[ in all honesty, it doesn't look bad on him. she doubts there's much they could do to him physically to make him less attractive, though it doesn't do the scar on his throat any favors. but she hadn't exactly come over to commiserate about camp. quite the opposite, actually. the little reminder of whatever memories the little guy currently conked out on his living room rug had brought up for him seem to be forgotten in favor of getting her a glass of whatever from his kitchen. he lists a couple options for her and her eyes close momentarily as she tries to remember which has the highest proof and sighing in frustration when the answer doesn't come quickly enough. ]
I don't care. Whatever you're drinking. Just double it, whatever it is.
[ with her metabolism it'll take a while for her to feel it. she's not sure how much, since she doesn't make a habit of drinking hard liquor that often, but she knows more than someone typical of her height and build. ]
( Daniel might be that guy, trying to talk about what happened, if he were a little less shitfaced right now. after all, they'd had sex again. hell, she'd probably saved his life, looking back on it. maybe he should apologize. or be grateful. promise he'll keep on his own quota so she won't be stuck worrying about him like that again. something. anything.
instead, helping her drink to forget seems a lot more achievable. he'd like to forget camp. forget his addiction, and the ugly reality of how bad it really is. he'd like to forget satanic sacrifices being used as a cruel gotcha by the mother fuckers that run this shitty city, too. he won't forget for long, but as long as it's for now he doesn't care. )
I like bourbon. Just like the old man. ( something about how Daniel says this makes it clear that he's not proud to have even a drink in common with his father. he fills the glass he's been drinking from, and pushes it along the counter to Max. the lady gets the glass, he'll just take his hits straight from the bottle. fumbling through his cabinets for another glass is just too much work right about now. )
[ it had been a lot worse this time around, she suspects for them both, both in how it felt and in the circumstances leading up to it. weirdly, she regrets it a lot less. all things considered she'd rather he be alive than dead, and while it's not going down as one of her top ten experiences, it had been enough for them both to survive the misery of camp.
she comes around to the kitchen, collecting the glass he's poured for her and left on the counter and swirling its contents around, sniffing it a bit. it's strong, definitely. it might take less for her to get buzzed than she thought. she looks up to daniel when he mentions liking it, just like his dad, and part of her wants to ask about it, but the point of the night is not to ask. she takes a swallow from the glass instead. ]
It's not bad. [ it's also strong, which is all she really cares about. she takes another swallow, longer this time. ] Where'd you find it?
[ she's definitely not asking for future reference. ]
( vodka is stronger, for sure, but Daniel has always thought drinking vodka couldn't be far off from drinking drain cleaner. nothing enjoyable about the experience, and while technically he was never drinking to enjoy himself, was it so bad if he sort of liked his poison?
there's not a lot to say if she did ask about it. his father likes bourbon, and against better judgment and a great deal of determined contrarianism, Daniel does too. even a broken clock was right twice a day, and Tony might have bleached the most noticeable tells of his southern roots away, the bourbon remained. probably why Daniel ended up liking it, it was the easiest thing to find in the house when he was a kid. )
Some place in the Down. I don't fucking know. ( if Max is determined to know where he buys his shit, she'll have to ask him again when he's a little closer to sober. Daniel is drifting over the line of barely functional and an entire shutdown, which isn't the level of drunk he usually goes for, it just turns out he really wants to be fucked up right about now. )
That made me sound like an asshole. Shit. ( Daniel lags slightly over the counter, rubbing his forehead. ) Probably because I am an asshole. I don't know how you haven't realized that yet. ( surely Max hasn't noticed, though, because she doesn't seem the sort to have any patience for terrible people. she gives a shit about things, will pick up a fight nobody asked her to because she believes in what she's doing. that's not the sort of person he's used to having in his life. )
[ 'some place in the down' just tells her it's close enough for her to find it on her own, so his outburst (if it can be called that) gets little more than a raised eyebrow before she takes another swallow of the liquid. honestly, it was pretty rude and if she were feeling less like shit about everything, she might have had something to say about it, but with things as they are she's less inclined to care, especially when he goes on to point it out himself. ]
Whatever. [ not the worst thing someone's said to her while they were drunk. she takes another drink, trying to feel the effects as quickly as she can. there's a warm, buzzy feeling in her face and limbs, but it's not really enough for her, so she drains the rest of the glass, setting it in the center of the counter as she leans forward on her elbows, meeting him in the middle. ]
You could be worse. [ he's right, she doesn't have patience for terrible people. but nothing he's shown her really puts him into that category. granted, there's very little they actually know about each other and he hasn't exactly been putting his best foot forward since she's known him, but it means something that he's aware of that. ]
(could be worse. sure. that's not quite the same as being good, though, is it. she's pegged him pretty well considering he hasn't bothered to explain much about himself, or who he was before Duplicity. he probably should. it's only fair, to give her a reason to run the other way. only the last thing he could possibly want to do right about now is talk about his family, or Le Bail, or deadly midnight games. )
Cheers to that. ( because that's what this night is about, right? not talking. not reliving. not explaining. just drowning it and hoping it'll go away, at least for a night. so Daniel drops a little more in Max's glass and hovers the bottle out for the appropriate clink. he figures they should stop talking and start drinking, because that's the fastest route to forgetting. )
[ it's possible she'll be upset he didn't reveal more sooner if and when she eventually finds out. max doesn't particularly like it when people aren't honest with her, which is a bit hypocritical given how much of herself she tends to hide about herself. she's told him a fair amount about her background, but there's a lot involved that she hadn't gotten into.
maybe they'll get into their tragic backstories, eventually. hell, they'll probably be compelled to or have the ugliest parts of themselves exposed somehow. right now there are no such factors getting them to talk about things they don't want to, so she lifts her glass once he tops her off and clinks it against his bottle. ]
( turns out, most people hate it when you aren't honest with them. it has never stopped Daniel from being dishonest, or at least, avoiding bringing up the truth. he's very honest, when he has to be. when there's souls and satanic contracts on the line. that kind of honesty doesn't generally come out unprovoked, though. it'll happen, one day. probably. especially if this contract stretches farther than 3 months to get her by until she finds greener pastures.
for now, though, Daniel would like to put Mr. Le Bail as far from his mind as possible. which is kind of hard, when there's a goat gnawing at his shoelaces. he toes the baby gently away and focuses on the clink of glass, before he takes a hit straight from the bottle. )
Cheers, ( he agrees, a breath late, burn still tracing down his throat. no thoughts, drinks only, starting now. that sounds like a great plan. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I don't care. Whatever you're drinking. Just double it, whatever it is.
[ with her metabolism it'll take a while for her to feel it. she's not sure how much, since she doesn't make a habit of drinking hard liquor that often, but she knows more than someone typical of her height and build. ]
no subject
instead, helping her drink to forget seems a lot more achievable. he'd like to forget camp. forget his addiction, and the ugly reality of how bad it really is. he'd like to forget satanic sacrifices being used as a cruel gotcha by the mother fuckers that run this shitty city, too. he won't forget for long, but as long as it's for now he doesn't care. )
I like bourbon. Just like the old man. ( something about how Daniel says this makes it clear that he's not proud to have even a drink in common with his father. he fills the glass he's been drinking from, and pushes it along the counter to Max. the lady gets the glass, he'll just take his hits straight from the bottle. fumbling through his cabinets for another glass is just too much work right about now. )
no subject
she comes around to the kitchen, collecting the glass he's poured for her and left on the counter and swirling its contents around, sniffing it a bit. it's strong, definitely. it might take less for her to get buzzed than she thought. she looks up to daniel when he mentions liking it, just like his dad, and part of her wants to ask about it, but the point of the night is not to ask. she takes a swallow from the glass instead. ]
It's not bad. [ it's also strong, which is all she really cares about. she takes another swallow, longer this time. ] Where'd you find it?
[ she's definitely not asking for future reference. ]
no subject
there's not a lot to say if she did ask about it. his father likes bourbon, and against better judgment and a great deal of determined contrarianism, Daniel does too. even a broken clock was right twice a day, and Tony might have bleached the most noticeable tells of his southern roots away, the bourbon remained. probably why Daniel ended up liking it, it was the easiest thing to find in the house when he was a kid. )
Some place in the Down. I don't fucking know. ( if Max is determined to know where he buys his shit, she'll have to ask him again when he's a little closer to sober. Daniel is drifting over the line of barely functional and an entire shutdown, which isn't the level of drunk he usually goes for, it just turns out he really wants to be fucked up right about now. )
That made me sound like an asshole. Shit. ( Daniel lags slightly over the counter, rubbing his forehead. ) Probably because I am an asshole. I don't know how you haven't realized that yet. ( surely Max hasn't noticed, though, because she doesn't seem the sort to have any patience for terrible people. she gives a shit about things, will pick up a fight nobody asked her to because she believes in what she's doing. that's not the sort of person he's used to having in his life. )
no subject
Whatever. [ not the worst thing someone's said to her while they were drunk. she takes another drink, trying to feel the effects as quickly as she can. there's a warm, buzzy feeling in her face and limbs, but it's not really enough for her, so she drains the rest of the glass, setting it in the center of the counter as she leans forward on her elbows, meeting him in the middle. ]
You could be worse. [ he's right, she doesn't have patience for terrible people. but nothing he's shown her really puts him into that category. granted, there's very little they actually know about each other and he hasn't exactly been putting his best foot forward since she's known him, but it means something that he's aware of that. ]
no subject
( could be worse. sure. that's not quite the same as being good, though, is it. she's pegged him pretty well considering he hasn't bothered to explain much about himself, or who he was before Duplicity. he probably should. it's only fair, to give her a reason to run the other way. only the last thing he could possibly want to do right about now is talk about his family, or Le Bail, or deadly midnight games. )
Cheers to that. ( because that's what this night is about, right? not talking. not reliving. not explaining. just drowning it and hoping it'll go away, at least for a night. so Daniel drops a little more in Max's glass and hovers the bottle out for the appropriate clink. he figures they should stop talking and start drinking, because that's the fastest route to forgetting. )
no subject
maybe they'll get into their tragic backstories, eventually. hell, they'll probably be compelled to or have the ugliest parts of themselves exposed somehow. right now there are no such factors getting them to talk about things they don't want to, so she lifts her glass once he tops her off and clinks it against his bottle. ]
Cheers.
no subject
for now, though, Daniel would like to put Mr. Le Bail as far from his mind as possible. which is kind of hard, when there's a goat gnawing at his shoelaces. he toes the baby gently away and focuses on the clink of glass, before he takes a hit straight from the bottle. )
Cheers, ( he agrees, a breath late, burn still tracing down his throat. no thoughts, drinks only, starting now. that sounds like a great plan. )