Sometimes, when John has enough time to string together coherent thoughts but not enough time for them to start getting all depressing, his thoughts drift to the story of Icarus.

So many people nowadays simply refer to it as a tale of caution about aiming too high, of flying too close to the sun. Some people who think of themselves as real cleverclogs remind the aforementioned people that it's a tale of moderation, that if the unlucky Icarus had flown too low, the salt from the ocean would have rusted his wings, and the instructions he was given were to fly at just the right height.

But, that's not exactly how things work.

Everyone seems to forget that the Greek gods are a petty lot, and Icarus' father Daedalus was marked to suffer, and when gods decide to make mortals suffer for their crimes, it's usually the ones closest to them that get caught in the crossfire.

Icarus himself was always going to die to make his father suffer, and John likes to think that he knew it.

He knew he was going to perish either way, so he decided to make the best of it; if he were going to go out, he was going to go out with a bang and have fun.

Better to fly and fall than to have never flown at all.

And that's exactly what John's doing. He's flying (metaphorically of course, there's no way his tattered soul would ever make it off the ground), and waiting for the sun to melt his wings, but until then, he's going to fly higher and higher, until he can reach up and touch the clouds, until he can watch the sky ripple like water at his fingertips.

John downs a shot, and the burn in his throat is like the sunlight on his skin.

Dangerous, but gods, it's brilliant.

"Another round, on me!" John cheers, sending the bartender a wayward glance. It won't be on him, the bartender owes him one. Well, more like a dozen, but who's counting?

Tonight isn't a night for counting favours and looking over one's shoulder, it's a night to make merry with the few friends John has left, it's a night to pick up a cute bird or a handsome man, depending on his mood.

And it's definitely not a night for his wax wings to melt, or rust.