[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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He begins to reach out toward the cigarette in order to pluck it from Matt's mouth for a drag and catches himself halfway, dropping his hand. It's more of a habit than anything.]
I think I'll fuck a bike up at this point, honestly. [An uncertain laugh.]
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I would drive, but I prob'ly shouldn't. Oh, hey, there's a beach room, if you'd rather.
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Yeah, if it's cool.
[His hair partially obstructs his right eye as he glances back up, flashing another smile.]
Haven't seen the beach in a long time. Never get to see much of Cali. Work and all.
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[The idea of just flopping onto the sand is pretty appealing to Matt, actually, for all that he used to shun the outdoors. He concentrates on remembering where the beach room is, then grins. A light bulb might as well appear over his head.]
Next floor down!
[He shakes another cigarette out of the Marlboro pack and holds it out.] Here ya go.
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'Preciate it. [Plucking it from Matt's hand, he sticks the filter in his mouth and blinks, waiting for a light. He never carries one of his own. Never really smokes that much either, actually. It's a thing he saves for either occasions or times of extreme stress.]
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Now there's one way Mellos are different. Knew one who smoked cloves, and one who bummed off me all the time. Mine, he used to bitch at me for chainsmoking.
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Cloves. [A small grimace crosses his features.] Never really liked those. I usually'll smoke whatever's around. Prefer menthols, though.
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[He puts the hand not occupied with a cigarette on his waist, and tips his head at Mello: link up arms; we could both use someone to lean on. The bourbon has hit him harder than he expected.]
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[He hesitates...then nods, sliding his arm through Matt's and crooking his elbow.] Christ, doesn't this place have fucken elevators? Or don't I wanna know?
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[He would add his usual line about how it isn't as if smoking is going to kill him, but something tells him not to. Maybe he subconsciously noted Mello's reaction to the 'and hope to die' he didn't say out loud. He leans into him a little, starting down down the steps again, nice and slow.]
Never seen an elevator. But shit moves around, y'know.
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Yeah, haven't seen that yet.
[He turns his head slightly and blows out a long trail of smoke, each step a bit of a balance-test. But it's alright. Between the two of them, he doubts either of them are fucked enough to go sprawling down a flight of stairs just yet.]
So the ocean...it's like..real? Like saltwater and fish and shit?
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[That he imagined he could smell the ocean, and felt a weird longing for it, dozens of miles away from it in Pennsylvania in the earliest memories left to him, is something he hasn't even told his Mello.]
We're good, there's the landing, [he answers the tension he senses in Mello as much as anything else.] Been through worse, yeah?
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Pft. Compared to some things, walkin' down a couple flights of stairs half-banged isn't shit. [A cracked smile.] How 'bout you? [He glances over, keeping his hold.] You alright?
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You're right. We can do fuckin' anything.
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Yeah, like make it back up those stairs when this is done. [He nods toward the cognac.
But apparently, not stay alive. It's on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it back, opting not to take the bitter route. There's no guarantee that either he or Matt are set to die back in his world.
Though the situation may certainly provoke the possibility.]
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