A Glass of Dragonnay

DONNA

MAGIC CENSUS MOTION ACCEPTED

Faerhan security was at the forefront of discussions during last week's parliamentary sitting. President Fidr's proposal for collecting more data on magic creatures received high praise from both the werewolves and minotaur parties. The fae party pushed negotiation to exempt their people from being part of it, raising concerns about discrimination and witch hunts against those with royal blood powers, arguing that ancestry should not be regarded as a crime.

Plumb Rainington, "Magic Census Motion Accepted." Pixie Matters Magazine, June 16, p.1

Iclose the door with a back kick, my aggressive heels thrusting me into the living room. I curse them! It's just a matter of time before that blister on my little toe pops.

I don't remove my trench.

I don't remove my shoes, and I don't turn the light on.

Yeah,werevision alright. That's how upset I am. Animal!

Calm down, Donna... Cool down.

It's just this... this decrepit vulture. I'm-I'm... "I'm going to rip your arteries and slurp on them like straws! Little bitch, low fucking desperate, old saggy, fucked-up bird!" It feels good to scream it out, but it's not enough to lower my blood pressure and...

Andtake this, you bloody chicken! My handbag explodes on the couch as I give my best hurl. If only she had been sitting there. If only!

A cracking sound comes from my smashed tote. Please, not my phone again.

What we have here is just the end of another exciting weekend with my boss. In fact, I doubt she knows what a weekend is. If an asshole had a beak and wings, it would look like Ms. Kravenen.

This harpy is the reason I'm aiming for the fridge, why I'm drilling my claw into the cork of a bottle of dragonnay. And why it's so easy to drink from the bottle.

Of course, I don't forget who raised me. With my mother in mind, I open the cabinet and pull a wineglass out, not forgetting to swallow a few gulps from the freshly opened bottle along the way.

Then Ifill the glass to the brim because I can.

I want to snap Ms. Kravenen's little feathered neck that looks nothing more than a crooked twig! From the moment I wake up, this persistent feeling follows me throughout the day until I finally close my eyes again.

'Donnaaaa, your report,' or 'Donnaaa, my coffeeee.'

Sipping on my wine, I eye-defy the door facing me from across the room. I haven't seen Fay much these last few days. It was a quick cup of coffee in the morning, and I came home during lunch to eat with her. Tried my best to be present––this fae has never been good at coping with solitude, which I don't mind, not really. Anything to break away from my boss is a blessing at this rate.

Music is booming from her poor door. I can see the thin wooden planks vibrate from the bass. I'm starting to think this fairy views the world as a party, her room a disco ball she can sleep in.

Apathetic numbness spreads over my face as I hear a voice sing along to this old vintage tune, "Because I'm evil..."

My boss's cawing doesn't have time to leave my brain-damaged self from this job I hate so much thatElfisis beating the poor insides of it.

What is she up to? Sunday, damn it... and it's almost midnight!

The blow of mine. Anyone would feel for me right now. Bright light emerges from the door's crack, making me feel uneasy.

And indeed, I cringe as I push her door.

I don't need to scan her den-style room, nor scrutinize oodles of clothes and other shoes piled in a corner, her undone bed like a murder happened in there, or her wide-gaping window. And don't get me started with the bouquets of flowers. It's a nightmare in here...

I'm pretty much used to Fay's lifestyle and hygiene—the fact that she comes and goes as she pleases, blissfully unaware of what it does to others in her path, or the fact that she has no qualms in leaving empty yogurt pots littering every surface. Only Fayra's books have been spared from this chaos, stacked like trophies on their gilt-edged shelves. With a special green someone at the top of her list—I have every right to believe that!—at least she's being clear about who is second... Paper.

She's all dressed up and, knowing her, has somewhereto go. Perched on high heels, she's leaning over her dressing table, slapping mascara on her lashes, her vanity mirror lights beaming strong.

"You're looking for trouble?" I joke, picking up a line from the lyrics. I'm like this mother hen friend—the boring kind—and I'm not like this usually. I was born a wild wolf!

But Fay is something else. She's a child in an adult's body.

"Don't you know? It's my second name," she exclaims, turning her head to beam her radiant blue eyes at me, then winks like she's got it.

She hasn't.

She's sad.

In fucking drunk denial from the glass of feykila dancing unsteadily in her clutch, the other hand waving her mascara stick in the air.

I lean against the frame, crossing my legs. "Going out?"

Fay turns her face toward the mirror, drops everything on the vanity with a clank, and takes a seat on a green puffy stool. She's hesitating to respond, and I frown.

Picking up her brush, "Yes," eventually, and may I say, flatly, blows out of her.

"It's Sunday."

"The City of Hope never sleeps," she mocks the headlines as waves of hair lift to her energetic strokes. And then she snorts and chuckles, almost triumphant. "Honestly, coming from someone who throws parties on Sundays, your reaction is close to an oxymoron."

"And you're a moron."

"That sounded desperate," she jests.

Very much was.

Doing this for you, Tyke.

Maybe for me. "I don't think it's reasonable for anyone to go out, not at times like these. The city's plagued by crime. Night owls are targets," I stare at her in the mirror, "even more so, young fae women."

Fay brings her lips together without really pressing them, allowing that long exhale to last forever. "Come on, Donna. Don't be a show-stopper. Plus, President Fidr said not to worry. In fact, it's her call to action, urging citizens not to give in to fear, hide and cower. And the incentive she gave with her speech couldn't be better, since I'm broke."

"What a president, giving the fae free access to alcohol in every night venue." Fidr is so... I shake my head and close my eyes, inhaling what feels like half the flat's air.

"Might not come to that. Might even be invited for a glass." Her tone tweets like it's funny!

"What's his name?" This girl is making me so nervous, I'm chewing on my nails, and these feel like claws, whichare,by the look of them. She's causing me to shift with her stupid life choices.

Without detaching her gaze from her reflection, Fay draws in a deep breath and smiles. Upon seeing her mouth form the word, "Vym," I feel my werewolf nerves buzz. Vampiric name... Vym's a vampire, bet my precious vintage bottles on it.

"He's a vampire. Am I wrong?"

Clipping some fresh flowers in her hair, she throws me a bitchy, "Obviously."

"You're stupid."

"My third name," she drolls with that weird drunk cackle, fingers folding over her drink.

"Give me that." I walk toward the dresser and try to snatch the pathetic glass out of her hand. "You think Vym wants to date a wine bag?"

"He wants to drink a blood bag." She giggles, victoriously dunking her glass as I miss grabbing it. "Don't worry. I'll only allow him to dance with me. I'm a good girl now." She lifts herself from her seat, then places her frost-like high-heel shoe toward me, throwing her silken blond hair behind her back, smirking with irresistible charm. She's fascinating.

I-I...

... love her too much for something to happen to her.

She's shimmering as if her body was covered with powdered crystal, her liquid-like black dress shining a little darkness. It's got a thigh split, like she's indeed looking for some trouble.

"You know what they say about vampires... You're being an idiot."

Groomed, her sudden luminous wings blind my eyes, her face darkens, the air thickening with a familiar substance as she snarls, "You know what they say about orcs, Donna?"

I cough and take a step back. I think I hit the nail a little too hard…

Fay's emoting. Her magic is poisoning the room—stupid, love-binding pixie dust.

"I'm sorry. It was out of place," I say, a part of me feeling coaxed.

Her face grows bigger on me as she approaches, her icy eyes calming my nerves. "Vampires are like any of us. They breathe, they feel, they love." Fay's warm palm slides down my cheek.

Fairies...

Na?ve creatures beyond saving.

And yet, here they are, dominating the world, with one ruling over my heart at this moment.

But then fear grows on my scalp when I realize she's let her hair down, fake flowers clipped to the length like a rose just gave birth to her an hour ago.

Only one person gets her to do this...

Nope. I'm not letting her near those bloodsuckers! "I'm coming with you."

"Ah-ah," she tuts, flicking her finger to the beat of her saccadic noises. "No. You can't."

"I am." I open her pantry. Everything is already displayed for a night out. She has it all—designer bags, heels with gold, others with snakes, and all the expensive red fucking soles. I exhale, thinking about my rent—the portions she still owes me—and pull out a red skirt, a blue top, and black heels. It doesn't match, but who cares.

I'm coming with her.

The door slams inches from my fingers.

"I said no, Donna. Thank you, but I got this." She sits back on her jade-tufted seat, her lighted mirror giving her this complexion only fairies have.

Except Fay is flesh and bonefae. She doesn't even need makeup.

My lungs jerk as I watch her prepare for another shameful episode where she will end up sobbing on the pavement, her bladdered self calling me at four in the morning. It's always those that have it all that need to trash what they have. There seems to be a universal rule that beautiful souls must self-destruct.

"Mind selling a pair? It could help with the rent," I ask, staring at her in the mirror.

"Take them all. Those are gifts from a fashion designer on upper Sixth Street I used to see on weekends before T?—"

I can see her eyes dim as she stares at herself.

"Tyke?" And yes, I'm not hiding my sneer.

She's dead eyeing me from across the mirror's reflection, her wings ruining the carpet with glitter.

I plaster my thumb on the wall I'm leaning against. Fay knows what I'm implying from those kitten eyes suddenly bulging as my digit remains where it is. The hoover is hiding in the cupboard backing this exact wall.

"Later?" she titters, her lips mated with rouge. She's gorgeous and irritating me. Not for herFaerishadorably cocky personality, although it could. But I'm not the jealous type. I love this girl like... like my sister. One I could feel proud of if I didn't feel overprotective of her. It's more because of her life choices.

It's like watching an egg with legs running across a herd of behemoths. It's aging shit to look at.

My shoulders sag. "Where is this meet-up?"

"The Restless."

How cliché. The hangouts of the elite, wannabes, and thugs—mostly elves, fairies, and occasionally, vampires.

She grabs her little purse, doesn't even secure it across her body, the strap dangerously licking her heels, but never seeming to catch it. The girl fell into a cauldron of good fortune, and no matter where she stumbles, her fate remains unscathed...

The yellow phone she's about to grasp buzzes on her dresser, and she stills for a second or two before chucking a heap of blonde locks behind her shoulder, exhaling the most annoyed breath I've ever heard hollow out of her.

"Tyke?" I bark merrily.

Her jaw clenches as she shoves the vibrating thing into her bag, eyes slanting to a place between her shoulder and the window. "Deon."

Of course, it's this Deon. My eyes hop between the unopened chocolate boxes and fresh flower bouquets she's dispensed at her bed's foot. Fay didn't even bother putting them into vases because we don't have any left—they're all filled, resting all over her dresser and bedside table. This guy is trying so hard, it's pathetic.

"Why don't you just have a talk with him? Give him what he wants to hear, like, 'Apology accepted,' and be rid of him once and for all."

"Can't do that with friends."

"What?"

She places a hand over my shoulder—the 'look, I've got this,' hand. "Had he been a nobody, I would have picked up his call long ago. But Deon... I've known him for a couple of years now. I don't want to admit this, especially after what happened, but he's a good guy and, most of all, a friend. That's why I want his suffering to last."

Lips rumpled, I nod. "Fair enough."

"What's your plan?" She wryly sighs, slinging her arms in her sheer pvc trench coat. Her first purchase with her first salary; in fact, with her entire salary...

Anyway. "The One That Got Awaywith this actor, um..." As I search for his name, I walk toward her sound system and switch it off.

"Ryan Goblin?" Fay says, climbing on the window frame.

"Yeah... Ryan Goblin, with a glass of dragonnay and my wolf self." I'm even thinking of shifting to snuggle into my tail. Sad, is it not?

She jumps back into the room, skitters toward me, and startles me with a kiss. "Wish me luck."

"Luck..." I mumble, watching her shadow dissipate into the night, anguish swelling inside me. At least, her wings are back to their former glory. As for the rest of her? It's all a flying red-herring.

I shouldn't be doing this, but here I am, typing.

Tyke

11:53 pm

She's going to The Restless.

What's your point?

She's already drunk.

Heading now.