DBY Bill, Nic

[billboyd]

The morning after the party.He hadn't drunk, smoked, snorted, or otherwise ingested anything last night -- unlike most everyone else -- that could possibly still be lingering in his system, making him feel this good. In fact, there is every reason in the world not to feel this good, considering that he now has to move, his flat is the equivalent of

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[billboyd]

"It was--" he hesitates, because fun isn't exactly the word he would use for last night; of course, he'd done a lot last night that had nothing to do with Nic or the party, so he confines his observations to that quite consciously, "--interesting."

Nic arches a brow at him, a fairly blatant invitation to continue, and Bill shrugs.

"It wasn't what I'm used to," he says, which is mostly true. It isn't even the sex (although he's not used to that, either, exactly), because he'd spent three years undercover intimately associated with a crowd of people to whom the words moral and ethical meant very little, and he had seen his share of sex during that time.

The thing was, though, he hadn't really been involved in that. And he hadn't been involved last night, not really, but he sort of had been, too, because... well, fuck, it had been his girl Nic had been fucking.

But that only makes him think of afterward, at Keira's, the feel of her skin against his hands, against his skin, and he's smiling again without meaning to. When he glances up at him, Nic is giving him a little smirk.

[nic_stark]

"This place is not what anyone is used to, mate." Nic stands and claps Bill on the shoulder. "You just have to pick and choose the good bits, eh?"

He yawns, because the buzz of the Berocca has worn off, and he feels a bit limp from last night. Fuck knows everything he got up to.

"'m gonna go get some more coffee, Bill. And I'll stick the cocoon to a branch for you, but until later in the day when it's a bit cooler. D'you want anything out?

[billboyd]

"Nah, I'm good," Bill says. "What about Selma? If you're coming back here, you don't wanna make her endure another pointless car ride do you? I could put her in the filing cabinet. No one would bother her there."

That's for bloody sure. If there's a tarantula in the filing cabinet, no one (including Bill) could possibly need a file enough to open the fucking thing.

[nic_stark]

He sniggers. Bill was so fucking quick to suggest that, he knew the wanker was trying to get shot of his baby.

"If you even so much as rattle her box, you're in big trouble," Nic says, but with a smile. "She better be unscathed if I let you babysit her."

He wouldn't be long, anyhow. The craving for a mocha had set in, and the coffee from the machine in the offices was acceptable at best, contempible at worst. Maybe Bill could get onto that. He seemed like the kind of bloke who would appreciate the important things. Besides, dairy products always made blow jobs better, something to do with the fat molecules coating his tongue.

Selma's box nestled between files (he had deliberated over whether to file her under A for Avicularua, S for Selma, or T for Tarantula and settled on S), Nic scribbles on a Post-It and sticks it to the front of the cabinet.

When he turns around Bill has his head cocked, watching the moth flit in the netting. It's a real beauty, and big too. Nic feels something like gratification, and beams.

"'Kay, I'm off. Tell Johnny I'm his little bit of fluff today, would you - I poked my head in but I don't think they'll need me quite yet, unless Bryan really did have a bottle of tequila last night."

[billboyd]

"Err, right," Bill manages, and pulls his attention away from the Atlas. "I'll let him know. Hey wait!"

He pats himself down quickly, finds his packet of fags and investigates the contents. Three.

"Pick me up a pack of Camels?" he asks, and shakes the mostly empty box at Nic.

"Sure, mate," Nic agrees, and smiles brightly. He gives Bill a little wave on his way out the door.

Well, Bill thinks. That was practically civil.

He glances at the file cabinet (in which a tarantula is now lurking), and crouches down on his heels to investigate the post-it Nic had stuck onto the drawer. It's a little drawing of Selma. She appears to be frollicing amongst some daisies. There's a little "keep out" sign drawn beside her, complete with wooden post.

It's quite good.

Bill grabs the pad of post-its and scrawls on the top sheet: There is a big bloody tarantula in this drawer. Do not open it unless you want her to bite your fucking fingers off. DBY will not he held liable for any tarantula-related injuries.

He hesitates for a moment, then signs it in block letters: THE MANAGEMENT.

Then he removes Nic's post-it and replaces it with the new one. It's not that he thinks Nic's post-it isn't accurate. He just knows people better than Nic, knows how amazingly stupid they can be.

He just looks at if for a long moment, hand hovering over the waste bin.

Then he unzips his laptop case and sticks Nic's spider drawing to the top of his laptop.