Adventures

Absinthe on the Bridge

Absinthe on the Bridge ..... Xenoclea

Annemarie clutched her head in one hand and a dull glass bottle in the other and sighed. The bridge was dark, its two-story windows showing nothing but a calm gray ocean under a starless sky. She was worn-out from the day she had just experienced: long hours spent on the hydrogen filled envelope followed by a close miss with soldiers who, as they flew over Transvaal, thought it would be fun to shoot at the ship, and concluded with a bickering, testy crew. She sighed again, sloshing the pale green drink into a stout, crystal cut glass. She dumped a bit of water to fill the glass and threw in a sugar cube unceremoniously, poking it with a fancy spoon until it dissolved. The drink clouded and she threw her head back and chugged down the alcohol. She wrinkled her nose at the distinctive taste of the absinthe. The strong anise flavor was disgusting, to be sure, but also strangely calming.

"Cap'n? You in here?" asked a deep voice from the doorway.

"You're welcome to come in, Commander MacMillan."

Scot strolled in to the darkened room, pulling a cord that activated the lights. Annemarie scowled at the sudden brightness. The orangey electric lights that Jameson had set up all over the ship tended to flicker, but provided enough illumination for Annemarie to clearly see Scot's familiar bearded face and signature kilt. He sniffed the air. "Annie, is that black licorice?" She held up the bottle, peridot spirits sloshing around inside. "Is that alcohol? I thought you fine lassies limited yourselves to tea and water."

She snorted, apparently knowing the nighttime habits of her friends better than Scot. "It's absinthe."

Scot blanched. "That nasty stuff? Are ya' mad, lass?"

"It's nasty in a good way," replied Annemarie, gulping down more of the burning drink. She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "And I have water right here to cut it."

Scot sighed. "Well, it would be rude of me to let a lady drink alone. I'll be right back," Scot said, ascending up the stairs he had just come down

As soon as Scot had left, Annemarie relaxed her rigid posture and slumped back against the wall, her bottle thudding dully against her leg. She was sleepy. Not sad, or depressed, or any other of the bad things that came from copious amounts of drink, just sleepy. She wanted to be alone.

Not a moment after this thought had begun to groggily swim through her mind, the door banged open for a second time. "Annemarie, I met Scot in the hall and he said you were trying to get drunk." Adalè smiled wickedly. "I've come to join."

Annemarie let out an exhausted breath through her nose. "I am not trying to get drunk, Addie. I'm just... drinking."

Adalè snorted. "Oh, please. You drink to get drunk, and I intend to join you. What are you having this fine evening, Captain?"

"Absinthe. Watered down, of course."

"Ugh, you actually consume that? Disgusting. It tastes like someone's melted licorice to a syrup and then poured a lot of water over it. Good thing I brought my own poison to the party!" She held up a small glass flask, the ruby drink inside sparking in the dull lights when she shook it. "Raspberry cordial, like my sister used to make back home."

The door at the top of the stairs opened once more, letting in Scot, Maria, and Rogers. "Hello, you two," Maria called down to them, the silk of her dress rustling. "We came to join your drinking party! Captain, Scot said that you were trying to get so ratted tonight that you can't think tomorrow." Annemarie shot a venomous look at Scot. "But there's nothing worse than drinking by yourself, so we've all broken in to our private stashes and come to drink along."

Annemarie felt a surge of warmth for her crew. Just hours ago they had been bickering (Maria and Scot had started a fight over scones, of all things), and now they were all gathered around her in the dim light of the bridge. Except- "Where's Jameson?" Annemarie asked, trying to be nonchalant and hide her curiousity, which was burning even more than the absinthe had.

"He said he had to fetch something but he'd be right over," said petite Maria, pulling of bottle of what looked like straight vodka from the lace-lined pocket of her draped and ruched skirt. Rogers silently held a dark brown bottle of what looked like gin, while Scot lovingly cradled what seemed to be a dirty jar with water in it. Seeing her bemused expression, he explained, "Moonshine. Picked it up last time we were in the States."

"Well, would anyone like some of my absinthe? I have plenty of water and sugar to go around too," offered Annemarie, trying to be generous.

"That devil's drink?" asked Maria incredulously as she opened her bottle of vodka. "I would think not! I had it once, and it was absolutely horrid!"

"It's really not so bad once you get used to it-"

"Please, Annie, spare us. You're the only one who would ever willingly drink that awful stuff," said Adalè, daintily sipping her cordial underneath her parasol. "They didn't ban it in Belgium because it gives you hallucinations, but because it tastes so bad! I can't believe anyone but you would like it."

Annemarie opened her mouth, eager to debate her drink, when the door burst open a fourth time. Jameson, the sleeves of his shirt singed and smeared with oil as always, hesitantly came in. "Hello, everyone," he said shyly. "I heard we were all having a nightcap together and thought I might as well join."

"Yes, doctor, please sit down," said Annemarie hurriedly, patting the metal floor next to her. "We all brought our favorite drinks, so you can choose what you like."

"I don't really drink alcohol," he said, sitting down next to her, "but on the occasions that I do- well, I'm sure that no one will like it but me, but I brought along some absinthe."