Queen's: Queen's University, expensive, prestigious, exclusive, and all that sort of thing. It's in Kingston, Ontario.

Louis': The campus pub at the University of Saskatchewan. Opinions expressed here on Louis' are not my own.

"Cento di questi giorni": An Italian toast; "may you live a hundred years".

"Annihilation!" Sarah announced in delight. She held the controller above her head in an impromptu victory pose before she came to her senses and self-consciously lowered her hands again and looked away.

"It's impressive," said Ray judiciously, leaning on the back of the couch, "but a retarded monkey could beat Thor at Projekt: Kosmic Kalm."

Erik scowled. He was slouched on the floor after having put as much space between himself and Sarah, and himself and Ash, as was possible without the often dream of wireless controller. Ray was moving around too much for any one spot to be identified as "more safe" than another. "You already lost, Ray."

"We're talking about you, Thor, not me. The beauty of human competition is that many individuals of varying degrees of experience can compete against one another; or, they may, one at a time, compete against a recognized champion. In the latter situation, it's important to remember that just because two may both lose to the champion, that does not automatically mean both are equally inferior. In all likelihood, one will be notably superior to --"

"Shut up, Fujimoto," suggested Ash. He was sitting on the arm of the couch that was nearest Sarah, and looked alternately bored out of his mind and restless with annoyance. But he also seemed glued in place.

With Ray there, Erik couldn't blame Ash for his disgruntled watchfulness. If there were some alternate universe where Erik had a girlfriend, or a girl who was willing to have sex with him, or knew a girl who was willing to look at him, he doubted he would have let Ray in the same building as her, never mind leaving the two of them alone in a room.

"I just didn't want anyone -- someone like, say, Thor -- to be labouring under a mistaken understanding of the situation."

"God forbid someone be confused about their standing in a videogame," Ash snorted.

Sarah didn't seem terribly put out by the lack of support displayed by her boyfriend. "That's very ... thoughtful, Ray, but not necessary. Really."

Ray shrugged and sighed. "No one appreciates a fellow trying to put things in perspective."

"You're nothing but altruistic and the rest of us are assholes for not appreciating you, obviously," Erik muttered, uncomfortably aware of the sort of things Ray believed to be part of his altruistic duty to humanity.

"So I've been trying to explain to you, Thor! It encourages me to think that my words might finally be penetrating that durable Viking skull of yours."

"I'll bet," Erik snorted. He thrust the controller in Dustin's direction, before drawing his knees to his chin. Arms wrapped protectively around his legs, he looked up to shoot Ray an annoyed glare that bounced harmlessly off the force field of Ray's ego.

Sarah sighed. "That's not very nice, Ray."

"But, for once, at least, it is pretty accurate." The smile Ash flashed in Erik's direction was sharp, gleaming white, and perplexingly combative. Erik cringed and tried to put more space between himself and Ash.

"It's not necessary," said Sarah with careful emphasis as she lightly punched Ash's leg. "Comments like that make for an unpleasant atmosphere and can be easily done without."

"Except for within the context of the game," Ray said.

"Except for within the context of the game," agreed Sarah.

Dustin, his character configuration finished, nodded his agreement.

Erik scowled at no one in particular and decided to ignore all of them and focus exclusively on the game. Aside from the bit where he sucked at it, at least Kosmic Kalm wasn't going to insult him. He couldn't deny that watching Sarah and Dustin face off was probably going to be the only chance he would have to see what the game could do. The latest entry in the Projekt series had not been designed with a gamer like Erik -- once described by Ray as "possessing the reflexes of a mentally retarded brick" -- in mind. Erik wasn't even sure the game designers would believe someone like him existed on the same planet as people like Dustin and Sarah.

Silence descended, even around Ray. Dustin and Sarah were too intent on the game to waste time on words. Erik was caught in a tangle of awe and misery. A quick look at Ray as oddly coloured, dim light played across his round face suggested he was nearly as entranced by the game as Erik; Ash was, doubtless, grumpy and bored, most of his mental energy being devoted to hoping everyone without girl parts would leave soon.

Sarah laid a trap for Dustin and retreated to the shadows. Dustin discovered where the trapped area was and blew up a tree with his grenade launcher: it toppled into Sarah's trap. The explosion was massive, both screens engulfed in white light.

"Would have been overkill," said Ray in a low voice.

Dustin and Sarah both smiled as the white light faded, first from Dustin's half of the screen, then from Sarah's a minute later. There appeared to be a deep but narrow crater where Sarah's trap had been set. The force of the combined explosions had turned the black soil around it to slick glass.

"Wouldn't want to fall in that," Erik murmured, more to himself than anyone else in the room.

"You got caught in a giant mouse trap set by the AI," Ray reminded him. "You wouldn't have any course of action but to kill yourself if you fell into a hole a tenth of that depth."

"Not everyone can outthink a simple computer," said Ash. Apparently, he had just enough mental excess to insult Erik. No defence came from Sarah. Dustin twitched the corner of his mouth down, but it was only to tell everyone to shut up. Under the circumstances, Erik didn't feel compelled to pass the message along.

When the doorbell rang a short while later, shattering the renewed silence, Erik thought his spiteful thoughts were being vindicated. Not that this meant he was about to stop watching the game; he didn't even live here. He was under no obligation to answer the door. That was Dustin's job -- which he was in no position to do -- or Ash's job -- assuming Ash could reach the doorknob. Or Invisible Bob's job -- assuming he existed.

Or, apparently, the job of Ray, who didn't seem to share Erik's unvoiced opinion as he leapt to his feet at the sound of the second ring with a cry of "I'll get it!" before jumping over the couch and landing at a run.

Logically, Erik knew that whoever was at the door, it couldn't possibly have anything to do with him. Nor did he want it to. Nor did he care about it, whatever it was. If it were someone there without reason, like Mormons or Jehovah's Witnesses or some poor bastard conducting a survey, Ray would keep them occupied. Ray was a pro at conversing with people until they regretted ever laying eyes on him. All Erik had to do was focus on the game and enjoy himself, as much as he could, until it was time to go to work. A four hour shift, of course.

Tuning Ray out was easier said than done. Ray asked to be eavesdropped on.

"Hello! Are you a Strip-O-Gram? I've always wondered what one would be like. If you'd hold on, I have a fifty here somewhere --"

"What? No. No! Nothing of the sort! I'm --"

Ash flew off the couch and was at the front door in the time it took Erik to blink.

The front door slammed with another force to shake the house's foundations.

"Go the fuck away!" Ash's voice roared, propelled beyond its usual level of fury to something of incandescent, eardrum shattering rage. "And you, you stupid fat fuckhead, if you open this door I will pull your bowels out through your nose! You got that?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Ray's voice was chirpy, devoid of the same levels of pants-pissing fear Erik thought that threat should have instilled in him. It would certainly have done a number on Erik.

Ash stomped back to the couch without another word.

Erik looked about to see if anyone else had noticed the outburst.

Sarah was busy chainsawing a row of trees; Dustin was setting out alligator bait.

It didn't seem possible that Erik was the only sane person in Saskatoon, yet all evidence pointed in that direction.

"Who was at the door?" Erik asked as casually as he could.

Erik immediately regretted his question. Ash turned to him, radiating enough anger and energy to fuel a nuclear power plant. His eyes were on fire and Erik believed with every terrified fibre of his being that this was not a metaphor. "No one," said Ash, his voice a low, intense hiss, daring Erik to argue.

If Ash had said the sky was pink, Erik would have agreed, just to make Ash stop trying to kill him with his eyes. Erik nodded jerkily, his eyes round and terrified, but unable to look away, until Ash nodded curtly in return before turning his inattention back to the game, where Sarah appeared to have her foot stuck in Dustin's pet alligator.

Ray did not return to his spot of annoyance on the couch, even after Ash had calmed down as much as he ever did -- the only sign that he was still angry about something was the fact that he had dug his fingers so deeply into the couch that stuffing was starting to peek out.

It was impossible to return to some level of relaxation; at least, Erik found it difficult. Sarah and Dustin seemed fine, ever intent on the game. Ash pulled stuffing out of the couch in long, thin dirty-white strands clinging briefly to his fingers, only to be impatiently shaken off, falling on the floor. He was staring furiously at the wall.

The back door opened, but no one looked up. The back door was always opening as Invisible Bob's legion of female visitors entered and left. There were probably dozens of copies of the key to that door, nestled in the pockets and purses of women across the city. Erik wasn't sure anyone but that infinite supply of women used the door. He wasn't even sure what the door looked like from the outside.

In retrospect, that was a mistake. Around Ray Fujimoto, assumptions could be deadly.

Two sets of foot steps stumped up the short flight of stairs instead of down to the basement where Invisible Bob's lair was. They approached the living room instead.

Erik looked up and wondered how Ray could have confused the guy with a stripper. A bit taller than Dustin, he was bareheaded, sandy brown hair falling in his eyes. He wasn't unattractive, but his broad shoulders had a short parka hanging from them, the hood fur-trimmed. The parka hung open to show a bland grey sweatshirt with QUEEN'S written across it in block black letters. Loose blue jeans were tucked into the tops of muddy boots. Erik was fairly certain strippers, even male ones, wore less clothing.

Ray had time to say, "You didn't say anything about the back door! Although that lock was a damnable nuisance," before Ash leaped over the couch and crossed the short distance from it to Ray in a flying blur of death --

-- and went right past Ray until one small, socked foot contacted with the chest of the guy who was not-a-stripper, sending him crashing into the wall.

A painting that had probably been in the house since its construction, a beyond bland sepia-toned landscape, fell off the wall.

The sound of victorious capture came from the TV, but no one was paying the game any attention: Sarah was sitting up on her knees to peer over the couch with wide eyes; Dustin turned his head vaguely in the direction of the mayhem.

It was still a good ten minutes before someone moved to pull Ash off the not-a-stripper, though.

"Why are you here?"

"Who is he, Ash?"

"Is he going to have you arrested for assault? I can recommend some excellent lawyers."

"Oh fuck, are we going to get arrested for being accessories to assault?"

The not-a-stripper sat at the kitchen table, inhaling a beer. He was surprisingly alive for someone who'd been beaten on by Ash for a steady ten minutes, plus the less focussed fifteen minutes of Ash's flailing as Ray and Sarah dragged him to a safe distance. His lower lip was swollen. His upper lip was smeared with blood, as was his nose. His hair was a mess and was possibly concealing a lump on the back of his head larger than Ash's fist. There were twin red marks bracketing his throat where Ash had tried to strangle him. It was likely, although Erik had no desire to ask for proof, that a bruise in the perfect shape of Ash's foot was imprinted on the centre of his chest. Overall, he looked better than the resilient Ray after a dustup with Ash, although the not-a-stripper had the advantage of not being Ray.

Ash now stood by the kitchen door, pinning a menacing glare on the not-a-stripper which slid frictionlessly off the not-a-stripper as he drank. Everyone else sat at the table with the not-a-stripper, although Erik was now regretting dragging a chair to the table for himself. If Ash snapped again, the four of them would be a frail meat shield to stand between Ash and the object of his wrath.

"Better?" asked Sarah as the not-a-stripper set the beer can down with a hollow sound. Sarah slid him another can, which he opened but didn't drink.

"Nothing a few more of these wont' cure," the not-a-stripper laughed.

The laugh was enough to make Ash look doubly tense. Trying to be quiet, Erik scuffed his chair along the floor, inching it away from the table at slow, unsteady intervals.

"Does one of you want to explain things? Or at least offer an introduction?" asked Sarah. Her eyes darted from Ash and the not-a-stripper. Absently, she pulled a can of beer away from the centre of the table, where Dustin had silently but sensibly piled the alcoholic contents of the fridge, and toward herself, opening it with a hiss that was awkwardly loud in the silence. "Well?"

"I'm Leslie," the not-a-stripper volunteered as he set the second beer can down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Ash said nothing to confirm, deny, or explain this, so attention focussed expectantly on Leslie, who looked putout by this silent response.

"Leslie MacDonald?" he elaborated hopefully.

The silence filling the kitchen was on the verge of being oppressive when Ash finally exclaimed in disgust," He's my step-brother and he shouldn't be here."

Eyes focussed again on Leslie, Ash's revelation sparking renewed interest.

"So you're not a stripper," said Ray. The disappointment in his voice was enough to make everyone, except the confused Leslie, look vaguely disturbed. Erik's chair scraped and squeaked a few more centimetres along the floor.

"Er ... no," said Leslie, draining his beer.

"Because I hear stripping is an excellent way to pay tuition, assuming you're fortunate enough to pursue higher education in an area that is not a distressingly borderline puritanical land."

"Ah --"

"Did you know," Ray said in a stage-whisper, leaning across the table, "that there are no strip clubs here? My research about the area at the time of application was clearly inadequate, otherwise I would have sought out educational establishments in a geographical local more enlightened and liberated than these blighted prairies. Outlawing strip clubs -- for shame!"

"They aren't so much outlawed as they are --"

"Could we please stop talking about strippers?" Erik finally exploded, his voice strained.

"I don't know why you allow that idiot to ever steer a conversation," said Ash into the silence Erik's pained requested produced. "What are you doing here?" The stare he fixed on Leslie nearly radiated heat. In a burst of self-preservation, Erik nearly doubled the distance between himself and the table.

Leslie took a deep breath, his chest seeming to expand with the effort. "Well --"

"Never mind," snapped Ash. He pushed himself away from the wall and cut Leslie off with a single gesture. "How did you get here?"

"I drove," Leslie replied. He was almost perfectly deadpan, except for a smile tugging uncontrollably at the corner of his mouth.

"You're not fucking funny," Ash snarled. He had crossed the distance from the door to the table rapidly, despite his short legs, and he punctuated his sentence by slamming both fists down on the table. It shook and one can of beer toppled over, rolling away from its fellows and hitting the floor. It stopped when it hit Erik's foot, the feel of the cold metal biting through his thin sock. If it hadn't been for the barriers like Erik and the wall behind him, would the can have kept rolling indefinitely? Had Ash, in his rage, inadvertently discovered the secret of perpetual motion?

One of Dustin's eyebrows rose in silent, sceptical answer to Erik's unspoken question.

The exchange passed unnoticed, everyone else's attention, even Ray's, riveted to the vibrating form of Ash.

Sarah raised a hand, an attempt at pacification that would almost-certainly prove futile. "Ash," she said carefully.

One of Ash's fists, half-hidden by the cuff of his sweatshirt, clenched until all the parts visible were painfully white. His voice was just as tight, each word forced out at a reluctantly lowered volume. "He's not funny," he managed, staring at Leslie. If it was meant to be a defence of his temper, it wasn't an effective one.

Leslie spread his hands before him, above the beer cans, palms turned up and outwards. Absolving himself of guilt. "I wasn't trying to be," he denied.

Even Erik could tell he lied.

"Liar," hissed Ash.

"It's not a crime to be funny," said Sarah cautiously, looking between Ash and Leslie. "Or to try and be. Or to fail to be." She was playing the peacemaker, Erik realized, and he didn't think it was a role she enjoyed. Wanted. Could handle. Bad to date Ash, if so. Ash required an entire battalion of peacekeepers. Anyone would be better for her than Ash. Almost. Even Erik.

"Women love a man with a sense of humour," Ray observed, his voice honey-sweet, faux-innocent.

Ash practically growled, his anger temporarily focussed on Ray. In Ash's eyes, Erik could see Ray being dismembered, limb from limb. He scraped his chair further away from what was rapidly progressing to the centre of an uncontrollable disaster. Mass murder. A human being going nuclear. There would be a smoking cavern left where the house had once stood. Where the city of Saskatoon had once sprawled.

"I did drive," Leslie said. At the sound of his voice, Ash's head swivelled back in his direction, like a missile pointing back on target. "My car's parked out front."

"I understand the principles of automotive transportation," Ash spat the syllables with speed and fury. "I was referring specifically to this address. I'd sooner die than give you my zip code, or the area code, let alone my damn address."

"I know," said Leslie. One long finger traced something on the table from a small puddle of beer that had formed after Ash's last explosion. "Although, if you'd wanted to disappear, maybe you should have gone to school somewhere that isn't Saskatchewan. Watch the dog run away for three days and all that."

The old joke did nothing to cool Ash down or shake him out of his rage for a spot of ribbing the West with his step-brother.

"What, do you think I'm stalking you, Ash? Jesus, man, I asked your mother for your address. Told her I was gonna be in the area and wanted to say hi! Nothing but straightforward, brotherly honesty here."

That seemed to defuse Ash somewhat. He looked less likely to tear off Leslie's head and drink his blood, and more grumpily putout. A villain finding a wrench thrown into his evil plans by a familiar foe. Curses, foiled again! Erik envisioned Ash saying with a startling clarity and promptly had to muffle hysterical giggles. He swallowed, took several deep breaths, and danced his chair further back, until he bumped into the wall.

"Damn her," Ash muttered. It wasn't nearly as good as Curses, foiled again! But Erik still had to swallow another urge to start giggling.

"She says you need to start answering your e-mail, by the way."

Ash grunted, the last of his rage draining from his body. He slid, suddenly weary, into an empty chair, positioning it across from Leslie. "What are you doing here, Leslie?"

"It's spring break," Leslie said, suddenly absurdly cautious, now that Ash was behaving more like a reasonable human being.

"Wouldn't your liberal arts slacker ass be more comfortable on a beach in the States? Isn't that the traditional spring break vacation destination?"

"Do you gentlemen realize you're referring to a holiday created by the faceless forces of an educational establishment as 'spring break' when there are two feet of snow outside? Does that not strike you as slightly erroneous?"

Ray's attempted distraction was ignored by all but Sarah, who silently passed him a beer. The prospect of an alcohol-fuelled Ray made Erik particularly uncomfortable, but at least the drink would give Ray something to do with his mouth besides enraging Ash yet again.

"I went to Florida last year," said Leslie. He opened another beer. "It was the most blandly boring place I have ever been, except for the places that reeked of old people. Those were the most boring places I'd ever been that were perpetually haunted by the grim spectre of death. This year, I decided to hell with tradition. Instead, I follow the path of adventure!"

"I think you got lost," said Ash, his voice flat.

"I like adventure!"

Sarah winced. "No, Ray, you don't."

"Not, like, adventure adventure. More adventure in the sense that, ah --"

"—your entire trip was an idiotic spur of the moment decision and you didn't even think to bring a change of underpants?"

Leslie hesitated. "In a way. Uh, minus that underwear bit. I mean, it was planned enough that I called Iris for your address."

"On your way out of Kingston?"

"Well," Leslie sucked absently on his lower lip as silence stretched out, "yes, I suppose."

Ash groaned, burying his head in his hands.

"I like this fellow's style," Ray declared. "Despite his entering the premise under false pretences."

"I never said I was a stripper!" Leslie said, eyeing Ray with mild annoyance.

"You lied with your eyes."

"I thought we'd agreed to drop the subject of strippers," Erik said, his voice plaintive. He was ignored more thoroughly than Ray. He might wonder if he had turned invisible -- and inaudible -- except Dustin shrugged in response. As though Erik would try and blame the unfortunate conversational trend on him. Idiot. Hoping for a distraction, Erik carefully picked up the stray beer can and opened it.

When the fountain of yeasty foam had died down, there wasn't enough beer left in the can to wet his tongue. Although, if he were desperate, he could probably suck some out of the fabric of his T-shirt. Or his jeans. He eyed his wet lap speculatively.

"It does seem a bit strange, driving all the way to Saskatchewan for no reason," Sarah said hesitantly. She hadn't even noticed Erik's fight with the beer. "I suppose I can, um, understand the appeal of such a random, spontaneous trip, but --"

Leslie interrupted Sarah, looking startled, "There was a reason for this!"

Ash's jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might shatter all his teeth.

"Always deny reason. It proves an excellent cover."

From the way Ray's chair wobbled, Erik suspected Ash had just stretched his leg as far as it could go to kick Ray in the shin. The jaw unclenched. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"I would have gotten to it eventually," said Leslie, his tone one of confused hurt. He blinked innocently at Ash.

At least, Erik thought the expression in the mild brown eyes was innocence. A year and a half of Ray had so muddled Erik's perception of reality that he wasn't sure he would have recognized heartfelt sincerity if he were hit over the head with it.

"Spill," Ash ordered.

Leslie shrugged and grabbed another beer. "It really has nothing to do with me. I'm merely the wheelman. It's a friend of mine. Doing all this for him."

"How sweet."

"Ash, you can't ask him to explain something and interrupt him when he's just barely started."

"It's his way," Leslie said, unperturbed. "Anyway, I and a couple friends drove out here so friend one could hook up with this girl he met online. I dumped the guys in an area full of hotels and told them I was going to find my brother --"

"Step-brother."

"—find my step-brother's place and crash on his couch or something. They're supposed to call me when they get stuff settled and we're going to figure out the next step then. I assume it'll involve the internet."

Ash was tensely silent for several minutes. No one else seemed brave enough to interrupt his pensive state. Not even Ray, although Ray may have been more focussed on his second beer.

"This whole thing reeks of you, Leslie," Ash said at last. His tone implied that Leslie's body odour shared too many similarities with a cocktail of vomit, crap, and rotten eggs. It struck Erik as unfair; Leslie mostly smelled of stale sweat, car, and deodorant. Implied metaphors were most unjust.

"Well," Leslie rubbed the back of his neck, "I may have kick-started the initiative. My man Bennet would have been dicking around with indecision until his balls fell off, otherwise."

"I rest my case. You idiot."

Leslie pouted. "Does this mean I can't crash on your couch?"

"Fuck, I don't care. Crash on the couch. Crash on the floor. If the spirit fucking moves you, crash under this table and get the pattern of the linoleum permanently etched on your stupid ass face." Ash put his head in his hands, fingers twisting angrily in his hair. "If I kick you out, you'll just call my mother and whine about how hard done by you are --"

"I don't whine!" Leslie protested, insulted.

"—and what a heartless bully I am for throwing you out into the snow."

There was an awkward silence as everyone else contemplated the mental image of Ash bullying the taller, heartier Leslie. No one who had known Ash for longer than fifteen minutes could question his ability to thrash a man Leslie's size. But the thought remained odd, as did Leslie's calm acceptance of the comment.

"As long as you stay out of my way, I don't care what you do." Apparently, these were Ash's final words on the topic. He pushed himself away from the table littered with beer cans and headed for the door. "And clean that mess up, asshole."

Sarah half-stood, torn between going after her more irritable than usual boyfriend and -- what? His hot step-brother? Hanging out with less violent, if not necessarily saner, people? The guilty obligation to clean up the drained beer cans that she'd helped empty?

Leslie craned his neck to watch Ash's retreating figure. "So, you don't want to come with us to the bar?"

"This is a terrible idea."

"I could drive!" Ray volunteered from the back seat.

"You know fucking well that's not what I 'm talking about," Erik snapped, the steering wheel slipping a bit under his mittened hands. "We should be staying out of this mess. Ash is gonna kill us all. There won't be enough left to identify the bodies."

"We were going to go to a bar when you got off work anyway," said Ray reasonably, one more sign that the universe was intent on betraying Erik. "Now, we just happen to be going to a different bar in the company of some people we've never met. You'll feel better about the whole situation after we get enough alcohol in you."

"And the car?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it, my dear Thor."

Erik wondered if Ray had matches somewhere on his person. He twitched. "We shouldn't have sent Sarah with him, at least."

"The poor boy was clearly in need of a native guide. Ash was in no condition to fill the role that would otherwise have been demanded of him."

"We could have sent Dustin," Erik said ruthlessly.

Sitting in the passenger seat, with one booted foot on the dashboard, Dustin lifted both eyebrows.

"Low, Thor. Low. Low and crude. And unhelpful. No one will ever make you Minister of Tourism at this rate."

"That was already guaranteed when my application mentioned my idea for changing the provincial motto to 'Saskatchewan: The Whiney English Province'."

Ray sighed. "You do lack a certain tactful quality, it's true."

"Is it tactful if I ask you to spend the rest of the night pretending you don't know English?"

"No, Thor."

"Can I ask anyway?"

"No, Thor," said Ray, his voice gently reproving, as though he were talking to a small, particularly stupid child.

Erik sighed. "It would make my life a lot easier, you know."

"An easy life is one devoid of challenges. It is challenges that shape a soul and test its mettle."

"I don't want the metal of my soul being tested. In fact, I don't want any metal in my soul, period."

"Thor, if you had things your way at all times, your life would be nothing but a daily exercise in monotony."

"If only."

"Monotony and celibacy."

Dustin's eyebrows rose.

"Shut up," suggested Erik roughly and brought the car to an abrupt stop. Ray did not go flying through the windshield, despite the absence of seatbelts in the backseat. Driver's Ed had lied to him. Again. "Shut up and get out of the car."

"Cross chauffeur off your list of future careers, Thor. Another door shut to you, all because of your terrible, terrible attitude," said Ray as he opened the door and rolled out. Sadly, it wasn't into the flow of oncoming traffic, and Ray landed on his feet. Erik and Dustin followed, in a manner more closely resembling that of normal human beings.

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed between his eyes. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to remove fuzziness from his vision that wasn't actually there. With one hand, he braced himself against the car, prepared to bolt back to its comforting exhaust-scented protection at a moment's notice. "They wanted to meet at Vodka Boris'?!"

"Apparently it's within walking distance of whatever hovel they're staying at that represents itself as a student-affordable hotel."

"It's decorated with Christmas lights." The lights blinked off and on again, except for the strand over the door that remained permanently dim. Even Dustin looked mildly perturbed by this presentation, his nostrils pinched in disapproval.

Ray planted one hand on Erik's shoulder, the other gripping Dustin's with a lot less stretching. "Point the first: it's not Christmas. How, then, can these be Christmas lights? Point the second: they're blue and purple, which are hardly symbolically Christmassy colours. See previous. Point the third: for God's sake stop whining. I don't care if the bartender's a lizard wearing paisley, so long as he gives me something to drink that a rat hasn't pissed in."

"I think I played that game."

"Maybe you did, maybe you did," said Ray brusquely, propelling them toward the door. "We can look it up -- tomorrow."

"I don't like vodka," said Erik, trying to plant his heels in the ground, a ploy that might have worked better if the ground hadn't been solid ice.

"No one's going to make you drink vodka --"

"This time."

"—and, I'm sure they serve plenty of fermented grain beverages to keep you occupied."

"We should have gone to Louis'. We could have walked there. We should have made them meet us at Louis'."

"Is that your final bit of whining?"

Erik racked his brain for a minute as they stood before the doors of Vodka Boris'. He looked hopefully at Dustin, but his friend's level gaze didn't inspire him to any new protests. "Yeah."

"Fine. Louis' reeks of alcohol, despair, idiocy, poor service, and any number of things you shouldn't willingly subject visitors to. As foreigners to your humble -- very humble, extremely humble -- province, you must put, if not your best foot forwards, then, at the very least, your most agreeable foot."

"They're not foreign! They're Canadians! You're the foreigner."

"Then I would know, wouldn't I?" said Ray simply, and shoved them at the door with surprising strength. "If they want to get drunk and do whatever else people from Queen's do at an oddly lit swillhouse near their rat-infested hovel, then that is what they shall do, and we are not the men to stand in their way."

"But do we have to be the men to help them?"

"Yes," said Ray, exasperated and at the end of whatever qualified as his rope. He gave one final shove and Erik's falling, flailing figure opened the door, chin hitting the floor with a crack. Ray and Dustin stepped over him, Ray shaking his head the entire time. "Your life would be so much easier, dear Thor, if you would just do as I advise. I only have your best interests at heart, after all."

"Fuck you."

Dustin bent down and gave Erik a hand up, withholding any possible comments he might have made.

Erik rubbed his chin. His hand came away sticky and wet, and miniscule bits of grit had ground painfully into his skin. He wiped his blood-smeared hand on the leg of his jeans and scanned the room warily. Dustin stood at his side, in case he took another tumble, although it didn't seem likely, with Ray no longer behind him in perfect shoving position.

Only two lights seemed to be working, but there wasn't a lot for them to illuminate. A bar that was trying to prove the existence of naturally occurring grey wood, with a sad looking, grizzled man behind it, obsessively wiping out the inside of the same mug over and over again, with a cloth that was the same colour as the bar. The man -- Boris? -- hadn't even looked up at the brief moment of liveliness that Ray's assault on Erik had produced. There were a grant total of five tables, all mismatched, and booths in the corners that weren't occupied by the bar. Sad Boris either managed to earn enough to hire waitstaff or -- more likely -- had pressed relatives into alcohol-soaked slavery. The two waitresses -- to go with the lights -- were hot, Erik supposed, in a statuesque blond way, and they both looked sad enough to be Sad Boris' daughters. Listless Valkyries. Erik mentally dubbed them Helga and Olga and wondered if he'd been exposed to Ray for too long.

There was no music. There were no television sets proudly displaying the latest developments in senseless, steroid-fuelled brutality; small blessing. There were, however, people. Not many, but more than Erik would have supposed from the outside of the building (zero).

"I think someone should tell Sad Boris over there that the Canadian authorities don't look kindly on people who sell alcohol in condemned buildings."

"It's atmospheric. Fits the theme of the establishment to perfection."

"Is the theme despair?"

"I think the theme is 'Russia', Thor, but I suppose you're close enough."

"Countries are not themes, Ray."

"Never argue with a man named Boris, Thor."

Erik rolled his eyes.

"Unless you're a ninja. Which, I know for a fact, you are not." Ray reached back to clasp Erik's skinner shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. Erik carefully began prying Ray's fingers off, one by one, when Ray exclaimed, "Ah ha! There's this evening's entertainment."

It took the work of a second to find the group Ray was looking at -- their group, Erik supposed with a sigh. There was Leslie MacDonald, presiding cheerfully over the table with a probably-clean mug in one hand. There was a girl sitting next to him -- his girlfriend? -- with short hair and a nose ring. A guy who was boxy, unshaven, dark-haired, and emitting an aura of gloominess that was palpable even in Boris' despair-heavy atmosphere. Erik already liked him. Another guy, smaller, with skinny glasses and soft-looking brown hair. Sarah, of course. And --

"Ash?!"

The force of suffering in question turned his head rapidly around to stare at them, his eyes filled with more loathing than usual.

Dustin's eyebrows rose.

"I don't know," said Erik, shuffling to the side so Ray was standing between Ash and himself, "but I'm not about to ask."

"Greetings, fellows and non-fellows and Ash!" Ray called, drawing more than just Ash's attention to them.

"What's that?" asked the girl by Leslie.

"That's Ray," Sarah murmured. The room was quiet enough to allow her soft words to carry.

"He thinks he's a ninja," Ash added, loudly, one angry eye fixed on Ray.

Ray ignored the less-than-friendly introduction, grabbed Erik and Dustin's arms, and dragged them to the table.

"Aren't ninjas supposed to be quiet and stealthy?" asked the one with the glasses.

"His is a cunning disguise of incompetence," said Erik dryly, shaking off Ray's arm and slumping into the seat on Leslie's other side. He ventured a smile in Sarah's direction, but he suspected it was sickly. The smile Sarah returned to him had an unfortunate twist of sympathy to it and was over-shadowed by the menacing stare Ash fixed on him.

Fucking possessive, insecure, asshole boyfriends.

Erik slouched back in his seat as Dustin sat next to him and Ray cheerfully wedged himself between the girl and the guy with the glasses.

"Great of you guys to join us," said Leslie with cheerful sincerity.

"Wonderful," drawled Ash. He had seated himself opposite his step-brother; the better to keep an eye on him?

"We're playing the waiting game right now. Hopefully not for too much longer, though."

"Because then you'd be under the table and wouldn't notice if an elephant walked through the door, let alone some girl none of you have ever met."

Sarah hushed her boyfriend, putting a finger to his lips.

"So you missed the first round of introductions," said Leslie, running a finger around the rim of his mug.

"But Les is nothing if not generous, so he'll do it all over again," said the one with glasses, grinning hugely across his bottle.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," said Leslie with a languid smile. He freed one finger from the important task of gripping the handle of his mug, pointing it at the girl on his left. "Guys I don't know, this is Margarita. She won't bite, even if you ask."

"Well, maybe if your brother does," said Margarita with an odd grin.

The guy with glasses snickered and Erik could hear Ash grinding his teeth. Margarita's eyes widened innocently and she took a drink, also from a bottle, although hers seemed to be a bitter, as opposed to her friend's light beer.

Leslie flipped his finger to the guy with glasses. "Boston."

"Boston?" Erik echoed in disbelief.

"I used to live in you," said Ray brightly.

Boston's amusement dimmed and he carefully moved his chair a bit further from Ray. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as everyone processed this example of patented Ray weirdness, the first exposure to such horrors for some.

Leslie cleared his throat. "Moving on, our gloomy friend at the end is Bennet. He is the reason for our adventure. Our Dulcinea, if you would."

"This trip was your idea," said Bennet, startled.

"Undertaken for your own good," Leslie said. The phrase sounded vaguely familiar to Erik.

"My guys, that's Ray," Leslie continued, his finger waving at Ray, who waved back.

"So we've heard," said Boston, eyeing Ray warily.

"That's Dustin." There was a moment of silence as Leslie appeared to wait for Dustin to respond. Dustin's mouth twitched, but Leslie ignored this, moving on. He tapped Erik in the shoulder with his mug. "And this is Thor."

Boston's eyebrows rose. "Thor?"

"It's Erik, actually," Erik muttered, rubbing the spot on his shoulder where Leslie had bumped him with the mug. It was damp with beer and condensation.

"Actually, it's Sigurd, but I prefer Thor. It sounds less pretentious."

"It's not important," said Leslie, waving a dismissive hand. "That, however, is. Everyone, meet beer."

Helga or Olga set a fresh pitcher of beer on the table and put mugs in front of Erik, Dustin, and Ray. Before she could wander off, Ray grabbed her arm and coaxed her down until her ear was near his mouth. He whispered something, his lips just brushing her ear, which she listened to with perfect apathy before being sent on her way with a pat on the ass.

"So, who are we waiting for?" asked Erik, seizing the pitcher.

"Ben's lady. She's supposed to meet him here."

"Possibly she's already been. And she left as soon as she saw this dive, seizing by a sensible fear of white slavers," said Ash, drinking water from his own water bottle.

Agreeing with Ash was never a comfortable sensation, although it was still better than agreeing with Ray.

Bennet's already gloomy face fell further.

"Or maybe she's just having trouble finding the place," said Sarah, emptying her mug. "This isn't exactly near campus, and if she's a student, she probably isn't familiar with this area of the city."

"Do you know what she looks like? Maybe she's here already!" Ray cast an appreciative glance upon Olga or Helga as she returned, setting down two bottles of vodka and a shot glass in front of him, and new bottles of beer before Margarita and Boston. She then withdrew silently, before Ray could touch her again.

Bennet scowled, sloshing the contents of his half-empty mug from side to side. "Of course I know what she looks like. She sent me her picture."

Margarita and Boston shared a sceptical look around Ray, who was pouring himself a shot of vodka as an appetizer for his beer.

"She even has a name," Leslie said with a grin. He took the pitcher from Erik, refilling his mug and topping up Erik's needlessly. "A real name. Not just Hawt1337chix65."

Bennet threw a nacho at Leslie, but his aim was off. It landed with a splash in Erik's beer. Erik stared gloomily at it for a minute, wondering if it would be worth the effort to try and fish the nacho out with his fingers. It had already sunk to the bottom. Experimentally, Erik poked a finger into the mug.

"Her name is Blossom. Blossom Paramadevan," said Bennet, a smile lighting his face suddenly.

"That's a real name?" asked Ash is disbelief.

"Yes," said Bennet sharply.

"As though you have room to talk, Ashley," Ray laughed and poured himself another shot.

Leslie winced and Sarah grabbed Ash by the shoulder before he leapt across the table to strangle Ray. "Definitely a real name. I think she was in my programming class last term -- does that sound right?"

Bennet nodded, staring a Sarah with interest. Ash watched him, absurdly suspicious, and sank back in his seat.

"She's dark? With long hair?"

"That's right!" said Bennet, his drink forgotten.

Grumpily, Erik tuned them out and resumed trying to retrieve the slowly dissolving nacho from his beer, until the mug was abruptly pulled away.

"Sorry about that, man," said Leslie, sliding his own mug over to Erik as a replacement. "My fault for riling up Ben."

Erik put his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking the beer from them, and looked at the nacho-less mug in front of him instead of at Leslie. "S'okay," he muttered around his fingers. "Don't have to do that."

"Not a big deal, Thor! I'll just go ask one of the lovely servers for a new one. Might provide a good excuse to strike up a conversation, at that." Leslie got up, his smile gleaming. He clasped Erik's shoulder briefly. "Besides, you look like you need a drink more than I do."

Erik stared into his beer and mumbled a barely audible, "Thanks." He drank and out of the corner of his eye could see Leslie talking to the listless Helga or Olga, who seemed less listless in his presence.

Better than Ray, Erik supposed.

"You met playing Legions of Crystal? What server?"

Erik sighed. Even with Ash's rage divided in several directions, even if Ash was so distracted by his hatred for his step-brother, it didn't seem likely that Erik would get a chance to talk to Sarah alone. "Doesn't that bother you?" he asked Margarita in the hopes of distracting himself.

Margarita swallowed a mouthful of beer and set the bottle down. "Huh?"

"Leslie."

One of Margarita's eyebrows rose. Even Erik could tell she wasn't following him. "Does Leslie bother me?"

"Uh. Leslie. Flirting with that Valkyrie waitress."

Boston snorted with laughter and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Oh man."

"Hardly," said Margarita. "They're hot. I wish him luck."

"Uh. You guys aren't dating?" Erik asked helplessly. He slouched down further in his seat, trying to hide behind his beer.

"Oh fuck no! Not a chance in hell!"

"Why so curious, Thor? Scoping out the competition?" asked Boston. His smile made Erik squirm with discomfort, unable to shake the feeling that something had just gone over his head.

"You're not my type, Viking boy," Margarita said, not unkindly, before Erik was forced to answer.

"Don’t' worry, you're not Thor's type, either," said Ray with a laugh before washing down his last shot of vodka with half the beer in his mug. Then he poured himself another shot and raised it in toast. "Canto di questi giorni!"

"Fuck you," Erik said in lieu of a response, draining his mug.

"So much for Italian being the language of love," Boston muttered, taking a pull of his beer. "I may never want to fuck an Italian again."

"Your boy'll be glad to hear that," Margarita laughed.

Erik nearly choked on the last of his beer. He swallowed, coughed, and ducked his head while refilling his mug to hide his discomfort, or the wariness he regarded Boston with. Why would a gay guy go on a road trip with Leslie and the rest of his friends?

"There she is!" Erik could hear Bennet hiss. He got the impression Bennet was trying to be quiet, but Bennet did not seem to be the sort of person to whom quietness came naturally.

The girl who entered was moving carefully, as though she were worried the floor might be trapped. Erik squinted at her over his shoulder. She was taller than Ray, although not by much, and looked sturdy above all else. She was wearing a large winter jacket, puffy and pink. Even unzipped and open, it didn't reveal much of a figure. She had taken her toque off and was clutching it in mismatched mittened hands, twisting it as she looked around the bar. One end of a crookedly hanging, unevenly tied scarf dragged on the floor. Her face was round, dark and nervous, and she kept shoving her thick black hair out of her eyes.

Bennet's face was alight under several days of stubbly beard growth -- Erik, suddenly self-conscious, rubbed his own chin, smooth save for the scrape from his recent fall and scars from his pointless daily shave -- and he stumbled up from his seat. Sarah gave him an encouraging little punch to the arm as he left, which gave Ash a reason to practice his lemon-sucking face until Sarah focussed her attention on him again.

Erik dragged his attention back to his beer. He wondered who was paying for it. Leslie? Strange thought. He lifted his head up, but not enough, hopefully, to make people think eye contact was an option. Everyone seemed to be giving Bennet and his internet girlfriend privacy; they were walking over to a corner booth, each with hunched postures, their slouched shoulders not quite touching. No one tried to follow them, not even Ray. Ray, after all, had his love affair with vodka to absorb his attentions.

It was depressing, was what it was. Not surprising, but definitely depressing.

There were Ash and Sarah at the opposite end of the table, Sarah soothing Ash's foul mood with the power of her tongue. Erik's stomach turned. Bennet and Blossom Paramadevan in the corner, ignored by the entire world, including the part of it that was supposed to be making sure money was being spent. Blossom looked ... nice. Normal. Non-psychotic. The three 'n's of the perfect significant other. They were probably going to have a great time in one another's company, once they got over the initial terror of being in one another's company. And Leslie, still exercising his charm on Helga or Olga like it was the easiest thing in the world to get a girl's attention. Technically, there was Boston, too, who apparently had a -- grk -- boyfriend.

That left Erik alone. There was Ray, of course. The very thought of that happening again was enough to elicit an unsurpressable full-body shudder from Erik. Apparently he wasn't Margarita's type, although he didn't care, as long as Ray didn't end up seducing her in his usual stupid, lucky way.

Dustin, at least, could be relied on for companionship and conversation.

Erik turned to say something to his friend, but the words died on his lips.

Dustin sat, beer forgotten, drawing equations from a puddle of beer.

"What's that?" Erik asked, on the slight chance that it wasn't important.

Dustin's eyebrows furrowed.

"Ah," said Erik, lapsing back into quiet contemplation of his beer.

"Quiet, isn't he," Boston observed, leaning back in his seat and shoving his glasses up his nose before they slid off.

"Dust is a cer-ti-fied genius," said Ray, enunciating with exaggerated care. "As such, a degree of eccentricity is permitted. Nay, it is required. Such character quirks are an expression of his genius."

"I meant Viking boy."

Erik groaned, slumping so his forehead pressed against the coldness of his mug.

"Ah. Well, our dear Thor suffers from an unfortunate case of foot-in-mouth disease. Tragic, very tragic."

"Fuck you," Erik muttered to the table.

"As you can see, it also produces bouts of surliness and vulgarity."

"Your dear Thor, eh?" said Boston archly.

"He is as a little brother to me," declared Ray. Erik could hear him tossing back another shot.

"I think I feel sorry for your brothers, then. Unless they're all like you," said Margarita, which increased Erik's hope that he wouldn't end up sleeping in the hallway while Ray had sex with her.

"Ah," sighed Ray, apparently getting the hint, for once in his life, "does this mean I'm not your type, either?"

"You're lacking a couple of important attributes."

"Oh, I dunno, Ita," Boston chuckled, "he looks like he might have bigger breasts than a couple of your exes."

Erik blinked and lifted his head a bit higher. Ray didn't look as disappointed as he should have been, although considering the way Ray's mind seemed to function Erik realized he probably shouldn't have been surprised.

"That does explain your interest in the lovely Ash," said Ray.

Distressingly, Ray's comment made Margarita laugh and Boston snicker, although not for very long.

Ash was out of his seat so quickly that Sarah tumbled out of his lap and onto the floor with a quiet, quickly muffled curse. For a minute, Ash was crouched on the table in front of Ray, tiny hands wrapped around Ray's thick neck before the momentum of his rage knocked Ray's chair over, with Ash falling on top of him.

Margarita and Boston were abruptly silent. Sarah pulled herself to her feet.

Erik watched what he could see of Ray's deserved throttling before draining his mug.

Leslie returned, with neither a Helga nor an Olga on his arm. He sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair. "He's at it again, eh?"

Erik did the only thing that seemed reasonable in the circumstances: he grabbed the unopened bottle of vodka from Ray's now-unoccupied spot, pried it open, and dumped the contents into his mug.

"—no, he'll kill me if he finds out. He keeps having these nightmares about Saskatchewan. Made me swear once that I'd never come here."

"So of course you jumped at the chance when Les came up with this deranged idea."

"We'll be back before he comes back from his parents' place. Besides, what is there to be afraid of in Saskatchewan? 'Oh no, it's the wheat monster, not the wheat monster!'"

"I bet he's heard how there are no strip clubs here."

"Tragic."

"I hear there's uranium up north. Maybe he's worried you'll come into contact with radioactive uranium and mutate -- ah. Back in the realm of the living?"

Erik opened one gluey eye and stared at Leslie's smiling face. "Muh?" he asked. His face appeared to be stuck to the table.

"Your buddy Ray's okay."

"Rumate," said Erik, rolling his eyeball around. Sure enough, there was Ray, grinning and drinking with Boston and Margarita. There were dark marks around his neck from where Ash had tried to choke him, the beginnings of two black eyes, and puffiness around his nose, with a bit of dried blood circling his nostrils. Erik felt blearily disappointed that Ray was still upright.

"Durable guy, eh?" said Leslie. He flashed Erik a bright smile. "Amazing how popular a guy becomes when he volunteers to cover everyone's bar tab, isn't it?"

Erik thoughtfully stuck his tongue out.

Leslie laughed. "Man, you're wasted."

"Mrg!" Erik protested.

"C'mon. I'm calling a cab to get me back to Ash's place. You can share it, eh." Leslie put a hand under Erik's arm and pulled him to his unsteady feet.

Apparently, his face hadn't been actually glued to the table. Groggily, he rubbed at the sticky residue on his cheek.

Dustin was still there, working away on something, writing on a napkin, now, instead of on the table in beer. Ash and Sarah were gone, as were Bennet and Blossom Paramadevan. Erik waved to get Dustin's attention.

Bafflingly, Dustin responded with a discreet thumbs-up.

There was a brief halt to their escape from Sad Boris' as Leslie paused to call a cab, which arrived with a promptness Erik knew he could never get from a cab, even if one were parked at his feet.

"You don't live at Ash's place, do you?" asked Leslie as he helped manoeuvre Erik into the back of the car.

Erik shook his head as Leslie climbed in beside him.

"An address would be useful, Thor."

"Uh ..."

"Never mind. You got a wallet?"

Erik nodded.

Leslie sighed and set about searching Erik's pockets until he found Erik's threadbare wallet. He flipped it open and dug around inside until he found Erik's driver's license. He shoved it under Erik's nose. "That the address?"

Erik squinted at the tiny letters before he nodded.

"Thank God," said Leslie, and read the address aloud for the benefit of the impatient cabbie. He put the license back and pressed the wallet into Erik's hands.

Erik tried not to drop it.

After a few blocks, Erik, his forehead resting against the window, asked, "Where'd Ash go?"

"Ah, got hauled off by the local constabulary. Certainly not the first time. I suppose Boris doesn't like the idea of people being murdered in his establishment." Leslie yawned. "He'll be okay. Our parents are lawyers. If worse comes to worst, he can swallow his pride and get them to bail his homicidal ass out."

"Sarah?"

"I can't imagine one would want to stay in an establishment that one's boyfriend had just been forcibly dragged from. She left shortly after he did." Leslie shook his head, which made Erik dizzy. "If she's sensible enough to do that, why's she dating my brother? Don't suppose you know the answer, do you, Thor?"

Erik shook his head.

After another block, Erik asked, "Your friend?"

"Ben?"

Erik nodded.

"There are certain questions a gentleman shouldn't ask of his friends."

Someone who wasn't Erik was getting lucky. Of course.

Two more blocks and over the river.

"My car?"

"I leave that to your roommate. He seems to be ... a man of ideas."

Erik snorted.

"Your car?" he asked as they drew near the Park.

"Ah. I imagine I'll cab it back up there when I wake up or I'm sober. Whichever comes first."

The cab slowed down. Stopped. Erik stared out the window at familiar snow-covered trees.

"This the place?"

Erik nodded and grappled with the door. After a minute of this, Leslie reached across him to open it for him, and Erik remembered that cabs cost money. He reached for his wallet.

Leslie waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. You go and drink a lot of water and get some rest, eh?"

Dumbly, Erik nodded.

"And ... don't let my brother get to you."

Erik shrugged.

"Good man," said Leslie. He ruffled Erik's already messy hair and his long fingers brushed Erik's forehead as he pulled his hand back. "And good night, Thor."

As Erik shut the door, he could hear Leslie giving the cabbie the address of Dustin and Ash's place.

Erik trudged back to King Place. He was confused, sticky, messy, too hot, and sure to have a killer hangover in the morning. But he wasn't in jail and he made it inside without collapsing in the snow to freeze to death.

It was almost like things were looking up.