( Call it the buddy system. Other than Stiles, Constantine is a friend in this town. Ally. He's - someone. Either way, he leaves him the voice mail as he makes his way out of Stiles' townhouse. )
This guy on the network isn't quite right. He says he was stabbed by something wooden, but he also jokes about stabbing others. He calls it poking. He's around the Hart Mart. ( Which just sounds like he's... informing Constantine. So. Here. He'll say more. ) I'm going.
This guy on the network isn't quite right. He says he was stabbed by something wooden, but he also jokes about stabbing others. He calls it poking. He's around the Hart Mart. ( Which just sounds like he's... informing Constantine. So. Here. He'll say more. ) I'm going.
[ When dealing with cults it's best to have something of a buddy system in place. Just in case. He is busy patching up his neck as best as he's able which is why it goes to voicemail to begin with.
Once he's sure the bandage isn't going to come loose and he gets a hefty swig of the whiskey he's got at his place, he calls back: ] Something wooden? Did he say exactly what?
[ Could be a number of things. Who knows with this Sodder and the creepy cultists. Could just be some bastard gone out of his head. ]
I'm on my way, mate.
Once he's sure the bandage isn't going to come loose and he gets a hefty swig of the whiskey he's got at his place, he calls back: ] Something wooden? Did he say exactly what?
[ Could be a number of things. Who knows with this Sodder and the creepy cultists. Could just be some bastard gone out of his head. ]
I'm on my way, mate.
action - sometime during mid-march, as discussed - cw: bad ideas
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dividingline
2020-03-23 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Though his usual demeanour might suggest otherwise, Grady isn't a fan of drinking alone. Before everything happened (he's starting to think of it as the "Before Death" time), he hadn't been much of a fan of drinking, period. He can't handle it well, ends up in pain and regretting it more often than not, though admittedly he does enjoy the chance to kvetch about it afterwards. But now, things are different in so many ways, most of them more painful than a simple hangover, so he reasons he might as well give it a chance.
He's not so much sprawled over the booth that happens to be in the darkest corner of the Hair of The Dog, but he's making the most of what room he has, feet up on the seats opposite and one arm stretched out, fingers drumming idly on the polished wood. He's drawing circles in spilled beer on the tabletop as he squints across the miniature cityscape of empty bottles and glasses at his new friend.
"So when you say magic you mean like.." He waves a hand in what's probably supposed to be an eloquent gesture. "Not like.. bunnies out of hats."
He's not so much sprawled over the booth that happens to be in the darkest corner of the Hair of The Dog, but he's making the most of what room he has, feet up on the seats opposite and one arm stretched out, fingers drumming idly on the polished wood. He's drawing circles in spilled beer on the tabletop as he squints across the miniature cityscape of empty bottles and glasses at his new friend.
"So when you say magic you mean like.." He waves a hand in what's probably supposed to be an eloquent gesture. "Not like.. bunnies out of hats."
John would usually grab a bottle, maybe a glass, and drown his sorrows on his own just fine. In the spirit of figuring out this place, it seems pertinent to mix with the locals. Or at least people who have been here long enough to have a decent idea what is going on. After all that nasty business helping Derek with the people pies, being attacked by Katherine (his own fault for being a wanker, really) and that other one with the Ken doll hair?
Drinking is definitely the first thing on the menu. Second is a ciggy and the third? Well, hopefully that'll be handled before night's end. Where the ciggy gets sparked in all that is negotiable far as he's concerned. This far down the rabbit hole drinking, he only feels a mildly irritating tug at his still healing neck.
A rumble of a laugh escapes him as he lazily follows the gesture, eyes crinkling with mirth, and drinks down the rest of the bottle in his hands before it joins it's fallen brethren.
"I leave the bunnies for good 'ol Z. That's her thing. My methods are a touch more unsavory than bunnies out of hats and pretending to saw pretty ladies in half."
He's more than a little bladdered but not so much that something else can't come of the rest of the night. It'd almost make him believe God isn't just some bastard child with an ant farm.
But only almost.
"What you---you wanting some proof then?"
Drinking is definitely the first thing on the menu. Second is a ciggy and the third? Well, hopefully that'll be handled before night's end. Where the ciggy gets sparked in all that is negotiable far as he's concerned. This far down the rabbit hole drinking, he only feels a mildly irritating tug at his still healing neck.
A rumble of a laugh escapes him as he lazily follows the gesture, eyes crinkling with mirth, and drinks down the rest of the bottle in his hands before it joins it's fallen brethren.
"I leave the bunnies for good 'ol Z. That's her thing. My methods are a touch more unsavory than bunnies out of hats and pretending to saw pretty ladies in half."
He's more than a little bladdered but not so much that something else can't come of the rest of the night. It'd almost make him believe God isn't just some bastard child with an ant farm.
But only almost.
"What you---you wanting some proof then?"
Edited (betrayed by html) 2020-03-23 22:10 (UTC)
Between the accent and a meandering and thoroughly mutual journey into inebriation, Grady's not entirely sure he's been following everything that John's been saying, though he's prepared to be entertained by it all -- for the sake of giving the man a reason to keep talking if nothing else.
If he was being honest, he'd admit that the magic stuff is the least interesting part of the guy sitting in front of him. He's not like Wes, ready at any moment to be swept off to some fallen kingdom or battle among the stars so long as it leaves aside reality for a while. Reality, for Grady, is reassuring, solid, definable, even if it is cruel and unusual a lot of the time. He likes knowing it's still there. As a kid he'd spent most of their movie trips alternating between translating and falling asleep on Wes' shoulder, unconvinced that Middle Earth or the planet Hoth were worth visiting. It's not for a lack of imagination, just a stubborn refusal to give up what little hold he has on the things he knows.
But his new drinking buddy is charming and good looking and doesn't seem to want to leave either so, why not.
"Sure man, whatever," Grady replies, leaning over slightly to look blearily at the table in a search for a glass that isn't empty. "Gimme a fucking.. I dunno, a show."
If he was being honest, he'd admit that the magic stuff is the least interesting part of the guy sitting in front of him. He's not like Wes, ready at any moment to be swept off to some fallen kingdom or battle among the stars so long as it leaves aside reality for a while. Reality, for Grady, is reassuring, solid, definable, even if it is cruel and unusual a lot of the time. He likes knowing it's still there. As a kid he'd spent most of their movie trips alternating between translating and falling asleep on Wes' shoulder, unconvinced that Middle Earth or the planet Hoth were worth visiting. It's not for a lack of imagination, just a stubborn refusal to give up what little hold he has on the things he knows.
But his new drinking buddy is charming and good looking and doesn't seem to want to leave either so, why not.
"Sure man, whatever," Grady replies, leaning over slightly to look blearily at the table in a search for a glass that isn't empty. "Gimme a fucking.. I dunno, a show."
Honestly, they haven't really talked much about the town. Outside of what a ballsed up situation it all is. He's used to skeptics but not so much the interested kind.
John's world might be a strange one, full of darkness and demons and fighting for every scrap of good one can have, but it's real. Most people can't stomach the idea of it. Divine epiphanies come at a cost that not all are willing to pay. Either with their souls or their sanity. Maybe a measure of something in between. He gets the feeling that Grady, while he may not care for this place or whatever it likes to cook up for its residents, takes it as gospel because that is his current reality. Better than denial at any rate.
He hums as he tries to think of what he can do. His hold on normally powerful stuff is slippery at best and being a little more than halfway to completely pissed is not helping. He digs out his smokes, opening the pack to pull one out with his teeth, and then offers one out to the other man.
"Have that then, and I'll spark it for you," he grins, cigarette waving as it hangs from his mouth.
John's world might be a strange one, full of darkness and demons and fighting for every scrap of good one can have, but it's real. Most people can't stomach the idea of it. Divine epiphanies come at a cost that not all are willing to pay. Either with their souls or their sanity. Maybe a measure of something in between. He gets the feeling that Grady, while he may not care for this place or whatever it likes to cook up for its residents, takes it as gospel because that is his current reality. Better than denial at any rate.
He hums as he tries to think of what he can do. His hold on normally powerful stuff is slippery at best and being a little more than halfway to completely pissed is not helping. He digs out his smokes, opening the pack to pull one out with his teeth, and then offers one out to the other man.
"Have that then, and I'll spark it for you," he grins, cigarette waving as it hangs from his mouth.
After a few seconds of careful consideration Grady manages to find a shot glass with a thimbleful of whiskey left and tips it back into his mouth. The idea of having to get up to get more drinks seems both too remote and too complicated to bother with, but he's happy enough to make do with what he can scavenge for now.
He pulls his feet down off the booth seat, his knee bumping companionably against John's under the table, and looks at his companion owlishly for a moment before realising what's going on.
"Oh, sure, right." He plucks the cigarette out of John's hand and examines it, as if checking for something hidden -- possibly a rabbit -- before sticking it between his teeth, eyebrows raised. Then he seems to remember something and removes it briefly.
"Just.. if you burn anything else I'll fucking.. I'll.. you'll regret it. Probably." Threat made, he puts it back between his lips and awaits whatever is going to happen.
He pulls his feet down off the booth seat, his knee bumping companionably against John's under the table, and looks at his companion owlishly for a moment before realising what's going on.
"Oh, sure, right." He plucks the cigarette out of John's hand and examines it, as if checking for something hidden -- possibly a rabbit -- before sticking it between his teeth, eyebrows raised. Then he seems to remember something and removes it briefly.
"Just.. if you burn anything else I'll fucking.. I'll.. you'll regret it. Probably." Threat made, he puts it back between his lips and awaits whatever is going to happen.
While the idea of more drinks sounds appealing, the company is far too good thus far to bother with trying to stumble to his feet. If he's stumbling anywhere after this, he hopes it's to one of theirs for a good shag. Legs bumping under the table, he doesn't try to move his away, and he grins as Grady slowly works it out.
A huff of amused laughter. "Go on, I don't mind. Make sure it's just a normal ciggy," he tells him with a grin. Despite the awful state of things here, he's not sure he's had a night where he's enjoyed himself this much in a while. Running about with Gary and the Legends just isn't the same as all this.
"Only probably? No, don't worry, chief. Not going to send you up in a puff of smoke. I'm betting you use your face for some of your favorite things, anyway."
Clearing a few of the empty bottles away, and the shot glasses that might still have any liquid left, he holds his hand out, palm up and closes it to a fist. His eyes don't close fully but roll to the back of his head as he mutters a quick infernus accersi.
Once said, a small amount of fire engulfs his fist and he opens his palm to cradle the flame, eyes full of mirth.
A huff of amused laughter. "Go on, I don't mind. Make sure it's just a normal ciggy," he tells him with a grin. Despite the awful state of things here, he's not sure he's had a night where he's enjoyed himself this much in a while. Running about with Gary and the Legends just isn't the same as all this.
"Only probably? No, don't worry, chief. Not going to send you up in a puff of smoke. I'm betting you use your face for some of your favorite things, anyway."
Clearing a few of the empty bottles away, and the shot glasses that might still have any liquid left, he holds his hand out, palm up and closes it to a fist. His eyes don't close fully but roll to the back of his head as he mutters a quick infernus accersi.
Once said, a small amount of fire engulfs his fist and he opens his palm to cradle the flame, eyes full of mirth.
Grady's natural scepticism doesn't last long against the combined forces of the booze in his system and the warm leg pressing up against his own, not to mention the eyes meeting his across the table. By the time John holds his hand out, he finds himself leaning forward a little to watch, as curious as any kid trying to see into the silk lining of a top hat.
The fire, when it suddenly appears, makes him jump, and he catches himself on the edge of the table hard enough to make the remaining bottles ring against each other. "Fuck!"
But he's quick to come back again, genuinely impressed. None of Wes' boyfriends have been able to demonstrate something like this. It's close enough to being something that Grady can understand, just a magic trick with the fakery removed, that he can allow himself to be impressed by it. Just a little.
"Hey, look at that, you're like a.. a walking Zippo." He plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it up. "May I?"
The fire, when it suddenly appears, makes him jump, and he catches himself on the edge of the table hard enough to make the remaining bottles ring against each other. "Fuck!"
But he's quick to come back again, genuinely impressed. None of Wes' boyfriends have been able to demonstrate something like this. It's close enough to being something that Grady can understand, just a magic trick with the fakery removed, that he can allow himself to be impressed by it. Just a little.
"Hey, look at that, you're like a.. a walking Zippo." He plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it up. "May I?"
Skeptics can be refreshing. Corrigan was for a time until he saw what was out there in the world. Most of the people he deals with are skeptics to start. After, many of them tend to brush it off as some kind of imaginary thing. That kind of knowledge isn't for the weak of heart.
His shoulders shake a little with a laugh at the reaction. Keeping his hand steady and not reaching out for the other man, that'd end their night quick. He wiggles his fingers to make the fire dance a bit but his attention is only on Grady's face as he takes it all in. There's something about it, seeing it for the first time. It's as intoxicating as being an amateur all over again. Times like these he almost gets why Zatanna does what she does.
"Among my many other talents," he offers with a nod. "Help yourself, chief. I said I'd spark it for you."
His shoulders shake a little with a laugh at the reaction. Keeping his hand steady and not reaching out for the other man, that'd end their night quick. He wiggles his fingers to make the fire dance a bit but his attention is only on Grady's face as he takes it all in. There's something about it, seeing it for the first time. It's as intoxicating as being an amateur all over again. Times like these he almost gets why Zatanna does what she does.
"Among my many other talents," he offers with a nod. "Help yourself, chief. I said I'd spark it for you."
Rather that light it like that, Grady sticks the cigarette back between his teeth and leans forward, letting the light of the gently dancing flame dazzle his eyes, so when he sits back the after-image skating over his vision makes him feel a little dizzy. He takes a drag and breathes out a grateful sigh of smoke, then only belatedly realises he ought to check and see if they've been clocked for it, peering back over his shoulder. But the management of the bar seems to have more on their mind than kicking out a couple of guys playing with fire in the corner.
He settles back again, one arm crooked along the back of the booth as he eyes John thoughtfully through the blueish haze and taps ash into an empty shot glass.
"So what, that's.. like, that's it?" He waves his free hand. "You just roll your eyes and poof," he flares his fingers, "you're Smokey the Bear's worst enemy?"
He settles back again, one arm crooked along the back of the booth as he eyes John thoughtfully through the blueish haze and taps ash into an empty shot glass.
"So what, that's.. like, that's it?" He waves his free hand. "You just roll your eyes and poof," he flares his fingers, "you're Smokey the Bear's worst enemy?"
Keeping still so that he can light it easy enough. Once he's got his smoke sorted, he brings the flame back to flare his own to life. It's a simpler fare to extinguish the flame. A quick close of his fist, another muttered word, and the flames depart. John follows his line of sight, entirely bemused at the idea that nobody seemed to pay any attention at all to it.
He takes a drag of his own cigarette, exhaling with a sigh and a grin.
"It's a little more complicated than all that," he assures. "It's usually a bit more climatic than that, even. I can throw fireballs just not here." Which is frustrating to say the least.
Confusion comes over his features as his brow furrows. "Smokey the Bear?"
He takes a drag of his own cigarette, exhaling with a sigh and a grin.
"It's a little more complicated than all that," he assures. "It's usually a bit more climatic than that, even. I can throw fireballs just not here." Which is frustrating to say the least.
Confusion comes over his features as his brow furrows. "Smokey the Bear?"
Though he's willing to be given a show, Grady doesn't offer Constantine's explanation more than a thoughtful grunt. He's distracted for the moment by the idea of getting something else to drink, and starts picking up beer bottles to see how much is left in them.
"He's kind of like.. you know, don't start forest fires," he elaborates as he searches. "Don't go lighting matches in the woods you stupid kids, that kind of thing. There are ads and posters and stuff. So he'd really fuckin' hate you and all that flashy.. with the flames."
Having come up short on a drink, he lifts his eyes back to John and blinks fuzzily, one hand tented on the tabletop and the other holding the cigarette he's pretty much forgotten about. It takes him a moment to refocus.
"Hey, we should.. do you want another drink?"
"He's kind of like.. you know, don't start forest fires," he elaborates as he searches. "Don't go lighting matches in the woods you stupid kids, that kind of thing. There are ads and posters and stuff. So he'd really fuckin' hate you and all that flashy.. with the flames."
Having come up short on a drink, he lifts his eyes back to John and blinks fuzzily, one hand tented on the tabletop and the other holding the cigarette he's pretty much forgotten about. It takes him a moment to refocus.
"Hey, we should.. do you want another drink?"
Skeptic, through and through. John likes a challenge. Or maybe he likes the opportunity to be a right tosser and prove the other man wrong. Could be a little of both, really. The clinking of the bottles draws his attention as he smokes. He's interested by this story though, never heard that one.
"Sounds like he's trying to do a good thing. Save the bloody world and all," he laughs a little, more of a huff of amusement really. "Oh, that furry bastard would be the least of my worries with all the things that hate my guts."
He squints at the bottles being given up on rifled through and nods at the question. They should honestly probably quit, the two of them, yet here they are.
"I could do with another," he admits. There's a spark here that's got nothing to do with alcohol, his magic, or the way the smoke settles in his lungs before he breathes it out. "But, ah, what if we were to take it back to my place?"
It's a chance, sure. When hasn't John Constantine been one to do stupid in spades? This is right up his alley.
"Sounds like he's trying to do a good thing. Save the bloody world and all," he laughs a little, more of a huff of amusement really. "Oh, that furry bastard would be the least of my worries with all the things that hate my guts."
He squints at the bottles being given up on rifled through and nods at the question. They should honestly probably quit, the two of them, yet here they are.
"I could do with another," he admits. There's a spark here that's got nothing to do with alcohol, his magic, or the way the smoke settles in his lungs before he breathes it out. "But, ah, what if we were to take it back to my place?"
It's a chance, sure. When hasn't John Constantine been one to do stupid in spades? This is right up his alley.
The air between them is a little hazy with smoke -- or maybe it's just the booze -- but even so the look Grady sends across the table at John is a lot sharper than it was a second ago. It's not the first invitation of this kind he's had, not by a long way, and it wouldn't be the first time he's drowned his sorrows in something much more potent than alcohol.
But Deerington isn't some dive bar in the rural Midwest, there's no driving away from this, no way to turn his back on whatever happens. And there's the red string that still runs down from his hand, connected to Wes as close as a second skin. If he concentrates hard enough he can feel the pulse and wheel of his partner's mind; he wonders for a moment if Wes can pick up on any of this. If he should feel bad about it.
"All right. Yeah, sure." The words are out of his mouth almost before he can figure out he's said them. It's a little surprising to find out how much he wants this, suddenly, like a white hot line running down from his heart to his balls. He wants to feel if John's palms are still warm from that flame and whether he can taste the smoke on his breath.
Grady pushes himself up from his seat and almost stumbles out of the booth, still getting used to being upright. He sticks his cigarette between his teeth and looks over at John expectantly.
But Deerington isn't some dive bar in the rural Midwest, there's no driving away from this, no way to turn his back on whatever happens. And there's the red string that still runs down from his hand, connected to Wes as close as a second skin. If he concentrates hard enough he can feel the pulse and wheel of his partner's mind; he wonders for a moment if Wes can pick up on any of this. If he should feel bad about it.
"All right. Yeah, sure." The words are out of his mouth almost before he can figure out he's said them. It's a little surprising to find out how much he wants this, suddenly, like a white hot line running down from his heart to his balls. He wants to feel if John's palms are still warm from that flame and whether he can taste the smoke on his breath.
Grady pushes himself up from his seat and almost stumbles out of the booth, still getting used to being upright. He sticks his cigarette between his teeth and looks over at John expectantly.
The air. The booze. Just the general state of the bar. It doesn't seem to matter much when their eyes meet and he feels a stab of warmth that's got nothing to do with the alcohol in his gut. Another drag off his cigarette and he taps out ash on the exhale.
John's no stranger to this form of distraction. He dabbles in it quite frequently. He doesn't plan on stopping cause he's in some crazy town like this. Might as well enjoy it, eh? He doesn't have anyone here. No real connections to speak of at least.
Lucifer, well, he doesn't want to think about that bastard and his pet demon. Not right now. It'd ruin the mood. He follows suit, standing when the other man does and shuffles out of the booth to his feet. Cigarette put between his teeth, he fishes out money enough to pay for the tab and jerks his chin toward the door.
"Midnight oil's already burning, chief. We should get a move on."
Even if there's a large part of him that doesn't want to wait. Would rather find the nearest secluded spot, wherever it might be, and make due. Push him into the alley and chase the taste of liquour still on his tongue.
John's no stranger to this form of distraction. He dabbles in it quite frequently. He doesn't plan on stopping cause he's in some crazy town like this. Might as well enjoy it, eh? He doesn't have anyone here. No real connections to speak of at least.
Lucifer, well, he doesn't want to think about that bastard and his pet demon. Not right now. It'd ruin the mood. He follows suit, standing when the other man does and shuffles out of the booth to his feet. Cigarette put between his teeth, he fishes out money enough to pay for the tab and jerks his chin toward the door.
"Midnight oil's already burning, chief. We should get a move on."
Even if there's a large part of him that doesn't want to wait. Would rather find the nearest secluded spot, wherever it might be, and make due. Push him into the alley and chase the taste of liquour still on his tongue.
There's an almost familiar sense of expectancy and, he'll admit it, excitement as Grady grabs his coat off the back of the booth and leads the way to the door. It's something about making a completely selfish choice, or maybe just memories of other brief and stupid and electric encounters propelling him, making him want to get this part over as quickly as possible.
Once outside, he takes a final drag on his cigarette and drops it onto the sidewalk to grind into ash under his heel, squinting unhappily up at the hazily lit sky as he does so. The lack of nighttime gloom is starting to grate against his nerves, his body still unconvinced it's supposed to be the dead of night despite the relatively quiet streets. He lets the frustration go with a lungful of smoke and turns his attention back onto John.
"Hey," he murmurs, then reaches out to tug on a fold in the front of the other man's shirt, like he's straightening it up. "Which, uh.. which way do we go?"
Once outside, he takes a final drag on his cigarette and drops it onto the sidewalk to grind into ash under his heel, squinting unhappily up at the hazily lit sky as he does so. The lack of nighttime gloom is starting to grate against his nerves, his body still unconvinced it's supposed to be the dead of night despite the relatively quiet streets. He lets the frustration go with a lungful of smoke and turns his attention back onto John.
"Hey," he murmurs, then reaches out to tug on a fold in the front of the other man's shirt, like he's straightening it up. "Which, uh.. which way do we go?"
The thrill of excitement is as palpable as the lingering feel of magic after a spell. Heady and slightly electric. This is stupid. He's in this barmy town and he should be looking for a way out not getting cozy with the locals.
And yet.
He regrets his turn of phrase as they end up out on the sidewalk with a muttered bloody stupid place. He's got just enough of a buzz from the alcohol and the promise of more stupid decisions to come that his sourness passes quick enough. Especially with his eyes adjusting to his surroundings and present company.
"Mmm?" he hums around the cigarette he's finishing up. His eyes narrow in amusement at the tug that draws him a step or two into Grady's space. He turns his head enough to blow the smoke to the side, mouth curved in a smirk, and flicks his cigarette away. "If you're in a hurry---"
Hand at Grady's elbow, gentle tug at the fabric to keep him where he is for a moment. He nods his head in a general sort of way.
"That way."
And yet.
He regrets his turn of phrase as they end up out on the sidewalk with a muttered bloody stupid place. He's got just enough of a buzz from the alcohol and the promise of more stupid decisions to come that his sourness passes quick enough. Especially with his eyes adjusting to his surroundings and present company.
"Mmm?" he hums around the cigarette he's finishing up. His eyes narrow in amusement at the tug that draws him a step or two into Grady's space. He turns his head enough to blow the smoke to the side, mouth curved in a smirk, and flicks his cigarette away. "If you're in a hurry---"
Hand at Grady's elbow, gentle tug at the fabric to keep him where he is for a moment. He nods his head in a general sort of way.
"That way."
It's not often that Grady lets himself get caught like that. Years of experience has taught him that keeping his hands and arms free is key to survival, not to mention making himself understood, and he's built up a set of instinctive reactions to being grabbed at that might come across as nervousness except for the fact that he's usually got a gun in at least one fist.
But now, he's mostly drunk and increasingly sure he's gonna get laid, so he's willing to let go of a few foibles and let himself be manhandled. So to speak.
His gaze lingers on John's mouth in a way that's not at all subtle. He smooths that fold in the other man's shirt down with his thumb, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric. Up close, the guy smells like leather and herbs and smoke. It's nice. Grady finds he wants to rest his forehead against the hollow of his throat and just breathe it in.
"You.." he manages after a moment, "you.. are we in a hurry? We probably oughta go, then."
But now, he's mostly drunk and increasingly sure he's gonna get laid, so he's willing to let go of a few foibles and let himself be manhandled. So to speak.
His gaze lingers on John's mouth in a way that's not at all subtle. He smooths that fold in the other man's shirt down with his thumb, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric. Up close, the guy smells like leather and herbs and smoke. It's nice. Grady finds he wants to rest his forehead against the hollow of his throat and just breathe it in.
"You.." he manages after a moment, "you.. are we in a hurry? We probably oughta go, then."
It's gentle. Easily shrugged off. Now he's thrown himself into many a fool's errand sort of fling since Desmond. None probably so reckless as this in some barmy, dream dimension town where things go tits up at the drop of a hat.
Easy to tell that Grady can handle himself. Even drunk as he is, John can tell. Just like he doesn't have to feel the cold of a room to know something else might be there with him. He doesn't want to push too hard too fast but there's a buzzing in his brain that's begging for it.
Subtlety is for little girls with notes passed in class and playing coy. Not a couple of devious bastards like they are. Granted, John could be wrong in that assumption, but the warmth in his gut that's got nothing to do with alcohol tells him otherwise. This man isn't puppy dogs and rainbows any more than he is.
He wants to lean in and kiss him right then but a group of people comes round another corner and John uses his hand on Grady's elbow to guide them closer to the building, affording them a little reprieve from the glaring sunlight.
"Yeah---" A raspy chuckle escapes him. "We probably ought to."
Easy to tell that Grady can handle himself. Even drunk as he is, John can tell. Just like he doesn't have to feel the cold of a room to know something else might be there with him. He doesn't want to push too hard too fast but there's a buzzing in his brain that's begging for it.
Subtlety is for little girls with notes passed in class and playing coy. Not a couple of devious bastards like they are. Granted, John could be wrong in that assumption, but the warmth in his gut that's got nothing to do with alcohol tells him otherwise. This man isn't puppy dogs and rainbows any more than he is.
He wants to lean in and kiss him right then but a group of people comes round another corner and John uses his hand on Grady's elbow to guide them closer to the building, affording them a little reprieve from the glaring sunlight.
"Yeah---" A raspy chuckle escapes him. "We probably ought to."
Now standing up and out in the sunlight and fresh air, it's getting increasingly difficult for Grady to deny that he's just spent the last few hours working his way through as much alcohol as he can cope with in one sitting. He can already feel the edges of a hangover playing around the back of his skull. Competing with the urge to sit back down again is the urge to push John up against a wall and investigate the open collar of his shirt, but he ends up doing neither when they're interrupted.
Grady lets himself be guided sideways, then decides that he's tired of both the goddamn daylight and standing in the street and wants to get on with making bad decisions while he's still conscious. He tugs his arm out of John's grip and takes a few slightly wandering steps in the direction that his companion had previously indicated, then glances back over his shoulder.
Hurry up, he signs, automatically, then remembers belatedly who he's talking to. He starts patting down his pockets instead, hunting his own cigarettes. "Let's go, man, come on."
Grady lets himself be guided sideways, then decides that he's tired of both the goddamn daylight and standing in the street and wants to get on with making bad decisions while he's still conscious. He tugs his arm out of John's grip and takes a few slightly wandering steps in the direction that his companion had previously indicated, then glances back over his shoulder.
Hurry up, he signs, automatically, then remembers belatedly who he's talking to. He starts patting down his pockets instead, hunting his own cigarettes. "Let's go, man, come on."
John would say he isn't near his limit but he's a functional alcoholic at the best of times. Least he owns it. It might be murder in the morning or whatever this bloody place wants to call it now, but at least there's some good times to be had before cold reality sets back in.
Bastards is muttered under his breath at the group that interrupted as he's left clutching empty air when the other man starts off down the sidewalk. It takes him a moment for his head to catch up. Slow on the draw. He notes the sign and doesn't know what it means. If anything he's more familiar with any BSL and that's dodgy at best. An old fling.
His feet catch up with the rest of him and he's moving, swaying into step next to the other man as he goes. He points up towards where they are headed.
"Starling Lane is where we're headed, chief."
Bastards is muttered under his breath at the group that interrupted as he's left clutching empty air when the other man starts off down the sidewalk. It takes him a moment for his head to catch up. Slow on the draw. He notes the sign and doesn't know what it means. If anything he's more familiar with any BSL and that's dodgy at best. An old fling.
His feet catch up with the rest of him and he's moving, swaying into step next to the other man as he goes. He points up towards where they are headed.
"Starling Lane is where we're headed, chief."
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