[Matt's sitting behind the bar, with a cigarette in one hand, a paperback version of Interesting Times in the other, and a half-finished pint glass of a copper-colored beer in front of him. He's lost track of how many times he's read through the Discworld series, and most of his attention isn't on the book, which he's mostly memorized by now anyway
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Almost tentatively, he turns the knob and peeks in, immediately pleased with the sight. Nice. He was thinking that if he didn't get a drink in him soon, he was likely to go nuts. Yeah, it's fucked way of coping, but after everything that's been explained to him, at this point, he really doesn't give a shit.
He fixes his attention on his figure behind the bar, the heels of his boots landing heavily on the floor as he walks over. Matt. Or...a Matt. Sure, he looks like the Matt with whom he's spoken before, but Mello's quickly learning that around here, that doesn't count for much.
He reaches the bar and flashes a smile, leaning over the surface and resting his elbows down.]
Chocotini?
[If ( ... )
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Sounds like Roger.
[Maybe this isn't the best place to joke, but Mello can't help but have a visual image of Roger in a fucken cloak, sitting atop of Wammy's and stirring all of their fates around with a giant spoon.
He shakes his head against it and maintains his expression.]
S'not crazy. [A shrug.] As crazy as being here in the first place, if anything.
[The mansion itself, is already the worst thing he can imagine. A Matt who's not Matt. An L who's not only not L, but who seems utterly indifferent to the fact that every Mello who ends up here probably wants to burst out crying like a bitch upon setting eyes on him for the first time. Yeah, rooms can't be much worse than that.]
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[This is simultaneously so ridiculous and so much what it actually seems like sometimes that Matt cracks up.]
If I'd known my own personal afterlife was gonna be some fucked-up mansion, I woulda read more horror. Or the necronomicon, at the very least, ha.
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Or. [He sets the glass down with a slight clink.] It could be considered heaven; with visages of people you knew. And the doors...are a fifty-fifty chance of experiencing a greater heaven, or plummeting straight into hell.
[What a bunch of blasphemous bullshit. Those 'tinis definitely have a kick to them.
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I get to keep going, but the price I pay is being fucked with at some weirdo's whim. [He laughs again, without as much humor as before, then brightens.] Still, the company's all right.
[He lifts his glass to Mello, sips, and nods at the empty martini glass with raised eyebrows.]
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[A bottle of dark cognac catches his eye and he gestures toward it.]
That'll do.
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[He hops back onto his stool behind the bar, and flips his cigarette around between his fingers.]
So. You're gonna get out of here, and pull it off. Save the world, beat Near, the whole deal. [He completely believes this.] What then?
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Then I take all the money I've saved, [A rather large sip.] get the fuck out outta L.A., and go somewhere nice. Machu Piccu, maybe. [He shrugs.] Somewhere where I don't really have to bother with anyone or anything and as long as I'm cool with the locals, I'll pretty much be left alone.
Do some P.I. work on the side. And just fucken relax.
[A bitter smile. He's too young to be thinking about retirement.]
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[That would've been Matt's pick for a nice place to end up, and he always figured if anyone had earned the right to just fuck around from their twenties onward, it was the two of them.]
If he could stand me dragging him around going, "Hey, that's Weathertop, ooh, that was Edoras." [He laughs, and discovers his glass is empty. Weird. Well, they're committed to drinking now. He tops it off again.]
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[He smiles into his glass.] I'm pretty sure I can drag him anywhere, as long as there's electricity. He's never been too picky about where we have to be.
[Which, as of late, has never been anywhere too nice. Yeah, Matt deserves to get the fuck out of L.A. as much as Mello does.
His smile drops subtly. Fuck. He's gonna wake up tomorrow and possibly the day after and Matt's not...gonna be there and--fuck. Another chug and the glass is half-empty. He should take it easy. This shit's stronger than a chocolate martini. By far.]
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[He looks into his beer. Yeah, alcohol's a depressant, Matt; good job there, he tells himself.]
Personally, I'd hold out for a T1 connection.
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Yeah, well...
[Fuck's he supposed to say? Part of him is vaguely pissed off at his counterpart for letting his Matt get offed but--yeah, that's definitely the alcohol.]
I'm sure you would have negotiated it, eventually. [A forced smile drops as quickly as it arrives on his lips.]
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[This is mostly the alcohol talking, too.]
We should, I dunno. Do something stupid and fun.
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Heh.
[He remembers Matt mentioning something about a room with cars and bikes and Mello perks up a bit, arching a brow.]
Wanna race?
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That sounds like a terrible idea. Let's do it!
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Lead the way.
[He fully intends to milk this cognac for everything it's worth.]
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