Chapter Text
Rody felt how the bottle looked; green, dizzy, and out of control. The ice cold of the freezer was pressed up to his back, and he felt like a half hot-half cold stick of ginger with the way the flooding warmth of the alcohol in his system reacted with the chill of the temperature. The chatter of voices were numb to his unhearing ears, eyes cast upwards and content in a day dream in another world.
Until someone nudged him playfully and he jumped halfway out of his skin, letting out an embarrassing shriek. His bottle clattered to the ground, beer seeping out of it and a slur of apologies fell from his lips as he began hastily sweeping it up with his hands.
“It’s your turn, Lamorree!” one of the chefs called to him, leaning over to soak up some of the drink with his hat. Vince would probably go feral once he found out after he was back from his business trip, but hey, they still had three days before he was supposed to be back so they would probably have time to hide the evidence.
“Right, right…” Rody sat back, sliding down the freezer door with his knees up. “What were we doing again?”
A collective sigh came from the group. Rody cringed at his idiocy.
“Spin the bottle, smash or pass.” A very drunk chef responded. The tips of Rody’s ears turned a bright pink. “Whoever it lands on has to answer, smash or pass to 3 different names.”
Internally, Rody was sobbing and wanting for his couch and some well-deserved sleep. Externally, Rody grimaced a grin and nodded.
“Great! Ok, Élisabeth, you first!”
“Jane Fonda!”
Rody thought for a moment. “P-pass.”
“Natalie Wood!”
Again, he pondered awkwardly for a moment before answering, but he was cut off for a moment by Marie. “And, you have to say at least one smash, so think carefully!” She wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. Rody wanted to hurl.
“P-p-pass.”
The group looked around at each other, smiling mischievously before Jean spoke up last. “Vincent Chabornneau.”
Right. Now Rody was definitely going to throw up. Pass out. Fucking die.
“Don’t worry, Rody dear, we’ll let you change the order just this once.” That smile was faker than a teen girl’s nails.
Rody thought for a moment, grabbed a large bottle of beer and chugged the thing in one go, then thought again as best as he could. Really reasoning with his choices. He suddenly felt a little high, confident, very honest. He spoke at last.
“Pass Wood, pass Fonda, and hardest smash of my life on Charbonneau.”
The silence in the room stretched thinner than a BigMC patty as all eyes fell on the crookedly smiling Rody, before a low giggle broke out.
“No, I’m serious!” Rody animatedly threw his arms about, bottle still in hand and dangerously close to flying and hitting someone. “I mean, Pierre, have you seen that waist? And those legs?”
Pierre nodded in agreement, laughing with the rest of them.
“I mean, I can just imagine–have imagined–how hot—”
“Tell us more, Lamoree.”
The room was immediately silent. All eyes turned to Rody, slightly above his head. The blood drained from his face, and the room was so quiet you could’ve heard a pin drop. A sharp, echoing footstep sounded from behind Rody. He felt the door, which he hadn’t noticed had been half open, behind him fully open, toppling him backwards. He looked up with bleary eyes, and when his vision focused he almost choked. Emotionless black eyes stared back at his wide, terrified ones. Black hair was gelled back, as per usual, and a disturbingly bloodied apron was tied in a neat knot around that waist.
“What, cat got your tongue? Not feeling so high and mighty anymore, eh?”
Why in the everloving fuck was Vincent Charbonneau here? Wasn’t he supposed to be on a business trip? Rody felt so confused and simultaneously horrified. Holy fuck. Vincent had heard everything he had just said. The blood rushed back to Rody’s face in a deep, flushing scarlet as he squeezed his eyes shut as if doing so would wake him up from his terrible nightmare.
The man’s commanding voice rang out throughout the entire kitchen. “Everyone, out.”
Rody attempted to stumble to his feet but coughed and sputtered as Vince placed a firm foot on his chest, preventing him from getting up.
“Except you, Lamoree. You can stay put.”