Logs:Drunk Life Choices
Drunk Life Choices
|Characters:||Gast and Slip|
|Summary:||Two Darkling make poorly laid plans and consider the acquisition of shiny things for a 'good' cause.|
Gast pats down pockets like he's looking for his pack of cigarettes - usually also packed with spliffs and joints, but absent from his person. Left behind in the safe in his motel room, along with his ammunition and handcuffs. He sighs, a rusted sound like wind through a hollow pipe. He'll have to make due without, as inebriated and tired as he is. He straightens up, half turning his head as Slip catches up with him. He slows down and offers over a tired smile to go with the bags under his eyes. He bumps his shoulder lightly against hers in return and raises an eyebrow at that dopily smug smile, awaiting what it might precede while considering a lift of his arm across her shoulders to keep them both balanced and steady. "Sounds dangerous. And maybe fun," he quips, prompting her to proceed.
Slip's eyes roll ceilingward as she mumbles, low and amused, "Now I've got better ideas," as if the first one lacked one or both of those promising qualities. That poor use of her eyes for expression rather than observation sees her clipping a chair with a murmur of apology for the furniture as she edges closer to Gast again. Really, those two cups of wine were maybe not the best idea after the night she'd already enjoyed, but her steady smile disagrees entirely with her unsteady feet on that point. Gast gets no apology, but her nearer hand does turn to brace gently against his hip, providing a point of reference for any futurue stumbling. It takes her a few steps to remember that she was saying something, to wind back through her thoughts to pick up the right thread. "I think. If we're both here come summer. We should have something really, really shiny to give him when he has to surrender the crown."
A sharp and humoured exhale as Gast's nostrils flare at Slip's note of even better ideas. He drags his feet some, but keeps pace; hardly registering it when his present company clips the chair along the way. They share in that same habit of not noticing the barrier of 'too far'. Indulgence always just seems like more of a good thing. He lowers his head, conspiratorially, to hear her idea as they make further, for the door. He makes a thoughtful sound at the idea - gaze going to some far off place as he considers the seed of a plan without the right faculties of judgement. In the end, he nods. "And if he turns out to be an unforgivable tyrant by the end of it, we have something to pawn," he notes. A seed of a plan, and already a back up for if everything goes awry. "Have anything in" He blinks, hard. "Mind?" That's the one.
"Like the way you think," comes out warmer than those words are usually do, though the wine might be to blame there. Everything's a little warmer now, a little softer. It'd be a lovely way to end an evening, but it's a rough beginning for a day. Slip shakes her head in answer to his question, though she says, "Lotsa things." Her grin makes pretty plain that the things she has in mind right now don't have all that much to do with her proposed plan. Gast's probably to blame for that, setting her to thinking about other, more fun and dangerous ideas.
When they step out of the center and back into the sun, it seems a bit brighter than it had a few minutes ago, inspiring a squint from the shorter darkling as she draws to a stop not far from the door. "I gotta job interview tonight," which might be another way of confirming that she's sticking around too, in case that had been in question, in case that three-months-out plan or her seasonal oath (with its admittedly easy exit built in) wasn't evidence enough. "You heading back to..." She searches her brain for the name or location of the motel, the details definitely there, the records currently flooded. It's easier to pick out, "The hot tub?" He'll know what she means.
"It comes to me naturally," Gast retorts, sarcastically - like his mind is more a blessing than a curse. But he's warm enough off chemical alteration and good company, that he doesn't say it bitterly - it's a good kind of self deprecation, humbling and in good humor. His wink might help to get this across.. Or maybe he's just blinking again, squinting as they exit back into the sun. "Keep me apprised. We can get a crew together for a heist." Was it this bright when they were in the backyard? The aperture of his eye whirs as he lifts an arm to block the worst of the sun. "Shit," he groans.
He stops when she does, just out from the door. He turns so that the sun is mostly behind him, leaving the side facing Slip partly shadowed. "Another political, like, campaign?" he asks, summoning all the right words from his 'mind' in smooth succession this time. And he nods at her question in turn. "Gotta get in touch with an old friend when I come around." Probably also tonight. He doesn't offer any hint of who, though.
Slip makes a happy sound at the prospect of a heist, her inebriated brain promptly playing a disjointed montage in which they gather a gang of misfits to steal a blinged out hat. And then maybe set something on fire. For good measure. A good portion of her dreamily wide smile can be credited to that mental movie, but at least some of it is for the way Gast stands there, limned in light and cast in shadow, a dark spot in a bright morning. Which is just as she likes it. Taking a step closer, she answers, "Nightclub," with a crinkle of her nose, as if she thinks her questionable talents might not be put to good use there. The way she studies him seems, for a moment, to be about that unnamed contact, like she might be deciding whether to pull at that thread or not, but it proves to be a different decision weighing on her entirely, one answered in the affirmative as she presses into Gast's personal space and claims a kiss. Fingers arrive before lips do, curling along jaw and cheek just before the kiss connects. Briefly. When she draws back, intent on giving the detective his space again, she murmurs, "Ajani," without mentioning how she knows. Or how she knows him. Had they met back in Miami? It's more likely that she saw him, caught his name, no formal introduction ever made. And she's seen him around. She never forgets a face. Or a name. Or much of anything really. Small as it is, she'll remember this kiss.
--Gast's idea of a heist might be a little different - in having worked the aftermath of such jobs. A puzzle of deception, stealth, and sometimes violence, that goes off best when no one notices it has happened until the perpetrators are in the wind. "Inter-sections" Yeah, he says it like it's two words. "Of drugs, drinks, and information." He doesn't seem to look down on the occupation Slip is to apply for at all, though, he may be leaning into the practical end about what's to be gotten from such a venue. He pauses as she studies him, not as observant as his usual self when it comes to guessing what she might be thinking. The kiss catches him off guard, but he sinks into it; jaw and cheek tilting into her touch before her lips press to his, all too briefly. When she guesses the name of one of Gast's old dealers (how things have changed since), he blinks. "I do have other friends, you know," he says, softly, in mock-incredulity. But he chuckles; rasps, really. "But yes, Ajani. He broke off with the gang and moved out here when he went solo. Still works the odd job for me." Well, more like the lot of them got pinched and Gast gave his dealer/informant a tip off about encircling authorities. Same difference. There's a smile on his tired lips, reflecting the kiss, however brief - he'll carry a pleasant mood most of the way across town to the motel.