New Year's Eve champagne had me in a spin. If we had to post up under-grad duty on a holiday, I'm glad it was with Sam.
I checked him out, but he already had his eye on me as I leaned up against the aquarium tank breathing hard – trying to clear my head. Sam, of course, wasn't his real name; it was Sandal – originally from Delhi through Oxford.
He ogled me, but I didn't mind. I'd heard he wanted to score with an American blond and I really liked him. Oh, God, that proper British accent of his gave me goose flesh. He looked more suntanned than dark, the proper cross mix of genes: a Delhi father and a British mother. He walked over and placed his hand on me just in time. I swooned into his arms.
He said, "Not that I mind a smashing bird in my arms, dear, but maybe you ought to sit down. I'll do the walk through on the tanks, jot down the numbers and all that."
"Hey, Sam. Why are you so freaking cute?"
"Could be the booze? Or maybe it's fate, what?"
I eased down on a bench nearest a tank containing several cuttlefish. The champagne rush lashed through me. The smell of salt water and cephalopod did not mix well with booze. I was raging hot, I stood to fan myself and unbuttoned a few buttons on my blouse.
Cuttlefish eyes peered out from the thick walled tank.
"Sorry", I apologized to the cephalopods. They stared back. "Hey, listen, don;t be so judgmental - my boobs aren't that big, my bras are all dirty and there was no time to wash today. So you'll just have to avert your big-eyed gaze; you damn dirty minded things."
I laughed out loud, and then slid back down on the bench. The next thing I remember, Sam shook me awake.
"You take a doze?"
"Yeah, I guess so." My head was strange, like some of my circuitry was rewired. I had always been the girl to hold my beer, even taken shots of tequila when the pre-med girls were puddles on the floor. What was wrong with me.
"Well, good. I checked on the tanks and everything is fine. Paperwork all filled out until the six in the morning checkup. Even the new kraken-thing is straight out all right."
"Octopussy?" I asked.
"Right. Bizarre turd." Sam related. "I finally got a chance to take a good look at it and its charts. Professor Neinhuils usually won't let us near it, so this is as close as I've been. You know, Old Nine Heil, is wrong, it's got an extra pod – or well, it looks like a pod. Just doesn't show it when the lights are full blare, but I saw it just now."
"Sam, I don't think it's right to call him a nazi. He is world known; the reason I came here to Ark in the first place. And it's a bit disrespectful since he is Norwegian – not even German."
"Yeah, I thought the same thing for a while. I worked a lot of more angles to get here to Arkham U. and be part of his graduate program. However, you wait until you take BIO 567. Damn, blackguard, he - makes Gehring look like a fumbled Adam Sandler. Sod a dog, sixty bloody books to read in one semester and the godawful hours of dissection."
Just then a moan crept through the facility. "Pretty damn creepy, here, at night." I said.
"I've pulled six weekends this semester, trust me, you get used to the noise. The tanks are so heavy the the concrete wails as the temperature cools outside. Not as bad in the summertime."
"So what's Octopussy like?" I asked.
He said, "It's not a bad sort, not to be pulled from the coast of New Zealand and dragged back to Arkham. I was crankier when I flew over from Heathrow."
I laughed.
"Actually, It's damn sporting of you to pull a shift with me on New Year's Eve."
"I needed the credits." I lied.
"Well, I think I'll have a run at another glass of bubbly." He said.
He walked over to the makeshift ice chest – a specimen bucket of shaved ice - and poured the chilled bottle into a paper cup and he sipped. He was such a hottie and I loved how he took little sneaks at my open blouse. Damn, why was he being such a gentleman?
Just come closer, honey, I thought.
As if by telepathy or whatever they call it – he did.
He handed me a cup of champagne and I drank it down.
"That's a bit fast, Luv, don't you think? That'll go right to your head." He said.
"Not my 'head', babe, a little lower. I have a nice - wet rush."