Ruined Nights: Part 2
#2 of Ruined Nights
"This is a good cognac," I remarked somewhat wetly as I reclined in the deep plush leather chair, one arm resting nonchalantly on the huge arm. The drawing room was massive, to say the least, fitting in nicely with the rest of the villa. I couldn't help but compare the sheer size of the house with the comparatively miniscule hospital room I had been taken prisoner in for so long.
"You remember your liquor, it seems," replied William, who was busy pouring himself a third glass of the same. He swished his tail erratically as he made his way back to his seat on the couch next to Sylvia, who was still holding her first glass, only barely touched. She was still smiling at me.
"I don't know why," I said to William rather solemnly, my eyes, however, fixed on Sylvia. I took another sip and looked desolately into my glass, continuing to say, "I wish I did."
"Well, I certainly hope you don't plan to spend your time here so glum," Sylvia said, lightening the room a bit with her voice.
"I don't remember you," I said to her, feeling so damn guilty. "I don't even...know you." The last words struggled to make it out of my muzzle, and Sylvia could only respond by coming to sit on my lap, fitting easily with me into the huge chair.
"Then get to know me," she said earnestly, smiling some as she beheld my eyes. "Over dinner, perhaps?" she added, glancing at her watch and getting up again.
"Good idea," William said cheerfully, standing up quickly. I smiled wryly, though sincerely, and got up as well, working for a second to gain my balance. After a quick change of clothes, we were back in the convertible (top up this time), its smooth sheen reflecting the night as if the darkness were a mysterious other world.
I always felt more at home, more at peace, during the nighttime. I don't know why--it always just felt more natural and safe. Perhaps it's because of how we used to go out all the time, or so I've been told. In any case, the night air smelled wonderful, tingling marvelously on my tongue. It tasted like nostalgic summers of a lost childhood, where all one might have to worry about is how many fireflies could be caught that evening. A night on the town seemed to hold much magic, and tonight was no different.
We parked ourselves a ways down the street from the fine downtown restaurant, since William never trusted the valet parking. Strolling casually towards the restaurant, we passed a dark building emanating a deep purple flashing light from within its tinted windows, and a loud noise that sounded like radio static fading in and out, but with no distinct signal coming through.
"What is that place?" I asked, having to raise my voice to a near-shout over the static sound.
"It's a rave--a dance club," Sylvia hollered back.
"Where's the music?" I asked, somewhat confused.
"We're shouting over it now!" the small vixen replied.
"This static noise is music?!" I asked incredulously, my voice slowly returning to normal as we passed far enough out of the sound's radius.
"It's the latest thing," William said, grinning.
"You don't say," I scoffed, and the three of us made our way up to the restaurant's entrance, where the doorman--a small young tiger--nodded and smiled as he let us in. The fading static-music quickly was replaced by the soft ballad being played by the live big band in the restaurant. "They have a dance floor," I remarked, somewhat in question.
"Yeah," Sylvia smirked, "but you were never much of a dancer. We could try again tonight, if you want." She winked at me, grinning widely, and I was left only to smile back as we were led to a small table in a room adjacent to the room with the dance floor. A small aquarium built into the wall next to our table had some tropical fish swimming happily about.
"Those look expensive," Sylvia said as we sat, nodding towards the fish in the aquarium. "They appear to be of the rather rare sort."
"That's how they were designed," William replied casually.
"Designed?" Sylvia and I asked in unison.
"Watch carefully," William said, and we all stared at the aquarium instead of our menus for the first couple minutes, the big band in the next room heard to be playing a bright tune. After a moment, I had to do a double take, because it looked as if one of the fish...well, it's somewhat strange to try to describe. It looked like it flashed and fizzled in a way, as if it were a bad television signal getting static, the "picture" of the fish flickering in and out for a couple seconds before it returned to normal and continued swimming about.
"It's a television?" I asked, confused.
"Not quite," William answered. "The aquarium and water inside are all quite real, but these 'expensive' fish are nothing more than a new type of 'living art,' if you can call it that." William snorted at the fish and took a sip from his glass of water the waiter had just placed in front of him.
"Holograms, then?" Sylvia suggested.
"Not exactly," William said again. "More like a computer program--a crude form of AI that allows for some interaction."
"Interaction?" I repeated. "How? You mean we could touch them?"
"Well, as much as I think the restaurant would frown on you fetching your paw into the aquarium, yes, you could touch them. They'd feel as real as any natural fish. I personally think the concept is far too underdeveloped."
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, I feel I can speak frankly on this, being an artist myself. They call this 'art,' but it's really nothing more than a way for the restaurant to save a few grand by not getting real versions of these tropical fish. Plus, the technology behind it still has many bugs to it. You saw how that fish flickered. It really shouldn't do that."
"I think it's remarkable," Sylvia said gleefully.
"You would think that," William jested.
We returned to our menus, reading quietly for a few minutes until the waiter came back and took our orders. While waiting for our food to arrive, I took up Sylvia's offer of getting to know her again by asking some simple questions. She turned out to be Sylvia Fawn Shadows, who enjoyed (among other things) good literature and independent films.
"What do you do?" I asked her.
"Less than you, which is saying something," she answered.
"Why is that?"
"I inherited my millions from my father, who was a big captain of the oil industry. When he passed away, his company passed to the stockholders, and I got the estate."
"You must feel really lucky."
"Lucky?!" she spat incredulously, laughing rather darkly at the idea. "I hated my father and everything he stood for. He was obsessed with making money, and little more ever entered his mind. It drove my mother to an early grave, and left me to accept the only life I ever knew: a life lived in vast riches, where I didn't have to worry about working or education. I'd change that, if I had the opportunity."
"I don't understand," I began. "If you have all this free time and money, why not just get an education or a job? You could go to any university you wanted!"
"It's not as simple as that," she said dejectedly. "My father knew how much I loathed his money-worship. In his final will--written when his years of business-related stress was finally taking its toll on his brain--he fixed it to where I would lose all my inheritance, including having to pay back anything I had spent previously, if I attempted to find work or attend a college. I accept the life I live in now out of necessity, and only you and William here have really made it worth living at all." She attempted to smile at me, which I returned, though not really knowing how I should feel. "You've given me happiness, Midnight--a concept my father never understood."
"I wouldn't go that far," William interjected. "Everyone understands happiness, on one level or another."
"I don't think happiness was ever in his nature," Sylvia said quickly.
"Well, I disagree. I happen to believe that happiness is nature. After all, that is the point, isn't it?" William replied. "Making yourself happy, I mean. Personal desire."
"I beg your pardon?" Sylvia replied.
"Well, think about it," he started. "Everything we do, every choice we make...isn't it all based on our one single instinct--to make ourselves happy?" Sylvia and I simply shrugged, so he continued. "Think about it. Why do you live where you live? Why do you watch the films you watch, or read the books you read? Why did you order what you ordered from the menu for your dinner tonight?" He cocked a crooked grin, and left us dangling for a moment.
"Because we're hungry?" I offered, leaving William to turn his wry smile into a slightly annoyed frown. "Because it's what we want," I said more plainly.
"Precisely!" the zebra exclaimed, his smile returning. "It's what you want, and, quite naturally, you want what will make you happy! I mean, think about it: Who ever chooses something that they believe would specifically make them unhappy?"
"What about going out of your way?" I argued. "You know, doing something that makes you uncomfortable for the benefit of someone else? Say...a friend?"
"Then you're simply sacrificing one happiness for a different happiness you hold in higher regard. If you go out of your way to make friends happy, then it's because you find happiness in making your friends happy."
"You make it sound almost selfish," I said in slight disbelief.
"Maybe that's because it sort of is selfish," he answered. "But such is our nature as the sentient beings of this world. We can't deny natural instinct--not something so basic as this. Might as well go along with it, right?"
"But there are rules, right?" I said. "Unwritten codes of conduct on how to go about it? I mean, you wouldn't go killing someone just because it made you happy, would you?"
"That's where it becomes a matter of perception," William answered. "Some people would believe that the negative consequences for murder would be outweighed by the happiness that the murder would bring them."
"So what's your point?" I asked, having become intrigued.
"My point is...the food's here, and I'm starving, so it would make me very happy if I could just eat." He winked at me and began to chow down as soon as the plate was set in front of him. Sylvia and I followed, eating in relative silence, admiring the swinging music coming from the big band close by.
"You know," I began after a while. "You never have filled me in on what exactly I did for a living."
"Oh, that," William said casually, looking up from his near-empty plate. After taking a sip from his glass, he continued. "You were an artist."
"Really? Like you?"
"Not quite, my friend. I'm a sculptor, primarily, whereas you worked as a freelance animator."
"Was I any good?"
"You did moderately well, worked on a couple of independent animated films and web comics."
I closed my eyes tightly, concentrating hard, trying to bring up any sort of memory of what I used to do. "I think..." I began, but never finished. Next thing I knew, I was in the sky over some open fields, falling fast towards the earth as it zoomed dozens of feet closer by the second. I was panicking, looking every which way, scrambling to make the parachute on my back open. The impact was coming...oh, god, why wouldn't this damn thing open?! I was going to die, I knew it...I heard a distant screaming... Everything was a blur of blue and green, and then it all went black.
When I opened my eyes, my vision was blurred by tears welling up in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks. My side hurt, and I noticed that I was laying on the floor, crouched into a fetal position.
"Oh, my god! Are you alright?" Sylvia's voice rang clearly as I was helped back to my feet. I wiped the tears from my eyes as I tried to catch my balance and figure out what had just happened. Looking around, I saw that everyone in the room was staring at me, making me feel even more uncomfortable.
"Come on," William said urgently as he threw an arm around my shoulder. "I think we'd better leave." After paying quickly for the meal, William hurried me out, and we made our way back to the car.
"What happened in there?" Sylvia asked concernedly, clutching me tightly to comfort me.
"I'm not sure exactly," I said, still disheveled from the whole ordeal, trying to recall the images that had just flashed before my eyes moments ago. "I think I remembered the few seconds before the accident." Sylvia and William paused and regarded me carefully, shocked expressions exchanging between them.
"Are you certain?" William asked. I paused a moment to think.
"It felt so real," was all I could say.
"We'd better get you home," William said, and started moving again. That night was long and restless for me, as I recall.