Adrienne, Garrison & Morgan | BACKDATED June 9th

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A drunk Adrienne is really all the entertainment one person needs.

It doesn't get any better than this, Adrienne mused, taking a swig of Moosehead. She'd been at Harry's since the late afternoon, and was acquiring quite the pleasant buzz. Her shop would be opening in less than a month. The Jays were losing. The Sox weren't playing so there was no opportunity for harassment by other patrons (one in particular she was worried about, but hadn't seen yet.) From a booth at Harry's she shouted a snide remark towards Litsch and chuckled to herself, then glanced around looking for some familiar faces to share her joy.

Once she was done with her last student of the day Morgan had stopped to eat something before heading over to Harry's. She'd eyed her motorcycle quite seriously before deciding against it since she'd only end up having to leave it there until tomorrow. Instead she walked. Sauntering through the door, Morgan heard Adrienne before she saw her. All she could do was laugh and shake her head. The bar was favoured over locating her snarky companion until she had a pint of Anchor Steam in her head. Only then did she look for Adrienne. "What, no Canadian to torment," she asked as she slid into the booth across from the other woman.

"Morgan!" Adrienne called out excitedly. She frowned when she saw the drink in the blue woman's hand, however, and her smile vanished. "Heeeey! I was supposed to buy the drinks!" she protested. "Harry!" she shouted to the bartender. "Harry! Don't let the blue woman buy any more drinks! Put them on my tab." Clearing her throat as she realized she was beginning to earn some stares, the psychometrist leaned in over the table and said in a more reserved tone: "thanks for coming. No Canadian yet but the Jays are losing so he might not show his face. Morgan," an eyebrow waggled suggestively, "are you going to be disappointed if he doesn't come?"

Wow, that was above and beyond how excited Morgan was expecting the woman to be. Sure, they'd gone from catty and bitchy to civil and even to friendly but Morgan hadn't thought they were quite that friendly yet. "You're drunk, aren't you?" She was so amused that she couldn't help but just grin. The fact that Kane's team was losing only made the grin grow. And then Adrienne decided she wanted to tease her. Morgan's eyes narrowed and she did the only thing she could. She stuck her tongue out at her. "Aye, horribly disappointed. I might cry. Really, I might. And I'll wail. And I'll have to find crappy emo music to play. And, y'know, actually wear loads of mascara so it can drip down my cheeks with my tears and all." The sarcasm was a bit too thick to possibly go unnoticed in her little melodrama which was complete with pouting and slumping down.

Glad Morgan seemed amused, Adrienne shook her head emphatically and clapped a hand over her mouth melodramatically. "Me? Drunk?! No way, José! I hold my liquor verrrry well, I'll have you know." She broke down into giggles when Morgan stuck her tongue out and only continued when she heard the other woman's comments about crying and playing crappy music. "Just make sure it's non-clumping mascara, 'cuz apparently sometimes that clumping stuff can burn your eyes when you cry it off. Or so the models tell me." She tried to keep a straight face, biting her lip, but eventually she sputtered with giggles again. "You'd have to lock yourself in your room for days to really show your disappointment. Maybe I'll find an Air Supply cd and shove it under your door."

"Air Supply?" Morgan's nose wrinkled. "Why would you do that to me? It's one thing for me to mope but are you trying to get me to slit my wrists?" She shuddered. That was just cruel and unusual punishment right there. Who did that to a person?

Just as Overbay ripped a vicious double down the right field line, Harry's door opened, and a suited Kane craned over the heads of the other patrons to check the score. Based on a Mench slide, they'd just cut the deficit to one.

"You know, I'm going to have to get some kind of satellite radio thing if I want to hear about anything other then the state of Jeter's hangnail or Abreu getting a new bat." He complained, sliding into a seat. "Morgan, Adrienne... my keenly trained investigative mind has noted the lack of other people. Are we the only ones showing up?"

"I guess so," Adrienne said with a shrug, too full of spirits (and beer) to be too disappointed. "Should I cry that only two people came to my party?" she asked with a grin, beginning to giggle again. "Should I put on my emo mascara first? Or should I bring out the big guns and... oh wait, Morgan," she interjected, leaning in close to stage-whisper conspiratorially at the blue woman, "We shouldn't make fun of Air Supply anymore. That's what Garrison listens to when he's sad. Why are you wearing a suit?" she asked the Canadian suddenly, his attire just suddenly sinking in.

"I was at work." Kane said, accepting a beer from the bar. "Normally I'd love to show up in a pair of sweatpants and a 'Fuck You, Eh' t-shirt, but Fred Duncan gives me mean looks when I do. Also, it kind of clashes with the badge and the holster."

The Canadian took a long draught from his beer and set it back down. "I think you two are both missing the whole point of Air Supply. It's the music of pain. It's not supposed to be good, so mock it as much as you want."

"Sweats would really ruin the whole suave and sexy agent thing, too," though her words were ruined by the fact she couldn't stop laughing at Adrienne. "Yeah, love, you need your emo mascara first. You need to have a good cry, then find someone really unacceptable to take home for some self-loathing sex that you'll regret for months to come." Morgan snickered and wondered if Adrienne might night to be carried home. Her attention suddenly snapped back to Garrison. "You voluntarily listen to that shit? Jesus, you are a masochist, aren't you?"

"I do so when in the pain of a break-up, yes. Some people like Willie Nelson, some take one of the interchangable divas, I personally find relaxation of the wounds on my soul through Australian pop of the Eighties, and a very large bottle of Crown Royale." Kane said, relaxing back in his seat. "My regular music is a touch different."

Morgan just kind of blinked at him for a while. "I would not have pegged you for that sort of wallowing. Maybe we should give you the emo mascara next time you hit that low. Admit it, normal music for you is ABBA and the Bauhaus, huh?" She tsked at him, shaking her head. "That whole charming mystique just falls away. Tragic."

"Hooray for ABBA!" Adrienne shouted happily, raising her beer in salute before taking a long swallow. "But I think Garrison's regular music isn't ABBA, I think it's New Kids on the Block. Or Backstreet Boys."

"I hate you both." Kane scowled. "I will have you both know that my taste is exquisitely Canadian, thank you. Tragically Hip, the Guess Who, Kevin Quian; you know, musicians who aren't allowed in the US because they can't be branded and have a clothing line at the Gap named after them. ABBA, feh."

Between the drunken businesswoman and the scowling of the FBI agent Morgan was just too amused to stop laughing. "Oh, you love us. We're completely irresistible." She blew him a kiss. "And who?" She'd not heard of a single one of the people and/or groups he'd just listed. Instead of waiting for his answer she swiveled to see the television. "Your boys still losing?"

"The Jays are the suckiest team that ever sucked," Adrienne pointed out, nodding sagely. "Of course they're still losing. Exquisitely Canadian, eh?" she asked Garrison, elongating the last word (if 'eh' could be considered a word). "So you forgot to include Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell in your list. Not to mention k.d. lang, Celine Dion, Shania Twain, Fred Penner, and Mr. Dressup."

"Ernie Combs and Leonard Cohen are gods. Also, the Jays just tied it up, Miss Boston Illegal." Kane leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "And any country that in the last ten years alone gave us Hannah Montana, Brittany Spears, and Justin Timberlake, you have no right to criticize even the Scandinavians." Kane began to hum 'Closing Time' under his breath as he waved for a menu.

The psychometrist snorted and drained the rest of her beer. "Illegal?! You think I look under twenty-one?" She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Y'know what else we gave the world? The Boston Red Sox. Who are back on top once again, where they belong, high above your pathetic little Jays, tie game or not." She threw her best cackle into the comment for effect.

"Should point out that in the last 90 years, we've won just as many World Series, eh." When Briar reached the table, Kane pointed to the appetizer menu, indicating the entire list. "We'll take one of these, she's paying, and if you could ask Harry to put on one of the disks I left him behind the bar, that would be great. You mock my music, Adrienne, I get to pre-empt the jukebox and put on some King Nancy."

"You look illegal to me, cupcake," Morgan grinned across the table at Adrienne. "Oi," she poked Garrison, "I refuse to take the blame for Spears or Timberlake. I wasn't even here for most of that. Or, y'know, I was busy practically being a harem girl. What the fuck's a Hannah Montana anyway?" It sounded likely sickening so she tried not to think about it. "Way to look over the fact that we also gave the world Etta James, Louis Armstrong, BB King, Aretha Franklin, Ottis Redding," clearly Morgan had been indulging a music binge as of late. "You know, it's shoddy when you've got to go back ninety years to compare World Series stats. Why not just go in for a full century then?"

"Oh, I realise what you've given the world, but they're no where near as popular here as your manufactured boy bands and teeny bimbo singers. I mean, Tiffany. Really?" Kane stretched his arms. "So don't be going after my Canadian music scene. I'm bigger and stronger than both of you, and would entirely lack any guilt about handcuffing you both together in a room and playing 'Up To Here' until you recognize the excellence of it."

Kane scowled at the game as Baltimore edged out of a tight base loaded situation which could have brought home the winning run for the Jays. "As for baseball, Jays didn't come into the league until 1976. By which point the Red Sox had already amassed a streak of sucking measuring fifty-seven years. Think about that. Sucking for fifty-seven straight years, with another twenty-eight to go. Either you're a legend in the porn industry, or a traditionally lousy baseball team."

"I am not above fighting like a girl if you're handcuffing me for purposes of torture," Morgan pointed out. Clearly, the reason why she was being handcuffed was of the utmost importance. "I'm talking scratching, biting, drawing as much blood as possible, claiming self-defense and pressing charges for assault." She listed these things off quite seriously but it was easy to see she was kidding. Not only that, but she doubted biting and scratching would ever deter Garrison. And hello completely inappropriate and badly timed mental image. Morgan distracted herself with a rather long drink from her pint.

Morgan's eyes flicked up to the game but the Jay's didn't exactly hold her interest. "At least they finally won a World Series. May never happen again, but that's okay. It's easy to support your team when they're winning. Sox fans are dedicated, at least. We don't just give up because there's a rough patch. Alright, rough...life. But still. We're loyal. Y'all are just," she went grasping around for a word and finally settled on, "Canadian."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." Garrison said dryly.

Adrienne's eyes widened melodramatically at Garrison and then at Morgan, and she threw a jaw drop into the expression for added effect. "Oh my Gawwwd! Should I leave you guys alone? Am I interrupting something? Seriously? Because I can take the massive amounts of food Captain Canuck here just ordered and leave you two to your flirting..."

"That's funny. I thought she was flirting with you."

Morgan shrugged. "I'm equal opportunity, but I'm pretty sure cupcake here doesn't bat for my team." Then she grinned. "Also, when did you turn into a fourteen year old, love. Don't get me wrong, highly amusing, but still."

"Ugh, puh-lease," Adrienne groaned in response to Morgan's reference to teams, "I spent my teenage years jetsetting around Europe with a bunch of models. I've batted for about every team possible. You may think I look illegal, but I've got a few more years in me than that, and when one gets to be my age, you care less about sleeping with everything that moves just for the attention and more about whether or not you're actually getting off from the experience. No offense, fuzzy blue sister, but girls just don't work for me." Which could have basically been stated by answering a simple 'yes' to Morgan's comment, now that she thought about it. Shit. She had turned into a fourteen year-old. "I think I turned into a fourteen year-old somewhere around my twelfth beer," she pointed out, beginning to lose a little of her enthusiasm as she realized how idiotic she was being.

"A drunk fourteen year old who bats for a lot of teams around Europe. Wait, I think that's still illegal." Kane made a complication gesture with his hands, like he was trying to work out the scenario. "Alright, if anyone is having sex, no fourteen year olds involved. Or bats." Garrison paused and looked up at the puzzled expression of their blonde waitress, holding a massive tray of food. "It's a philosophical conversation, Briar."

"You're a freak." She said to Kane, putting down food and a new round of drinks to the great amusement of both ladies at the table before leaving.

"Nothing wrong with being a freak," Morgan pointed out before the waitress left. "So, cupcake, basically that was a long-winded way of saying 'You're right, Morgan, no matter how hot you are I'm never going to fuck you unless you dress up in some guy's skin,' right?" An eyebrow quirked as she took her new pint and drank. "Man, the sacrifices I make for you." She grinned and considered the amusement of copying a guy just so she could hit on Adrienne.

"I don't think it's illegal if you're a cricket player, or something," the drunken psychometrist pointed out. And Morgan's right," she said to Garrison. "Nothing wrong with being a freak. And speaking of freak, blue fuzzball, you can dress up in whoever's skin you want but it won't do you any good. I am celibate forevermore," she announced with a sweeping gesture of her arms. "You know who you should do that copy-a-guy-to-fuck-with
-someone's head thing to, though? The Princess. She's leaving tomorrow- it would be a great going-away gift for her." Nodding sagely, she took a plate of food and filled her mouth eagerly.

"Huh?" The confusion was clear from the red eyes to the rest of her face. She was looking at Garrison when Morgan asked, "We've got a princess? Like an actual one and not some delusional psych patient?"

Belatedly Morgan kicked Adrienne under the table. "Oi, not fuzzy, love. Do I look like I've got fur? Y'know, don't answer that, you're drunk enough to think I've grown mold or something."

"I think fuzzy is in reference to her vision right now." Kane grinned as her popped a fry in his mouth and washed it down with some beer. "Seriously though, we do have a Princess. From Attilan. Little island by the Azores, makes decent shiraz and bad rum? Yeah, Crystal is the teacher that's leaving soon, and is sister to the actual Queen of the place. Dates Forge right now, which is obviously coming down in the world. Strangely literal. Once bought me a fruit basket the size of Brooklyn."

Adrienne frowned the Canadian and swallowed a mouthful of food. "I so do not have fuzzy vision. And that princess is a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge-" she spread her arms so widely she nearly fell out of the booth- "bitch." She kicked Morgan back under the table. "She got all fucking pissed off at me for writing in my journal that I got kidnapped. Which was all Garrison's fault in the first place, but she didn't come yelling at him. Noooooooo. She yelled at me-" with a thumb stabbing herself in the chest' "because she thought I wasn't thinking of the children! Biiiiiitch."

Morgan glared at Adrienne and kicked her back under the table again. "You got her kidnapped?" She considered kicking Garrison too but chose not to. Yet. "Some cop you are. You're supposed to save people, not endanger them more!" Her gaze turned back to her drunk little friend across from her. "She yelled at you for not thinking of the kids because you said you'd gotten kidnapped? What the fuck? Oi. That's lame. Really lame. Can I torment her?" There was a hopeful lilt in her voice.

"Hey! I got no one kidnapped. We got taken prisoner by a bunch of armed men outside of Moscow. My dad was involved. This kind of stuff happens around him." Kane looked over at Adrienne. "I did provide brownies, you know."

Morgan gave him a curious look. "The dad you don't exactly have the fuzziest feelings for got you taken prisoner? I'm thinking you should stop going on vacation with him. Never trust a spy. 'Cause, well, spy and all."

"There was a madman with a bag on his head trying to blow up the world. It's sort of special circumstances. I should point out that our drunken girl here was the one that confirmed his involvement and allowed us to find and kick his head in." Kane pointed to Adrienne, who was in the process of chewing. "You helped save the world, you know."

"That's me, world-saver extraordinaire!" Adrienne said proudly as she washed down her food with some more beer. She felt an odd stirring of warmth to have been labelled as 'our girl', even though there was the 'drunk' adjective thrown in there as well. "He did get me kidnapped," she said to Morgan, ignoring Garrison's earlier protest. "But I guess it wasn't totally his fault. I'll give the blame to his dad, because dads are absolutely stupid and evil. It doesn't even matter whose dad. And he did provide brownies." She kicked Morgan under the table again, because it was fun.

Morgan looked between her two companions. She looked for all the world like she thought they were very likely a bit insane. "If cupcake here is going to save the world again any time soon we're all fucked, huh?" She grinned sweetly at Adrienne and kicked her again. "Though, who knew, all you've gotta do to earn some brownies is get yourself taken prisoner. Such a small price to pay for brownies." No, she wasn't be sarcastic, really. Alright, maybe a little bit.

"You'll see. One day, thanks to the insanity around this place, you'll get stuck out in the field, likely having to bring down a space laser or fight some kind of native vengence demon, and when that happens, you'll want someone like Adrienne and me there." Kane looked puzzled at the table for a second. "Wait, who ate all the chicken fingers?" He said as Adrienne daubed away a spot of plum sauce from her mouth.

"Must've been the blue girl," Adrienne said with a shake of her head. "I don't eat meat. Mozzarella sticks in plum sauce are pretty good, though." Those had been mozzarella sticks, hadn't they? At this point her mouth was too numb to really notice. "And yeah," she preened to Morgan, "you're gonna want me and Garrison around if the world ever needs to get saved again. We did a kickass job. I shot some pirates. 'We're all fucked, indeed,'" she snorted derisively. "Just wait until Captain Canuck invites you to give him a hand."

"Blue girl hasn't touched the food," she pointed out in the middle of raising her glass to her lips. After taking a drink she shook her head. "Aye, well, I'd like to skip the bit where I deal with lasers and demons and dinosaurs or whatever else you people fucking do for fun around here. I mean, do I look like I want to save the world here?" Her eyebrow arched up with the question. "Captain Canuck's gotta be desperate or insane to ask me for help with anything. What am I going to do, save the world via blow job?"

"Captain Canuck is sitting right here." Garrison said. "And I don't discount the effect that a properly done blowjob can have. Actually, I think we can make that little vein in Scott's forehead go purple and pulse if we suggest reprogramming the Danger Room to train in the event of such as situation."

"Awwwwwwww, do you have self-esteem issues over your powers?" Adrienne asked, sounding mildly upset. "You can be the team sneakster, Morgan. You can like, copy the guards who are out patrolling the grounds of the secret lair and get access to the evildoer's mansion, then get the priceless do-gooding artifact the team needs or get the bag-headed villain to tell you his secret plans. And like Canuck says, I'm sure the blowjob thing's gotta come in handy every once in a while, too."

Morgan was too busy snickering at Garrison and the mental image of Scott's eyes almost exploding at the suggestion training happen for world-saving blow jobs. As a result she didn't hear half of what Adrienne said. "I'm really okay with not saving the world. You guys can play hero and when you get fucked up beyond recognition I'll bring you cupcakes and hang out in the medlabs until you wake up so I can yell at you for having hero impulses. It's what any good friend would do."

"I do not have hero impulses. This is actually my job, or at least, training for it." Kane shook his head. "In any case, I'm not a big fan of cupcakes. Beer is good for healing. It's got, you know, vitamins and stuff. Also chicken wings. If I end up in the medlab, sneak me in a plate of hot wings, a six pack, and some kind of uplink to Sportsnet and I'm good. Maybe a couple of 54-40 cds too. Morgan, I charge you with this sacred duty."

Pointing a finger emphatically at Morgan, Adrienne leaned forward. "I don't have hero impulses either, I'll have you know. I hated helping Garrison. Except maybe when I got to shoot pirates." She'd gone on two missions and she'd gotten herself 'fucked up', as Morgan stated, enough for a lifetime. "You can bring my cupcakes any place, though," she added. She felt awkward hearing Morgan say she was their friend, and to make herself feel better she kicked the blue woman under the table childishly. "What's my sacred duty?" she asked Garrison as an afterthought.

"You," she pointed at Garrison, "signed up for a job which requires you to put yourself in harm's way for the sake of keeping others safe. That's a hero impulse. And you," she pointed at Adrienne, "should stop saying yes. Just because he's cute does not mean you should say 'yes, I will help you and get imprisoned and shoot pirates and possibly get myself killed.' Suffering for a man you're not even fucking is really not advisable." While Adrienne asked what her sacred duty was Morgan took the opportunity to kick Adrienne back "Aye, love," she saluted Kane with two fingers, "sacred duty noted."

"I think that the fact that I'm cute means that both of you should say yes, even if it involves imprisonment. Especially if it involves imprisonment." Garrison swigged from his pint, draining it down and waving for another. "You, Morgan, need to stop pretending that you're as cold and icy about all of this. If the world was in danger, blowjob solution available or not, and you could do something about it, would you really say no? I doubt it."

"See, people always talk about how women will swindle you into things by using their looks to get you to agree, but guys are just as bad when they realize they're attractive. Usually obnoxious as fuck, too." She let the words hang there, her insinuation being that Garrison was obnoxious. The smirk on her face contradicted the tone. "You don't want my honest answer, do you?" She took the time to take another drink in case he came to his senses and said no, he didn't. Of course, he wasn't going to say that. "It depends. On the situation and how much I like the world that day. I can probably count the number of people who matter to me on one hand. Carnage beyond that sucks but I'm not going to be that personally affected by it. Am I a stone cold bitch? Nah, that's cupcake's position," she nodded toward Adrienne. "But am I likely to sign up to risk my life for people I don't know? Depends on the day. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no."

"One minute you're telling me I shouldn't say yes to helping Garrison, and the next you're calling me a stone cold bitch! Make up your mind!" Adrienne whined, throwing her hands up into the air for emphasis and forgetting she was holding on to a bottle in one of them. Beer sloshed over herself and she made a whingey, frustrated noise as she reached or a napkin to mop herself up. "And I didn't say yes because you're cute," she snapped at Garrison. She didn't really know why she'd said yes. Maybe because he was kind. Or because Morgan was right, and saying no to men who would take advantage of her was something she'd never learned how to do, no matter how badly things turned out for herself. "I probably said it because your Jays lost and I felt sorry for you," she muttered.

Morgan quickly fell into a fit of snickering when Adrienne gave herself a lovely little shower of beer. "Way to be graceful. Teach you that on the catwalk, love?" This was a perfect example of why Morgan didn't get drunk. There was also the matter of much information she'd not appreciate sharing that she may if she got drunk enough to slosh beer all over herself like Adrienne was. "Just admit it, cupcake. You said yes because he's cute." She grinned and nudged Adrienne's leg, fully prepared to get kicked rather hard for that.

"I think you just like causing trouble, Morgan. Also, you drink more slowly than Haller, and that's shameful." Kane waved in another round. "Besides, you're just here since she's cute, obviously."

Morgan stuck her tongue out at Garrison, proving how entirely mature for her age she was, and quickly downed the rest of her pint. She gave him a look that clearly said happy? "Maybe I'm just here because you're both cute and I need the eye candy after being surrounded by teenagers."

"Hahahahahaha, Garrison's going to get you shit-faced," Adrienne crowed happily, shaking beer-soaked fingers to douse Morgan and giving both of them kicks under the table for their separate remarks about 'cute'.

"You guys are from Boston and I'm Canadian. For us, it's not getting shit-faced." Garrison said, entirely seriously. "It's living up to our cultural obligations. Briar, another round please."

***

"Now here I lay in my twenty-third year! How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now! It's been six years since I sailed away and I just made Halifax yesterday!" Kane's drunken singing voice wasn't unpleasant, although voluble as the three of team stumbled up the drive, supporting each other.

"GODDAMN THEM ALL!" All three of them happily belted out. "I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold! Fire no guns, shed no tears! I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier! The last of Barrett's Privateers!" Kane fumbled for his keys and unlocked the front door. "Stan Rogers, gone, but not forgotten." He mumbled to himself as they stumbled into the mansion lobby.