The Universe's Mixer

It'd been one helluva shindig. Laughter and music and drinkin' and dancin' and more drinkin'. Holes were punched in Jayne's memory, blotting out various points in time thanks to the vast amounts of alcohol he'd ingested. Although he might've been a man who knew his limits, that didn't exactly mean he was one to stick to them. At all.

He did remember settlin' in for the night at the inn with an awful pretty doxy, and he sure as shootin' made sure he got his money's worth before he rolled over and drifted off. He'd expected the Cap'n to come around early and start a-hollarin' outside'a the door, so imagine his surprise when he woke up of his own accord, the sunlight so hot and bright that it burned his eyes the second he started to open them.

Disgruntled, Jayne wrapped an arm up around his head, the bed feeling hard and uncomfortable beneath him. The blankets had been stripped from his body and he was laying in the light. He groaned loudly, reaching a hand out to see if the whore was gone, but his fingers grasped nothing but air.

The air felt cold and wet, despite the light, and in semi-conscious confusion Jayne rolled over to try and get comfortable. The next thing he knew, he'd fallen and hit the ground, and was shoulder-deep in snow.

( Cut for length... )

"Ah, the old firehouse," Venkman greeted the building as he walked in. "Did you miss daddy? Huh?"

He was dressed in new civilian clothes, having burned the old coveralls he had worn during the zombie invasion. He was showered, shaved, and had just a little bit of a Jim Beam buzz. He was ready to get down to work.

"Karen? Any messages while I was out?"

In Vietnam, Private Jameson observed that the officers never ate with the enlisted men. He asked around about why this was the custom, but there was no clear answer. Some said it was so the officers could talk tactics without interruption. Others said it was because their table was on top of a secret escape route so they could disappear if the camp was attacked. By the end of the war, Jameson was fairly certain he knew the real reason. It was simply to make them separate from the other soldiers, so the enlisted men couldn't see that the officers were just like them. If an officer were to eat with his subordinates, no amount of stars or stripes could regain the respect he would lose. The officers relied on the respect of their company as much as they did on their hardware and ammo.

Civilian J. Jonah Jameson later employed the same strategy in the workplace. He and the other editors ate lunch in a closed-off conference room, leaving the writers, copyeditors, artists, and clerks to their own devices. This was key to maintaining the respect of the general staff.

But today was Pizza Friday. The pizzas arrived in the break room, and it was first-come, first-served. This was the City Voice's great equalizer.

"Gangway! Lemme at that mushroom and olive!"

It was odd to be out and about after so much hubaloo. No matter how often these big strange things happened, it was always surreal to wander the city after them. Most of the folks acted as if nothing had happened. It was only the ones who had been pulled in that were talking about things and trying to figure out what happened.

He was mostly interested in all the snow. Jesse had never seen this much snow in his life. He wondered privately if anybody in the world had. He wasn't sure it was natural for it to be snowing this much. Maybe some place like Antarctica might have had dealings with it, but he couldn't say for sure. Geography had never really been a strong point for him.

Jesse stood for a minute, kicking at a pile of snow, wondering how they measured snowfall. They'd said something like a foot and a half the last time he'd paid any attention, but it sure looked like more than that to him. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if somebody told him that there were four feet sitting right there on the sidewalk in front of him.

Then again, math wasn't particularly his strong suit either.

After lighting a new cigarette, he turned to move along but found himself face to face with a big ball of angry. It took him only a second to register who it was.

"Hey."