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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?]

[ Kitty settles into a chair opposite him, crosses her legs at the ankles, and says: ]

Mr Winger, at home I'm a wanted terrorist who has a death sentence for high treason hanging over her head. I'm engaged in clandestine activities to incite war between the ruling class of England and an entire race of magical beings. Here, I helped bring down a serial killer, got captured by the Hornets after trying to infiltrate their ranks, and am trying to infiltrate the Porter to find out what makes it run, in no small part to take this knowledge home to overthrow my own government.

[Jeff's life seems far too standard compared to pretty much everyone else here, but he's not going to be concerning himself too much about it. Instead he shrugs idly, taking a thoughtful swig from his drink before commenting without much concern;]

Childs play.

[ She rolls her eyes. ]

Yeah, right. I also spent years as a thief, and I can tell a mark. Middle-class-boring rolls off you in waves. I bet getting cozy with Lucifer is the most danger you've ever courted in your whole life.

That's just the image I want you to see. Spies like me never give too much away-- Ah, crap. I've said too much. Now I'll have to kill you.

[Just sipping his scotch. No killing to be had.]

Uh-huh.

[ She tilts her head to the side. ]

Have you ever even been in a fight before? I mean - answer honestly, without bluster. This isn't a challenge, I'm actually curious.

[It's tempting to lie for the sake of it, but Jeff has nothing to prove. His skills lie elsewhere and while he can certainly hold his own in a fight, especially with the muscles he's worked hard for, he'd really rather weasel his way out of any fisticuffs.]

Uh, like one. Literally a playground scuffle between a few douchebros and me. I don't tend to get into fights if I can help it. Easier to talk it out.

[ Hm. She frowns just a little bit. ]

And you probably don't know how to shoot, either. Or use a knife. What are your powers?

I can shoot! [Paintballs and prop guns. But he isn't bad at either.]

And my powers are good enough. Why do you care?

I care because Lucifer is dangerous. And the people who hate Lucifer are dangerous.

[ She studies him, her face quite serious. ]

If you get into trouble, you've got people you can go to?

Lucifer or his enemies aren't a problem. I'm not a friend of his, I'm just trying not to piss him. [That and Jeff being a ring bearer is still kind of a touchy subject, one he doesn't want to make common knowledge.]

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