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Compartmentalization.
A big word that meant jack all if you didn’t actually know how to do it. Engie had explained it as a sort of state of mind. When you’re at work, you’re in a working mindset; when you’re at home, you’re in your home mindset. It’s why eight certain shmucks could run around all day laughing at violent murders and go back to their beds and still consider themselves the good guys. Engineer said Demo was bad at it; too empathetic- too muddled in the mind. As far as Demo was concerned, they could all compartmentalize THIS DICK.
...
Demo was not drunk enough yet.
He knew better than to drink on the job, one too many trips through respawn made sure of that. But knowing better and acting better were vastly different things. He’d barely been useful to his team during their battle today, but at least he wasn’t actively a detriment. That usually got him put in the dog house, and sometimes respawning was easier than putting up with the guys when they were pissed.
Whatever reason drove him, Demo hadn’t drunk nearly as much today as he usually did and the effects were catching up to him. Clarity is scary when you live your life blurred behind whisky. Or rum. Or scrumpy.
The images pushed through his mind without his will, of bloodied bodies of teammates and enemies alike. The knowledge that they were people just like him, who liked drinking and liked their teammates -to some extent- ate at Demo. Laughing and screaming, his friends, bullets, explosions, respawns. And at the end of it his mom, and the job he works to make her comfortable. All of it, any of it, none of it, on the mind all at once.
So when all else fails and the memories are too much; get aggressively drunk as quickly as possible.
Demo had more than a handful of stashes of liquor around the base. Most already knew about the case in the ammunition rack or the collection of bottles on the top shelf in the kitchen. Easily accessible when he ran out of what was in his room. But that was the quick and cheap liquor. He kept his favorites, the most flavorful somewhere almost no one on the base ever went.
The broom closet.
More specifically the one nearest the basement, behind Engie’s workshop, far from the living quarters. Truth be told, Demo did most of the cleaning on the base; no one else was willing to clean up his vomit. Most of the other guys were willing to do a bit of their share when necessary but mostly stuck to their own spaces. Demo didn’t like spending too long in his own room usually. No fun in drinking alone.
He thought idly about who he could bother into drinking with him as he swayed his way to the closet. Heavy was usually down for a drink or two, and he did have some of that Russian beer left. Then again, Sniper had seemed in high spirits during the battle today which meant he was in one of his rare sociable moods. Always best to take advantage of those when they arrive.
Demo whistled to himself as he reached the closet and pushed the door open, taking a few steps in to grab the chain to activate the light above him. The closet was big as far as closets go, and Demo had taken the time to turn it into a den of sorts, with two plastic chairs facing each other in front of the racks with the cases on them. He never brought anyone here, of course, it was just there to prop his feet on. Actual cleaning supplies were pushed to the side or stacked on the shelves to leave just enough space to be comfortable without having the smell of a filthy mop bucket too close. It was tranquil; cramped but homey in a way that Demo had grown used to.
And there was currently someone else in there.
Across from the door, Demo locked his eye on the rubbery shape that was Pyro, standing behind one of the plastic chairs holding a bottle of what advertised itself as Tequila. Pyro was stock still, frozen like a deer in headlights and Demo shared a similar feeling. It was like a moment that didn’t want to be broken, the two facing off, barely breathing while watching the other like a wild animal. To Demo’s surprise, he noticed the arsonist’s mask slightly askew, as if they had hurriedly placed it back on their head.
Demo opened his mouth to speak and Pyro in the same moment Pyro grabbed their Flare Gun from their hip and pointed it at Demo. They took a step back, running into the rack of liquor and making it shake violently. Demo was more concerned about his liquor stash spilling than he was about the gun pointed at him, immediately rushing forward to steady the structure.
“Don’t move around like that ye idiot you’re goin ta spill!” Demo knocked over a chair as he pushed forward, Pyro flinching away from him like a frightened child. Demo grabbed at some of the glass bottles to stop their fall as the rack settled back into its place. The clinking of glass settled down and Demo turned back to Pyro who held the Flare Gun limply in one hand, and the tequila tightly in the other. Demo could only snarl.
“Don’t point that damn thing around here, there’s enough ethanol in this one room to cook us both like a steak!” He pointed harshly at Pyro and they put the gun back in its holster almost shyly, now holding onto the tequila with both hands almost like a child would.
Honestly, Demo wouldn’t have been surprised if Pyro was a child or one of those adults whose brains worked like children. He’d heard about a condition like that once from a drinking buddy growing up. Something about stunted mental growth. With Pyro’s overwhelming love of childish toys, sweets, and colors, it was the closest thing Demo had to guess at what Pyro’s deal was.
The idea of a giant psychopathic kid with a bottle of hard tequila was something to be concerned about. (Which was big talk coming from Tavish, who’d had his first beer at 10.)
“What the hell do you think you’re doin with that?” The words sounded weak on Demo’s tongue even to himself. He was the last person to ever try to act responsible around alcohol but he didn’t know what else to do.
“Mmmhm mh hhunh” Pyro mumbled through the mask. They were slowly relaxing from the overwhelmingly tense look they had had to them when Demo had first turned the light on. Demo could only scratch his head through his beanie with a sigh.
“Can’t understand a damn thing you say, lad… That being said if you were plannin on drinkin that you’re welcomed to stay.” If reprimands weren’t going to work the least he could do was keep his eye on the kid. Pyro perked up immediately, swinging into action to grab the toppled chair and position them next to each other. Demo reached into the crate before he took his seat, humming to himself as he decided before he grasped at a bottle of scrumpy. The drink was practically his blood at this point so even if he drank twice the bottle he would still be sober enough to watch Pyro.
As he took his seat his beer-addled brain caught up with him. How the hell was Pyro going to drink the tequila? Were they finally going to take off their mask? Did Demo even want to know what was under the rubber? Were they hot?
The questions answered themselves swiftly as Pyro made their way to the door and shoved the mop bucket in front of it. It didn’t lock the door by any means but would slow down whoever decided to open it. Demo could only raise an eyebrow as Pyro turned back to him, grabbed the chain to the light and plunged them into darkness.
In the dark of the closet, the only light was the slight tungsten that seeped under the crack of the door. What little light showed only succeeded in ring lighting Pyro’s rubber pants before the light reached its limit and faded. Demo could barely see the outline of his own hand in front of himself; and even then he knew how sometimes the mind would imagine shapes in the darkness where it knew there was supposed to be one, even if his eye couldn’t actually see anything. There was a shuffling of rubber as Pyro moved.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Ya plannin to kill me or something?” The question was more of a joke, but the very real possibility still lingered in the air. Even if Pyro was secretly some kid, that kid was capable of killing people with their bare hands; it was a kid who laughed gleefully as people screamed while being burned alive. Demo was starting to wonder what he had just allowed to share a drink with him when he heard an entirely unmuffled pyro speak.
“No, I just don’t like being looked at. Sorry, I’ll leave if it’s weird.” The vague form of a person shifted from foot to foot in front of Demo awaiting a response.
“Hell of a voice you’ve got there.” Demo replied before his brain caught up to his mouth. He could only hear the sound of Pyro’s shy chuckling as he mentally kicked himself. Usually, he didn’t care for what nonsense came out his mouth when he was drunk, but he was barely on the edge of sober enough to be self-conscious. He remedied this by taking a hefty swing of his bottle as the vaguely human shape squeaked forward to take the seat next to him. Luckily they had seemed to take his word vomit as an invitation to stay.
“Yeah, blame it on the smoke inhalation.” Their voice was jokey before falling silent as Demo could only assume they were taking a drink.
“Didn’t expect you to drink tequila. Or I suppose drink at all, really. Was starting to think you were just a wee lad under that big mask.” Demo shifted in his seat, propping his feet up on a loose box of toilet paper now that his normal foot chair was taken.
Pyro hummed their response. “Yeah, I think most of the guys here think I’m some kinda kid. Not my fault unicorns are awesome.”
With the help of the minimal light seeping through the cracks in the door, Demo could just barely see the faint outline of a mass of curly hair. No real face was visible but Demo was grateful that it meant the shadow at least hid his face too. More specifically the embarrassed look on his face upon realizing Pyro already knew what people thought of them. Best to change the subject.
“So how the hell did ye know about my stash?” he questioned before taking another swig.
“My room’s in the basement next to the boiler. Was trying to clean up a spill when I found it all.”
“Why the hell do ye sleep in the basement? They have rooms for everybody in the living quarters.”
Their response was a moment later. “Like I said, don’t like being looked at. Didn’t want someone to see me on accident.”
Demo only hummed in response, the two lapsing into silence. Demo hated the quiet moments. Drinking together was supposed to liven everybody up, not make it all awkward. At the very least, he could make it worse so it was a funny kind of uncomfortable.
“So what’s your deal anyway? You act like a little girlie with rainbows and lollipops then you burn people alive?” Not the most eloquent, but to Demo’s surprise, Pyro laughed.
“Ha! Like you’re much better mister Whisky-For-Breakfast. Your bombs turn people into gibs, at least my way they look beautiful.”
Demo could only smirk. “I’ll have you know it’s Margarita's for breakfast, Whisky is for early lunch.” Pyro snorted. “And if you call the smell of burning flesh beautiful I’d hate to see what you think gorgeous is.”
“Why do you think I wear the mask? It’s so I don’t have to smell burning garbage 24/7.”
Demo gave a harsh laugh at the insult. He’d be lying if he said he had expected Pyro to make a good conversation partner. The kid usually said very little, although he was starting to suspect it was because no one could understand them, not because they didn’t have anything to say.
Demo wiped a tear from his eye as Pyro countered. “So what about you? You drink every second of the day and you want to ask what my deal is?” Demo paused before responding after a long gulping drink.
He couldn’t keep the somber tone out of his voice. “We live in a crazy, crazy world, lass. Why deal with all the blood and guts when I can drink my worries away? Can’t have any issues if you can’t see past your next drink.” He wiped the spittle from his mouth, almost surprised by his own answer. He didn’t usually answer questions honestly, or eloquently for that matter. Pyro didn’t seem to mind.
“I can drink to that. I don’t usually like drinking unless I’m celebrating or need to get distracted for a bit.” They took a sip before they continued. “Only reason I needed a drink tonight is because I scared myself earlier.”
“Scared yourself?” Demo prompted. There was a stretch of silence before Pyro responded, their voice slightly lower than it had been.
“You drink so you don’t see it. I surround myself with rainbows and colorful stuff so I don’t see it. Makes it easier not to feel bad about hurting people when I can convince myself I’m sharing something beautiful with them. Sometimes though it’s not beautiful. Sometimes it just burns and it’s mean.” There was the sound of shuffling and squeaking as Pyro pulled something from a pocket. A click and a spark later and they were holding a lighter a ways from their face, in between the two.
“Fire; the way it lives, the way it moves. It’s like a living, breathing rainbow that I get to share with people. It’s a music only I can hear. Even if we don’t like the way it burns at first, when you embrace it, when you see it for what it really is; it changes the world in one fell swoop. For better or worse.”
Pyro was sitting on Demo’s left, right in his blind spot and he was only now cursing himself for it. Whatever light shone on Pyro and illuminated their face was lost to the cyclops. He could have very well turned to get a better look but the arsonists' words had him rooted in place. Whether from fear or from awe Demo couldn’t tell.
“...Ya know I used to see explosions in a similar way. Not rainbows necessarily but something I could share with people, to get them to understand me better. Never quite worked, mostly just got me fined for destruction of public property.”
Pyro laughed, shutting their lighter with a clink before shifting and taking another drink of their tequila. “Maybe you and I are more alike than I thought.”
“I could say the same damn thing, lad.”
The two lapsed into another silence, but for once Demo couldn’t complain. This silence was a comfortable one; underlying respect permeated it and made it warm. Eventually, it was broken by Pyro’s cracked voice.
“Thanks for letting me drink with you Demo. I need to get back to my room but maybe we can do this again sometime.”
Demo smiled in the dark and reached over, clapping Pyro’s shoulder with a strong hand. “I’d love to finally have a proper drinkin buddy again, lad.” Even through the dark Demo could feel Pyro beaming at him.
They stood slowly, putting the bottle back in the crate before pulling their mask back on. Demo stood up slower, bringing his bottle with him. Even if Pyro was reaching their limit Demo still had plenty farther to go before he could sleep comfortably.
Eventually, Pyro pushed the mop bucket out of the way and opened the door. Demo blinked the sting out of his eye as he adjusted to the bright light of the hallway. Pyro turned to start heading in the direction of the basement before turning around.
“Mmmh hh hhmm mmhhhp hhmm!” They waved cheerfully.
“Have a good night, lass!” Demo responded hoping it was an adequate reply to whatever the kid had mumbled.
The two went their separate ways and Demo realized with a frown he didn’t know who he was going to drink with after this.
Hopefully, Sniper was still up, he thought to himself as he made his way through the base, humming, with a little more than a spring in his step.