There's nothing in there about this weird marriage thing, which is, you know, kinda important at the moment.
Her phone chimes, and she glances at it for anything to do besides look at all this information.
TRIXIE: (9:15 PM) Tiki Bar?
Aimes glances at the bottle of wine, but fuck it it's rose and rose comes with screw tops anyways
AIMES: (9:16 PM) Sure. Walking there.
She kicks herself up off the couch. Tucking the packet next to her remote control, she runs a brush through her curly hair until it is presentable for people.
The Tiki bar is a ten minute walk away for both her and Trixie, so they try to get drinks there as much as possible.
The walk clears her head again. The brisk breeze pushes the ridiculousness back into the tiny little shell it belongs in, back into fairy tales and books and movies and out of her sex life.
She shoves her hands deeper into her pockets, her purse slipping down her shoulder, and walks a bit faster.
Trixie is waiting for her at the door when she gets there, her hair swept by the wind and her lipstick smudged, but in the fashionable way you see in the magazines.
Trixie gives her a quick up-down glance, then furrows her brow. "Were you already drinking?"
"Work problem, got some wine." Because saying work problem is a hell of a lot more accurate than whatever the hell is going on.
Trixie grabs her by the arm and drags her into the bar, past the bouncer who knows them by sight.
A single girl strums at a guitar on stage, singing something generically soulful that clashes with the tropical theme, with the bright palm trees and blue lights, but eh. Music is music.
"I didn't know they were doing a show here tonight, I swear." Trixie blurts out.
It's such an obvious lie that Aimes pats her on the shoulder. "Of course you didn't."
Trixie loves live music, the sadder the better. Aimes would bet actual money that Trixie checked the website before drinks.
The bartender hands them their drinks without having to wait for orders, and they sit and listen until the girl finishes a song. It washes over Aimes, washes over all the strangeness and the loneliness and the confusion of the past days. With the half bottle of wine, she feels almost as if her eyes are prickling and her skin is puffy.
She's not gonna cry in a cheesy bar with neon blue walls and fake palm trees, but her body sure is gonna try.
The song ends and Trixie exhales, loud and forceful, then turns back to Aimes. "God this week is a mess."
"Yeah. Yeah it is." Aimes swivels back and forth on the bar stool, out of a lack of anything else to do. "Anything else happen to you?"
"I have a date tomorrow night. Like an actual date date." Trixie stares at her drink, before taking a noisy drag from it.
Trixie doesn't date well, and doesn't relationship well. In the time they've known each other, Trixie has had...maybe six dates. And no second dates. Sex, yes, and plenty of it, but not so much on the dates.
Aimes claps her hand on her shoulder. "Need me to keep an eye on your GPS signal?" Their phones are fantastic. They keep track of each other during those situations in the modern world where single girls need to keep an eye out to each other without having the time or ability to be in the same room.
"I just don't think it's going to be worth it. He wants to get to know me." She slurps again from her drink. "Like it's important to him, that I have a personality."
Aimes knocks shoulders with her as the singer starts up a new song.
If only she had tried to get to know the guy before jumping into weird sex with him at a hotel.
She turns to her own drink, scanning the crowd out of sudden paranoia. No one is paying her extra attention, no one is staring.
As the song turns sad and tragic, Aimes wonders if she should approach the next person who does. If she should sit and chat with them, see what some random stranger will say. See if she'll get that pity or that condemnation they spoke about.
Maybe that’s all the support structure Katya mentioned. Maybe there’s a group, like Alcoholics Anonymous, where you sit in a circle and discuss things.
Sitting in a circle is so not her brand.
The song ends and Trixie turns back to Aimes.
"Do you think it's worth it?" Her voice is scared, young.
"Do you think you can like the guy?"
She shrugs, and the bartender replaces her now empty drink. "I don't know. Maybe?" She fiddles with her phone. "He's nice, he's sarcastic, he likes my lighting designs, he's not an actor."
"That's important."
Trixie tends to just sleep with actors, but hates talking with them, and right now it seems like such a small problem, especially since Aimes apparently got accidentally magically married and...
...And she can never tell Trixie.
She ducks into her own drink with a pang of...something. She doesn't even know who the guy is. He had promptly fucked off after fucking her and, if Katya’s to be believed, changing her life.
"Go have the date and chat a bunch. If it doesn't work for romance, it could work for friendship?" She pulls away. "We could use some guy friends that aren't, you know, coworkers that are a few decades older. Or actors."
Trixie' face warps into a perplexed shape. "But what if I'm lame?"
And that's what it boils down to. The feeling that she's gonna be too lame for these people. And she isn't the one who was left at the metaphorical alter. The metaphorical magical altar that was mostly weird sex.
"You're not lame, just don't take him to a bar with music." Aimes says, and is rewarded by a small smile from Trixie.
"I think he's taking me to Girasol near Aroma." Trixie shrugs, like it isn't just the nicest restaurant ever. "It feels too fancy, I'm just gonna want to order wings and get messy."
The singer starts again, and Trixie falls silent, looking pensive across the room, and Aimes is really having a difficult time feeling sorry for her.
She doesn't sleep well that night.
The next day, she makes herself read the packet while hungover. Cause if you can read something while hungover you can read it later when you're sober and it won't feel nearly as bad.
It still reads like fantasy.
The world has dryads and that is a thing she's supposed to accept, and she's feeling just insulted enough by it.
So she spends the weekend reading and re-reading the packet then Googling all the terminology. Frankly, it's useless. She wants to pull her hair out in frustration, knotting her fingers in her curls over and over again.
So she does what any self-respecting woman in the midst of a relationship crisis does. She cuts and dyes her hair.
As the hairdresser snips away, Aimes fiddles with her phone. It's impulsive enough that she walked into the first salon she saw and asked for hair 7 inches shorter and three shades darker.
She feels muted. She could literally talk about anything else but because there's this one thing, this one topic, she can't speak about.
Makes her want to call Dave just so she can chew off his ear for making this whole thing so incredibly complicated and fucked up. But he's so generally nice that it'd just be misplacing her anger and she knows herself well enough that that'd be a fantastically bad idea.
As she fiddles on her phone, as if on cue, it buzzes in her hand.
UNKNOWN (5:12 PM): Status Report?
Aimes eyes it and considered sending back a "new phone who dis". But as it's either her mysterious fuck buddy or an actual government official, she types out a reply.
AIMES (5:14 PM): Sorry, don't have the number, who is this?
Thankfully the hairdresser ignores her, which is exactly what she prefers.
UNKNOWN (5:20 PM) Katya Rinne. We spoke two days ago.
Of course it is, and of course she'd phrase it as status report. But before she could think of a witty enough response, her phone buzzes again.
UNKNOWN (5:22 PM): I need to ask you some awkward questions about sex. Do you like
wine?
Aimes feels rather than hears her hairdresser chuckle behind her.
AIMES (5:23 PM): Generally wine is my friend.
After a second of hesitation, she adds Katya's name to her contacts. Might as well have someone to text.
KATYA GOVERNMENT (5:25 PM) Meet me at Flash in Sherman Oaks at 8 PM.
Aimes raises an eyebrow at the idea of discussing that sort of sex at a bar, but if the government figure can do it, then whatever.
The quirked eyebrow definitely tells Aimes that her new hair does not go unnoticed by Katya.
The door chimes when she enters, and it looks like every other wine and liquor mart in Los Angeles. Dust on the bottles, all the cheap options near the front, and a small collection of chips that are clearly from a nearby grocer.
The bar is tucked along the back, where Katya sits on one of the stools, still dressed in a sharp suit and combat boots. A lone bartender fiddles with some bottles.
Katya waves her over, and the bartender immediately fills a glass with a crystalline white wine. "Drink up, this'll be weird."
Aimes glances at the bartender, who does not make eye contact. The bartender seems to be the epitome of forgettable, in a way that raises the hair on the back of her neck.
"Last time I accepted a drink from someone I had a bad week." She jokes.
Katya follows her gaze, then shrugs. "Remember how I mentioned shape shifting? He's one. He's fine to talk to." She smiles, and it seems rare, false. "Most people who come in here, it'll be okay. I briefed him enough so he's not going to act shocked during this talk."
"Nothing from me, ma'am." The bartender nods, and it's like he's blurred out, he's so indistinct.
"I'm serious, drink up. This is awkward and weird for everyone." Katya pulls out a large sheaf of paper and slaps it down on the bar.
"Are you drinking?" Aimes asks, out of the sheer awkwardness of it.
She hesitates for just a brief second. "Would it make you feel better if I do?"
Aimes nods, quick and fervent. "I don't want to be the only person drinking in an empty bar. That's just weird."
"If you come in and I'm a blond woman, then there's someone in here who thinks this is a normal wine tasting." Without even needing a signal, the blurry bartender puts down a drink and fills it.
Aimes takes a large gulp of the wine, and thank god it's not sweet at all. If it was another sweet wine she would've just...refused.
Katya watches her drink, blue-screen of death eyes wide, before cracking a businesslike smile. It's the smile of someone who learned to smile from receptionists and law school commercials.
"Did he say anything about his family?"
Aimes shakes her head, and Katya moves papers from the stack back into her bag.
"Did you find that symbol in the packet?"
Aimes again shakes her head. "I only saw it for a few seconds. We were...we joked about them, about how they were too fancy for Kansas City."
"And no accent?" Katya takes a sip herself and makes a face, as if unused to drinking on the job.
"No accent." As far as invasive questions go, these are pretty mild. Aimes has had worse from girlfriends after sleeping with someone in a dorm.
Katya takes another sip, as if surprised that she's okay with it. "Did he have an abnormally big penis?"
And it's so clinical Aimes wants to laugh. "No, nothing out of the ordinary."
She puts another chunk of paper back into her bag.
"Did he...did he give you oral? Before everything else?" And it's amazing, cause it looks like this ultra professional woman wants to die from these questions.
Aimes nods, and Katya looks briefly impressed before sifting through the papers again. "Did he smell strongly? Any lingering scents or anything, especially...especially during the act of intercourse?"
"Just his cologne. It was nice, smelled expensive."
"If we gave you a sample, could you identify it?" Katya's eyebrows rise.
As weird as a question that was, Aimes nods again.
"See if it's any of these." Katya hands her a now much-smaller stack of paper.
Aimes leafs through them, idle. "How'd you narrow it down?"
And she immediately sits up straighter, and oh, she's one of those people. One of those people who takes pride in her work and wants to share it. She probably never skimped on homework.
"We first went with all the physical description, then American Based, then relative appearing age. We then narrowed it down to people who have a history of making selfish choices, then others who were in a position where having a life insurance would be good."
None of the pictures are familiar, though a few are quite handsome. "Life insurance?" She flutters through them again, none of them quite the pale striking face of Jake.
There's a suspicious silence, and she glances up again. Katya's face is pale, as if guilty.
"It's...it's the not-so-nice way of referring to the marriage, my apologies," she says, after a pause. "It's assuming he only took you so he could make sure he doesn't die as easily, it's...it's almost a slur, in the community."
Aimes hands the packet back. "None of these, sorry."
Katya takes them back, and if taking back papers could be apologetic, it would be. "I'm sorry I implied that, that was less than professional of me."
Aimes stares at her for a second, then takes a deep drink, the professional comment rankling her. Like she wants to take this woman and peel apart all the layers and figure out what makes her tick. "Have you ever just..." she gestures, wide, "not given a fuck about being professional?"
The blurry bartender snickers.
"I'm the one human representative to the entire not-quite human community, I need to be professional." Katya's lips thin into a bitter smile.
Out of a lack of anything else to do, Aimes takes another sip, and the bartender fills another glass for her.
She's had more intense conversations about explicit sex with her mom. You know, back when they were still talking.
The knife still sticks in the back of her mind as odd, though as if it has to be connected. "Hey," she starts, then pauses, feeling silly. "Do you think this guy would have any reason to send me a butcher's knife?"
Katya stops mid-drink. "A what?"
"A butcher's knife, you know," Aimes mimes the shower from Psycho. "Someone sent me one to my apartment once I got back from the convention."
Katya and the blurry bartender make fleeting eye contact, then Katya sets her glass down with a click. "Well," she starts, then her face twists, "that's fucking weird."
"Yeah, I don't order anything to my apartment, but someone Amazon Primed it to me. No note, just a nice knife."
Katya slowly reaches into her bag and takes out a notebook. "Any...other weird things?"
"That's the weirdest." The bartender is staring at her, eyebrows drawn. "Um, weird sex dreams?"
Katya waves her hand. "That's normal."
"Normal?"
She sighs. "If you're not in the same bed, you're gonna miss him, and it's gonna be emotionally weird cause you hardly know him. Can I see the knife?"
Aimes pulls out her phone, flicking through the pictures. "Here." She twists her phone around, and Katya and the bartender lean in close. "Near as I can tell, it's a two hundred dollar knife that's available on Amazon."
The bartender leans in closer. "That's...a really nice knife." He says, slow, as if it wasn't obvious by the picture.
She's starting to get a bit of a grasp that he wasn't the smartest of people in this world.
Katya’s eyebrows raise, and she grabs the phone to peer at it closer. “Well, it’s bronze,” she says, matter of fact, then risks a glance up at Aimes. “It means it can kill things that steel can’t.”
Aimes just blinks at her.
"I have nothing. I'll research the brand but..." Katya sits back, hesitates, then shrugs.
"But literally anyone could buy one on amazon."
"Exactly."
"Which
doesn't exactly help."
"And," Katya emphasizes, slow, "And anyone being this sneaky probably has fake bank accounts."
"Many of us do," murmurs the bartender. When Aimes raises an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. "Sometimes we have to leave places in a hurry. Sometimes we have to run."
And doesn't that sound lonely. "The guy said he was just passing through, do you think he was running?"
Again, they exchange a glance, a glance that seems to say a lot in a language Aimes doesn't know.
"I think," Katya begins, careful and official, "if he took the time and effort to do what he did, then he's very scared of something." Her and the bartender seem to be exchanging something of significance. "It's either that or he's very morally corrupt and didn't think it would have consequences. I don't know which one is worse for you."
"Great, thanks," Aimes takes another long, long drink.
Worse for her. As if this also isn't weird enough, as if she isn't drinking in a shitty dusty wine bar in Sherman Oaks, talking about what would or wouldn't be worse for her. As if Jake, or whoever, or whatever he is, has this grand plan in mind when mostly he just looked scared and nervous.
Which, knowing that he was embarking on a magical thing that could affect them for an awful long time, makes a bit more sense.
"And here I thought he was just nervous cause he hadn't hooked up with anyone in a while." She blurts out.
"So he did seem nervous." Katya says, smooth. "That's good to know."
"Is it? Is it though?"
"Anything that narrows it down. Look," she leans in, with a bit of practiced faux intimacy. "Anything you think of, anything strange that happens, tell me. I'll do research, and see what we can do."
"Do you just practice getting people to tell you things all day?" Aimes asks, leaning away. "Cause that's a creepy hobby."
The brief glimmer of surprise shows up again, and Katya laughs. "When you get dumped into this job, you have to work on it." She smiles, and she makes small dimples in her cheeks. "Please keep me updated, I'll try to not stress the creepiness factor next."
"Was that all? When you said awkward questions I thought there'd be more."
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