Post by Dane Wayland on Jun 3, 2024 0:19:22 GMT -5
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(CW: Drug/alcohol mention)[break][break]
A T-break she called it, with a small, inconsequential shrug. Of their own accord, Dane's lips pulled a little down at the corners. The look wasn't quite disapproving — he couldn't presently care enough to feel disappointed — but ah... that didn't sound like something a simple alcoholic (even a psycho, arsonist one) would say. What else was she into? He smacked his lips against the sudden, battery-acid taste on his tongue. [break][break]
Then she made a decision on where he could drop her off and Dane swallowed the disdain wanting to inch up his throat.[break][break]
"Fantasia, huh?" he echoed thoughtfully, the consideration in his tone the most genuine it'd been in their interaction so far. He turned the key and kicked the bike to life as she adjusted his helmet over her head, then he straightened and tipped his own. "Yeah. You say that's your place?" He patted at his pockets and straps, making sure everything was zipped up and secured — giving himself a moment to think. [break][break]
He knew of it. It had a bit of a reputation in certain circles. A Gifted one. [break][break]
And that was a reputation he could use. He could claim a (somewhat) passable excuse for being there. Say he'd been "looking into things"... even if the only thing he really intended to "investigate" was the bottom of a couple dozen shot glasses. And if he showed up in the morning, a little worse for wear? Late? Groggy and slow... squinting against perfectly-acceptable lighting and cursing at barely-raised voices? Well... a good investigator always "fit in", didn't they? And how did one fit in at a nightclub without doing a little drinking? It would be simple, by-the-book "mingling". [break][break]
Wolfhound wouldn't entertain it for a minute. But Dane didn't need a completely defendable reason to make up his mind. He didn't need a solid excuse. A flimsy justification would do just fine. [break][break]
He looked over his shoulder, craning a bit sidelong so he could flip up the visor of his helmet on her head. "Hey, fuck it, what good has sobriety done anyone, yeah?" Having decided... he couldn't help the small pit of giddy want from flickering to life in his chest. It felt equal parts parching and relieving. As freeing as it was abruptly desperate. And, when one corner of his mouth edged in a faint smirk, it felt a little more authentic than feigned. "Hang on tight," he revved the bike, slapped down the visor with a quick, warning snicker, and released his brake to give them a jolting start. "We're going fast-fast this time!"
it's a long, long drop to a sudden stop[break]but god, you gotta love the view
[attr="class","post-lizardstripe-title"]HIT THE DIRT WITH A SMILE
[attr="class","post-lizardstripe-subtitle"]make it worthwhile, i got nothing to prove
(CW: Drug/alcohol mention)[break][break]
A T-break she called it, with a small, inconsequential shrug. Of their own accord, Dane's lips pulled a little down at the corners. The look wasn't quite disapproving — he couldn't presently care enough to feel disappointed — but ah... that didn't sound like something a simple alcoholic (even a psycho, arsonist one) would say. What else was she into? He smacked his lips against the sudden, battery-acid taste on his tongue. [break][break]
Then she made a decision on where he could drop her off and Dane swallowed the disdain wanting to inch up his throat.[break][break]
"Fantasia, huh?" he echoed thoughtfully, the consideration in his tone the most genuine it'd been in their interaction so far. He turned the key and kicked the bike to life as she adjusted his helmet over her head, then he straightened and tipped his own. "Yeah. You say that's your place?" He patted at his pockets and straps, making sure everything was zipped up and secured — giving himself a moment to think. [break][break]
He knew of it. It had a bit of a reputation in certain circles. A Gifted one. [break][break]
And that was a reputation he could use. He could claim a (somewhat) passable excuse for being there. Say he'd been "looking into things"... even if the only thing he really intended to "investigate" was the bottom of a couple dozen shot glasses. And if he showed up in the morning, a little worse for wear? Late? Groggy and slow... squinting against perfectly-acceptable lighting and cursing at barely-raised voices? Well... a good investigator always "fit in", didn't they? And how did one fit in at a nightclub without doing a little drinking? It would be simple, by-the-book "mingling". [break][break]
Wolfhound wouldn't entertain it for a minute. But Dane didn't need a completely defendable reason to make up his mind. He didn't need a solid excuse. A flimsy justification would do just fine. [break][break]
He looked over his shoulder, craning a bit sidelong so he could flip up the visor of his helmet on her head. "Hey, fuck it, what good has sobriety done anyone, yeah?" Having decided... he couldn't help the small pit of giddy want from flickering to life in his chest. It felt equal parts parching and relieving. As freeing as it was abruptly desperate. And, when one corner of his mouth edged in a faint smirk, it felt a little more authentic than feigned. "Hang on tight," he revved the bike, slapped down the visor with a quick, warning snicker, and released his brake to give them a jolting start. "We're going fast-fast this time!"
it's a long, long drop to a sudden stop[break]but god, you gotta love the view
Tag: Emery Donnovan [break]
Sorry this is such garbo lmaooo, but I wanted to get something out skjdhfksdjfh~ Let me know if you need more or give me a nudge for any tweaks/changes. And feel free to god-mod, time-skip, have them arrive, have Dane be a speedy loon, whatever you want!
Sorry this is such garbo lmaooo, but I wanted to get something out skjdhfksdjfh~ Let me know if you need more or give me a nudge for any tweaks/changes. And feel free to god-mod, time-skip, have them arrive, have Dane be a speedy loon, whatever you want!
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