caught up in living my life in the fast lane

If Mike was ever good at anything, it was hyping people up. No, correction: He was good at a large number of things, with making love and looking good and, he supposed, magical surgeries at the top of that list, but he was pretty darn good at hyping people up too. If life was a contest, he'd be right there at the top, receiving awards one right after the other and pissing off everyone else because he hoarded all the talents and wrapped it up in a package with a jaw so square he could be a cartoon pilot.

Where was he going with this again? Ah, right, the continuous chanting of "50 cent beers!" that had been going on and off in the faculty lounge since he announced that Gomorrah was going to have 50 cent beers for the night. It was probably terribly unprofessional, and they were starting to piss off their co-workers that affected a more serious demeanor (Michelle included, sorry sister, I love you), but Mike was of the opinion that if you couldn't handle fun, you should probably crawl back into your dark, damp cave, Smeagol.

After their shifts concluded at six, the teachers rejoiced and passed by the hallway, chanting "Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer!" Michael trailed off at the back, keeping tabs on who was going when he stopped in front of one of his co-worker's office.

Jacob? There should probably be introspection here about his opinions on him, but he was too hyped about getting turnt on a Friday to give a shit. He knocked on his wooden door in a happy rhythm and popped his head into his office, Hollywood grin in place. "Jaaaaaacob, don't tell me you're going to work extra hours. Come and join us, man!"


@"Critical"

Aw, balls. Was Jacob going to play hard to get with him? How on earth could someone turn down his offers? Did he just hate fun? Michael could just shrug this off and head out with the gang, but he took a certain pride in being a smooth talking hot shot. Someone saying no to him felt like the worst kind of rejection. It invalidated everything he stood for, man. He slid into his office, raising an eyebrow at Jacob as if to ask him, Seriously?

"Dude, duh! It's Gomorrah beer. They're selling them at a discount in celebration of the owner's daughter's birthday. I highly doubt Gabriel Baltimore would ruin his club's reputation just to swindle people out of their fifty scents. And, besides~" He stood in front of Jacob's desk, grinning mischievously. "It's a bonding thing for all of us teachers. How many friends have you made other than Wong, seriously? Come with us and have fun!"

That wasn't so hard. All it took was a few well-timed 'mmhmm's and a cocked eyebrow at I know Lelei to get what he wanted. Handsome and silver-tongued. Man, he really was the full package.

But, man, so stiff! This wasn't either of the stiff ones Mike was hoping to get for the night but, you know, he was a such a good person. Got Mr. Straightlaced Former Bad Boy out of his boring ass office, hell fucking yes. This was the work of the gods. He should reach sainthood after his death. Jacob was either going to thank him for his generous service or, more likely, get angry at him for pulling him into drinking after his possible hangover. Either outcome would be entertaining, anyway.

Michael led the way out of the office and into the parking lot. As soon as Michael saw his expensive silver Cadillac at the Islets teacher parking lot, he tossed his keys in the air and caught it, entering his car with a spin. He gestured for Jacob to take shotgun.

Michael turned on his car radio, and smiled fondly as his and Damon's party mix began to play.

Christina Aguilera. Still relevant.

"Got Mr. Cunningham to go clubbing with me," he said, sort of teasing, mostly smug. "I'm sure all the fangirls at the swim team would go after my head."

Not that Michael himself lacked fangirls, but they tended to be of a different caliber. They were older, sharper college students, or the kind of high society girls that wanted to marry an Ashworth and a handsome MD.

"Talk to me about yourself, buddy. It takes half an hour to get to the Strip."

So, Rebecca his car drove like a dream, as always. GPS, surround sound stereo, plush leather seats, and smooth driving performance made the quarter million he paid for her totally worth it. He still, from the bottom of his heart, wanted that sweet black convertible he found in men's magazine, though. As he and his sister liked to say, nothing less than the best. He drove them out of the parking lot in a breeze

"Dear god, if you have to start 'talk about yourself' with uh, it reallyyy looks like you should get out more." There we go! Out of the school and into the city. He chuckled about the stuff with Lenn. "Yeah, I heard. Islets people gotta keep tabs on everyone. That's part of our job. But, man, she's a piece. Congrats on that. You guys have been together a while, you think you're gonna tie the knot soon?"

Not that that would ever be something Mike would encourage. Marriage, monogamy, children and settling down were concepts that sent shivers up his spine. Lmao. He'd never. Never, ever.

"That's a whole lot about Lenn, and not about you, and that's real sad. You know, me, I've got a lot of things going. I mean, just last week, I got this this surgery with this guy literally growing a foot out of his mouth. Me and my sister's rates are pretty high because we can do stuff not a lot of people can. So, my sister removes the foot because, Shellie, she can take organs out. That's her power. Mine is, uh, power extraction? Anyway, she takes the foot out, yeah? I grab the powers and rewrite it, and Foot in Mouth starts crying real honest to god tears, blubbering about how we saved his life. He pays us... two million dollars. Each." He grinned. "Boom. Money flows in like water in a stream, and that was just for the day's work."

Oh, dear god, fucking traffic at this hour. Michael honked at this guy twice before he got his incompetent ass out of the way. "Some jerks, right? Anyway, point is that you need a little fun, and a whole lot of direction, Jake. Where do you think you're going in a few years?"

Ahh, Jacob was obviously displeased, and he felt bad that he honestly liked that a lot better than the subdued, mellow guy. Maybe that was just him, but anger could lead to a lot of fun things, while mellow was the personality equivalent of watching paint dry. This wasn't one of the guys he heckled in his usual jobs, though. He had to cut this out. Jacob knew him as the Islets teacher, and not the pretty boy criminal with the nightmare backup.

"Nice," he said fondly, genuinely softer than how sharp he was being earlier. "Your file wasn't kidding. Been wondering when that would come out, and I was not disappointed." That probably wasn't reassuring. He shrugged. No use in ruining this night because of a few bad words exchanged in the car. "But fine, fine. I like to push. My pushing got out of hand. I'm sorry."

D-did he really think Forty was old?

Yikes. That was the scariest bit out of all this. I'm forty and I can't have ambition. He needed to, like, text Damon about that because he was having an existential crisis right about now. He made a turn Downtown and was preparing to make left for the Strip.

He was quiet, for a bit, as he thought of what to say, and how it reflected to his own life. Was he so unhappy with his? Perhaps, and that was what led him to grab and claw every little bit he can. You take because you're unfulfilled, and for a few moments, your material possessions make you happy. And then they stop making you happy. So you take some more.

That was just how it went.

"There's still so much to do, is what I'm saying. We're gonna die in thirty or forty years, and it's gonna be... Crap. What have I done? What have I accomplished? I want to go out with a bang. Leave my mark on this godforsaken world. Be remembered as something great. And, I dunno, it breaks my heart people don't want to be the same way."