Bloody....Mary?

[Meera Alam]

  “Yes, that’s far enough, Gaston,” Meera murmured as the large oalf wheeled her up to the bar. He was a handsome, strapping man, but had cow dung for brains. Her wheelchair almost collided with the bar itself before she said something. The large French man only grunted, scooping her up from the chair and setting her down gently atop a stool. The Atharim were not extravagant, but they had seen fit to ration out a man-servant for her needs… At least when she was not on the job. Gaston was quiet and easy to look at. That was all Meera cared for.

                “Yes, thank you. Do wait over in the corner, out of the way, Gaston. I shall call you when I am ready to depart,” she said testily. He nodded, folding down her wheelchair and wandering into some dark, smoky alcove off to the right. Meera hated using the man, but one did not discard a tool that was useful. She could have gotten by on her own just fine, but there was a certain ease that came with the Frankenstein-like servant. She signaled the barkeep, “Moscow Mule, please.”

                Sure, it was cliché to be drinking such a thing in Russia, but the taste of Ginger and vodka was too palpable to ignore. The barkeep whipped the drink up in record time, sliding it over to her. Meera took a long drag, throwing her head back, sighing in blessed relief as she set the glass back down on the bar. Reaching into her clutch, Meera drew out a gold plated cigarette case and had the barkeep light her Virginia slim. This was living. Far away from the worries and stresses of everyday life, no thoughts of her duties as the Mirror of God, no comprehension of the Atharim. Meera often wondered how much of her life was her own, but such thoughts were foolish. She had been placed here for a purpose, and she would fulfill that purpose… But she was also entitled to a little release. Sure, there was no blood or viscera insight, but who said such things were the only way to achieve a high?

                Her head swam with the chemicals infusing themselves into her bloodstream. Yes. This was good. A lithe, well-dressed man sat to her right, hands running through his hair. He wasn’t unattractive. Quite the opposite. In fact, he looked like just the type of man she preferred to break in. Oh, her legs might not have worked, but the other parts were intact. He was well dressed and clean cut. Most men that looked like that usually wanted a dominatrix or something domineering. Yes. Just the type Meera got along with. A shame such men had to hide their urges, obscuring their true reflections from the world, but such was life… And as the Mirror of God… Well, Meera’s duty was to expose such deprivations.

                The dapper man held a copper cup in his hands, much like the one Meera held before her. She held up a finger for the barkeep, “One more.”

                Another Moscow Mule was presented to her and she slid the copper cup to her right, eyeing the man, “Penny for your thoughts?”

                Tonight was meant to be a way to unwind. Oh, she loved the blood and the gore, but she needed a different kind of high tonight. She would unwind. She’d find a way to do so, even if, in the end, it involved slicing up an unsuspecting mortal.