ace • j. avery

ix

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S05 E09&E10

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A very unusual group sat at the Emerald City bar— more colloquially known as Joe's bar. Mark sat with Callie on his right, and Angelina on his left, the latter eyeing the bar. Cristina sat next to her, also eyeing the bar, or rather, someone sitting at the bar.

Callie put her glass down, resting her head on her hand. "I hate how hard it is. It's just like you get attached to someone and then you wake up and—"

"— and all you can think about is their little—" said Mark, looking at the person who had just entered the bar.

Angelina giggled, batting her eyelashes. "Your thing with Erica, my dearest Callie, will all be better soon! You say you woke up, perhaps from a nightmare. Now you're in real life, it'll be fine. But I didn't wake up! I was already awake! See, I was at home and then the doorbell rang," she hiccuped, talking very fast. "and then there were people outside! And they had their little police hats off, looking all somber, ya' know? And then—" hiccup "—I was like 'who died?' So I opened the door and the guy looked so sad, so I was so sad and then he said—"

"Angelina." Came Mark's voice, interrupting her. "Time to go."

Cristina looked over briefly, but her attention to the ginger sitting at the bar never wavered.

Mark stood up and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair. When Angelina didn't move, he easily picked her up.

"Aww Marky," she started, clearly intoxicated after finishing her fourth shot. "I was telling a story."

"Yeah, but you're drunk. Telling stories is not wise when you're the drunkest out of a group."

"You're no fun."

"Only looking out for you, Angie."

He took out his wallet, supporting Angelina with his left arm. Placing two twenties on the table, he spoke to Callie. "She doesn't live that far. I'll take her home, and be back in twenty minutes. Another round?"

"Yeah, I'll go get it."

Callie left, leaving only Cristina at the table, still gazing upon the man at the bar.

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Angelina sat in the passenger seat of Mark's BMW, her eyelids flickering. Her head was against the cool glass of the window, as she looked at the colorful lights of traffic.

She turned her head abruptly, looking at Mark. "You're a meanie."

He didn't look at her. "You'll thank me for it later."

"Thank you for what?" She asked, her words slurring into a jumbled mess. "Interrupting me?"

"You were telling your story."

"Pfft. My life isn't a story. It's a fairytale. I was the princess and then I met a prince and then we became the king and queen and then we had our own little prince and then the evil dragon of death —who had wronged me so many times, might I add— captured them and then I was left the sole ruler of our kingdom. We just didn't live happily ever after."

Mark cleared his throat, gripping the steering wheel harder. "Yeah, that story."

Her head was now once again contacting the window, the moon shining down on her, as her eyes filled with tears. He always loved the moon.

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Angelina stepped out of her sleek black car, arriving at seven in the morning bright and early. Too bright. And too early. She had on the darkest sunglasses, and a cup of warm water replacing her usual coffee. Her long black overcoat hung around her knees as her brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in perfect beach waves. How her hair and appearance still retained absolute perfection, no one had a clue.