time.
Van set a steaming cup of liquid in front of her.
"I told you not to drink that Get Outtah the Truck Bitch. You get sick every time you drink them.
"I am aware of that, Van Gar." Drew spoke carefully, so she wouldn't wake up the sharp pains in her head again. "After all, you only said 'I told you so' seven hundred times last night while I was throwing up my liver and spleen."
"Well, that's seven hundred and one, then." He worked at keeping the smile off his face. "I've just about got the mess cleaned up now."
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Drown in vomit?" Van suggested.
"What a pleasant thought," Drew said with a snarl.
She let her head flop on the console in front of her, and then fought the wave of nausea that washed over her.
"Oh! Please! There couldn't possibly be anything left in my stomach. Oh, never again, Van. Tell me. Did I make an ass of myself?"
"No more than usual."
"Did I dance naked anywhere?"
"Just topless. No one seemed to notice."
"That's always comforting. Did we have sex?"
"No," Van said with a laugh. "Not unless you consider holding your head outtah the toilet to be fore-play."
"You will tell me if we ever have sex, won't you? I mean, I'd hate not knowing." She groaned loudly. "Oh, God, Van! I wish I would just die and get it over with."
"No such luck, babe. Drink your medicine, you'll feel better. I'm going to go finish cleaning up the mess."
"Oh, that's right. We couldn't have the ship messy when the royal bitch gets here. Go ahead—abandon me in my hour of need . . ."
"Your hour of need was about three o'clock this morning. Why have you already decided to hate this woman?" Van Gar pushed the cup closer to Drew, and she picked up her head and made a face at the smell.
"There's just something that galls me about the thought of royalty. The idea that someone is better than me simply by right of their birth. Like being born is something you have any say in. I mean, what happens? Does a sperm scream out, 'No! no. Don't put me in that wretched pussy, I want to go in that Royal cunt!' I don't fucking think so."
Van Gar laughed. "You're a twisted bitch, Drew." Still laughing, he left to go finish cleaning up the ship.
Drew waited till he was out of sight, then she stumbled over to the disposal chute and tossed the Chitsky's hang-over remedy away. Then she went back and sat down.
"I feel better already," she mumbled, looking at the empty cup.
She decided that no matter how hard it might be, she was not going to let Erik know she was hung-over.
"So! You must be Drewcila Qwah," declared a booming male voice.
"Why? Doesn't anyone else want to do it?" Drewcila answered, as she spun around in her chair to face her boarders. "And besides that's Qwah as in my way !"
"Excuse me?" Facto asked.
"Drew's attempt at humor, I'm afraid," Erik said.
"Stop screaming," Drew said holding her head. "I've got a headache."
"And I'll just bet I know why . . ." Erik started.
"Are you sick?" Taralin asked with real concern.
"Get Outtah The Truck Bitch," Drew answered
Taralin looked taken aback, and Erik laughed nervously. "It's the name of a drink," he explained.
"Are you trying to say that she's hung-over?" Facto asked in disbelief.
"Hey! Erik! I thought you said this guy was dumb," Drew said.
"I never said that," Erik assured Facto.
"I am Taralin Zarco, and this is my chamberlain Facto." Taralin tried to change the drift of the conversation.
"How come you get two names and he only gets one?" Drew asked suspiciously.
"Drew! For God's sake!"
Erik threw up his hands in defeat.
"I took on the name of my husband when we married . . ."
"Cause ah him being King and all, I suppose?" Drew was tired of making idle chatter. She turned back to the console and gave them directions over her shoulder.
"You'll find
Van set a steaming cup of liquid in front of her.
"I told you not to drink that Get Outtah the Truck Bitch. You get sick every time you drink them.
"I am aware of that, Van Gar." Drew spoke carefully, so she wouldn't wake up the sharp pains in her head again. "After all, you only said 'I told you so' seven hundred times last night while I was throwing up my liver and spleen."
"Well, that's seven hundred and one, then." He worked at keeping the smile off his face. "I've just about got the mess cleaned up now."
"I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Drown in vomit?" Van suggested.
"What a pleasant thought," Drew said with a snarl.
She let her head flop on the console in front of her, and then fought the wave of nausea that washed over her.
"Oh! Please! There couldn't possibly be anything left in my stomach. Oh, never again, Van. Tell me. Did I make an ass of myself?"
"No more than usual."
"Did I dance naked anywhere?"
"Just topless. No one seemed to notice."
"That's always comforting. Did we have sex?"
"No," Van said with a laugh. "Not unless you consider holding your head outtah the toilet to be fore-play."
"You will tell me if we ever have sex, won't you? I mean, I'd hate not knowing." She groaned loudly. "Oh, God, Van! I wish I would just die and get it over with."
"No such luck, babe. Drink your medicine, you'll feel better. I'm going to go finish cleaning up the mess."
"Oh, that's right. We couldn't have the ship messy when the royal bitch gets here. Go ahead—abandon me in my hour of need . . ."
"Your hour of need was about three o'clock this morning. Why have you already decided to hate this woman?" Van Gar pushed the cup closer to Drew, and she picked up her head and made a face at the smell.
"There's just something that galls me about the thought of royalty. The idea that someone is better than me simply by right of their birth. Like being born is something you have any say in. I mean, what happens? Does a sperm scream out, 'No! no. Don't put me in that wretched pussy, I want to go in that Royal cunt!' I don't fucking think so."
Van Gar laughed. "You're a twisted bitch, Drew." Still laughing, he left to go finish cleaning up the ship.
Drew waited till he was out of sight, then she stumbled over to the disposal chute and tossed the Chitsky's hang-over remedy away. Then she went back and sat down.
"I feel better already," she mumbled, looking at the empty cup.
She decided that no matter how hard it might be, she was not going to let Erik know she was hung-over.
"So! You must be Drewcila Qwah," declared a booming male voice.
"Why? Doesn't anyone else want to do it?" Drewcila answered, as she spun around in her chair to face her boarders. "And besides that's Qwah as in my way !"
"Excuse me?" Facto asked.
"Drew's attempt at humor, I'm afraid," Erik said.
"Stop screaming," Drew said holding her head. "I've got a headache."
"And I'll just bet I know why . . ." Erik started.
"Are you sick?" Taralin asked with real concern.
"Get Outtah The Truck Bitch," Drew answered
Taralin looked taken aback, and Erik laughed nervously. "It's the name of a drink," he explained.
"Are you trying to say that she's hung-over?" Facto asked in disbelief.
"Hey! Erik! I thought you said this guy was dumb," Drew said.
"I never said that," Erik assured Facto.
"I am Taralin Zarco, and this is my chamberlain Facto." Taralin tried to change the drift of the conversation.
"How come you get two names and he only gets one?" Drew asked suspiciously.
"Drew! For God's sake!"
Erik threw up his hands in defeat.
"I took on the name of my husband when we married . . ."
"Cause ah him being King and all, I suppose?" Drew was tired of making idle chatter. She turned back to the console and gave them directions over her shoulder.
"You'll find
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