdrop of craggy cliffs and roiling ocean, either.  Maybe he could convince Valerie to go on location with her—probably not a difficult thing since winter would be setting in soon.

Standing up, Evan wandered over to grab a bottle of sake from the cooler drawer of the refrigerator where he had stashed a couple bottles that Kichiro had given him: Junmai Daiginjo from the now-defunct Kurowaki brewery.  It was a small production that focused on quality over quantity, and when the old man who had founded and operated it for years died, the place was closed down as per his will, making the Kurowaki brand one of the most expensive ones in the world.  It was not unheard of for single bottles to sell for as much as fifty thousand dollars since there weren't many of them around anymore.

Making a face when he realized that he'd have to settle for a regular glass since he just didn't keep sake cups on the bus, he sat down again and poured himself a shot, foregoing the tokkuri since he didn't have one of those, either.  Besides, serving the sake in one of those little flasks was traditional, of course, but not necessary.  If he were serving it to his great uncle or grandfather, then he would probably go to the trouble of procuring a tokkuri, but stuck on a bus heading to Milwaukee, Wisconsin?  Not really as important, was it?

"Think of another game?" Valerie asked as she stepped out of the bathroom with a waft of humid air.

"Hmm, I could teach you how to play poker," he mused, sipping the sake and smiling slightly at the sweatshirt and pants that she'd chosen to wear.

"And what makes you think that I don't know how to play poker?" she challenged with an artfully arched eyebrow.

Evan chuckled.  "Do you?"

Valerie licked her lips and giggled.  "No."  Slipping into the chair across from him, Valerie's smile dimmed as she eyed the bottle on the table.  "What are you drinking?" she asked though she sounded more curious than argumentative.

"It's sake, woman," he informed her.  "Courtesy of Kichiro."

She looked like she was trying to make up her mind whether or not she was going to make an issue out of it.  In the end, though, she must have decided not to, and she leaned forward to nab the stack of cards off the table.  "Where's my glass?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Evan slowly shook his head.  She wasn't good at holding her alcohol, in the first place, and sake, he knew, had a habit of sneaking up on you, only to bite you right in the ass if you weren't careful.  "I don't think you'd like it, V," he said, careful not to tell her that he didn't really think she could handle it.

"Why?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes on him.

He shrugged.  "Just doesn't seem like a girly enough drink for you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to have said.  The fire that sparked behind her gaze was instant and intense.  He could pretty well see the fight in her coming to the fore, and he almost laughed—almost.  "I want to broaden my horizons," she told him.  "Now get me a glass, will you?"

Evan chuckled and stood up to get a glass for her despite the little warning bells that rang in the back of his mind.  He really ought to tell her that he just didn't think it was a good idea.  Then again, he wasn't exactly qualified to be the voice of reason, was he?  Besides, she was a big girl, and it wasn't like there was really anything on the bus that she could really get in trouble with, right?  Right.

How could it possibly be bad . . .?


"I really like this game!"

Evan chuckled and tossed his cards into the pile in the middle of the table while Valerie leaned forward to scoop the pot—about twenty bucks in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, toward her.

"Yeah, yeah, I let you win," Evan goaded.  It was true.  He had.  He also knew that her pride would never let her accept that.

"You just don't want to admit that you suck at your own game!" she crowed, meticulously separating her money in stacks—no small feat considering she was feeling pretty damn good at the moment.  Face scrunched up in a look of intense concentration, she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, hands down . . . "Deal the next hand, Roka."

Evan held up his hands and blinked when she reached for his glass of sake—hers was empty again despite his admonishments that she really ought to take it easy on the stuff.  "I'm out of money, V," he pointed out.

She slugged back the remaining sake and grimaced as she swallowed.  "Fill it up," she commanded, slamming the cup onto the table, "and whaddaya mean, you're out of money?  You've got more money 'n God, remember?"

He chuckled at the slur in her voice that she was trying to hide.  "I mean I'm out of change, V," he explained, reaching for his glass to refill it.

She didn't look impressed with his claim.  "But I'm on a winning streak," she protested, her lower lip jutting out in a very distinct pout.  "Y'all just deal out them cards."

Both of Evan's eyebrows rose at that.  "Y'all?" he repeated, slowly shaking his head as he pulled the cards together into a messy pile.  "Did you just say 'y'all'?"

She snorted indelicately and shoved her glass toward him.  "'Course I did," she retorted as her expression shifted from the pout to one that was a little more confused.  "Hmm . . . I haven't said that in years . . ."

"You used to?"

She shrugged and slouched back in her seat.  "Sure," she admitted as though it was of no consequence.  "A long time ago."

"Ah, yes . . . a Kentucky girl . . ." he teased as he shuffled the deck of cards.

She giggled.  "I used to be."

"Oh, yeah?"


"Why'd you lose the accent?"

"Who wants a lawyer who talks like a hick?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a little accent," he argued.

She looked at him for a long moment as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was being serious.  "Right . . . ri-i-ight . . ."

Evan chuckled and started to deal out the cards.  "I don't know, it's kind of hot."

The look on her face stated quite plainly that she didn't share his opinion.  "There is nothing 'hot' about it."

"Sure there is," he argued.  "So where in Kentucky are you from, V?"

Rolling her eyes, she laughed suddenly, and Evan got the distinct impression that she was about to try to evade the subject.  "What does it matter?" she challenged airily.  "Isn't everyone from somewhere else?"

"Well, that's true," he allowed, "but I want to know.  Tell me more about yourself, V."

Valerie shook her head, and when she laughed this time, it was much closer to her usual laugh.  "It doesn't matter where you're from as long as you know where you're going," she insisted.

"Wow, that's deep," he half-teased.  "Not important, eh . . .?"

She nodded as though to emphasize her statement.  "That's right.  As long as you know what you want out of life, then you can take your time, figuring out how to get there.  You understand that, right?  I mean, you didn't really become Zel Roka without having a plan in mind, did you?"

There was a lot of truth in what she was saying, sure, but something about it bothered Evan, too; something that he couldn't quite put his finger on right away.  "So you plan out everything?"

"I try to, yes," she said.  "It makes sense."

"I don't know," he drawled slowly.  "There's something to be said for spontaneity."

"Spoken like a true deviant," she muttered, shaking her head and looking rather irritated.  "Most of the trouble you've gotten into in your lifetime has been because of that belief, isn't it?"

Evan grinned.  "Better to be a little spontaneous and deal with what comes with it than playing by the book every single moment, right?"

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively.  "I tried that before.  It didn't work for me."

Lifting his gaze but not his head, he frowned at her for a moment.  "Did you?"

She laughed, but the sound of it was hollow, weary.  "Listen, Roka, I've dated my fair share of guys just like you—wrapped up in pretty packages that were black and dead inside.  They were nothing, and if I'd stayed with any of them, I'd be nothing, too . . . Trailer trash with ten unwanted babies and welfare breathing down my neck."

Wincing at her harsh assessment, Evan slowly shook his head.  "You really think so?"

She nodded, reaching for her glass and then frowning at it when she realized that it was empty.  "So, when I finally got wise to it, I made plans—plans—and I've worked damn hard for everything I've ever accomplished."

Evan wasn't entirely sure what he could say to that.  Somehow, what she'd said hadn't really surprised him at all, and he sighed inwardly, wondering just how hard it would be to get names out of her since he'd really love to hunt down those little fuckers who had only succeeded in making his task of convincing the stubborn woman that she belonged with him just that much harder.

Unfortunately, it made sense, though—perfect sense.  No wonder she was with a little runt like Marvin Pinkle.  He was safe, wasn't he?  Safe and about as boring as one could possibly get . . . and yet, there was something incredibly sad in it all, too . . .

"Ooh, ooh, what are we playing for?" she suddenly asked, waving her hands to get his attention.

"I could give you an IOU," he suggested.

Snorting again, she waved a hand dismissively.  "No, no, that doesn't seem fair, does it?"  Pausing for a moment, she seemed to be thinking pretty hard.  Then she snapped her fingers and smiled brightly.  "If I win, I get your shirt!"

"My shirt?"  He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if she really did look inordinately pleased with this idea of hers . . .

"That's right," she insisted triumphantly.  "Your shirt."

"Because your favorite toy is my weenie, too?"

She snorted and chucked a beer bottle cap that was lying on the table at him.

Evan blinked and slowly shook his head.  "You're suggesting that we play strip poker, V?"

She nodded.  "Yes!  Oh, and fill up my glass."

Evan didn't mind the strip poker idea, but refilling her glass?  Well, that just didn't sound like a good idea.  After all, he'd learned over time that Valerie tended to do things that were just a little crazy when she was drunk, and he wasn't delusional enough to try to tell himself that she wasn't already kind of drunk, anyway.  Three glasses of sake, and she was having distinct trouble with slurring her words.  Who'd have thought it . . .?  "I don't think—"

"And you're not supposed to," she cut in.  "Now, fill 'er up, Roka."

Ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that screamed that doing so was a really bad idea, Evan set the cards down and poured about half of a glass of sake for her.

Valerie took it and slugged it down in one gulp before presenting him with the empty glass once more.  "I thought that sake was supposed to be served warm," she said as he eyed her glass for a moment before adding just a little more.

"Well, the lower quality sake is still served warmed, but better ones are meant to be chilled.  In the old days, it was warmed to mask inconsistencies in taste or other less desirable flavors that it picked up in process.  There are some good ones that are still meant to be served warmed, but this one isn't one of them," he told her.

Valerie blinked, her gaze a little unsteady.  "Oh, my God, you're like a walking, talking encyclopedia," she moaned, shaking her head sadly.  "I ask one question and get a dissertation on it . . . How do you know all this stuff?"

Evan chuckled and shook his head, giving an offhanded shrug as though to diminish the importance of what she'd said.  "Just because someone knows a little bit of everything doesn't mean they know a hell of a lot about anything."

She scooped together the cards that Evan had dealt and sat up a little straighter as she slowly looked them over.  "Okay, Roka," she said, shaking her head as she gave them the good once-over.  "I'm feeling lucky, so be prepared to lose your shirt."

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Tokkuri : a small white serving pitcher for sake that is normally filled and put into warm water to heat the sake unless one is drinking a sake that is meant to be served chilled.  In that case, then it is put into the tokkuri for serving purposes.
'Addicted' by Saving Abel first appeared on their 2008 release, It Won't Be Soon Before Long.  Song written by and copyrighted to Scott Mills, Jason Null, and Jared Weeks.
== == == == == == == == == ==
OROsan0677 ------ theblackthorn ------ Ryguy5387 ------ smallflower ------ monkeyseemonkeynodo ------ Dark Inu Fan ------ CatLover260 ------ Nozome ------ CandyEars ------ fanfic7inu ------ JKD1989 ------ lilswtheart9811 ------ ilovenaimecartoons ------ bobby_buche ------ Diem
BlkbltVette ------ Chalimander ------ OROsan0677 ------ cutechick18 ------ rawfish ------ FriskyPixie ------- sueroxmysox ------ becky ducky ------ malitiadixie ------ indigorrain ------ Shiratsuki ------ Denyell ------ angelfire777
Thought from Evan:
Heh heh heh … a southern girl
Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Subterfuge):  I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga.  Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al.  I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.