Chapter Text
"Oy, mate! You're quite the fuckass!" Roxy yelled, imitating Jake's Australian accent.
Jake, of course, frowned at that. He knew not to take it personally: she was drunk, after all, but it did get annoying. How could it not?
Roxy's Australian accent-imitation wasn't bad when she was sober, but when she was drunk... it didn't even come close. The blonde girl swayed from side to side as they walked down the street together.
Jake had to wonder just how Roxy was able to stay up and not fall over when she was shitfaced-drunk and wearing high heels. It was a skill. As much as Jake didn't approve of her excessive drinking, he also had to admit she was a smart drunk. She was a smart girl on her own, and considering she spent most of her time drunk, she ended up being a smart drunk.
Smart enough to trick him into getting drunk as well.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair; the buzz from the earlier drinks were starting to wear off. This, of course, caused him to rethink his decision when Roxy barged into his apartment with a bottle of whiskey, while wearing something that screamed "rich prostitute at your service, good sir", or at least that's what he thought the dress said.
The dress was black, but there were small green dots on it that shone in a bizarre neon-glow. It was odd, and, yet, it looked damn good on her; if she wasn’t one of his best friends, he might have gone for her.
"Oy! Matee! The ship be haulin'!" Roxy suddenly turned around to face the raven haired male.
"Roxy, I am afraid you are now speaking with a pirate accent, as opposed to the Australian you are aiming for to degrade me with." Jake tried to be polite: an offended Roxy was not a happy Roxy.
"Yar, har, fiddle-ly-dee, do what you want because a pirate is free!"
Jake looked around on the street. Thank whatever existed that the street was empty. He slowly looked back to the women wearing her dress and holding a martini glas—"Wait, Roxanne! Did you thieve that glass from the nightclub we visited?"
"I didn't thieve anything from a wonky-tonk." She sipped from the glass until there was nothing left.
"Oh, gosh, you had me worried." Jake smiled.
"I'm not good at thieving, so I just stole it." She raised her arm and threw the now-empty martini glass on the ground, watching it shatter to shards.
"Roxy!"
"Whaaaaaaat?" She frowned, "Don't start the bullshit 'Mother Teresa' treatment on me, Jake; you're way worse than I am. At least I'm only hurting myself from the shit I do."
Jake suddenly frowned a much deeper frown than Roxy did. "What are you even talking about?—you're drunk, Roxy."
"Nooooo!" She paused and held a blank face for a second, "Well, yesssssss," she admitted, "But I'm not saying this because I'm drunk, I'm saying it because it's what I think... well..." She paused for another second, "I am saying this because I'm drunk: I wouldn't be saying it if I was soberer," pronouncing the last word with extreme unnecessary emphasis, "But it's what I think when I am sober, is what I'm trying to say."
Jake looked at the shards of glass, "Can we at least move some distance away, so if any chap comes by they do not think it was us."
"Good idea, wink-wink." She vocalized the word as she winked to Jake. She took his arm and dragged him along, much to his dismay. "I'm a good girl. Everybody's got their vice, all the stupid shit they do even though they shouldn't, right? Well, mine is drinking! First, off the bat, I acknowledge it, and I control it, second, it only harms me. You on the other hand, you're an assfuckhat."
Jake resumed his frown, "What are you even talking about? I don't have any vice."
"Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuulll" Roxy yelled as loud as she could (ignoring Jake's protest to try to shush her), "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitt!" She laughed obnoxiously loud, and somewhat stumbled over her own footing.
Jake was quick to catch her before she completely fell over. "Alright, alright, Roxanne… What is my vice, then?"
"Sex!" Roxy exclaimed, without yelling (this time). "Well, that's part one of it. Think of it this way, I know all about how many guys you sleep with in a week. You're really troubled, about alottttaaa things, and you sleep with a lot of guys to feel better – it's no secret, really. Even Jane knows, and, face it, love that chick to death and back four hundred and thirteen times but she can be dense as a rock inside another rock."
Jake, who's feet still walked in pace with Roxy's, froze in fear. Jake was always the 'good boy' out of their group of four; he had thought that he could keep that a secret... but that woman was like a drunk fortune teller: she was always telling you random things that mindfuck you.
"Well, anyway, and we both know you've got the bigggggessttt hard-on for Diiiiiiiickkk, Diiiiiirkk,"
Jake's eyes went wide. Could she read his mind? Of course she couldn't, that would be preposterous, he knew deep inside.
"Oh, and you're bi, but you're so afraid people will think you're gay if you actually date a guy, so you turned into this massive closet-fag-sex-machine at night and you date girls in daylight, which is ironic because all the rainbows come out during the day." She laughed at her own joke.
Jake stopped walking.
Roxy walked a few steps without realising he wasn't taking her arm anymore before she turned around. "Well, that's why you're an ass hole."
"With all due respect, Roxanne," Jake frowned, "Would that not mean I am only hurting myself, like you are?"
"You're so fucking dense." Her drunk-aura seemed to subside for a moment. Drunk-Roxy was also Very-Honest-Roxy, and sometimes she was also Pointing-Things-Out-To-You-Because-You-Are-A-Fucking-Idiot-Roxy.
Jake had learned to take everything she said in her intoxication and crapulence with a grain of salt (instead of the martini Roxy offered).
"You know, Dirk's had the biggest hard-on for you since fifteenth grade...." She paused, "Wait, no... Since he was fifteen... that's sixth grade..."
"Tenth grade," Jake corrected, trying not to let any emotion come out of his voice.
"Yeahh, that. And, you know he wants you baaaaaaaad. Fuck, you're a moron. He likes you, you like him, go be happy with him, wink-wonk-wonk." She, again, winked when she said 'wink' (and 'wonk').
Jake's lips pursed and he tried to think of a retort, but nothing came to mind.
"He's fucking perfect for you, dumbass." She sighed and looked up to the clouds. She noted it was probably going to rain. "If you want to be miserable, that's your choice. You can torture yourself and hurt yourself all you want; I can't stop you, and if it's what makes you happy then I won't stop you... but if you're gonna be torturing him too, you're either a fucking moron or an assfuckhat that deserves to be shot in the face."
Words of honesty shot out and formed a silence that thickly went between the two.
It was uncomfortable to say the least.
Roxy, as usual, decided she wanted to break the eeriness. "I could take another drink, where the fuck did I put my cup—wait, don't answer that, I threw it on the street..." She suddenly reached in her purse and pulled out another bottle of whiskey. Opening the top, she took a swig and looked over to Jake, "You look like you need a drink, too."
Jake sighed, "Bloody right, I do."
It was easy to see that he had some things to think about.