peektuttut | [RL, Tony &Tim] The Smell After it Rains

Entry tags:

[RL, Tony &Tim] The Smell After it Rains

She'd have to thank Suze sometime later, because right now there were very few things on Tim's mind. Foremost was getting to Tony's place to steal his liquor - right - and then to get elsewhere in Malibu and fix this gender crisis. The bad taste in her mouth clearly needed to be washed away by alcohol.

Pausing long enough to knock, Tim reached for the doorknob. "Tony, it's Tim. Lemme in."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Shit, alright, calm down," he muttered, opening the door. He hesitated, then started laughing low, "It never stops being funny."

She actually had to look up more to meet his eyes, great. Stepping past him, she punched at his arm. "Yeah, it's hilarious. Where's the bar?" Straight to business if you please, the nerves need calming.

"Why so desperate, kiddo?" He comments, striding ahead of her, toward a minibar in the living room reserved for guests.

"I lost my junk, why do you think?" Rolling her eyes at the title, she followed behind Tony. And reached around him for the vodka when it came in range.

Oh no no no, leans back, cutting her off from the vodka, picking it up himself. Calmly pours a glass, adds some lemonade and sips.

"That all?" You're not getting any til you fess up.

"Come on Tony," she said, hands moving to her hips. It was something she did frequently as a boy. In a cape. So why did she feel like such a - a girl doing it now? Dropping her arms Tim rolled her eyes.

"And getting it back." Tim reached for the bottle again.

"Nuh-uh. Bartender rule," lifts the bottle above her reach, sipping again casually, "If you want my alcohol, you have to tell me what's wrong, besides the obvious. It's never that simple, kid. I know."

For a moment, she debated tackling him and stealing his drink. But then he'd wind up concussed and she'd miss her...ew it was not a date. Appointment.

"I'm not talking about my deal with the devilette until you give me a drink." She turned to peer at the bar, looking for something else she could stand.

A scoff. He offered her the drink he'd been sipping from, turning to make something a little stronger. "Go on."

She spared a moment to roll her eyes before lifting the glass and tilting her head back. And back. And back some more, until the glass was emptied. Shivering as it burned down her throat, Tim let out a breath and held the glass out for a refill. "Please, sir, I'd like some more."

"Talk," just offers his own again-- He said just one, didn't he? Whoops, no more after this.

She will probably be more inclined to tackle him for more, after this. And only downed a third before pausing for air. "Loki's a bastard, and Eris gets her kicks in really strange ways, okay?"

"The gods?" A brow, "You know you're an idiot, right? Hey, slow it down." He closed the bar, frowning. As if he had room to talk, "What kind of deal are we talking about? Soul?"

"If it was my soul, I'd have settled on soda. And that's all you're getting, so you might as well open that up again." Please, please open it again, because she was gulping down the rest of what she held. "Have any orange juice?"

"Probably," he muttered, pushing it back open and trailing toward the kitchen to get orange juice. "What's worse than selling your souuuul. Hm," He mused aloud, rooting through the fridge. He returned, "Don't tell me you have to make out with a dog or something. Gods were into that shit, you know."

"Hrn." Nope, not saying any more on the subject, thanks. Not until she drank enough, anyway. When Tony wandered to the kitchen, Tim rooted through the bar, taking stock of what he had and just settling for a (too big) portion of vodka, reaching for the juice when he returned.

A brow dropped but he didn't deny him-- her. He folded his arms and just watched before finally making himself a small drink; the itch just became unbearable.

"You shouldn't drink too much. Inhibitions, you know. Lowered. You might go beyond kissing." A brow, shooting down a tall glass of scotch and God did he love that burn.

She paused for a moment after pouring the OJ, glancing at him. Or trying to, through her hair. Fucking hair. Grunting noncommittally again, Tim just took another gulping drink, and definitely felt it. The burn stayed with her instead of dropping away. "You're one to talk," she said, finally turning from the bar. Though she stopped, topping over her drink with vodka, before heading to flop down on the couch.

"Watch it," warning, closing the bar again after refilling his drink. He'd savor this one. Try to, at least. No more for both of them, maybe. Maybe. "Who is it?" A pause before leaning away, "It's not me, right?"

She made a face with him, taking another drink. The warm feeling tingled around her neck. "No. I'd have turned that offer down flat for the sake of not having to deal with Bruce." Yeah, not going there. After a moment, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up to the couch, knees bent.

"It doesn't matter who - I mean it does because I'm never living it down, but it's also going to fuck everything else up and--" She cut herself off with another long sip. See? Inhibitions, she still had those.

... What's that supposed to mean? Bruce wouldn't -- well, things were up in the air, but it's not like claims were laid or anything, right? He frowned, taking a long sip.

"Listen, if you have to kiss Bruce, I don't care. Go ahead."

She was in the middle of drinking, and then she was in the middle of choking. Lowering her glass to stare at Tony, head dropping slightly and peering up through her eye lashes, Tim had to take a moment for that to sink in. "...Yeah. You do remember he - my Bruce, I mean - adopted me, right? I have enough problems to talk a shrink's ear off for the rest of my life, I'm not going to ad Oedipal....uh. Electra complexes to the pile." And that definitely required another sip.

"Hey, you said it was worse than selling your soul," he laughed, "And you left me to guess, so really that's all your fault." A brow and another sip, watching her curiously. Weird as shit, man. Weird as shit. "I pinky swear not to tell, go on."

"Pinky swear," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "It's complicated in it's own weird as fuck way, okay. And I really wish i just said no, because Dick's--" And that was definitely more than she meant to say. Yep. She'll just nurse the dregs of her vaguely orange colored vodka.

... Ohoho, the plot thickens. With a wry smile, calmly, "Go on."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject