(no subject)
Oct. 19th, 2008 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sleazeoverstyleHe doesn't really give a fuck, but... he does: the place is cleaner than it's been in friggin' years -- not that it's pristine or any of that shit, 'cause it ain't -- and the fridge is stocked with beer and the chopper's all lined up and he only had to promise the girl in charge two nights in exchange and that ain't a bad trade. They'll both get something out of it, even though she ain't exactly his type.
Lara is, though, and the particulars of the deal for getting the helicopter don't have to be shared. On the coffee table, he's got a map of the Planet and a visitor's pass to the Midgar Shin-Ra office complex and his standard travel pack: a few potions, his weapon, extra sunglasses 'cause who doesn't need to go around lookin' just that cool. A blanket, a towel or two, some camping supplies so they don't have to friggin' stop and get a tent just in case: all this shit can stay in the helicopter and hopefully they won't need it. He'd rather do the inn thing no matter where they end up.
But where they go will be up to Lara. He's already been everywhere.
So when they step through the bar door together arm in arm like they're goin' for a stroll to the friggin' park, he gives her a little unconcerned smile. This is where they start, and what happens from here is anybody's guess. He just knows it's gonna have potential.
"Figured we'd better start at the beginning. It ain't much, but it's home."
And it really does clean up pretty, even though he ain't never extended that same courtesy to any of the other girls he's brought here. The view from the window shows your standard city that was fucked over by powers greater than anyone can imagine and is in the process of being rebuilt, but at least his street is clean and a little bit safe, not that anyone messes with him, and the people across the street planted flowers once upon a time and they're in bloom, and all the shit he's collected from his years with the company don't even make for too much clutter inside.
Might as well start with the most basic of all the basics. "You want something to drink?"
Lara is, though, and the particulars of the deal for getting the helicopter don't have to be shared. On the coffee table, he's got a map of the Planet and a visitor's pass to the Midgar Shin-Ra office complex and his standard travel pack: a few potions, his weapon, extra sunglasses 'cause who doesn't need to go around lookin' just that cool. A blanket, a towel or two, some camping supplies so they don't have to friggin' stop and get a tent just in case: all this shit can stay in the helicopter and hopefully they won't need it. He'd rather do the inn thing no matter where they end up.
But where they go will be up to Lara. He's already been everywhere.
So when they step through the bar door together arm in arm like they're goin' for a stroll to the friggin' park, he gives her a little unconcerned smile. This is where they start, and what happens from here is anybody's guess. He just knows it's gonna have potential.
"Figured we'd better start at the beginning. It ain't much, but it's home."
And it really does clean up pretty, even though he ain't never extended that same courtesy to any of the other girls he's brought here. The view from the window shows your standard city that was fucked over by powers greater than anyone can imagine and is in the process of being rebuilt, but at least his street is clean and a little bit safe, not that anyone messes with him, and the people across the street planted flowers once upon a time and they're in bloom, and all the shit he's collected from his years with the company don't even make for too much clutter inside.
Might as well start with the most basic of all the basics. "You want something to drink?"
no subject
Date: 2008-10-27 03:12 am (UTC)(On the balcony, she takes automatic note of the layout of the streets below, hardly even conscious of mapping out possible bolt-holes.)
As they step out of the office, she drains her shot glass and sets it down lightly on the nearest flat surface, a little shelf in the hallway.
And as he lets go of her hand to open the door to the bedroom, she reaches up and traces three liquor-damp fingertips up the back of his neck, spreading outward at the base of his skull, leaving trails of chill-warmth-heat behind them.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-27 03:25 am (UTC)But for now there's no thoughts of piloting or the crater or jumping through paperwork hoops or any of that shit. Nope. Now there's just the prickling of his skin where she touched, and the bedroom door closing behind them, and the promise of all those hours before they have to leave here stretching out in front of them real pleasantly.
He's still got his drink in his hand, and he intends to use it the right way. And if what she likes hasn't changed since last time, she's really gonna like it with a taste of the Icicle on his mouth.
Guaranteed.