In Case Of Emergency

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
pajama party

Submitted: May 26, 2019

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Submitted: May 26, 2019

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Doni’s trying to endure a caffeine and nicotine slump during the middle of a Wednesday when Andy swoops towards her desk, the scent of peonies following in her wake. Doni raises a brow and gives Andy elevator eyes, gaze going up and down to take in the spectacle that is, as always, Andy. Today she’s wearing a belted denim jumpsuit, high-heeled black sandals, and a floral-patterned turban—but what Doni notices, more urgently, is the pink envelop in her hand.

“What.” Doni moves her hands away from her keyboard. She should really be laser-focused on work, given that she has a looming deadline for the interface of their client’s website revamp, but Andy makes for a relatively harmless distraction from Doni’s dull headache.

Andy claps once before swooping in to give Doni a glossy kiss on the forehead. “Look alive, sour-puss. I already Postmate-d you coffee, so you’re required to listen to me for at least the five minutes it’ll take to arrive.”

Doni exhales slowly, rolling her shoulders. “You’re amazing.” This is a sentiment Doni does not often communicate to Andy, although it is quite true, generally speaking.

“Right, yes, well, remember that when you open this.” Andy waggles the pink envelope in one hand, along with waggling her eyebrows.

“What is it?” Doni shrinks back a little, running one suddenly-sweaty palm down her left leg. Her motorcycle leggings don’t do much to absorb the sweat, but the movement is grounding. “Is it bad?”

“No. I mean, not for me. Or for you!” Andy is quick to assure her, somehow stumbling over her own feet in the process. Christ. “It’s an invitation to my engagement party.”

Doni relaxes a bit. “Oh, gotcha. Why—why are you hand-delivering it?”

Andy snorts. “I can’t mail it to you, because you don’t check your mail, and I can’t put it in your pigeonhole here at work, because you don’t check that either.”

“Dude. We work in tech. Anything important can be communicated without paper, and certainly quicker than the postal service can deliver literally anything.”

“I’m an old-fashioned girl, D.” She drops the envelope in Doni’s lap and steeples her fingers together, waiting. “Plus, you introduced me and Louise, so I figured you of all people deserve first-class treatment.”

“Andy, I swear to God, this better not be scented.”

“Come on. It’s definitely scented.”

Doni groans, but picks the envelope up and rips open the flap.

“Don’t hate me.”

“A pajama party?”

Andy immediately gives Doni a huge, dimpled grin. “Wear your cutest jim-jams, and I promise you can sleep over at my place after you get so cross-faded you can’t see straight.”

Doni sighs.

:::

Doni shows up to the party fully prepared with a 24-pack of Stella and an overnight bag. She’s wearing her civvies because there’s no way in hell she’s wearing pajamas in public unless she’s heading to Kroger for late-night rage-fueled ice cream.

Louise yanks the door open before Doni can knock, because she is basically prescient and terrifying. She looks a bit manic, her hair in a messy top-knot as she waves a bottle of Pinot Grigio in Doni’s general direction. She’s wearing a fitted Green Bay Packers jersey over deep-green joggers. “Donie, my girl! Thank god you brought beer, I’m sick of pretending to drink champagne.” She ushers Doni inside, foisting the bottle into her hand.

“This—isn’t champagne,” Doni argues, switching the bottle for her Stella.

“No, I know, that’s for Andy. I got bored during Twister and offered to get her a refill.”

“So you—got her the full bottle?”

Louise snorts. “It’s a whole big thing. She’s dressed like Rizzo from Grease because she’s a sap and knows it’s my favorite movie. Claims carrying a bottle around adds to the authenticity?” She waves a hand, dismissing the thought. “I dunno, it’s a theme night. You think I wear Green Bay Packers jerseys for my health? Nah. They’re Andy’s thing, you know I prefer soccer,” she adds, rolling her eyes, voice pitched low as though Andy might overhear them.

Doni grimaces. “I really don’t need to be involved in an elaborate roleplay scenario tonight, thanks.”

“Fuck off.” Louise guides Doni into the kitchen, setting down the Stella so she can grab a bottle from the box. Opening it, she continues, “I agreed to the theme for the engagement party as long as you and I get to plan the bachelorette.”

“Oh, sweet.”

Louise takes a quick sip from her beer. “Also, you wouldn’t be our choice for a third. Sorry.”

Doni blinks, not sure whether to be insulted or not. “Right.”

“I adore you, I really do, but I’m not one for undercuts and head tattoos, love. I’m sure you’ll find yourself the perfect lesbian couple to menage with.”

“I’m bi.”

“Okay.”

Doni scrunches up her face. “Wait, that’s not the point.”

“I should hope not.”

“I don’t want to hook up with you either!”

Louise scoffs. “Again, I should hope not. It’s my engagement party!” She necks half the bottle of beer before surfacing. “Now change in to your pajamas or you’ll make Andy very, very sad, and I can’t have that.”

“I hate you both.”

“Adore you too!”

:::

Doni drops her bag in the guest room, glad it’s basically free of glitter and decorative detritus. She shucks off her leather jacket, army-green Henley, and shredded jeans, replacing them with the only pajamas she’ll ever admit to wearing: a Batman onesie.

Generally, she sleeps in just a pair of boxers, but she’d prefer not to go topless during someone else’s party, and she knows that Andy might actually cry if she didn’t wear some kind of theme-based getup.

Andy’s sensitive like that.

After she changes, Doni reluctantly goes in search of the Twister game, if only to greet Andy and deliver her the bottle of chilled white wine. She is unsurprised to find Andy with her face pressed onto the floor, having apparently fallen down mere moments ago.

“Uh, do I offer best wishes or congratulations to the bride?” Doni asks, helping Andy to her feet. Andy’s wearing a pair of silky shorts and a purple button-up top with only one button done, her hair pinned around her head in a general approximation of Stockard Channing.

“Not sure,” Andy replies with a shrug, leaning in to hug Doni. “Thanks for coming!”

Doni only rolls her eyes, tugging at Andy’s collar. “Surprised you’re not dressed as Frenchy.”

Andy smiles, dimples popping. “Think Rizzo’s a bit more my style.”

“What, an easy lay?” Doni ducks easily away from Andy’s offended jab, chuckling under her breath. She hands Andy the wine in appeasement. “From your betrothed.”

“Thanks. Conna’s in the kitchen baking the next batch of brownies, if you wanna join her? Not so crowded as out here.” Doni gives Andy a small, appreciative smile. “Also, if you see a blonde wig around here somewhere, let me know? Nick stole it awhile back and I highly doubt he’s still wearing it. Feel positively naked without it.”

Doni flicks Andy’s sternum. “You probably feel naked because we can all see your tits,” she says before moving towards the kitchen.

“Find me later or I’ll ice your bra overnight!”

:::

“Hey, C.” Doni ducks into the fridge and snags one of the beers she brought, popping the cap off easily.

“Hiya.” Conna has a bit of cocoa smeared on one pale cheek, but the most arresting parts of her appearance are down below: namely, she’s wearing bunny slippers, shamrock-patterned boxers, and a D.A.R.E crop-top. “You just get here?”

“Bit ago, yeah. Um.”

“Eh?” Conna opens the oven and takes out a pan of brownies, smiling contentedly as she sets them on the stovetop. “The pans near the sink are the coolest, if you want to have some.”

“Right.” Doni grabs a fork and digs in. “So, just so we’re clear, you’re making pot brownies while wearing a shirt that attests to your drug-awareness-and-resistance lifestyle?”

Conna shrugs, tossing her short blonde hair away from her eyes with a shake of her head. “I got through drug awareness, sure. Never actually made it to the drug resistance part, though.”

“Oh.” Doni finishes her brownie and downs more of her drink. “Are we going to be subjected to party games, do you think?”

“Fam, they’re already playing Twister, and Andy planned this thing. What do you think?”

:::

It seems that the entire party took Andy’s mandate of pajama-wear seriously, although with differing levels of the “cuteness” she claims to prefer.

Firstly, Doni notes that Nick is still wearing Andy’s blonde wig, but that he also has on a very long and very brightly-patterned muumuu. He and someone who may be called Alexa—she’s wearing an oversized nightshirt that has sunflowers over the breasts—are sitting cross-legged on the couch, throwing candy into one another’s mouths. Louise’s sister Charlotte is wearing a light-blue teddy, all lace and silk, and it makes Doni blush so much she has to look away, directly towards Steve, who has on literally just an all-black ensemble of a tank-top and sweatpants.

Doni doesn’t recognize everyone in the room, which is unsurprising, but she does see Ashley across the room as they begin Two Truths and a Lie, sporting a nightgown covered in cats and yarn-balls, and she’s got on ruffled ankle socks, to boot. Ashley’s working to connect the karaoke machine to Louise’s high-tech sound system—Louise’s got high-tech everything, really, not just because she’s engaged to Andy but also because she works in crime-prevention and can afford to pay out the nose for new shit—and Doni’s kind of enjoying watching the whole spectacle, mostly with her newfound buzz.

Once the system is set up, Louise grabs the mic. “Two truths and a lie! Good ice breaker and shit, whatever. You lose your round, you take a drink!”

“Louise, I am literally seven months pregnant,” says someone from the couch.

Louise pumps one fist into the air. “Cheryl, in the darling polka-dot maternity set! You may drink seltzer!”

Andy trips her way forward to steal the microphone from Louise. “No one ought to feel pressured to do anything at all. Except wear cute pajamas, as that is harmless, and everyone already is. This is a safe space. But I should—I should note that the brownies have weed in them, but the cookies will not.”

Conna perks her head up. “Cookies?”

Andy nods, grinning. “We’re gonna bake and decorate later!”

Doni finishes her beer and her brownie within moments, resigned to festivities.

:::

Two Truths and a Lie goes about as well as can be expected from a group of relative strangers—it’s entertaining, and it leads to even more inebriation. Somehow, Louise’s friend Stan, who knows almost none of the group (he’s wearing a plaid flannel two-piece, very masculine) wins the entire game, and the prize is a string of naughty Mardi Gras beads.

“That’s what they called them at the store,” Andy reasons, placing them around Stan’s neck.

The next game is ring-toss, with inflatable rings, and it feels like a good time for Doni to get another beer from the kitchen, along with another brownie. She needs a moment to exhale.

She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, having gone through her entire instagram feed, two beers, and one brownie, when the entire party joins her in the room.

“What,” she croaks, hopping off the counter.

“Cookie time!” Andy crows, slinging an arm around Doni’s neck. She’s still clutching the wine bottle in her right hand, and some of her curls have come loose of their pins, but she seems relatively together, so much so that Doni doesn’t feel the need to worry.

:::

Doni doesn’t worry for quite a while, because she and Shawn (wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, constantly eyeing up Conna like he may have designs on her, not that Doni would blame him) are positively owning the decorating contest.

“I really like your masc-presenting bride,” Shawn tells Doni, accidentally poking his finger into the frosting of her suit-wearing cookie-person. He’s staring directly at Conna while he says it.

Doni sighs, moving Shawn’s hand. “As far as I know, she’s single, but if you’re a dick to her, I will murder you and torture your entire family.”

He smiles. “Really?”

“Oh my god.”

Doni buries her face in her hands just long enough for the fire alarm to go off.

:::

Most of the guests manage to grab coats on the way out—the more scantily-clad ones needing to, naturally—but Doni is all too ready to head outside for a cigarette, so she forgoes outerwear. She sits on the curb and lights up, periodically ashing into the gutter.

“You the arsonist, then?”

Doni flails slightly before standing up. “What? No!”

A female firefighter catches Doni by the elbow. “Whoa, whoa. I’m joking. Sorry, my—my jokes don’t always land.”

She has her helmet under the arm not grasping Doni’s arm, and she hefts it slightly. “Okay.”

“We’re just glad no one’s hurt, yeah? Your friend—”

“Louise.”

The firefighter nods, pursing her lips. “Right, your friend Louise has a really sensitive security system, which is great—”

“She works in crime prevention.”

“Awesome.” The firefighter moves her hand from Doni’s arm to her shoulder. “How about we sit down?”

They separate and settle onto the curb, and Doni takes a deep breath. “Hey. Right. I’m Leah. Nice to meet you.”

“Under these circumstances, though, eh?”

Leah grimaces. “Yeah.” She sighs. “But everything here is okay. Our team checked it out. You, uh, get kinda nervous around fire?”

“Why? Do you?”

Leah seems to consider this, tucking a stray piece of hair back into her ponytail. “I have a healthy respect for fire.”

Doni laughs. “Fair.” She sighs. “In any other circumstances, I’d assume you were some kind of—uh, entertainment or something. Like a stripper.”

“Wait. Is this a bachelorette party or something, Batman?” Leah raises a brow. “I’m intrigued.”

“Engagement party. Wear cute pajamas theme.”

“And—you chose a Batman onesie.”

“Batman is the best,” Doni scoffs, getting to her feet, still feeling the weed and beer in her system, but not wanting to admit it.

“Yeah, no, Batman is the best. That’s not what I meant.” Leah hops up from the curb, eyeing her crew as they make their way back onto the truck.

Doni turns. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I just meant that I usually just sleep naked, that’s all.” She quirks her lips, handing Doni a slip of paper. “Here’s my number. Use it for rolling paper or kindling if you want, but, uh. If not, it’d be nice to hang out.”

Doni takes it slowly, mouth hanging open.

“Later, Batman.”

:::

Two hours later, during a very annoying game of Sexy Scattegories, Doni answers the door to find Leah, who is now wearing Batman pajamas rather than firefighting attire. She runs one hand through her hair, no longer in a ponytail. She looks apprehensive.

“Uh, you said, stop by? Maybe?”

Doni tosses the hood off of her Batman onesie, smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, come on in.”

“Thanks.” Leah ducks her head, moving inside.

“Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re good at charades?”


© Copyright 2020 S Pinkerton. All rights reserved.

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