braveoff | [ Meadowlark ] IC Inbox

[ Gently, Drake takes the bottle back. Considers whether or not he can finish it off himself and decides that's a bad idea, but takes a drink and sets it back between them. ]

That is good, yeah.

[ If they were sober he'd ask Ephemera about Morningstar, but. They're not. He leans back into the couch cushions, keeps his hands to himself, and tries to think of something to talk about that's simple enough. That isn't whatever's wrong, or vigilante groups, or the insanity of this place.

He can't come up with anything. His gaze settles on the streaks of paint on Ephemera -- there's even a smudge on his jaw. ]

What were you painting?

[ Oh. That.

Ephemera shakes his head a little. He fell into that zone he does sometimes when he's painting or in the middle of a fight; the world fell away and there was only one action, and then another. Everything physical, no conscious thought. And he'd painted like that for a while as the image formed, and it wasn't until he was done that he realized he'd been painting Washington.

Not a direct copy. An idea, or maybe a metaphor; he's too drunk now to think of the right words. The painting had felt necessary right up until he'd gotten to a stopping point and he'd realized what he'd put up on the wall.

Should have painted over it. Should have splashed black over the whole goddamn mess.

Should have. Didn't. ]

Had one of those. Dream. Things.

[ It was fine. It was completely fine. Ephemera waves his hand vaguely. The room is going a bit sideways. ]

Wasn't any good. Should paint over it.

[ He'll do that in the morning. ]

Everything you paint is good.

[ And he's drunk, but he means that. Maybe shouldn't have said it. Maybe shouldn't have had so much to drink.

Fuck it. ]

Somebody in yours or the other way around?

Ah....

[ Ephemera waves his hand again, closing his eyes for a moment. He remembers the paintings in Drake's memory; clearly Ephemera's style, even some of the same subjects, but the pieces themselves had been strange. The purpose unknown. He'd panted them on the walls of the apartment he thinks they shared. They were close, Drake said. And they fought together. Drake carried his shield. Drake showed up in the middle of the night when Ephemera called him drunk. Just came, and drank with him.

That's nice, Ephemera thinks. That's nice. ]

Doesn't matter. You want another drink?

[ Ephemera opens his good eye. He can't quite remember where the bottle went, but it can't be far. ]

[ ...too far. Goddamnit.

Drake breathes out, nods. Yes, he wants another drink. He wants to get drunk enough to forget the ache in his chest, just enjoy the other man's company regardless of what he remembers. Over a week here and all this bullshit and he hasn't gotten really, truly drunk yet... he lifts the bottle again and takes a long swallow. He's got nowhere to be in the morning, it's fine.

He should say something. So this isn't an awkward silence, so the questions don't pile up. Drake puts on a smirk, sloshing the tiny amount of liquor left in the bottle. ]

If only to keep you from making yourself sick.

[ Ephemera cracks a smile at that. Part of him wants to shift and lean against Drake, share in the proximity because there was a time that felt safe and good with other people. And he does trust Drake, though the reasons are strange and difficult to explain when he tries to reach for them. Not so long ago he would have retreated back to his own space, defended it with violence if he had to.

Things are different now. It's happened quickly, the ground shifting beneath him, and now this is where they all stand. ]

Won't get sick.

[ He probably will, but Drake doesn't need to worry about that. ]

[ Drake just gives an amused huff, holding the bottle out of Ephemera's reach. The other man doesn't exactly forget that Drake knew him, but doesn't necessarily realize what that entails either. Just how many times they've been drunk together, or that he's cared for Ephemera in this state before. Knows his tolerance. Knows he's a bit past it now. ]

You sure? You're trashed, I can tell.

[ He goes to gesture, remembers he's holding the bottle, and drinks from it instead. ]

Remember I was a professional at judging how drunk people are.

[ That sounded natural, right? ]

[ Yeah, he's drunk. But drunk is good tonight. Ephemera huffs, tossing the pillow at Drake. Not hard. This can be good. He used to like getting drunk, doing it with his family. Sometimes even with a friend or two he made along the way. It can be good. ]

It's good, right?

[ He hopes it's good, at least in a small way. The alcohol. Maybe the moment. Getting drunk used to be fun and he thinks Drake should have nice things, even if the reasons are getting slippery. Ephemera leans his head against the couch, watching Drake. ]

[ The pillow hits Drake in the chest and he makes a 'pfft' sort of sound, finishing off the mouthful left in the bottle and putting that down on the table too. Then he snags the pillow. His now, something to hold on to so he doesn't reach out. Good. ]

It's great. You were right, I was wrong.

[ He lets his head fall against the back of the couch, too, settling in. ]

What should we do now that we're both wasted?

[ That's a question. Ephemera hums a little, touching his knuckles to his mouth. The room is swimming but the couch is nice and Drake is right there, solid and real, and that's good. That's worth keeping, if he can. ]

Ah. This is where I say cards.

[ Ephemera nods sagely. ]

I'm very bad. It's fun.

They don't have paper here. How do... are there digital cards?

[ He can roll with that. But he holds up a finger and speaks in a warning tone. ]

I'm very good. Usually.

Yeah. [ Ephemera makes a face. He doesn't like them. It's not the same as holding a physical deck. Different energy. But pokers the sort of game he's gotten used to losing and sometimes it's nice for other people to win. To have something good. ] You want to?

[ Drake grins, straightening up a little bit. The room tilts. Whooooooo boy. He's fine. They're fine. ]

Absolutely. Poker? Or something I'm less likely to whoop your ass at?

That's a challenge.

[ Ephemera brightens. He likes challenges. Especially when he's drunk. ]

Poker. Oh, yeah.

Buddy, you have no idea what you're up against.

[ It's a good thing they're not betting anything. ]

Okay. How does this work?

Show me, [ Ephemera challenges, and pulls up a net search with his implant for a deck, projecting the results into the room.. This is a great idea. ] 's not the same, but, you know. Gotta make do.

This'll be weird, but okay. Deal?

[ Unless he has to pull up his own and they'll be working with a random generator of some sort... he's possibly too drunk to figure out the details so hopes Ephemera knows what he's doing. ]

[ Even though he's not very good at poker, Ephemera's played it enough times that he can deal without fucking it up. The app he picked doesn't deal automatically. Maybe it feels more authentic this way, though there's something about the feel of physical cards that Ephemera misses and feels can't be replicated.

But that's all right. The moment's a good one, and he leans back into the couch with a faint smile. ]

Cool. Show me what you've got.

[ One last knowing smile, and then Drake puts on his pokerface. He's utterly unreadable, expression just generally pleasant but giving nothing away whether he's winning or losing. It would probably be infuriating if they weren't drunk, but that also makes it more impressive. He doesn't always win, but he's a stone wall that only cracks after the hand is played.

Another win pulls him further ahead, and he immediately breaks into another grin. ]

You can't say I didn't warn you.

You did, [ Ephemera agrees, leaning his head against the couch a little. The alcohol's kicked in strong and he isn't fighting it. The warmth and the heaviness. It's all good, it keeps his brain from spiraling out. ] You could, uh. Could make money on this.

That would require me having money to bet. [ Drake points it out lazily, feeling relaxed and content himself. ] What were we playing for, anyway?

[ Those are details. Ephemera waves his hand vaguely. ]

Don't remember. Was there anything?

[ Maybe? That's okay. It probably wasn't important. ]

I don't think so. But we could make something up now that I've won.

[ He's a happy drunk, leave him alone. ]

[ Ephemera huffs a little, grinning. He was right, this could be fun. This could be good. ]

Yeah? What'd you want?

I want...

[ Drake draws out the vowels in the words, making a show of thinking... he could ask for something fun, but everything that comes to mind is probably a bad idea. Then it occurs to him. ]

...for you to tell me what's wrong that you called me here to drink at 4am. Or you can take a dare instead.

[ It's a weak joke, but it's there. ]

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