[He grinned at her in response and grabbed the shot between his thumb and forefinger, turned it once before giving a small nod and throwing it back. It was pure, grade-A shit, and it proved it going down. Still, he wasn't going to roll over and quit. He didn't plan to lose to Chloe Frasier. Oh, sure he had been out-drunk by women before. He'd lived a long and storied life. But those women tended to be the stone-cold alcoholic type, the sort who'd managed to have a fair bit more practice than he had. An impressive feat, all things considered. But Chloe was a sweet little thing who was at most a functional alcoholic. Which should have meant a clean victory, but-]
I'm beginning to think you're cheating kid. You have a hollow leg I don't know about?
[He took the opportunity to lean over a little (very little, he didn't want to fall off the stool) to get a look at her legs, a dramatic little motion that, in addition to being good-old-fashioned harmless flirting bought him a little time. He was hoping in a couple of minutes this last round would have had time to hit her like a ton of bricks and she'd admit defeat. Not likely, but worth the effort.]
[She doesn't follow his gaze (knowing full well it'd mean her flat on her ass or worse) and she doesn't dare take the bait; this isn't amateur hour here, thank you very much. Instead there's only a momentary pause as she regrets his bloody drinking ability and tries to swallow the thought of what another go's going to taste like going down before the deed's done.
Christ. Let no one say Chloe Frazer has an infallible poker face.] Could say the same of you at this rate.
Come on, throw in the towel and I promise I won't tell a soul about it.
[Sully manages to return to a full-upright position with only the smallest waver, which he thought was pretty good. He let his knuckles rest on the slightly-tacky bar (old varnish) and missed most of what was going on with Chloe in the face of two more shots. He didn't miss what she said.]
It's rare, but in this case flattery will get you nowhere. You can't trust a thief, I should know.
[The bartender had helpfully provided more poison for them. And poison was apt, the stuff was really just-
You know, I miss- I miss really good liquor. You know, the top shelf, end-of-job stuff.
[And he does. A damn stupid thing to get maudlin about, but there you go. Drinking to get drunk did have it's many splendors, but sometimes what you really wanted was something to taste. Something to go with a good cigar. Aw, shit.]
All right, all right, I take it you're good for another go?
Please. I know you better than you know myself. [wait.] Yourself.
You're as trustworthy as they come, Victor Sullivan. [So maybe she's nearing the end of her tolerance, that doesn't mean she's planning on throwing the match just yet. Shot glasses gathered and slid into place, Chloe cants her head in the most cocky fashion manageable while taking the train to smashed-ville.] Always.
[He thinks he hears that wrong, wonders how drunk, exactly, he is. Scratch that, he knows how drunk he is. Very drunk. But after a second of furrowed brows he realizes that in this case, at least, it's her.
Haha, the stalling had payed off. Except he's feeling the effects, too. And the challenge still stood. Double-damn.]
That's what I keep telling them.
[It's not much of a witty rejoinder but he doubts either of them will remember this so who the hell cares.]
Bottoms up!
[With that he fists the next shot, reaps the added benefit of not having to see the untrustworthy color of the liquor inside. God it's hell going down, he can feel it crawling. He is pretty sure it's going to be hell coming up, too, which was not a pleasant prospect.]
You're joking. [He's not. Jesus, she wishes he was, though.
It's becoming increasingly apparent that Victor Sullivan was a god damned bull in his youth, because if he's as pissed as she is and he's not ready to call it, Chloe doubts he ever will.
So it's pure, stubborn pride when she sets her palms flat on the counter (to steady herself) and says:] Absolutely.
[Shots poured, arranged, in hand-- and she manages it, though she feels sick as anything when it hits the back of her throat. Keeps it down via willpower alone without the stoic facade this time; it's awful. It shows.]
[He also wishes she'd just drop out. He can feel the edge of bile creeping up his throat even through the grin. He needed a smoke, but he doesn't have any cigars. He might be forced to bum a smoke but- hell, he doubts anyone's gonna fork one over. Goddamn this place and goddamn his stubborn streak.
He watches her take the shot with a grim look. She makes it, damn her, too. And it's not pleasant by the look, so he has no doubt it was not going to be a good time.]
All right, all right.
[He pulls the shot close, studies it longer than is really wise before taking it. He's got good poker face, but he doesn't bother to use it, because GOD DAMN. It's bad. He does not want to lose but the idea of another shot is the worst thing he's ever even thought.
He squits up at her, tries to judge where she's at, but in this state it's a crap-shoot. She could be one shot away from dropping but then again so could he. There are some things worse than losing and one of those things is passing out in a puddle of your own vomit in front of a very pretty girl.]
I have a pro-posal for you my dear. How do you feel about putting this on hold until we can scrounge up something a little less vile than the piss and vinegar these assholes are serving up?
[Never insult the bartender. That's rule number one. But he does love breaking the rules. He just hopes she doesn't call him on the fact this is a technical surrender.]
[There's no hesitation, no consideration, just a snap reaction in the exact tone she'd used moments before:]
Please. [Genuine as possible given that her palm immediately drags itself along the side of her face. At this rate neither of them are going to remember any of this, anyway. Screw the money; she doesn't need empty shot glasses to clean out his wallet.] Can't imagine why I thought this was a good idea in the first place.
[Thank god for small miracles. He laughed, equally relieved. He might have won but honestly it wouldn't have really felt like a win anyway.]
Well I'm equally guilty there. How about a drink to celebrate the cease-fire?
[He's joking, of course. All he wants is a smoke and to never drink again until at least tomorrow afternoon. Maybe late afternoon.]
So, not that that's done, how's life treating you? Got anything good coming up?
[He doubts it. There's never anything good in this god-forsaken shithole. What he wouldn't give for a good job or a bit of excitement. Or at least, hell, a fun bar. A resort. An island village full of beautiful women who culturally shunned clothing.]
[She nudges him with her elbow, something small and sharp enough to get the point across without hurting him. The thought that jostling one another about right now isn't the soundest course of action doesn't really occur to her.]
Good as it gets in a place like this, darling. Plenty of action, not nearly enough space. [Chloe shifts her weight a bit, stares off at the shattered mirror just behind the bar.] I miss the freedom, you know? Not just the occasional handout of a weekend in Venice or Rome...
[He grins at the little jab, there's no fire in it at all. She's all smoke sometimes, enough to fool some people, he supposes.
Sully sighs at that, leans over the bar to cradle his chin on his hand, watches the dissatisfaction run across her face. People like them, they do these jobs for the thrill of it. There are smarter ways to make money, safer ways. So you'd think the action would be enough, doled out like it's Christmas, but-
I hear you. What's the point in knocking out a handful of guards and rappelling down the side of a temple if after it's all said and done you just end up back in this joint. [ He gestures around the shitty bar, explanation enough.] You don't really get to come down from it. Screws the after-glow. After a job well done I just want to buy a boat and enough gin to drown myself in. I don't want to go home.
[He hadn't had a home since he was 18, but he wasn't sure what the hell else you could call this place. It was a fixed point, they kept coming back. You couldn't burn the bridge behind you. It was claustrophobic. An entire future that felt like a goddamn cage.]
[He has the right of it; she's not surprised. Victor was many things to many people, but at the core of everything was the fact that he'd always been there to break Nate's fall, quick to lend a hand when she came knocking on his doorstep to see about greasing more than a few palms in Turkey and-- well there was the bit about shooting Charlie in the head, but given the way those two constantly clash without drugs or bullets involved, she supposes she can't fault him too much for it.
At any rate, it's comforting to know that even without the silver in his hair, they're still birds of a feather.] Seriously. The whole thing is a joke: they take our freedom, refuse to give it back and expect us to be charmed by the occasional trip out to do their dirty work.
No thank you. Done enough of that for one lifetime.
[He can't help but nod at that. He'd gotten over doing other people's dirty work around the time he'd weaseled out from under Marlowe's Italian leather heel. The kid had been good for him there at least. To be honest he was an excuse to do something he should have done a long time ago; it was easy to go with the flow and follow orders (he was well-trained at that), but it left a sour taste. It was harder going independent, certainly harder on his wallet, but-]
Well, I don't doubt it suits some people. Getting to play the hero? Being rewarded for it, too. And they do have a good party-line.
[Save the future, save the past. Save your own damn world from imminent destruction. Lots of saving. It apparently eased the guilty consciences of those Initiative assholes. Let them pretend they were doing them all a favor. Hah.]
Oh well, I guess we've got to work with what we've got.
Believe me I've tried everything else possible. [After all, one full year offers plenty of opportunities.] Once I even convinced them to send me off on a mission and tried to bunk off so they couldn't send me back.
[He laughed at that, a short, startlingly loud bark that disturbed a couple of the other patrons.] Sorry, I'm just picturing how that meeting went. "Hello I would like a mission for around fall-ish two-thousand-whatever preferably near a bus-station". Do Aussies call them buses? Ah, hell you know what I mean.
I take it by the fact I'm currently enjoying your absolutely delightful company that this plan went about as good as you'd think?
[Now that he thinks of it that's a little depressing. He honestly hadn't really thought of ways to... escape? It seemed just too futile. And he'd pretty well convinced himself this was just a temporary setback. A brief if inconvenient distraction. It didn't bear thinking about the alternative; he liked to think he didn't have anything to leave behind, even if it wasn't nearly true.]
That's about how it all went down, yeah. [She laughs, low and smothered by the heel of her palm. God, what a shit trip that was. In all honesty, she's done her best not to dwell on it since, but with as much heat as there is swimming about in her belly, tuning certain memories out isn't much of an option.
But then he's talking again, moving on to other subjects, and--]
You have a boat. [You do not, have a boat, Sully. You adorable liar.]
[He taps his fingers on the edge of the bar, twitchy and restless. He wants something in his fingers, a cigar, a drink, something. The drink has left him slightly raw, exposes that slight nervous energy that led him to marking cards and lifting priceless antiquities.]
Ah well, you win some you lose some.
[He smiles again, a little more far-away, a little fond.]
I had a boat. She was a real beauty. Got her as partial payment for a Ming knickknack, if you'd believe it. I shoulda been mad but-
[He laugh's, waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture. That says it all. He'd had debts to repay, he needed the cash, but god, he loved that boat.]
[It's a good story. One that she'd genuinely never heard before (it's usually Consuela or Maria, or 'that one time in Panama') and one that does a great deal to ease her mood, even with those shots biting back.]
You have no idea. [The slap stings, but if it bothers her it doesn't show, particularly when she leans back to bump the hard edge of her shoulder blade against the underside of his arm.]
But remind me to tell you all about it sometime. Can't leave you lingering about in the dark forever, can I?
[He leaves his arm where it is, comfortable enough. Trust him to test boundaries. Not that she's throwing many at him.]
What? And ruin the mystery? I'm surprised!
[The words are accompanied by the raise of an eyebrow and a not terribly subtle lean closer. But after a moment's consideration he shifts back into his own seat, lets his arm drop. That's more trouble than he can deal with drunk.]
You're pissed. [Because saying what he's thinking means the only thing left to do is take decisive action.
Chloe scoots forward in her seat, toeing the floor as a test to see how much feeling's in her legs: if she can't feel the ball of her foot, there's no chance of them getting out of here.
Little tingly, but not a problem. She's had worse.] C'mon you. Up you get.
[But he gets her point. It's pretty late and they're very drunk. Sure, he's been worse, but he's so far avoided passing out in strange places since he's got here and it's a habit he intends to continue. Can't bring himself to trust he won't get whisked off somewhere worse if he drops his guard.]
All right all right, no need to rush.
[He slides off the chair with relative ease, knows the trick is to hold onto the bar when he's standing, and, once he's moving, to not stop until he reaches his destination. Walking was, after all, just controlled falling, and in this state he's pretty much guaranteed to be good at falling.]
Your place or mine? [He looks away for a moment, amends his question] You want me to walk you home?
[His place is closer, but he can't quite snub out the instinct to make sure she gets where she's going safely, even though he knows she's capable of making sure of that herself. Still, being gallant has always paid off for him. Mostly.]
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Re: BROTIME
I'm beginning to think you're cheating kid. You have a hollow leg I don't know about?
[He took the opportunity to lean over a little (very little, he didn't want to fall off the stool) to get a look at her legs, a dramatic little motion that, in addition to being good-old-fashioned harmless flirting bought him a little time. He was hoping in a couple of minutes this last round would have had time to hit her like a ton of bricks and she'd admit defeat. Not likely, but worth the effort.]
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Christ. Let no one say Chloe Frazer has an infallible poker face.] Could say the same of you at this rate.
Come on, throw in the towel and I promise I won't tell a soul about it.
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It's rare, but in this case flattery will get you nowhere. You can't trust a thief, I should know.
[The bartender had helpfully provided more poison for them. And poison was apt, the stuff was really just-
You know, I miss- I miss really good liquor. You know, the top shelf, end-of-job stuff.
[And he does. A damn stupid thing to get maudlin about, but there you go. Drinking to get drunk did have it's many splendors, but sometimes what you really wanted was something to taste. Something to go with a good cigar. Aw, shit.]
All right, all right, I take it you're good for another go?
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You're as trustworthy as they come, Victor Sullivan. [So maybe she's nearing the end of her tolerance, that doesn't mean she's planning on throwing the match just yet. Shot glasses gathered and slid into place, Chloe cants her head in the most cocky fashion manageable while taking the train to smashed-ville.] Always.
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Haha, the stalling had payed off. Except he's feeling the effects, too. And the challenge still stood. Double-damn.]
That's what I keep telling them.
[It's not much of a witty rejoinder but he doubts either of them will remember this so who the hell cares.]
Bottoms up!
[With that he fists the next shot, reaps the added benefit of not having to see the untrustworthy color of the liquor inside. God it's hell going down, he can feel it crawling. He is pretty sure it's going to be hell coming up, too, which was not a pleasant prospect.]
You wanna -ugh- try for ten?
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It's becoming increasingly apparent that Victor Sullivan was a god damned bull in his youth, because if he's as pissed as she is and he's not ready to call it, Chloe doubts he ever will.
So it's pure, stubborn pride when she sets her palms flat on the counter (to steady herself) and says:] Absolutely.
[Shots poured, arranged, in hand-- and she manages it, though she feels sick as anything when it hits the back of her throat. Keeps it down via willpower alone without the stoic facade this time; it's awful. It shows.]
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He watches her take the shot with a grim look. She makes it, damn her, too. And it's not pleasant by the look, so he has no doubt it was not going to be a good time.]
All right, all right.
[He pulls the shot close, studies it longer than is really wise before taking it. He's got good poker face, but he doesn't bother to use it, because GOD DAMN. It's bad. He does not want to lose but the idea of another shot is the worst thing he's ever even thought.
He squits up at her, tries to judge where she's at, but in this state it's a crap-shoot. She could be one shot away from dropping but then again so could he. There are some things worse than losing and one of those things is passing out in a puddle of your own vomit in front of a very pretty girl.]
I have a pro-posal for you my dear. How do you feel about putting this on hold until we can scrounge up something a little less vile than the piss and vinegar these assholes are serving up?
[Never insult the bartender. That's rule number one. But he does love breaking the rules. He just hopes she doesn't call him on the fact this is a technical surrender.]
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Please. [Genuine as possible given that her palm immediately drags itself along the side of her face. At this rate neither of them are going to remember any of this, anyway. Screw the money; she doesn't need empty shot glasses to clean out his wallet.] Can't imagine why I thought this was a good idea in the first place.
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Well I'm equally guilty there. How about a drink to celebrate the cease-fire?
[He's joking, of course. All he wants is a smoke and to never drink again until at least tomorrow afternoon. Maybe late afternoon.]
So, not that that's done, how's life treating you? Got anything good coming up?
[He doubts it. There's never anything good in this god-forsaken shithole. What he wouldn't give for a good job or a bit of excitement. Or at least, hell, a fun bar. A resort. An island village full of beautiful women who culturally shunned clothing.]
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Good as it gets in a place like this, darling. Plenty of action, not nearly enough space. [Chloe shifts her weight a bit, stares off at the shattered mirror just behind the bar.] I miss the freedom, you know? Not just the occasional handout of a weekend in Venice or Rome...
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Sully sighs at that, leans over the bar to cradle his chin on his hand, watches the dissatisfaction run across her face. People like them, they do these jobs for the thrill of it. There are smarter ways to make money, safer ways. So you'd think the action would be enough, doled out like it's Christmas, but-
I hear you. What's the point in knocking out a handful of guards and rappelling down the side of a temple if after it's all said and done you just end up back in this joint. [ He gestures around the shitty bar, explanation enough.] You don't really get to come down from it. Screws the after-glow. After a job well done I just want to buy a boat and enough gin to drown myself in. I don't want to go home.
[He hadn't had a home since he was 18, but he wasn't sure what the hell else you could call this place. It was a fixed point, they kept coming back. You couldn't burn the bridge behind you. It was claustrophobic. An entire future that felt like a goddamn cage.]
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At any rate, it's comforting to know that even without the silver in his hair, they're still birds of a feather.] Seriously. The whole thing is a joke: they take our freedom, refuse to give it back and expect us to be charmed by the occasional trip out to do their dirty work.
No thank you. Done enough of that for one lifetime.
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Well, I don't doubt it suits some people. Getting to play the hero? Being rewarded for it, too. And they do have a good party-line.
[Save the future, save the past. Save your own damn world from imminent destruction. Lots of saving. It apparently eased the guilty consciences of those Initiative assholes. Let them pretend they were doing them all a favor. Hah.]
Oh well, I guess we've got to work with what we've got.
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I take it by the fact I'm currently enjoying your absolutely delightful company that this plan went about as good as you'd think?
[Now that he thinks of it that's a little depressing. He honestly hadn't really thought of ways to... escape? It seemed just too futile. And he'd pretty well convinced himself this was just a temporary setback. A brief if inconvenient distraction. It didn't bear thinking about the alternative; he liked to think he didn't have anything to leave behind, even if it wasn't nearly true.]
I miss my goddamn boat.
(CUTE LIE VICTOR)
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But then he's talking again, moving on to other subjects, and--]
You have a boat. [You do not, have a boat, Sully. You adorable liar.]
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Ah well, you win some you lose some.
[He smiles again, a little more far-away, a little fond.]
I had a boat. She was a real beauty. Got her as partial payment for a Ming knickknack, if you'd believe it. I shoulda been mad but-
[He laugh's, waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture. That says it all. He'd had debts to repay, he needed the cash, but god, he loved that boat.]
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We could get you another one, you know.
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[There's a hint of bitterness in the laugh. This place is a reaaal shit-hole all right. Worse when you squinted.]
Aw hell, I wouldn't deserve her anyway. Didn't deserve the first one; crashed her right into a reef.
[He doesn't add 'if you'd believe it' because he is very drunk and she probably would.]
Unless you're angling to have me teach you to sail? Come on girl, all you've got to do is ask.
[He grins at his own joke (dad jokes wow), and leans back to give her a look-over. He doesn't want her to get too-sweet on him, after all.]
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For multiple reasons.] You, crash? No. I don't believe it.
And trust me, darling, I know my way around a mast.
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[He manages to keep a straight face through it, scuffs the back of his hand across his face.
Another laugh, louder this time. He slaps her on the back, slightly harder than he means to.]
You know, that I believe. You're a very capable woman Chloe Frazer.
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But remind me to tell you all about it sometime. Can't leave you lingering about in the dark forever, can I?
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What? And ruin the mystery? I'm surprised!
[The words are accompanied by the raise of an eyebrow and a not terribly subtle lean closer. But after a moment's consideration he shifts back into his own seat, lets his arm drop. That's more trouble than he can deal with drunk.]
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Chloe scoots forward in her seat, toeing the floor as a test to see how much feeling's in her legs: if she can't feel the ball of her foot, there's no chance of them getting out of here.
Little tingly, but not a problem. She's had worse.] C'mon you. Up you get.
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[But he gets her point. It's pretty late and they're very drunk. Sure, he's been worse, but he's so far avoided passing out in strange places since he's got here and it's a habit he intends to continue. Can't bring himself to trust he won't get whisked off somewhere worse if he drops his guard.]
All right all right, no need to rush.
[He slides off the chair with relative ease, knows the trick is to hold onto the bar when he's standing, and, once he's moving, to not stop until he reaches his destination. Walking was, after all, just controlled falling, and in this state he's pretty much guaranteed to be good at falling.]
Your place or mine? [He looks away for a moment, amends his question] You want me to walk you home?
[His place is closer, but he can't quite snub out the instinct to make sure she gets where she's going safely, even though he knows she's capable of making sure of that herself. Still, being gallant has always paid off for him. Mostly.]
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