textualhealing | IC CONTACT

I'm not looking to get married, but thanks.

[ e u g h ]

I bet I can outdrink you.

You're underage.

Oh, an attack of the morals, is it?

Yup. I'm very concerned about these things. Why would you wanna try and outdrink me anyway?

I'm English. And I work in a pub. I probably had my first pint before you did. I know it won't be any competition at all.

[ It's definitely not part of a cunning plot. ]

I've got like... twenty years head start on you. Pretty sure I know how to handle my drink.

[That and he can totally cheat with his super power.]

Yeah, we'll see, won't we? You've got to buy, though. I'm underage, like you said. So stupid.

[A thoughtful hum. Drinking sure does beat getting constantly nagged. What could go wrong?]

Fine. I can do that. I'll even drop you off at the hospital after inevitable alcohol poisoning.

So generous. So - my place, six o'clock tonight?

Your place...?

[So dubious. Drinking at teenagers house could be taken so wrong... and also lead to poor life choices. But. A chance to get drunk in company and prove Kitty wrong about her drinking abilities is too much of a lure.]

Yeah. Whatever. I'll be there.

Brilliant. I'll text you the address.

[ When Jeff shows up, the place doesn't exactly seem set up for drunken revelry - Kitty has made tea, which she's set out on the table, and there are stacks of papers. She's dressed more nicely than usual: she usually defaults to a sort of greaser-punk style here in Heropa, always wearing a scuffed leather jacket and usually with her hair held back with a bandanna tied around her head. But tonight she's in a teenager's approximation of professional clothes: button-down shirt, slacks, just a little hint of make-up. All very worn and not exactly in-style, because Kitty shops at Goodwill, but she does make it work.

But her opening salvo is: ]

So, what did you bring?

[When Jeff arrives he's got a paper grocery bag tucked under an arm that clinks lightly as he shifts his grip on it. He's opted for jeans, t-shirt and hooded jacket for his casual drinks clothing choice, so Kitty's selection of shirt and slacks has him arching a brow. Is she just trying to make a good impression? Ugh, he has a bad feeling about this.]

Uh. Couple of bottles of scotch. Pack of beers... You look... nice...?

[He thinks. He's not sure any more, even as he invites himself in.]

Edited (kitty stop wearing shit) 2015-09-05 13:03 (UTC)

[ Her answer is a bright, chirpy: ]

Thanks!

[ And then she holds out her hands for the bag. ]

Here, I'll put the beers in the fridge. A few bottles of scotch, though - that's ambitious, isn't it. And a bit reckless. We British invented scotch, didn't we.

Yeah. One of the only things you were good for was alcohol.

[He passes the bag over and immediately lets his hands stuff into the pockets of his jeans. He takes a few lazy steps around the room, his attention drifting onto the table of tea and paper. Not exactly drunken fun time.]

Where do you keep your glasses? [Needs booze now plz.]

In the kitchen.

[ She says that conversationally as she walks to the kitchen, and then continues in an equally conversational tone of voice: ]

So, you're now guilty of furnishing alcohol to a minor, which is a class 2 misdemeanor in Florida. I've got it captured on tape, I've got the physical evidence, and I'm not scared to testify. Being found guilty comes with a fine of five hundred dollars, plus community service at the very least. Jail time at the most, though given your record they'll probably just stick to having you serve up meals at soup kitchens for a few weeks. All that if I present all of this to the police.

[ She slips everything into the fridge, then turns back to Jeff and tells him cheerily: ]

So, keeping all that in mind, I bet you want to sit down and review my friend's resume with me, don't you.

[He knew it.

He fucking knew it. He'd even been tempted to just bring nothing but a bottle for himself. And yet here he was.

She's just getting a look. One that suggests he is so done with the shit, and yet he remains.

That threat is a bluff, he's sure of that. Even if it wasn't he's certain he'd be able to talk himself out of it, just like he'd settled plenty of other similar charges in the past, but there's no sense in arguing it.]

Keep the scotch out. I don't do reviewing while sober.

[ She half had thought it wasn't going to work. That he'd just shrug her off and go on to just evade the charge. It's the reflexive cynicism of a girl whose experiences with courts has been very much less than positive: she doesn't believe that if she takes this before a judge, they'll ever find in her favor.

So when he agrees, the expression that flashes across her face isn't the simple smugness that it probably ought to have been: it's instead a complicated mix of relief, surprise, and real joy. It's a very sweet sort of expression. Thankfully, it only lasts for a flash: then she tosses her head with an affected sort of arrogance and pulls down a glass. ]

I've also got snacks. If you're at all hungry.

[He spots that moment of relief all too swiftly, no matter how brief it was. There's a level of understanding from him about just what is going on here.

If he was honest he'd admit he appreciated the play, that not only did he enjoy the cat and mouse that is manipulation, but that it also gave him excuse to agree to helping without ever really having to admit he was being a nice guy. This way he got to be of aid while playing the reluctant victim, never having to say that he could have easily just turned and left without a word. It's so tough being him.]

No. Just scotch. [He moves into the kitchen area to help himself to a glass and reach for the whole bottle of booze. He'll probably clear through most it that evening.]

What's so special about this guy anyway? He a boyfriend?

Oh - God, no.

[ She does fetch down a few snacks for herself - all sweet - and a cup for tea. Jeff is definitely welcome to all the scotch; she doesn't drink, not in the presence of other people. Too much paranoia. ]

Not that...you know. Not that he's not...nice, and appealing. And he likes me. But I'd never date a local.

[ And then she looks up at Jeff. ]

Sorry, that sounds - bigoted. I mean - It's just that I wouldn't ever want to drag a local into all of our drama.

Edited (words) 2015-09-05 15:17 (UTC)

[The glass he grabs gets filled to the top with scotch, more like it's water than alcohol, and Jeff drinks it much like that too. Even with a full glass he still brings the bottle along with him, heading for the table while keeping his attention somewhat towards Kitty.]

You should get with who ever you want to. Nothing wrong with dragging a native into this if they know what they're letting themselves in for. And if you don't want him involved in imPort drama then he really shouldn't be working for me.

[ She lifts an eyebrow as she follows him. Dryly: ]

I've got a bit more drama in my life than you, Mr Winger. I'm quite certain he'll be rather all right standing next to - oh, what do they call you on rumblr, The Wingman.

Oh, I'm sure you have. [All the sarcasm.]

That's me though. You been looking me up>

I follow the imPort tag on rumblr. Anyway, what's that supposed to mean, I'm sure you have? My life is way messier than yours is.

Kid, you're like, what? Eighteen? Nineteen? You don't even know the meaning of life drama yet.

[Dropping into a seat and immediately slinging his feet up onto the table because what are manners?]

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