Bad Hair Day Being re-posted with permission, as part of a series. The chapters are disjointed and disconnected unless otherwise noted. I'm not used to this, so I'm going to hope for the best. General thanks to my sis, Megan Hull, for not killing me early in my youth. (and for being a beta reader.) and Libs for translating Screed-speak. Also to all you Vaquiras, for giving me the inspiration for this story. Comments, compliments, and chocolate will be welcomed with open arms. Flames will be laughed at, as no one has any imagination in cursing anymore. :) (note I didn't say swearing, I said cursing.) Disclaimer: I don't own nothing, but since they gave them up, can I have them? Permission to Archive: Anyone who puts my name on it! Comments are sent to Rose Thatcher. Rose sat down at her computer, cackling evilly. What kind of mischief could she create in the Forever Knight world today? She looked down on sleeping Toronto and mused. Eenie, meinie, miney, ...THERE! Now let’s see how they handle this little twist. Rose quickly prayed that she could dodge the tomatoes (and stakes) quick enough, and started typing. Screed sauntered down the stairs, singing a colorful sailing song and listening for dinner to run by. Suddenly he stopped singing, (a boon to all the world) and a grin split his face as he recognized the sound of his old mate Vachon talking. *wonder 'oo 'ees talking to?* As Screed jumped the last step, he still hadn't felt a mortal and figured that Vachon had gone over the edge and was talking to himself. Screed listened to hear what the V-man was saying. "Sure, sure, I know. i'zz alwayzz the slame. I know wha sheez really up to. " his voice rose to a high pitch, imitating (poorly) a girl. "I jus wanna little information. Wha-da-ya-know abou' thiss?" Vachon's voice resumed it's previous tone. "Well, sheez na foolin no one!" Screed walked casually around the door. "’Allo, allo mate, ‘ow's it goin’?" Vachon jumped and blearily looked in Screed's direction. "s'not good. I've just been e'splainin to your friends here 'bout my problems." He waved in the vague direction of some of the rats hanging from the ceiling, and leaned towards Screed, whispering conspiratorially, "don't tell, but I think they're interested." Screed smiled at Vachon. “Well, mate-o-mine, seems to me ya're a tad drunk!" Vachon suddenly grinned in Screed's direction. "You're wrong there Screed me pal, I'm a LOT drunk!" "Well, why don' oi get meself a drink an’ join ya?" Screed went to a corner and grabbed a 'very' old bottle. "I saved this 'un for a rainy day, and lookie-‘ere, there come the drops!" "Then lets get drunk and wait it out!" Vachon was getting into the swing of things and started singing a song Screed had taught him. Soon they were both extremely drunk and loud. Screed staggered over to the corner and grabbed another bottle. "Look a-that, Vachony, I got's anudder one! Been wonderin’ wot ‘appened to h’it." Screed plopped down next to Vachon and took a long pull. Vachon looked down into the neck of his bottle. "Hey, Screed, what happened to my drink?" "You drank it! Along with all the other bottles on the floor. Are ya out, cuz tha’ would be a cryin’-in-me-beer shame." "Nah, I think I got one more...yup, there it is!" Screed looked at Vachon, as much as he liked his pal, there had to be some reason he was here. "So, V-man, wotcha trubbles?" Vachon looked grimly into his bottle. "Whas always the trouble Screed? Women, that's the trouble. They never think! Always lookin for a new adventure, a new thrill, a new step in the ladder, an' it doesn't matter who gets in the way. They're all trouble, thas all." He gestured wildly with his bottle, his speech getting even more slurred than before. "I mean, why don' they ever think? Then when they make a horrible mistake, they blame it on you, and make you feel guilty! An you gotta apologize, or they never talk to you again! They make no sense!" "I ‘ear ya there, I dew. Wot's a fella ta dew?" Vachon's face took on a look of intense concentration, obviously trying to force a coherent thought through his alcohol laden brain. "Ya know, every gal I've hit the sack with say they love my hair. I don't know what's so amazing about it, it's just hair." "Well, tha's where old Screed's gotcha beat. Nay-on one girl has ever said tha’ about me personage. Course it might be 'cause Oi dew-na have none. Makes things lot's easier." Screed put a comforting arm around Vachon. "Ya should really avoid femmi-males for nigh on a while, ya'll feel better about it soon nuff." Vachon hicced. "you might be right my friend. I'm gonna hafta consli... confiter... coslid... think about it." The day wore on, each vampire trying their darndest to get drunker than the other. Songs gave way to memories, and with memories came the stories that each could only laugh at when as inebriated as they both were. Vachon very quickly faded from "very drunk" to complete incoherence. The state where a person does things they block from their memory. Most consider it a temporary survival skill. "nnnggghhhh." "grraaannnggg?" "mpghl." After assessing that Screed was in the same room, and still functioning, Vachon considered what to do next. He hurt a lot. He moved his hand. Yup, it still worked. He moved his foot. Still attached and moving. He raised his head. "oooooo." Vachon quietly moaned in pain. His head was the apparent source of his discomfort. After carefully lying it down again, Vachon seriously debated decapitating himself to stop the pain. *Hmmm. Probably not a good idea, considering and all. * "Screed." Vachon called, as quietly as he could. "Wot?" Screed called back, apparently annoyed. Vachon winced. "Not so loud, it hurts." With his enhanced hearing, Vachon heard everything at a deafening volume. "Well, h’it bloody well ‘urts Ol’ Screed too." Apparently Vachon wasn't the only one to come out of this with a hangover. "You got anything to drink?" The only thing that would fix this is a large bottle of blood. "Got some ratsie-sort. If ya want human, ya kin very well limp back to yar place and git it yarself." Screed didn't handle hangovers well. "OK, OK, I'm going." Vachon very slooowwlly eased himself up to hands and knees. He reconsidered. "Do you think I could stay like this for an hour or two?" "Don't matter-a-momento tew me, but if yar stayin’, ya kin git me a nice plump type o’ squealer." Screed hadn't moved from his hammock. Vachon levered himself up further. "I'm going, I'm going, just give me a little time." He stood up completely and quickly leaned against the wall as the room suddenly took a drastic tilt. "Screed, you'd better get this place checked, it's tilting." "It's ya who's tiltin’ Vachonetti. Now ya'd better git fed or ya'll never git out of -ere." Screed raised his hand and made a shooing motion. “Snore-a-notta, V-man. Next time ya wanna to git drunk, call Ol’ Screedaroni first." "You don't have a phone." "Eeeee-xact-o-knifey." Vachon chuckled painfully, tottered out of the room and started up the stairs. Screed grinned evilly at the retreating figure. *Wonder if ‘e remembers wot he did last night.* Vachon emerged from the sewers, and considered flying back to the church. He quickly reconsidered as his headache throbbed again. He could make it walking, it was only a short distance, and walking was probably safer than flying at this point. As he staggered into the church, Vachon headed directly to his pure blood supply. He didn't think his system could take any more alcohol at this point. Quickly draining a bottle, he collapsed on his bed. *I wonder what happened last night?* Vachon thought back. *OK, Tracy had just left, I took some bottles over to Screed's, he wasn't there.* Good start, his head was beginning to clear already. *OK, I was getting drunk, and Screed came and started getting drunk with me.* Vachon took another swig of blood and a few more fractured memories came back. *We were singing, and talking, and drinking. A lot. and then... and then...* there was something important he was supposed to remember, but he just couldn't seem to. Something was blocking it. Vachon finished the bottle and started another one to finish getting rid of his hangover. *We were talking about... girls, I think. Screed mentioned how I always got the girls. And I said...* Vachon froze, suddenly recalling what happened. *No, no, I couldn't have.* He glanced quickly around the room, trying to find a reflective surface. So frantic was his search that he didn't hear Tracy enter the church. His eyes spied a window; that was it! Racing over, he stared at his reflection. At that moment Tracy entered the room, to see Vachon staring fixedly into the window, but there was something wrong. He was now as bald as Screed. Sometime during the night, Vachon had shaved his head. As the realization hit them both, the church was filled with twin screams of horror and disbelief. Rose quickly shoved her ears full of cotton as shrieks arose from the Vaquira section. "What? Sorry guys, can't hear you. Glad you liked the story." The end? Please contact dreamerextrodanar@hotmail.com with comments. I really appreciate them!