[Beer? Good. Better than good. Roman is falling off of his high so he takes his time coming over at leisurely stroll. He has his hand bandaged. Hopefully Lydia won't ask.
Part of him thinks it's a bad idea. He could have just ignored her text. Right now he feels like he needs to be frank, raw and get everything that's coming to him. Hopefully there might be some sympathy with the beer.
About a half an hour later, he knocks at the door.]
[She greets him at the door with a faint smile and ushers him in. The two bedroom apartment is clearly in a half unpacked state, and Lydia has her hair down for the night. But what's waiting for him on the coffee table isn't beer, but a pair of shotglasses and a bottle of vodka.]
Hey. I think we need to talk. And it's going to kind of suck for both of us, I suspect.
[He needs to talk to him. Last night was... it was draining. All he wants is to run, but there's nowhere to run to, and this time, this time he's reaching out instead of vanishing.]
[He makes himself wait and it's excruciating. He nurses a beer, sits on the couch, paces a little, and is lounging on the couch tapping the beer bottle against his shin, probably, by the time Roman gets home.]
[He's having trouble with it, but he eventually manages to get it to work. His memories are fuzzy so it's like getting to learn it all over again. The face on the video screen is suspiciously small and with pinchable cheeks. It's only those big clear blue eyes and his lips that might seem familiar.]
Roman, where are you?
[Because Peter is eleven right now and the fact that Roman isn't here with him is strangely confusing.]
[And so he rolls out. A change in jacket and hoping he doesn't smell too much like an ash tray from the casino. Peter might have the ability to slip in and out of notice on the street but Roman's car is very, very easy to find when he rolls up the the curb.]
[A day ending in y is a day where Roman has to figure out what it's like to do what the 'small people do' in his own skin. It's like squeezing into a box. Domesticity for a lion or some other savage, picky thing. He has to make himself smile and nod and earn tips to supplement the pay. The casino has a fairly active traffic for the time of day. He's handing over the money owed and trying not to roll his eyes or slouch in his monkey suit.
The things you do for money. His shameful secret.]
[Peter still doesn't know that Roman works. Sure, he slips off for hours at a time, comes back smelling of cigarettes and greed and mixed drinks. Which is to say that he could have ended up at any of the number of bars in different areas of the City. It wasn't something Peter worried about; he and Roman had common vices. Peter just preferred a hammock and a warm afternoon.
Today, however, the werewolf was slipping into the casino with a toothy smile. He'd picked up a small number of chips and was debating between poker of blackjack when he saw a familiar face.
Normally, it wouldn't have phased him, but he was on the wrong fucking side of the counter. Roman couldn't be working here... could he? Godfreys didn't work for a living. But, then again, Roman did manage to have a fair amount of disposable cash.
He couldn't stop himself from watching. He was honestly impressed. The smile that curved his lips was honestly affectionate more than anything, because Peter understood that it meant something. It took a while before he finally headed over, putting himself in Roman's line of sight.]
Hey. You on break soon?
[He was trying to not make a big deal out of it. Last thing he wanted to do was make him feel shitty about it.]
[If only he could say he's been to bars. That would mean he's out having fun, having a life and an easy one at that. His small table crowd has cleared and while he shuffles the cards he hardly looks up. Oh wait. That's a person.
Half lidded eyes open wide and he almost deals a whole fifty-two pickup for himself.]
Shee-it.
[Peter. Peter here? Why here? Why is he thinking in panicked incomplete sentences. His lips pucker and his eyes drop as shame sweeps right up from his toes to his hairline. It's not the most embarrassing way to be approached. Being spotted, being noticed at all is enough though.]
Uh yeah. Soon.
[Green eyes pop back to see what sort of humor is coming up out of this and finds....nothing of the sort.]
[He smiles, warm, and briefly touches fingers to Roman's shoulder as he walks over to the bar. Sure, it would probably have been better to talk about at home, but with his luck, Roman would see him as he left, and by the time he got home it would have been more of a thing than it needed to be.
So they could talk it out here. Not that there was much to talk about; just that there wasn't much reason for Roman to hide it from him, which in hindsight he was pretty sure he had been.
Sure, it was ironic as fuck, but that didn't mean he was going to mock him for it. His Godfrey name can't pull money out of trees here, he guesses, even if that should have been obvious. And between them, Roman was the only one really bringing in money. Peter brought home clothes, DVDs and other odds and ends he 'acquired' when they caught his eye.
He sipped at a beer and tried to keep from watching him. But, Roman made it hard. Green eyes and a pretty face.]
Alice had other concerns and, in her opinion, isn't the worst of things in her unfortunate life. Having a vague knowledge of what type of person Roman was (and honestly, drinking blood sounds like superstitious nonsense to her), it's her first time seeing him act out on his natural need for sustenance.
That is to say, Alice's reaction is equally disturbing, with a nonchalant crossing of her arms and tapping of her boots. All Alice can say simply is- ]
I do hope you don't ruin that shirt; blood is impossible to wash out.
[ That's it. That's Alice's thoughts on the matter. In addition to- ]
I'm assuming that fellow was well deserving to be a midnight meal?
Text.
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[Where to start.]
Text.
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Part of him thinks it's a bad idea. He could have just ignored her text. Right now he feels like he needs to be frank, raw and get everything that's coming to him. Hopefully there might be some sympathy with the beer.
About a half an hour later, he knocks at the door.]
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Hey. I think we need to talk. And it's going to kind of suck for both of us, I suspect.
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Backdated -- [Text]
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Out. What's up?
[Out means he's not lying!]
[Text]
[He needs to talk to him. Last night was... it was draining. All he wants is to run, but there's nowhere to run to, and this time, this time he's reaching out instead of vanishing.]
[Text]
in person?
[Quick glance at the time before he sends--]
Give me an hour.
[Text]
[He makes himself wait and it's excruciating. He nurses a beer, sits on the couch, paces a little, and is lounging on the couch tapping the beer bottle against his shin, probably, by the time Roman gets home.]
[Video]
Roman, where are you?
[Because Peter is eleven right now and the fact that Roman isn't here with him is strangely confusing.]
[Video]
Coming back right now.
[From work.]
....where are you?
[In hopes of figuring out who the hell this is very fast. He's got a whisp of a clue. Sort of.]
[Video]
[As if that's somehow obvious.]
But I wanted to see you and you're not here.
[He pouts and looks as if this is something intrinsically wrong with the world.]
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....Peter?
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[His tone says obviously.]
But I like you and you're not here and that sucks. So where are you?
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Text;
[By which he means drive around with smokes and alcohol and that gorgeous fucking car.]
Text;
Where are you?
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[You know, spiking some bullshit latte with whiskey. And he wants to steal your smokes, and ride shotgun in your car.]
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[And so he rolls out. A change in jacket and hoping he doesn't smell too much like an ash tray from the casino. Peter might have the ability to slip in and out of notice on the street but Roman's car is very, very easy to find when he rolls up the the curb.]
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The things you do for money. His shameful secret.]
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Today, however, the werewolf was slipping into the casino with a toothy smile. He'd picked up a small number of chips and was debating between poker of blackjack when he saw a familiar face.
Normally, it wouldn't have phased him, but he was on the wrong fucking side of the counter. Roman couldn't be working here... could he? Godfreys didn't work for a living. But, then again, Roman did manage to have a fair amount of disposable cash.
He couldn't stop himself from watching. He was honestly impressed. The smile that curved his lips was honestly affectionate more than anything, because Peter understood that it meant something. It took a while before he finally headed over, putting himself in Roman's line of sight.]
Hey. You on break soon?
[He was trying to not make a big deal out of it. Last thing he wanted to do was make him feel shitty about it.]
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Half lidded eyes open wide and he almost deals a whole fifty-two pickup for himself.]
Shee-it.
[Peter. Peter here? Why here? Why is he thinking in panicked incomplete sentences. His lips pucker and his eyes drop as shame sweeps right up from his toes to his hairline. It's not the most embarrassing way to be approached. Being spotted, being noticed at all is enough though.]
Uh yeah. Soon.
[Green eyes pop back to see what sort of humor is coming up out of this and finds....nothing of the sort.]
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[He smiles, warm, and briefly touches fingers to Roman's shoulder as he walks over to the bar. Sure, it would probably have been better to talk about at home, but with his luck, Roman would see him as he left, and by the time he got home it would have been more of a thing than it needed to be.
So they could talk it out here. Not that there was much to talk about; just that there wasn't much reason for Roman to hide it from him, which in hindsight he was pretty sure he had been.
Sure, it was ironic as fuck, but that didn't mean he was going to mock him for it. His Godfrey name can't pull money out of trees here, he guesses, even if that should have been obvious. And between them, Roman was the only one really bringing in money. Peter brought home clothes, DVDs and other odds and ends he 'acquired' when they caught his eye.
He sipped at a beer and tried to keep from watching him. But, Roman made it hard. Green eyes and a pretty face.]
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Alice had other concerns and, in her opinion, isn't the worst of things in her unfortunate life. Having a vague knowledge of what type of person Roman was (and honestly, drinking blood sounds like superstitious nonsense to her), it's her first time seeing him act out on his natural need for sustenance.
That is to say, Alice's reaction is equally disturbing, with a nonchalant crossing of her arms and tapping of her boots. All Alice can say simply is- ]
I do hope you don't ruin that shirt; blood is impossible to wash out.
[ That's it. That's Alice's thoughts on the matter. In addition to- ]
I'm assuming that fellow was well deserving to be a midnight meal?