SOL - A secret gathering

Riona takes you to a cabin nearly at the end of the line, where she knocks discreetly. You’re invited into a cramped room that’s filled with frigid air from the humming unit in the window. You instantly see who lives in these cabins: the maintenance staff.

Kayla is with a skinny, dark-haired girl that you don’t know. She’s one of the new subs that arrived only recently. The petite, sporty Brunette from England is here: Beth. So is the small, but formidable American blonde, Cheryl. Beside her is an American brunette whose name you don’t know, but you’ve seen her around.

“Don’t you get carded?” Cheryl’s asking Kayla with a laugh.

“Long as the cashier’s a guy, these puppies will get me anything,” Kayla is telling her, gesturing at her chest. “Hi, Adella.”

“Hi,” you say uncomfortably. This isn’t anyone that you know, and it’s not clear what they’re doing here. Riona is closing the curtains. There’s a knock at the door, and Kayla opens it to admit Meghan, a tall blonde with a build similar to yours. She’s American as well. She’s powerful on the pitch and cocky, but frankly, not a great footballer. You don’t quite understand what she’s doing at FUTA, but it’s none of your business.

Meghan gives you a curious look as she comes in, and it’s not lost on you that you’re an extra here. An outsider to whatever this is. You’ve been feeling that way a lot lately, but Riona gives you a reassuring pat on the bottom.

“Relax,” she tells you with an eye roll.

“Rita just came through and checked the place,” Kayla says triumphantly. “She is a good boss. Not a great narc.”

“Tell me you brought some brownies,” Cheryl says, flopping on the bed.

“Nope. I know they’ll **** test you next week.” Kayla kneels by a duffel and unzips it. She moves a few shirts, revealing several bottles of liquor. Jill and Cheryl eagerly join her, and the bottles clink as they pull them out.

“Only the finest vintage, I see,” Jill says dryly, examining a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s spiced rum. Meghan’s already twisting the top off a bottle of Southern Comfort. Kayla shrugs and hands her a stack of plastic cups.

“You guys didn’t say what you wanted. Besides, if you want the good stuff I have to jack up my prices.” Kayla glances at you with a smile, laying a modest hand on her breast. “I’m a smuggler now. Like Han Solo. It’s a whole thing.”

“Oh, God save me,” Beth says, digging out the lone bottle of vodka. It’s Smirnoff. She sighs, but she’s twisting the cap off.

You don’t know what to say, but Meghan’s pouring you a cup, which you take gratefully. Riona has brought you to the secret meeting place for FUTA’s alcoholics.