Chapter Text
A pounding headache and what felt like the world’s worst stomach bug was what replaced Cindy's alarm clock that morning. The pillow she was cuddled up to smelled weird, but she just figured she was really hungover from last night. Her mattress was firmer than usual, and she didn't recall the texture of the comforter changing overnight, but she could've been wrong. Come to think of it, she didn't remember anyone taking her home last night… unless…
Oh no.
Slowly opening her eyes, Cindy realized that she was in possibly the worst outcome of the night— she was in someone's bed. She slowly looked around the room. Vortex felt even sicker than before, but not just because of the alcohol. This was a bad place to be in. It would've been a lot less embarrassing to face if it was just a random stranger she met at the bar and then got busy with him after a few drinks.
But no! No, no, no, no, no! Fate had clearly picked out a more comedic and demeaning outcome for darling Cynthia. And what was the disgustingly sour cherry on top for this delightful little situation?
Cindy wasn't in just any hotel room.
She was in Neutron’s hotel room.
Cindy jolted up and looked down at the bed, heart pounding against her ribcage like a criminal to iron bars. Did something bad happen? With Neutron of all people? Ugh, this had to be the worst place she'd ever woken up after getting blackout drunk. Cindy's head was spinning, both figuratively and literally. Her hands shook as she ripped away the covers like a freshly laid off businessman rips off a tab from a help wanted ad posted on a telephone pole. Vortex looked frantically around the room until she spied a folded note labeled “Vortex” on the nightstand. She inspected for a small while before ultimately deciding she needed to open it.
It read:
Vortex
As you can probably tell, I had the displeasure of bringing you home from Nick and Betty’s intoxicating reception party. From you slurring in the car to nearly vomiting on my shoes, I'm not sure what my least favorite part of this experience was. Why I didn't take you directly home, you may ask? Very simple explanation: my car is freshly cleaned and I was not about to risk you heaving your Cindy juices all over my dashboard— puke is not an easy smell to get out, but I guess you've gone nearly noseblind to it considering what other smells you can somehow stomach.
Before you freak out and start calling the police, nothing happened. I'm sure you're as disgusted as you can be, but let it be known that I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole for various reasons (mainly because you're a shrew)— I slept on the armchair.
By the time you read this letter, I'll be gone helping Carl and Bolbi clean up the venue. Let me know if you need anything. Don't get any ideas about touching my stuff— I have gadgets everywhere.
Jimmy
Cindy stared back at Jimmy’s letter to her with complete confusion. She didn't know which thought she hated more— the fact that Neutron willingly took her home and took care of her drunk self, or that Jimmy was continuing on their will-they-won’t-they banter through a note. Now that she thought about it, the only thing she really remembered was calling Neutron a hunk muffin to Libs…
Dammit!
Libby must've set the whole thing up!
Cindy adjusted her hair in the mirror before storming out of Jimmy's hotel room to go give Libs a piece of her mind. And she had to get away from Neutron— she was thoroughly embarrassed and was not about to deal with teasing from Jimmy.
EIGHT HOURS EARLIER....
Jimmy drove home silently while listening to Cindy drunkenly sing along to the radio, slurring with pretty much every word— it was like mumbling’s drug addict cousin at this point. It was funny... in an endearing way, not that Neutron would ever admit it.
His biggest hope for this part of the night was that Vortex wouldn't toss her cookies all over his newly cleaned car. Not that he couldn't handle the sickening stench of fresh vomit, but he just cleaned the damn thing. Hobbes was a pretty town, and just an hour or so away from Retroville.
Neutron wasn't about to drive an hour to drop Cindy off, though— not in a drunken state. It wouldn't be fair or safe to her. He flicked the homemade lever for his blinker and turned into the hotel parking lot to check in, a stumbling Cindy clinging to his arm. It looked the exact opposite of what was truly going on. Neutron didn't know what was worse: the fact that Bolbi and Carl would assume that Neutron was a skeez-ball since they were all on the same floor, or that he was being a supposed skeez-ball with Cindy.
Cindy Aurora Vortex.
Jimmy checked into the hotel and slung Cindy’s arm over his shoulder so she could get into his room in one piece. He was hoping— praying— she wouldn't freak out and assume the worst when she woke up hungover in the morning. Neutron half walked, half stumbled his way down the hallway’s ugly plush carpet until he eventually found his room number— 976. It wasn't a huge hotel, but the numbers were kind of wacky. Unlocking the door with his tarnished brass room key with a click, he sat Cindy down on the bed and got her a glass— or rather, Dixie cup— of water from the sink. Jimmy handed it to her.
Cindy stared at the paper cup in her hand and scowled at it. “What's this?” she slurred, looking up at Jimmy.
“It's water, Cindy. It's good for you,” Jimmy replied with a caring snicker, sitting down in the armchair across from her. “You should drink some, it'll help you feel better.”
Cindy looked at the Dixie cup and back at Jimmy. “Who's to say I don't feel great right now?”
Always one to fight. Jimmy rolled his eyes sarcastically. “You won't feel good in the morning, I promise you that much.”
Cindy flopped down on the bed, a big grin on her face— it was unnatural, even for Vortex. She mumbled something about him being a hunk muffin…?
Jimmy didn't think much of it. He stood and made sure Cindy was laying down in a safe-ish position for if she had a spontaneous expulsion of her belly juices— yuck. But asphyxiation was no joke, and as long as Cindy was in Dr. Neutron’s care, she wasn't dying of puke today. Just as he was going to recline the armchair to go to sleep, Cindy grabbed his hand.
Jimmy felt his heart jump. He weaseled his hand out of her light grasp. “What is it, Cindy?” he asked a little too quickly.
“You look really handsome, Jimmy,” she slurred.
As soon as he heard it, Jimmy immediately felt a warm bubbly feeling in his chest like when vinegar meets baking soda, but he brushed it off. No way Miss Stick Up Her Ass would admit that so easily, even if she did think it— which she clearly didn't. She was just drunk. “You don't mean that,” he snickered.
“Yes I do,” she whined. Cindy yawned. “I'm gonna take you home and bake you into a pie…”
Jimmy couldn't contain his laughter. “Then what's all this about being a hunk muffin?”
“I can make multiple desserts,” Cindy groaned. “What are you laughing about?”
“Nothing, Cindy.”
Jimmy turned out the light and got comfortable on the armchair, giving Cindy the bed. It was the least he could do, and someone needed to keep an eye on her to make sure she was alright in the morning. He sighed and rolled over, thinking about what a long night he'd had. Cindy was out like a light switch. It was weird, being in the same room as her like this. Jimmy wasn't sure how to go about this situation. Let it be? Tease her? Not discuss it? And why was he strangely alright with this arrangement? Jimmy sighed and tried to get some sleep.
PRESENT TIME....
At the wedding venue, Jimmy was trying to weave his way in and out of cleaning things up in order to avoid any sort of conversation about how he obviously took Cindy home after the wedding— Bolbi, Carl, and Sheen were all giving him smirks and knowing glances, but Neutron had moved to different sides of the room to avoid any and all conversation in the hopes that it would prolong the inevitable questions that were on their way to knock him down like bowling pins.
Jimmy, unsurprisingly, had gotten up as early as he could and as quietly as he could so he didn’t have to face the reality of Cindy in his hotel bed— it was suspicious looking from any angle...
...Also, he had no idea if Cindy was a morning person or not, and he'd rather not find out (yet). He assumed not.
If Miss Libby had anything to say about it, she would say something along the lines of, “Denial is a river, and you’re drowning in it.”
Jimmy felt a tap against his shoe as he was up on a ladder, taking down floral arrangements that were mounted on the walls of the wedding hall. Sheen and Carl had snuck up behind Jimmy, unnoticed, to berate him for answers on what Cindy was doing in his hotel room at midnight.
“So, was it good?” Carl asked, stifling a snicker.
Jimmy looked down to see nothing but the giant shit-eating grins of both of his two closest friends that stretched from ear to ear. He scoffed. “Whatever you two are doing, stop it.”
“I think we should be asking you the same question, Jimmy— what were you doing with Cindy last night that you had to bring her to your hotel room, huh?” Sheen smirked, wagging his eyebrows up and down at Neutron while giving him a little nudge with his elbow.
Heat flared up in his face like Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. Jimmy was blushing profusely at such an inappropriate accusation. “Nothing happened. Miss Libby said Cindy needed a ride home, and she nearly puked in the fifteen minutes I was driving, so I figured it would be easier just to take her to my hotel room so that she could sleep away her drunkenness and take care of a hangover the proper way— lots of rest and water,” Jimmy stated in hopes to sully all of the teasing. “I slept on the armchair,” he added.
“Sure you did, Jim,” grinned Carl.
“Did Cindy also ‘sleep’ on the armchair?” Sheen questioned, making air quotes with his fingers. Suddenly, Sheen got a mouthful of lilies as Jimmy threw a giant arrangement of said lilies at his face.
Jimmy rolled his eyes, trying to forget all the hunkmuffin comments from the night previous. He stepped down from the ladder as he spoke. “No, there was nothing like that last night, Sheen. All that happened was I got her a Dixie cup of water to help sober her up— then she slept on the bed, and I slept on the armchair. That’s it.”
“But was there any sleeping?” Carl asked before receiving a majestically painful elbow in the ribs from Jimmy.
“You like Cindy, don’t you?” Sheen teased, giving him a playful look.
No, Jimmy couldn’t exactly deny that one, but he wasn’t going to outright admit it, either. Lying was the easiest solution rather than a lifetime of torturous teasing. It was a mistake to bring Cindy to his hotel room, but it was so much safer than letting her find her way back home, drunk as a skunk, and risk getting kidnapped or violated. “Shut up. I don’t like Cindy.”
However, Jimmy's face said otherwise. Sigh.
“No, I suppose not…” Carl sighed. He and Sheen shared another glance. “You love Cindy.”
Whack!
Another loving elbow to the ribs, this time hard enough to make Carl cough a little.
“Nothing happened with Cindy, and it never will,” Jimmy grumbled as he stormed out.
As Jimmy was stomping out, he felt his heart sink. He felt alone. If what Cindy had drunkenly said to him about how she felt was true, maybe he'd have a chance, but he was too much in denial to even admit that to himself.
ELSEWHERE...
Finbarr Calamitous was a disheveled old man with gray hair, bad teeth, a British accent, and glasses that would have anyone who didn’t know he was a big, bad mob boss telling him that he was a doofus. This meeting was very special— it was to figure out how to simultaneously ruin Sam Melvick’s life and take over the Candy Bar with his loving henchmen. Zix, Tee, and Travoltron sat in plush red velvet chairs with dark glazed lacquer on the fancy decorated wood of said chairs. His office was tacky and gaudy on one side, but dreadfully plain in a few areas. Unfinished, you could say. If anyone knew anything about Calamitous, it was that he couldn’t finish anything. The lights were dim and lit up a warm yellow glow around the place.
Calamitous sat behind his mahogany desk and twirled his mustache evilly. “Well, boys, I have a plan for you three.”
Zix quickly spoke up, running a hand through his greasy black hair. “How are we taking down the old man?”
“Ah, that is for me to tell and for you… uh,” Calamitous trailed off because he forgot the saying.
“To find out?” Tee interjected.
“Yes, exactly. First order of business— we need to find out how many breath mints he has in his restrooms. Then, we steal them all, and nobody will want to go to his bar ever again because his world-renowned loos are missing their precious breath mints,” Calamitous snickered.
A heavy sigh came from Zix. “That’s your plan? To steal Sam’s breath mints? Have you gone off the deep end? We need to rough up the guy, give him something to cry about. Give him the chills.”
Travoltron, ever stupid, interrupted. “Ooh! I got chills—”
“Shut it, Travoltron!” Zix barked, smacking the back of Travoltron’s head. He turned back to Calamitous. “What I was thinking was that we ought to do something to that one hag he’s going steady with— Winifred Fowl.”
Calamitous’ eyes went wide. He let out a low whistle. “Dang. That old hag hasn’t kicked the bucket yet?”
A collective groan resounded around the room. No, she was not dead.
Zix cleared his throat. “What I was thinking, Fin, was that we do something to her— kidnap her, ice her, anything. Just something to make sure we got little Sam Melvick wrapped around our fingers.”
“And then what?” Calamitous mused, enjoying these plans.
“Roughing up just Sam isn’t enough— trust me. The boys and I have tried; it never works. Asking him for more money for us to keep our mouths shut isn’t enough, either.”
Calamitous sighed, running a hand down his face. “Ah, but I do like milking his salary for our own benefit. McSpanky’s House of Steak was the greatest front we’ve ever thought of, and we wouldn’t have that if we didn’t blackmail him.”
Zix, Tee, and Travoltron nodded in agreement. Zix continued. “After we ice Winifred, we slowly take out his employees until all that’s left are the stupidest employees of the joint— we recruit them for McSpanky’s. When all of his employees are gone, we find any and all relatives of the guy and take them out, too. Make sure it’s gruesome and brutal.”
Tee smirked. That was his favorite part of the job.
“What do you suppose we do with Sam, then?” Calamitous replied, eyebrows raised in confusion.
“We take him in, and kill him in one of the most brutal ways possible. Haven’t thought of how exactly, but brutal is as brutal does. First, we should try and break up Sam and Winifred to cause him even more heartache. Your daughter’s still single, right?”
“Yes, you would think that she would be if she’s a wench who puts aglets on shoes,” Calamitous muttered. “Shall we fake some cheating, for old time’s sake?”
“Sounds like a fair deal,” Zix smirked.
The two shook hands, and phase one of their plan to ruin Sam's life was just about to snowball into complete disaster.
That same evening, Sam had just gotten inside of the Candy Bar to open up the bar and get things started, even if most (if not all) of his employees were still in Hobbes. The lights were off and it was dark inside the bar. The Candy Bar, like any other bar, hadn’t many windows to avoid displaying how disgusting bars can be. What was weirder was that it appeared he had forgotten to turn off one of the lights— his power bill was going to skyrocket this month…
A lone light strung above the unwiped bar countertop that Sheen was usually responsible for cleaning illuminated the thick, tan cardstock paper envelope that housed what looked like a letter.
A letter?
For Sam?
Who would write him?
Unfortunately, Sam had a guess— mainly because his last name wasn’t even fully written. It just said “Sam Melvi” and then a few squiggles. He sighed.
It was no doubt a letter from Calamitous…