Hero (herogear) wrote in parallel_fic,

Social Nights

Friday's here again. That can mean only one thing.

A Party. Capitalization intended.

Tonight's Party will be like all the others since I've moved in. Trish and Doug will be trying their damnedest to set me up with someone. By now I don't think they care who, as long as it's someone. The irony here is the more desperate they get, the more saddened I am by this, and less likely I am to socialize. I'm not looking for a quick lay, or a date. I'm not looking for anything, really. I just want to find people who are fun to be with. People with conviction and integrity.

People with soul.

"Hey Slugger," chimes Doug. I swear, the kid's whiter than I am.

"Oi," I reply, "another Party I assume?"

"Come on now, you know we do this all for you. We only want you to be hap-"

"Don't finish that sentence. I am happy, thank you very much. You want to play matchmaker because you somehow think that being with someone or getting a piece of ass makes for a better existence than the one I have."

"There you go again - making something so simple so complicated. I swear, if she only gave you the chance you wanted, you wouldn't be so uptight."

"Oh yeah," I cue in sardonically, "bringing that up puts me in such a Party mood."

"I'm just saying," says Doug. Yeah, always 'just saying,' "you make it sound like you have such a stoic attitude. If she were around, you'd drop it all in an instant."

"Yeah...and that's exactly my point-"

Trish has been watching from the corner now, and it only takes a second to recompose. I'm not gonna have this arguement again. Especially not with the two of them. We've been living together for what? 4 years now? How long do they continue to ask me to fit in with what they think is happy?

After the 'discussion' dies down, Trish walks back into the kitchen. The Party is always a pot-luck affair, but she insists on cooking something for our behalf. I've offered a few times, but she's the type who finds calming solice through doing things she's a natural at. Plus, I'm awful at cooking.

So the afternoon runs on - Doug tags along for the beer run and Trish cooks. None of us speak of the pink elephant sitting in our home. I know what they've got schemed, and they know I know. So why refer to it as -

"Tonight's get together will be splendid," coos Doug.

Yeah. Get together.

"Sure," I sigh. "BRING ON THE WHORES!"

He didn't take to the joke. Maybe irony doesn't work the whiter you get...?
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