She beamed at the compliment because good, good, she'd really tried to look hot tonight, her eyes dark and smokey and her hair puffed as big as it would go at the back, a few chiney bumps keeping it outta her face at the front. Aside from the hair, the second biggest effort she'd made was with her cleavage and though it was hidden by the coat at the moment, she was pleased with it, pleased with everything really. "Ainchu lucky you have the hottest wife?" she asked, and would have kissed him deeply, only the bus was stopping and it was time, so she kissed him on the nose with a wink that was a promise for later, and then they had to hustle.
It was freezing out, though at least it wasn't wet, and she linked arms to keep close and warm, following directions with one cold hand wrapped round her phone. She hadn't been to Fern's before, just seen it in the background of selfies and reels, and the directions led them away from the bus stop and down a narrow street. The street was one of two that ran alongside – and in the shadow of – the eight-lane ramp of the Williamsburg bridge, which absolutely dominated the scenery. Its huge concrete pylons (like feet, the thought swam into her imagination) and massive steel girders (like ribs) and constant stream of traffic like steady, sleeping breath; Lyra couldn’t help but think of it as some sorta beast. It was sheltering its young, the sleeping trucks and port-a-loos that sat beneath the bridge, and a few hardy winter weeds clung to the chain link fence that was up to stop anyone cutting through underneath it (and to keep its sleeping babies safe). She leaned a little closer to Avery to whisper her observations, stopping only when her phone told her they'd arrived.
None of the buildings round here were breaking double figures when it came to stories, seven or eight at most, and Fern’s address was just three – its roof almost level with the height of the bridge across the road. No front step or nothing, the building started where the pavement stopped, and apart from a glow through the glass of the front door and the security light over a roller door, the lowest floor was dark, but there was movement and colour and light and music happening up higher. The air smelled like exhaust fumes, the ice on the East River, and of weed, the latter coming from the flat roof of the single story for-lease building next to Fern's, where a small group of smokers had climbed out a window. The potent smell of some kinda lighter fluid too; someone was fire spinning up there, Lyra could see a swirling comet round a dark figure. "If I get drunk and wanna play with that fire," Lyra predicted, looking up. "You tell me to tie the rest of my hair back, yeah?"
Maybe that was a little code, too… Lyra wasn't sure if she should say anything else about it. She didn't think she was gonna get so drunk she needed help, but… Wednesday nights were safe cos everyone had work in the morning, and yeah she drank but she was still in control, but tonight was New Years Eve and she didn't think anyone was gonna be holding back tonight and was she? Gonna hold back? If no one else was? She was, right? She'd promised. Rosario, Patrick, Jocelyn. Okay maybe one more promise, right now– her breath hitched a little as she decided mid-thought to say something before they went up. "If you havta – I mean you won't, I'll be good but – if you gotta tell me to slow down tonight, I'll listen, yeah?"