Bringing livelings pie and cookies only does so much for him. Things are going pretty well with Bruce, but 'pretty well' doesn't mean 'please make me bleed', and getting to play with Nita and ice cubes only goes so far.
So: restless.
Sitting at Bar.
Toying with an empty shot glass and contemplating whether or not to add (the other) Will to the pie-and-cookies roster.
...Okay, nervous is not an improvement on restless.
For the record.
Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, he approaches.
"How you been?"
It's a time-buying question, a deflector. He doesn't want to ask the thing he most wants to ask. And if you think reading that is confusing, try thinking it.
"You said everything about me is your fucking business" -- the air of quotation is probably familiar -- "I objected; I accused you of using me as a substitute, you objected; I think I said 'don't you dare' and" -- he drops his gaze briefly, though the even tone of his voice doesn't change -- "you said 'Love you? Too fucking late.'"
Pause.
"And a little later you threw a shot glass at me. Outside."
If Chainsaw doesn't remember his despairing outburst about making Downside matter, he's not inclined to remind him. He wishes he hadn't said it in the first place.
"I've been making the rounds giving cookies and hugs to the liveling girls. Feel like I should add you to my schedule, but all the things that suck for you right now are pretty much my fault."
...It's a new, improved, responsibility-assuming Chainsaw!
Bringing livelings pie and cookies only does so much for him. Things are going pretty well with Bruce, but 'pretty well' doesn't mean 'please make me bleed', and getting to play with Nita and ice cubes only goes so far.
So: restless.
Sitting at Bar.
Toying with an empty shot glass and contemplating whether or not to add (the other) Will to the pie-and-cookies roster.
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Will is wandering by with his hands in his pockets, towards the front door. He has not apparently noticed Chainsaw.
He looks cheerful enough.
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He rubs his face and sets the glass down, debating whether or not to ruin that.
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Softly: "Will?"
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. . . Ah, fuck.
A nod of acknowledgment.
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For the record.
Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, he approaches.
"How you been?"
It's a time-buying question, a deflector. He doesn't want to ask the thing he most wants to ask. And if you think reading that is confusing, try thinking it.
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"Fine. Working. You?"
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He shakes his head.
"Look, I was so drunk I honestly don't remember what the fuck we were screaming at each other about, but whatever it was I'm sorry."
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He blows out a breath, wincing, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Well, thanks for the apology. Do you want to know what we were screaming at each other about?"
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Pause.
"And a little later you threw a shot glass at me. Outside."
If Chainsaw doesn't remember his despairing outburst about making Downside matter, he's not inclined to remind him. He wishes he hadn't said it in the first place.
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Shrug.
"Sorry."
He half-smiles.
"I've been making the rounds giving cookies and hugs to the liveling girls. Feel like I should add you to my schedule, but all the things that suck for you right now are pretty much my fault."
...It's a new, improved, responsibility-assuming Chainsaw!
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"You--" (giggle) "--heard me. Cookies and--" (snort) "--hugs. And pie and antidepressants."
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Well:
"Seriously?"
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