There is a teenage boy at the Bar, staring doubtfully at the level one Spanish textbook that appeared along with the Coke he asked for
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When the door opens for Nix, it lets a haze of lights and pounding music through with her, weird shadows stretching across the floor for a moment before the door shuts behind her. She doesn't realise immediately that she's even in the bar, but when she does her only reaction is to shrug and keep on moving to the beat she left behind, a cider bottle in her hand. She's humming to herself and her movements lack their usual grace as she dances across the bar: Nix is rather drunk.
It's attractively cool and dusky outside after the heat of the underground tunnels, even if she's not wearing all that much: high-heeled boots, pencil skirt laced all the way up at the back with red ribbon, and usual red corset. The boots are hard to dance in outside when you're as tipsy as she is, so after the third turned ankle Nix pauses to take them off and carry them in one hand across the grass. She's not really thinking about where she's going, but she does eventually end up near the inlet, leaning against a tree and alternating giggling with swigs from her bottle.
Cal tenses a little at the sound of someone approaching, but not as much as he could - it's just footsteps, after all, uneven but normal-sounding. No wheels, or rhythmic sound of crutches.
The tension mostly eases away when he recognizes the giggling. He looks up, relieved.
Nix grins at him, unsteadily making her way over, and completely forgets that this is her favourite (and, okay, only) skirt to sit beside him. Like Cam, she's rather closer than usual personal-space preferences would like, but her only excuse is that she's drunk.
"Never," Cal says, the frustration in his voice sharper than the situation really warrants. He's had a month to get used to that, after all. "I'm not a fucking kid. I'm almost eighteen. Then I'll be able to buy it at home myself, for Christ's sake. That's close enough, isn't it?"
He really wants to be drunk right now. Or stoned. Or both.
It's attractively cool and dusky outside after the heat of the underground tunnels, even if she's not wearing all that much: high-heeled boots, pencil skirt laced all the way up at the back with red ribbon, and usual red corset. The boots are hard to dance in outside when you're as tipsy as she is, so after the third turned ankle Nix pauses to take them off and carry them in one hand across the grass. She's not really thinking about where she's going, but she does eventually end up near the inlet, leaning against a tree and alternating giggling with swigs from her bottle.
Mmm, booze.
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The tension mostly eases away when he recognizes the giggling. He looks up, relieved.
"Hey, Nix," he calls over to her.
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Nix grins at him, unsteadily making her way over, and completely forgets that this is her favourite (and, okay, only) skirt to sit beside him. Like Cam, she's rather closer than usual personal-space preferences would like, but her only excuse is that she's drunk.
"Hey, you."
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"You look you've been having fun," he says, and nods to the bottle. "What's that?"
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"Yeah! Thanks."
He reaches for the bottle and takes a long swallow. The burn of the alcohol is soothingly familiar, even after these past weeks of enforced sobriety.
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Nix grins, reaching for it back. "Bar not let you have any?"
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He really wants to be drunk right now. Or stoned. Or both.
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Headtilt. Something's not right...
"What's up, Cal?"
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"Nothing."
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She reaches for the bottle, taking a drink herself.
"Mmm."
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"Said there wasn't."
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"Yeah. People say all kinds of things."
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The fact that he is is hardly the point.
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"...Pretty much, yep," she admits, offering the bottle back.
"Not that y'have t'tell me about it, or anything."
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"I, uh. Just saw someone I didn't want to see, that's all," he says after a moment.
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