Mechanical Maniacs: Life After Life

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

CHAPTER 8: Close

In my old age, I've come to understand a lot of things. Experience is a much better teacher than any other, and experience only comes with time.

I understand, for example, that I am emotionally damaged. The death of my close friend so many years ago scars me even still, and prevents me from forming a truly close bond with anyone. I keep people at a distance so I don't get hurt like that again, even though I silently admit to myself that there are at least seven other people I don't think I could bear to lose.

I understand that in times of great personal crisis, a level head and a rational brain can help you see the truth of any matter, and while I have ignored that kernel of wisdom a lot, especially recently, it's still a good lesson to pass on to future generations.

I also understand that some people behave a certain way based on their emotions. Certain people act in a motherly manner because they feel motherly love for the people around them. Like Classi.

I woke up with my head in a fog. I recalled, vaguely meeting Classi last night, although I couldn't immediately recall where or how. Turns out, surprise, surprise, I'd been drinking last night. I heaved a sighed and rolled out of bed.

Right onto the floor.

"Mmmfm" I swore into the carpet. I picked myself up slowly, trying to account for the exploding lights and swirling vision. I was pretty good at it by now. The colors were my friends. They made the world a better place, I guess.

Then there was a sound that made my head clear faster than... okay, there isn't a good analogy for that. My head hurts too much.

"Hmm... What happened?"

I snapped my head up, a little too fast. Through a fresh array of indescribable agony, I saw Classi buried happily under the blankets. "Er... nuthin'?" I stated, to the best of my knowledge.

"Okay," she said dreamily before she drifted back off into sleep.

I snuck out of the room, taking happy note that I was still fully dressed in the somewhat dishevelled clothes I'd been wearing yesterday, so I knew that nothing... compromising had happened. The was just like me, apparently. Needlegal ORDERS me not to do anything stupid and what do I go out and do? God knows what, really, but it ended up like this. And this looked pretty stupid.

I hadn't seen Classi in years. More recently than the others, given that we both stuck around in Monsteropolis and refused to apologize for the lives we led before, but it HAD been almost a decade. What the HELL was she doing HERE, NOW, and with ME of all people? I'd have thought Kenta's Classi Radar would've led him to her before now.

...Wow. I must have been REALLY drunk last night to have a thought like that. It didn't even make sense.

I stumbled into the kitchen and sat down on the first thing I deemed up to the task of supporting my body. Collected my thoughts. Last night was an undeniable blur, but every scrap of my rational brain assured me that there was a perfectly innocent explaination. I mean, seriously, I was drunk. She probably helped me home and stayed to make sure I was okay. Sounds just like the Classi I know. That explaination covered why I'd be passed out drunk on top of my sheets... but not really her being UNDER them. And in the same bed.

In my old age, I've come to understand a lot of things. Unfortunately, my rational brain has failed me more times than I can admit to being strictly comfortable with. That makes me less than happy.

I made a decision to basically forget about Classi being in the next room until after I'd eaten something. I quietly put together some scrambled eggs and bacon, both for my own hungover sake as well as that of my sleeping guest. I was about halfway through my plate and a glass of orange juice when she shuffled out of the bedroom, still wrapped in a blanket.

"Morning," she said in a tired but cheery tone. Classi'd always been much more a morning person than I.

"Mrf," I returned through a mouthful of eggs. Then I remembered myself and swallowed. "Uh... hey, Class... Um... there's some eggs an' bacon over on th' stove if yer hungry."

"Ah, thank you," she smiled.

I watched her shuffle over to the stove and grab a plate. "So, uh... Classi. About last night..."

"Yes?"

"Well... what happened?"

She laughed. "Well, you WERE pretty drunk, just like usual."

"We didn't... er..."

"Good heavens no," she smirked as she sat down at the table across from me. "You wouldn't do anything like that to me. You really don't remember?" I shook my head as she dug in, and she told me the story in between bites of food.

Last night, I'd done some bar hopping. I can tell you that because I remember that much. I fell in with a group of other guys who I didn't know at all but seemed okay, and we'd buy rounds, get a little rowdy, and get kicked out, so we'd move onto the next bar. The more bars we hit, the bigger the group grew.

We finally ended up at a dive called Rosco Flats. I remember the name because it described all his beer. Flat and stale. By that time, though, I didn't care. You could've served me used motor oil and I'd have called you my brother. This was the point of the night where Classi spotted me, and followed me into the bar, to try and talk to me, because she hadn't seen me in ages.

Getting through a large group of drunk men to try to talk to a specific drunk man is difficult for a woman. Any woman, really. She met with some trouble from my new 'buddies' and it wasn't until the voices started to raise that I noticed she was there at all. She kept telling the creeps to leave her alone, and they wouldn't.

Like a gentleman, I stepped forward to defend my friend, and that's when the fight started.

I got the tar kicked out of me, but I gave as good as I got. To hear Classi tell it, I put down four or five other guys before she dragged me out of there. She tried to take me home with the slurred directions to my apartment that she could get out of me, but some of the guys from the bar tailed us, and before we could leave the District that Rosco Flats was in, they came after us again. Four guys on motorcycles with knives and bottles and pipes.

Classi shows me the cuts on her shoulder and arm, poorly bandaged, where the shards of broken glass from the bottles got her. Has ice on her head for the blow she took that turned her legs to jelly. Talks about how she got torn up defending me, and then tells me how I defended her.

Brawling has always been my specialty. Living life in a bar room, you get used to fights that spring up and die out, fights you don't start but you intend to finish. It saved my life many times, in many situations, and the out and out dirty tactics I sometimes employ help tip the scales in my favor. So when she told me about the broken arms, black eyes, cracked ribs, and busted knuckles I handed out to each of them, I wasn't as surprised as you might think.

Not bad for late forties, huh?

I apparently insisted that she come back here with me so I could patch her up, since it'd been my fault she got banged up in the first place. I apparently wouldn't take no for an answer. I apparently passed out in the elevator up to the apartment. In all fairness, that sounded exactly like me.

As she spoke, my handover subsided, the explosive, colorful pain in my head giving away to a dull roar that reported from a lot of areas on my body. Bruised knuckles, a split lip, a few minor cuts and abrasions, and my arms felt like lead. Fortunately, there were a few days to go before the big day went off, so I should be heaked up before then.

Oh, yeah. Crap.

"Classi, this 's gonna sound wierd, but there's something ya need ta know...." I started to explain.

I told her everything. Killing Diveman, the Middleman, Needlegal's plans, the rehearsals, Kenta's arrival in Monsteropolis, the makeup, everything. She did not seem at all surprised.

"Truth be told, Hadrian, hun," she said almost as soon as I'd finished, "I have something YOU need to know, too."

What she had to say didn't really surprise me either, but if it were a competition, she would have won on 'most surprising news.'

Life had just gotten a lot more complicated, and at the same time so much, much simpler for me.