[tessera]

[winewomenand]

[ voice post ]

I haven't had a bad trip like that since before 1868. Come to think of it, it's been hard to have a good trip since 1868. Drug dealers charge a fucking arm and a leg these days. They act like such primadonnas. 'Do you know how hard this job is?' Tell it to Mother fucking Teresa, do you honestly think anybody cares about your welfare

Comments

action;

[cal_sitter]

The arrangement has been that Niko comes into work, stays for the first hour or two after opening, then makes a quiet exit to leave most of the person-to-person dealings in the capable and in most cases steadier hands of his employees. Not so tonight. He leaves his paperwork unfinished in the office and steps onto the floor, giving Robin a hard glare and then offering the same to the unfortunate who's been serving the puck his poison of choice.

action;

[winewomenand]

There is a period of time in which Robin hefts his empty, somewhat expensive-looking crystal whiskey tumbler, and gives it a discerning look which is obviously contemplative of throwing the thing at Niko's glaring face to stop said glaring. And his nose would make a very good target, but Robin is just as sure that his finely toned ass would make an excellent target for Niko to break his foot off in.

So he just slaps it back down on the bar and pours more of the golden liquid into it from one of the three half-empty bottles sitting in front of his spot with a petulant expression.

"I do what I want."

action;

[cal_sitter]

"You've made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion," Niko agrees. He pulls out a stool and seats himself beside the puck. "By the way, I charge extra for home delivery of intoxicated patrons."

Sarcasm is the safe route at the moment. It delays discussion of the reasons Robin is drinking, and the reasons Niko is thinking of joining him.

action;

[winewomenand]

Robin takes a sip as Niko sits, watching him with curious eyes as the lip of the glass lingers against his mouth. They wonder if Niko plans on asking all of the painfully obvious questions yet. No doubt he knew better than anyone how, despite impressions to the contrary, this was a point when Robin was most vulnerable in his words.

"Then don't bother me with that 'service,' you pirate. Leave my body to be taken advantage of by pretty, mysterious, sexually experimental passersby."

action;

[cal_sitter]

Instead of answering immediately, Niko taps the bar to catch the server's attention and orders a beer: his usual import. That is, it would be an import if they were in New York. "When you wake up in the hospital tomorrow morning, don't complain that I didn't offer my assistance."

He declines the glass the server brings, and opens the beer himself. After what for him qualifies as a long swallow, he inquires, "Are you planning to stop sometime this week, or will I need to have Cal kick down your door again?"

action;

[winewomenand]

As the beer is brought out, he watches with lazy eyes, not turning to Niko until he takes his first drink. He knows exactly how infrequently the other man indulges, and even in his indulgence Robin knows exactly how much restraint is still employed.

A polar opposite, if there ever was one, and he invites the mental comparison by throwing back another shot and then another before slamming the cup down with slightly more force than absolutely necessary, as if to punctuate his own flippancy. He holds up three fingers.

"No more. Maybe less."

Re: action;

[cal_sitter]

"Mm." Niko nurses the beer for another minute or so. It isn't right that Robin had to see what lies in the dreams of his friends. To be told is to have the chance to feel sympathy, to experience the trauma--and that's what it is; there's no other word to use--is to share a wound almost as deep. Three days drunk? Niko is surprised it's not a week.

"Make it less. We can't afford three days." He glances at the tab his bartender kindly slides over. "Lux can't afford three days."

action;

[winewomenand]

He pours himself yet another, but this time doesn't toss it back. He reaches out and taps the lip of the tumbler against Niko's beer bottle. It makes a ringing noise, strangely pleasant.

"Then give me one good night without complaint and I will make it up to you. And I promise that it won't even be by going down the street and literally robbing Peter to pay Paul. They were both dicks, by the way."

action;

[cal_sitter]

"Which I'm certain you knew well."

By now a third of the beer is gone. For Niko that's a cheetah's pace. He sets it aside before he starts gaining ground on Sophia. "Are we going to speak about the previous twenty-four hours, or are they as forbidden as discussion of creative use of vegetables in my kitchen?"

action;

[winewomenand]

The corner of Robin's mouth lifts at the vegetables comment, revealing a single sharp canine, and he holds up a hand between the two of them, index and middle finger pressed tightly together and sticking out. He winks slowly.

And then his expression sobers with a speed usually only seen in the manic-depressive, the emotion behind it all in the eyebrows, which sit heavily over darkened moss-green eyes.

"As it turns out, I'm not just luckier than anyone else. I suppose that every wave has its crest and then its trough. Do you remember it; any of it?"

action;

[cal_sitter]

The expression is almost a smile, which alleviates a portion of Niko's guilt for raising a topic he knows is difficult for Robin. The puck is unused to caring, and unused to staying when there's call for it. Here in the City, he can't escape, but in New York he's ignored the good sense that tells him to run when there is risk of becoming entangled with people like the Leandros brothers. That makes it easier for Niko to trust him than anyone short of Cal.

"Portions," he confides. "I think I must have stumbled across a half dozen dreams that didn't belong to me and had as many visitors in mine. Parts run together, and there are sections missing that I can't recognize as forgotten or convenient cut in the film. How much do you remember?"

One hand reaches to turn the beer bottle on the counter, the wrist above notably free of two strings of steel beads.

action;

[winewomenand]

"Every moment of every one, with clarity. It isn't an experience that I'm used to. That's not how my dreams naturally function. The details were too raw and the colors not vibrant enough. I've never had a desire to live in anyone's head but my own, and now I have good reason to feel this way. I should feel vindicated."

His gaze finds Niko's wrist and doesn't leave it, even as he speaks. He pauses before picking up the bottle of whiskey and not the glass this time, tipping back a healthy portion of what's left in it.

"I'm not your psychiatrist. I'm not going to offer you my counsel. I'm going to tell you to put your silly damn bracelets back on before you make a threat of yourself. Do it for his sake."

action;

[cal_sitter]

"My what?" Niko's momentarily taken aback. He hasn't worn the malas for several weeks now, and Robin never displayed an interest in them before. To most the bracelets merely represented another aspect of Niko's arsenal, a useful tool to stop blades that weren't brought down with too much force and mitigate the damage from those that made it past the steel.

"Where did you ... " He shakes his head. "Never mind." If it will draw Robin out of despondency earlier than the three days requested, Niko won't argue the point. "I don't need a psychiatrist, Robin. You might, if you continue to self-medicate at this rate."

action;

[winewomenand]

"I stare at you enough," Robin mutters, dry humor still sliding in despite the conversation material, and the thinness he can feel in Niko's patience and attitude tonight. "That I would notice if you were missing a single lock of hair. You think I wouldn't have noticed you weren't wearing them here? A winner never reveals his endgame, you know. I had no reason to bring it up."

Another swig, this one leaving a trail of moisture down the side of his chin.

"But you almost killed me during that curse. Those dreams you're having-- well, I'm going to speak up if you're holding a metaphorical knife against my neck."

action;

[cal_sitter]

The sound Niko makes is shy of becoming a laugh by a wide margin, but indicative of dry amusement all the same. He can't change Robin and doesn't want to, no matter his frequent protests of the puck's behavior.

When he'd left his office, Niko had thought he would need to remove Robin from the bar stool at sword point. He finds he's not in the mood tonight. The idea of engaging Robin in a fight of any sort brings bile to the back of his throat.

Rather than scold the puck for hitting the bottle too hard, Niko hands him a napkin as a silent directive to clean up.

"I'm sorry, Robin, for that and whatever else you may have seen."

action;

[winewomenand]

He screws the cap back on the bottle of whiskey and lifts it, pressing the cold glass against his forehead as he replies to Niko with an honest shrug of his shoulders beneath a wrinkled two-hundred-dollar shirt. His other hand takes the napkin and lingers over the other man's fingers, an act more out of a need to reassure himself that Niko is still sitting there than out of a sly need to push boundaries.

He's had just enough to stop caring about appearances but not quite enough yet to become slovenly and morose. Then again, the evening is young yet.

"Auphe. I saw...a lot of Auphe. Nothing more than Auphe."