[ Drake looks a bit awkward and more than a little roughed up, although he's made an effort to straighten his clothes and smooth his hair back. He's got a bruise blossoming on his cheek and a split lip, some blood on his shirt from where it dripped. 'Patrol' was a little rough tonight, and it's late as fuck now, enough that they gave him such a hard time at the elevator that he decided not to bother with it. He has friends in the Down. If Sharkface turns him away there are other places he can go, too, but he's hoping he won't. ]
I don't want to impose on you, but uh... [ He gestures at his state. ] This didn't go over so well.
[ He smiles, lopsided on account of his lip, then winces and comes inside. No one's following him that he clocked, but he appreciates Sharkface double checking. ]
[ He heads for the bathroom, not bothering to close the door since he's just patching himself up. If Sharkface peers in he's got his shirt off, fresh bruises blooming over his ribs as well, and is letting the stain soak in peroxide as he cleans his lip. ]
[ For a moment, Sharkface leaves him to it. Drake's trained, knows how to handle himself. Probably knows how to patch himself up just fine. But Sharkface worries, still.
[ Sharkface just shrugs. It's like being back in prison in some ways. Not all of them, but enough that the comparisons hit true. There are rules, expectations. Alliances that cannot be disturbed without consequence. And sometimes you just have to say fuck it and power through regardless.
It's worth having allies. And some people are worth protecting. ]
[ He finishes wringing his shirt out, and shakes it to get rid of the wrinkles... then seems to be debating something internally. It's obvious enough when he speaks again. ]
You mind if I hang out while it dries? I'd like to see what you've been painting here, too.
[ Drake's expression doesn't falter, stays warm and soft. ]
Water would be great.
[ Look at Sharkface, playing host. Drake follows him into the kitchen, seemingly unbothered by the fact he's not wearing a shirt. The other man hasn't said anything about it, and it's not like he has a spare. The kitchen is pretty barren, though, not even a pan out on the stove. ]
How are you guys doing on groceries? Doesn't look like you cook much.
[ But I don't have anything to offer you in return, Sharkface thinks. He watches Drake for a moment, then nods slowly. It's kindness. There's a part of him that still recognizes it.
Okay, he thinks. Okay. ]
I could come over more.
[ It's said softly. And for a moment, Sharkface allows himself to look at Drake. Really look.
He looks good like that, Sharkface thinks. With the tattoos, that easy confidence. ]
[ He does sip the water as Sharkface looks him over, trying not to feel nervous about the answer -- but it's a no. There's a weird sense of relief at that, one that Drake doesn't know how to process right now. He nods, then glances around at the walls. ]
I'm good, then. Willing to show me what you've been working on?
[ Sharkface's expression softens briefly. He thinks Drake is the only person here who he trusts - truly trusts - to look at his art and not turn into something mocking or probing. ]
[ Drake follows where Sharkface leads, genuinely curious what this version of his partner has been painting. He remembers the early days in Hadriel, where the art was mostly his family. Over and over again, until he got them just right. But here he's got a wider range of supplies, colors to experiment with, and he was eager enough to do Drake's mural -- still unfinished, and he's got ideas for more projects -- so maybe the subjects are more varied. ]
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[ Drake looks a bit awkward and more than a little roughed up, although he's made an effort to straighten his clothes and smooth his hair back. He's got a bruise blossoming on his cheek and a split lip, some blood on his shirt from where it dripped. 'Patrol' was a little rough tonight, and it's late as fuck now, enough that they gave him such a hard time at the elevator that he decided not to bother with it. He has friends in the Down. If Sharkface turns him away there are other places he can go, too, but he's hoping he won't. ]
I don't want to impose on you, but uh... [ He gestures at his state. ] This didn't go over so well.
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[ Sharkface motions him inside, scanning the area for enemies. So far, he can't catch any looming. ]
How bad are you fucked up?
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[ He smiles, lopsided on account of his lip, then winces and comes inside. No one's following him that he clocked, but he appreciates Sharkface double checking. ]
You mind if I wash up?
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No. Go ahead. Roommate's out. There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, too.
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[ He heads for the bathroom, not bothering to close the door since he's just patching himself up. If Sharkface peers in he's got his shirt off, fresh bruises blooming over his ribs as well, and is letting the stain soak in peroxide as he cleans his lip. ]
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He leans against the door, peering in. ]
The other guy gonna hold a grudge?
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[ Drake admits it reluctantly, shrugging. ]
If I ruin his night too many times, maybe, but this was the first time I've seen this group.
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[ Probably deserved having his night ruined, but it's information worth having. Sharkface frowns. ]
How many in the group?
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[ He turns the sink on to scrub out the bloodstain, figuring the peroxide's done its job by now. ]
I've had worse odds.
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Might have more friends next time, though. You want backup? I'm good at breaking heads.
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It's worth having allies. And some people are worth protecting. ]
I'll survive it. And I'm good backup.
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[ Satisfied that he's scrubbed out the blood on his shirt, he turns off the water and starts wringing it out. ]
I know I'm asking for trouble doing this, but some habits are just. Hard to break.
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[ Regardless of cost. He understands that. It's why he fought for the Insurrection, once. ]
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[ He finishes wringing his shirt out, and shakes it to get rid of the wrinkles... then seems to be debating something internally. It's obvious enough when he speaks again. ]
You mind if I hang out while it dries? I'd like to see what you've been painting here, too.
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Yeah, if you want. Place is pretty shitty, though.
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I don't care about the place. Just the company.
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Okay. You want some water, or anything? Think I've got some coffee, but it's the shitty instant kind.
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Water would be great.
[ Look at Sharkface, playing host. Drake follows him into the kitchen, seemingly unbothered by the fact he's not wearing a shirt. The other man hasn't said anything about it, and it's not like he has a spare. The kitchen is pretty barren, though, not even a pan out on the stove. ]
How are you guys doing on groceries? Doesn't look like you cook much.
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Food's expensive.
[ And so far as he knows, Majima doesn't cook anymore than Sharkface himself does. ]
We make do.
[ He hesitates, realizing something. ]
You wanna borrow a shirt, or something?
[ Sharkface doesn't care, but he's realizing belatedly that Drake might. ]
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[ He takes the cup, raising it to have a sip but pausing at the question. ]
Uh. If it bothers you.
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Okay, he thinks. Okay. ]
I could come over more.
[ It's said softly. And for a moment, Sharkface allows himself to look at Drake. Really look.
He looks good like that, Sharkface thinks. With the tattoos, that easy confidence. ]
No. Don't mind.
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[ He does sip the water as Sharkface looks him over, trying not to feel nervous about the answer -- but it's a no. There's a weird sense of relief at that, one that Drake doesn't know how to process right now. He nods, then glances around at the walls. ]
I'm good, then. Willing to show me what you've been working on?
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Yeah. Been trying out the canvases. C'mon.
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