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The thing is, Johnny had the time to miss and want plenty while he was a captive spectator in V’s head. And maybe this would come as a surprise to many, and even to Johnny himself, but sex and getting high were not at the top of the list.
He could see V eat, drink, exhale smoke and he knew the food was spicy, the soda tart, and the smoke bitter, but none of it would pass the barrier of the Relic. Not in a way that made sense, or that Johnny could enjoy. Bodies are not always a delight: Night City stank, many food stalls sold mushy cardboard paste in disguise, but Johnny’s senses would still tingle, burn and light up. Johnny would feel.
So the first thing Johnny does, when he gets his flesh back and is released from Vektor’s clinic, is to bring takeout to Kerry’s place and have the three of them eat it. It turns into a tradition, and after V survives getting their broken port replaced and is cleared by the ever-hovering ripperdoc, they add drinks in the mix. To wash off the oil and salt, but also because even if Johnny promises he’s going to take better care of himself and has a newfound appreciation for his body, liquor tastes good. And Johnny is merely a man.
It’s one of those nights and Johnny is licking the sauce from his second cheeseburger off his fingertips, the simple pleasure of eating again never getting old. Kerry never comments on the way Johny not only devours his meals nowadays, but appreciates them to the last, tiniest bite, scrapping the box and, yeah, licking his fingers clean. V just casts him a knowing look and does the same, if not more subdued because apparently hanging with Kerry made them grow manners.
They still have the scars from their own brushes with death; angry and swollen. But they’re alive, for as long as their natural bodies and modern science will allow it.
Johnny is full and the sweet, creamy sauce is all gone and it’s a shame but he’ll make sure to write the address down so they can have it again in the next week or two. V puts the greasy paper bags into the trash and Johnny washes his hand with the lavender-scented soap while Kerry drums his fingers on the marble countertop.
That, too, is tradition. V and Johnny wait for Kerry to ask.
“So, drinks ?”
“Yeah, you still got that beer from last time?” Johnny replies, already turning towards the fridge as Kerry stops him. “Oh no, I was thinking of taking the nice stuff out this time?”
V’s head perks up from where they are wiping their hands on a towel. “The chartreuse?”
“Yeah, the European bottles”
Johnny frowns. He has no idea how V pronounced that stuff and he’s not gonna try. “What’s wrong with the usual? Not nice enough for you now?”
Kerry rolls his eyes “just try it, Johnny”.
He and V start pulling small, delicately patterned glasses and ice cubes out on the counter. Johnny gets bullied onto carrying some to the coffee table and they’re so, so small. Johnny can’t help but think of baby birds, or kittens.
“So, what are we doing? Shots?”
“No, Johnny”
“Cocktails? With ice and baby glasses?”
They don’t bother replying and frankly, that’s rude. Kerry looks like he’s planning something in that pretty head of his.
V puts their own glasses down along Johnny’s and Kerry’s upper half disappears into the high end liquor cabinet, making clunking noises as he rummages around. He turns around with a bunch of bottles held between his fingers like a magician pulling a trick and shuts the cabinet’s door with his hip.
The bottles look… fancy, there’s no other word for it. At least there’s no doubt they fit right at home with the glass sets. Condensation runs along the bottle necks and down the calligraphed names and drawings on the labels. Johnny thinks one of the liquor has its back written in French but the antiquated writing style doesn’t help.
V sits down, excited, and puts ice cubes in one of the bigger glasses “can I just get the chartreuse and sip while you show Johnny what he’s missing?” Kerry laughs “I’m just gonna let you go home with it at this point, am I?”
Johnny huffs, ignored yet again as Kerry pours some green liquor in V’s glass. Not much, barely enough to reach the middle of the ice.
He drags two stemmed glasses close and fills them with even less before pushing one toward Johnny. “There. Chartreuse. French Montaign plants. V likes it with ice but the bottle is cold enough you don’t really need it.” V hums in confirmation around a mouthful of their drink, eyes closed.
The glass set shares the same gold engraving, rounded like a seal with two outer rings, some lettering and the drawing of a round bottle topped with a cross. The bottle has it too, engraved above the gold, black and green label. Knowing Kerry’s taste for fruity, colorful cocktails and wines, Johnny’s pretty sure this is going to be yet another overly sweet, expensive bullshit.
He raises his glass to his nose, the stem delicate like it could snap in his hand. He can smell alcohol, strong, and then sugar and something like old medicine, sharp and clean. “Hey, not a shot, alright?”
He ignores it, takes half of the vividly green liquid in his mouth and swallows. Oh. Oh. There’s cool smoothness on his tongue and yet it burns. Johnny is not ready for the way the chartreuse hits his taste buds. Mint and pine needles prickle before giving way to yet more green things, strong tea leaves and finally, finally, something sweet and warm. Johnny blinks, resists the urge to cough. He takes another, smaller sip, keeps it in his mouth for a little while. Kerry is right, it’s better when you don’t take it like a shot.
Still, he can’t help but ask “why does it taste like mint cough syrup?”.
V snorts in their glass before dissolving in helpless giggles “Johnny, you troll”. There’s a glint of challenge in Kerry’s optics, though. They finish their glasses with V glancing at them, amusement bubbling in their eyes from above the rim of their chartreuse and actually, close like that, the drink and V’s irises are the same color.
Kerry plucks two more glasses from the little collection on the table. Those are smaller still, made of thick crystal. The cut of the glass shines rainbows on Kerry’s rings. And again, the set matches with the bottle Kerry is opening right now, little leaves drawn all over around the rounded, cursive writing.
All of that screams fancy, fancy fancy. Johnny stretches his legs on the carpet and puts his ‘ganic elbow on the couch cushion seat behind him.
What comes out of that bottle is clear like vodka, smells like flavored vodka, and tastes worse than the fruit syrup and vodka shots Johnny made the mistake of trying on a bet, once. “Ugh, what the motherfucking fuck- ” Johnny gags, ready to rant some more about Kerry’s obvious lack of tastebuds when he catches the smirk pulling on his best friend’s cheek.
“Spill, you bastard. What was that?”
“Plum. Don’t like it?”
“Ya need to ask, really?”
Kerry chuckles and downs Johnny’s unfinished plum eau-de-vie before plucking another glass. He opens a third bottle, pours, and pushes it across the table like a peace offering. “I promise you’ll like this one”.
Johnny can still feel the sugary abomination coating his tongue, so despite the harmless look of the tiny tumbler, he takes a careful whiff of the colorless liquid, first. It smells like nothing. Maybe some flowery nothing. It cannot be as bad as the last one at least. Johnny brings the tumbler to his lips and takes a small sip.
That one is good. There’s a soft, delicate blossom under the clean taste of alcohol. It’s sweet, too, but not overly so.
Johnny reaches for the bottle and pulls it closer, squinting to make sense of the ornery lettering. V helps. “That one is the pear, right Ker’?”
There’s several more eau-de-vies to try, figs, blackberries, red currants and some more types of berries and they’re not as bad as the plums. Johnny tries all of them because Kerry is pouring and clearly enjoying playing tour guide but at the end of it, Johnny likes the pear best. It’s like biting into the fruit soaked in alcohol. It has the perfect amount of sweetness and sharpness, and Johnny wants more.
They had more than that before getting drunk, all of them, so Johnny refills the tumbler, sits back, and sips. Alcohol warms him from the tip of his tongue down to his toes and he doesn’t notice the buzz until he opens his eyes to reach for the bottle once more and the room is moving at the edges.
Johnny blinks, then frowns. He’s too hot. He puts his head on the coffee table and hums. The cool glass under his forehead is refreshing. Kerry's voice is calling his name but it doesn't register. Waves of warm tinglings are flowing up and down as he breathes and Johnny feels light-headed. Pleasantly so. Sharp fingers poke him out of his zone.
Johnny grunts as he takes the room in again. “What’da’ya want, Ker’ ”. His best friend poke him in the shoulder again, voice full of contained laughter. “Did you just get defeated by my fancy booze?” Johnny shrugs the annoying hand off and tries to give Kerry the finger without looking up. It doesn’t need to be exact science to make the point across anyway.
Loud giggles and laughter are coming from both sides of Johnny and it’s ruining his buzz. He growls and moves a bit so the glass under his cheek is cool again. V pipes up “Fuck, that’s cute”.
There’s some shuffling around, and Johnny’s pulled on Kerry’s lap. He should get offended, but Kerry’s burrowing his free hand in Johnny’s hair and the fucker always had good hands. It adds to the tingles and zings. Johnny closes his eyes and lets it happen. With the fingertips that close to his ear, he can barely hear Kerry’s comment over the sounds of skin rubbing on skin, almost like white noise.
“It’s the first time I drink you under the table, Johnny”.
“Whatever, hush now”
More chuckles, but Kerry keeps scratching and petting Johnny’s hair.
The hangover on European liquor is a bitch.