nysalogs | [semi-closed]

[It’s been a fairly rotten set of weeks. The new memories are settling into place, less jarring now, for all that the timeline still feels broken. Dirk is no stranger to upside-down causality anyway, to tangled threads of spacetime. Even the contents of the new memories are bothering him less than their implications, which are vast in scope. Cosmic, in fact. Not simply universal, but multiversal.

It’s all wearing a bit thin. That’s why he’s here, stood on the doorstep of Claire’s shared flat poised to knock, despite the fact that this isn’t where he’d meant to end up this afternoon. Two things have brought him here: first, the knowledge that Claire has been through a similar experience, up to a point. The knowledge that if anyone can understand what’s happening to him and how very badly he wants to run away from it, it’s her. Just knowing that she knows quiets the thrumming nervousness in his chest somewhat.

The second thing that’s brought him here is the memory of her, eyeing him askance and mischievous as she shoves a cold, wet handful of snow into his palm. Whether or not Claire understands is ultimately fairly irrelevant: she makes him feel better.

He isn’t, however, here to wallow. Not precisely, or not exclusively. He is here to share at least one of the bottles of wine tucked under his arm, though. It seems as though they could both use a break, or at least a laugh, or at very, very least, a drink.

Dirk gives the door a brisk, businesslike series of raps with his knuckles and puts on one of his best smiles. Regardless of what it means, this feels currently like the best place he can possibly be, and that’s an excellent start.]

[Luckily for Dirk, it's none other than Claire that answers--mostly because the three residing Starks are out and about for whatever reason, and she's off from the Sanctuary today. Despite living with three others, it's rare for all four to be home, Claire keeping odd hours for the most part. There's a curious look on her face when she opens the door and sees that it's Dirk, but it's Dirk and so there's quickly a broad smile on her lips.]

Dirk! What are you doing here? [Though he has a drink, so he's intending to stay a while, and Claire steps back to let him in.] Come in, have a seat wherever you'd like.

[Meaning the dining table or the kitchen or the living room. This place is just the right size for four people, though she already knows Jon at least is itching for more space. She's not fussed.]

That is an excellent question--

[--and this is a pre-planned interlude--]

--to which I have two reasonably good answers.

[Which are the bottles, which he holds up -- behold -- before stepping inside. A more tactful man might ask if it's all right that he's here in the first place, but when Dirk has his mind set on something tact tends to fall by the wayside. At least he hasn't climbed in her window.

He glances about with open curiosity, taking in the decor. It's nicer than his place in some ways, but it isn't where he lives, isn't what he's come tentatively to call home, and so he can't say the fact that it's nicer causes him much concern. Still, it's good to know Claire is somewhere comfortable.]

I was thinking.

[Uh-oh, says Todd, somewhere in the back of Dirk's brain.]

We've both had a bit of a time of it lately and if given the opportunity to not have a time of it we ought to seize it. I was also thinking I could very much use a drink and had an inkling you might want in on that particular enterprise.

[Like Claire would deny anyone holding not one, but two bottles of alcohol. She follows him in, grabbing two glasses from a decanter set that came along with her from her old flat. Sure, they could just drink from the bottles, but god forbid one of the Starks come home and her respectable reputation is tarnished.]

I knew you were smart. [Putting it mildly. She's agreeing on all fronts, and touches his arm to guide him to the sofa.] And I'm glad you thought of me.

[Resident booze hound, Claire Fraser. Maybe not as much these days, but she still enjoys the occasional mouthful of alcohol to bury whatever it is she's feeling.]

Any more clever ideas? I've got food, if you're so inclined.

Oh, please. My friend Claire is never far from my mind.

[Dirk presses a hand to his heart as though wounded by the very suggestion as he makes his way to the sofa, plunking the bottles down onto the table and himself down onto the cushions with relish. He inclines his head to watch Claire make her own way through the space, his expression open and bright. A bit determined -- he very much means to keep it that way, this time.]

Food might become advisable but I think I'm all right for now.

[It really depends on how much of this they're going to be drinking how quickly -- though a part of Dirk thinks he ought to take advantage of the offer anyway, if just to spare himself his own cooking, the already dubious quality of which is prone to degrading further when he's stressed.]

I've also got-- well, I don't know if it's clever, exactly, but I've something to celebrate. That should get us going.

Oh? What is it?

[Without a need to duck into the kitchen, she sits next to him, one leg crossing over the other as she sits back. Just for a moment--in the next, she decides she should open one of those bottles and get to pouring. No need to wait, is there?]

[Absolutely no need to wait. Dirk's smile widens and he shifts happily in his seat, settling eagerly in for the main event.]

I'm refounding the detective agency. Mine. My detective agency. Here in Olympia. I've decided.

[It's been under consideration for a while now, but Dirk had previously been hesitant to break his surprisingly successful streak of... well, living here isn't normal and it certainly hasn't been safe or quiet or any of the other things one might normally associate with words like 'laying low', but that is nonetheless what he's been attempting and it has, by his standards, very nearly almost worked out.

It doesn't feel right though. With these new memories least of all.]

[Claire's brows lift. A detective agency, in Olympia? Well, why not--there are quite a few mysteries now and then, and she can imagine there might be one or two among them that's been waiting for something like this.]

Really? That's certainly a reason to drink, then. [With a smile, she hands him the first glass, then fills the other for herself.] Cheers, then, to...

[What's he calling it? Is there a special name?]

[Dirk takes his glass with a wide smile and a quirk of the brow, lifting it in a toast when prompted.]

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. Cases solved with arguable efficiency.

[Said like an actual tagline, like he's not just dead serious but deeply pleased with that particular turn of phrase. Which he is. It's accurate, anyway.

Dirk isn't very good at self-promotion.

Still. Still, the agency is -- was -- his proudest accomplishment, and worth resurrecting. He clinks his glass against hers and downs an enthusiastic mouthful.]

You know, I'm always in the market for... well, employees is a strong word. I don't exactly have the means to pay you. Associates?

[A beat, and Dirk wrinkles his nose, taking another small sip and pondering the pleasant, boozy warmth slowly unfurling in his gut.]

Friends?

You certainly have me as a friend, always. [She laughs, a little baffled. Her? Working for detective agency? It doesn't quite fit, in her mind, at least not at the image that immediately is conjured up by the offer.]

I'm no detective, but if you're ever in need of medical advice, I'm always available to you. And medical care, of course, but I do hope it's never needed.

[He better stay out of trouble.]

[Dirk and 'out of trouble' are unfortunately in an on-again, off-again relationship which in spite of the wishes of either party and much wistful yearning generally ends up being more off than on. He has also been shot alarmingly many times in an equally alarmingly short span of time, so it's entirely possible that that offer will become relevant.]

According to some people I'm not a detective either.

[Said archly, with a terse little sip of his drink -- can you believe it? That statement doesn't sting as much as it once did, but he's still offended in principle.]

That's probably for the best, though. I mean, not that it being for the best or your not being a detective actually matters in the slightest if you're meant to be involved, but I'd best not drag you in, come to think of it. My cases do seem to involve an alarming amount of being shot at lately.

[He just wants to collect everyone he loves in the same general place. It's more convenient.]

[Claire's in the midst of taking a drink when he so kindly informs her of that. She almost chokes.]

If you're planning on getting shot at, that's not going to deter me, you know. You'll have my help whether you want it or not, Dirk Gently, but you'll be getting an earful if you do manage to get injured.

[So, please don't. Claire actually doesn't enjoy getting upset and lecturing, contrary to popular belief.]

Well it's never planned!

[He has the decency to sound offended at that, at least, and he gives her knee a gentle bump with his own. Terribly rude. It might carry more weight if he weren't still smiling.]

It's one of those things that just sort of happens when you're me. I certainly won't go out of my way to get shot, how about that? Only nice, quiet cases from kindly old ladies with missing... cats, or whatever.

[Whatever the local equivalent is.]

Dirk, if you knew the number of times I've heard that...

[Yet she smiles, giving his knee a nudge back. With the number of times she's heard it, she's an expert in dealing with the consequences of those so unfortunate as to always be found by trouble.]

But, I suppose as long as you try to stay in one piece so I don't have to stick bits back on, that's all right.

[Dirk generally knows better than to drink, or at least he knows better than to drink enough to become this delightfully wobbly. All manner of things can happen when one has ingested this much alcohol and then been let loose onto the world, particularly when one is Dirk Gently, magnet for the peculiar. Nothing particularly egregious has happened on Dirk’s crawl home tonight, however. All that’s happened so far, in fact, is that he’s started singing.

It seems a good night for it, singing. Most nights are good nights for singing, actually, but Dirk is rarely in a sufficiently effusive mood as to do it without prompting. Publicly. In the street.

He’s still singing when he makes it home, fumbling with the lock, and when he pushes his way back inside – sotto voce at first as he creeps in towards the kitchen so as not to wake John, who... ah.

Isn’t sleeping.

Well.]

Oh! Hello, John!

[Dirk beams at him, stopping short and swaying gently, hesitantly, but with a dawning and drunkenly unguarded look of mischief. There are lots of reasons John could be both home and awake at this hour, Dirk is certain. It’s possible that if he bothered he might even be able to come up with some, but as it happens, it suffices simply to know that he is, which is frankly delightful. For starters, it means Dirk doesn’t have to be as quiet about his singing. For another, it gives him a subject. There’s room here for a serenade.]

[ John's not sure what he's expecting when the key goes. arriving home to find the place empty had been surprising in and of itself, not that John knows how Dirk usually spends his evenings owing to his own irregular presence in them, and he'd only barely kept himself from sending off a curious (concerned) text asking after his whereabouts - Dirk is a grown adult, for all it might sometimes be difficult to fully reconcile that with the day to day act of living with him, and can do what he wants with his time without declaring his whereabouts to his mostly-absent flatmate. given another half an hour to ruminate on it, he might well of done, but then the keys and the door and the - ]

Dirk.

[ Dirk? ]

... are you drunk? [ and singing. the singing is, possibly, what gave it away. also potentially the hour, and the length of time it took him to get through the door. but the singing, the singing is new, and although not exactly unusual in that not a lot of things can actually be considered unusual when carried out by Dirk Gently, least of all something as benign as singing - it's... unexpected.

and good, actually, now he's listening. and laughing through his frown, a small huffing breath of laughter the likes of which happens more regularly than not when John isn't entirely intending to laugh but nonetheless finds something mildly charming. ]

[Dirk takes the question in stride, raising his eyebrows mid-chorus -- a nod to John's clearly unmatched powers of observation -- and holding up a finger.
We'll get to that. It isn't as though it's an invalid question and it's one he'll be happy to answer in due time. Not just yet, though. This is a song worth... well, maybe not singing all the way through, that remains to be seen, but at least brought to a satisfactory closing point.

Which means he's got plenty of time to play it up. Drift closer, clasp and unclasp hands; it's far too much and Dirk knows it, and the smile he's wearing proves that he does. If he thought he could get away with it he might even try dancing John about their little flat, but he's not that drunk. It's entirely possible that he's never in his life been that drunk. A teasingly heartfelt serenade is best performed from a safe distance, just in case.

It's also beat not to overstay one's welcome, though, and so he wraps up in short order, sketching a wobbly, halfassed bow with an equally perfunctory flourish at the closing of the next chorus.]

John Watson, I want you to know, you saved my life, probably.

[At very least he might well have ended up squashed under an escape pod their very first night on this planet had John not come and scraped him up off the dirt. Aside from that this is probably excessively generous. It is, more importantly, a peace offering -- and heartfelt, even if the sentiment is amplified through the influence of alcohol.]

Listen: yes, I am.

[They may as well be honest about this.]

But I ask you: must a man be drunk to demonstrate sincere and, I think you'll agree, heartwarming appreciation for his friends? I believe not. Terribly presumptuous of you.

['Presumptuous' has a bit of difficulty making it out of his mouth, and he frowns around the vaguely presumptuous-shaped collection of noises that do escape him.]

Edited (what are words? we just don't know) 2018-02-05 21:12 (UTC)

[ John's all frowning smiles as Dirk makes his way through the serenade, watching him wobble his way with performed and knowing charm through his song. very nearly takes a lunging step forward to steady him as he wraps it up— but pulls himself short just in time as he realises that that is, in fact, a bow.

and then comes you saved my life, and that's a lie, and John scoffs his acknowledgement of it. and then comes yes, I am, and that's a truth, and John scoffs his acknowledgement of it. and then comes what attempts to be an admonishment, is instead a drunken tumble through a word that doesn't quite want to play the game, and here John actually laughs.

congratulations, Dirk, you got a full note of actual sound out of John Watson the serial scoffer. he's also clapping - just a few, but it's something. ]

So sorry. But as the undisputed saviour of your life I think I get to take a few liberties with my observations, don't you?

[ you're drunk enough both to sign to me and tell me I've saved your life, probably. both of these things warrant a notice paid to the state of you.

speaking of which, John'll cross that careful divide maintained throughout the performance now, and pay no such mind to the cautions of contact exhibited by his carolling cohabitant. John takes Dirk loosely by the upper arm to guide him, gently but firmly, off toward the kitchen. ]

Where have you been?

[ it's still full of mirth, the question bright with humour and curiosity instead of any of the trappings of concern or irritation. Dirk, in drunkenness, at least now, is just a somewhat amplified version of the softness of himself, and John in the mirror of it feels himself lifted and responsive to it. he's got used to having someone around who speaks more openly about the way they feel than he ever has, and in turn he's getting ever more accustomed to enjoying that. comfort around Dirk comes easier by the day - so comfort around a Dirk wobbly with alcohol is easier still.

which perhaps is why John's happy to make sure he doesn't feel the effects of the night before too adversely in the morning. 1) he actually likes him, and that makes playing responsible housemate worth the effort, and 2) he wouldn't want the hangover to dissuade a repeat performance. it's a part-thoughtful, part-selfish motivation to lead Dirk over to the watering hole, as it were, and start filling a glass for him. ]

[Dirk allows himself to be led along, wobbly and pliant and smiling down at John's hand benevolently and with faint surprise, as he might a butterfly that had landed on his arm instead. He's feeling benevolent, generally gracious, more so even than usual. In a world that's gone warm and soft about the edges there's less risk in being soft about the edges himself. It takes less effort, less courage, and he feels... at ease, comparatively speaking. A touch more comfortable with all the space he takes up in spite of himself. Just good in general.]

A bit of everywhere, really.

[He says it breezily, leaning on the countertop next to the sink and watching John at the sink with that smile still in place. He's certainly not too far gone to recognise the gesture, and the warmth of it settles into his gut with the more general heated weight of intoxication. It occurs to him that he very much likes being cared for, actually, even if he doesn't strictly deserve it. A better man might feel guilty about that. Dirk has, however, always preferred to take his blessings at face value when he can. There's some sort of related saying about horses, which--]

Have I ever told you about Puffles? No, scratch that.

[Thrilling though that tale undoubtedly is, it's not the matter under discussion at the moment.]

I went to see Claire, actually. She sends her love, I'd imagine.

[She may or may not have said something to this effect. Dirk honestly doesn't recall, but he's very fond of her and is inclined to imagine the best. He's in the process of imagining it, in fact, when the glass finds its way into his hand, something he doesn't at first notice.]

But then I thought, well! The night is -- thank you -- still young and there's a whole new world out there of places to get outrageously drunk in.

[He raises the glass in a toast and takes a dutiful swallow.]

I don't think I quite managed outrageous but it's lovely out and nothing particularly alarming happened on my way home, so.

[He holds one hand out, palm parallel to the ground, and tilts it side to side. So-so. Win some lose some. Also, the one-sidedness of this scrutiny is sort of unfair, isn't it?

Is it?

Does it matter? Dirk fixes John with an inquisitorial squint.]

Where have you been?

[Fair's fair.]

[ once the water's accepted, John turns to lean himself against the sink, arms crossed and watching Dirk - smile amused, stance easy. the second Claire's name met the mix, any last traces of worry left it. if Dirk was with Claire, and if he's come back loose and singing and fine, chances are he's not lying when he waggles his hand just so.

and then John finds himself on the receiving end of Dirk's very detectively squinting gaze and he narrowly avoids a snort, goes instead for a raise of the eyebrows, laughter turning to the wider stretch of his smile. ]

Me? Some of us work for a living.

[ it's a joke. they've only recently discussed Dirk's financial ventures, and honestly the chances are that Dirk works harder and more consistently per hour at his job than John at his. if that in itself weren't enough, the level drop from mock offence to explanation leaves a clear distinction between play and truth. ]

Everyone's on their best behaviour tonight. If I'm going to be sat on my arse doing nothing for hours, thought I might as well do it at home.

[ tl;dr, he's skiving off the last couple of hours of his shift, good morning Dirk. ]

Now I see I should've texted ahead. Could've been out helping you reach outrageously.

[Dirk gives what could only be described as a giggle, a genuine little sound, unabashedly high-pitched, and reaches out to give John's shoulder a gentle, teasing push.]

There you are! Absolutely and unforgivably remiss of you. Although the night's still practically teenaged, so--

[He sketches a looping sort of gesture that terminates in a point in the direction of the door. We could get back to it. Mixed signals, probably, the one hand that way and the other one pouring another mouthful of water down his gullet in the silence, but he doesn't not mean it, even if he absolutely wouldn't be going out again on his own.]

Next time you've a night off, clearly. You know, I'd bet if we play our cards right I could get us to outrageous without our having to buy a single drink on our own. Used to do it all the time in university. Never picked up my own tab after first year, not once.

[The finger that had been pointing at the door is now held up for emphasis as Dirk inclines his head. This is not actually something to be proud of, probably, but... well, the remainder of his university experience had been less than delightful, and fleecing people of their money when they'd already lined up to give it to him had felt almost obligatory. That that line of reasoning had ultimately got him arrested and expelled had ultimately been sort of a relief.]

I am, you will find, an extraordinarily good drinking... person.

[Buddy? Maybe. Chaperone? Certainly not. Escort? Alarming turn of phrase. Person. Person works.]

[ oh, really? there's a short frisson with the new information, certain things aligning themselves in certain ways, shaping up as assumptions... and then simmering down just as quickly. the who of the described situation shifts the balance a bit: the easiest assumption isn't always the safest bet, here.

nonetheless, his mouth hitches at one corner, vaguely mischievous. ]

Popular, were you?

[ it's a tease. the idea of Dirk knowing how to play the field seems only a very little short of absurd so the insinuation is, instead, an open invitation to elaborate.

to elaborate while John pushes himself away from the sink in order to cast about for something substantial to soak up the worst of it. bread - that'll do. he's even going to be good enough as to butter it. ]

[That is an absurd insinuation, and Dirk graces it accordingly: with a derisive, sloppy-sounding snort.]

Infamous.

[He's actually kind of proud of that. But it probably bears elaboration -- Dirk's brand of infamous is more innocuous than the word generally implies.]

No, my roommate put about that I talk in my sleep. Well, not just talk, obviously. I'd prophecy. Exam questions, mostly. So I put it about that the drunker I got the less I'd be inclined to sleep facedown in my pillow.

[He gives John a sly little glance and then takes a sip of water, his expression shifting to one of absolute innocence.]

Not right away, I mean, I tried denying it first, but you'd be amazed what people are prepared to believe of you as long as you deny it. I turned it into a game, actually. Psychic was easy. Vampire was a bit more work. If I hadn't been expelled I might even have managed heterosexual.

[There's another laugh at that, a helpless little titter, as though each of these options is equally absurd.]

[ John's following along nicely, and he's buttering this bread very successfully, and it's all very innocuous - until he almost gouges himself with the butter knife. it's a short moment between that and recovery. just a second. the buttered bread slice has been impaled and may not recover from its injuries but he's back to scraping more butter from the dish almost as soon as he makes the slip, and all in all he'll call it a win.

you'd think, by now, he thinks to himself. you'd think, by now, by the ripe old age of 38, you might have managed to acquire some sort of a sense for this.

he hasn't. that much is painfully clear. ]

So you extorted students for alcohol in exchange for not helping them cheat their way through their degrees. Those are some interesting layers of unscrupulous behaviour. [ onwards and upwards, keep the conversation moving here John. ] Here you are, con-artist extraordinaire, worrying that I'll be offended by your fortune-telling money, when in fact...

[ in fact you're at least two things I didn't know you were two minutes ago. bread goes plated, one slice accessorised with a small stab wound, and set down on the counter Dirk's leaning on. those next, please. ]

Edited (what phantom words waited within that floating bracket....) 2018-03-01 00:04 (UTC)

[How atrociously rude. Dirk sets down his glass and scoops up a slice of bread obediently, but then levels it at John in accusatorial fashion, the gesture emphasized by a pout. The stab wound in the slice of bread goes as entirely unnoticed as the abrupt slip of John's hand had. Dirk is not merely content to breeze past that, he's totally unaware that he even has to.]

They started it. I mean, I'd never have done it if they'd just believed me. Anyway, I'll have you know I'm reformed. Mostly.

[No, that still sounds not great. He squints.]

One hundred per cent except for how I've just suggested we could probably pull off something similar for giggles if we wanted to. And savings.

[Two extremely important concerns, thank you. Admittedly maybe more important in university than now, though. That much he'll grant.]

Or we can just... buy drinks ourselves, I suppose. I now have sufficient funds as to be un-unscrupulous, thank you.

I never once suggested you didn't.

[ Dirk would do horribly in a court of law. it's just as well he's not really that sort of a detective. it's also just as well he's not the sort of detective who immediately notices every little detail of what anyone around him does and divines usually-correct meaning from it, because John's perfectly content to fall back into the familiar pattern of being charmed by listening to Dirk chat amazingly coherent nonsense without any time assigned to an inquisition. ]

You can buy me drinks, now. So I don't talk to the authorities.

[ about his past as an unscrupulous individual. shocking stuff. ]

[A single bleat of laughter escapes Dirk before he can suppress it.]

You wouldn't dare. Anyway, I've an acquaintance in the guard.

[That, and they've quite a few more important things to be dealing with. Dirk doesn't say as much. Dirk doesn't even think as much -- his experience with the police inclines him to believe, on the contrary, that they are indeed precisely that petty. His experience with the authorities in a more general sense has been still less encouraging.]

I will, though. Buy you drinks, I mean.

[He pauses to take a bite of bread and then adds around the mouthful, pointing the remainder of the slice in John's direction:]

Entirely of my own volition, now.

Well, alright then.

[ he won't argue with that. there may even be a smile here that borders on near pathetically fond— until he catches himself slacking on the job, and any suspended softness gives way to the friendly bustle of his immediate priorities, which happen to deal with the opposite end of a night out to the one they had previously been discussing. ]

Come on. Time for you to get to bed. You can bring that with you.

[Dirk's eyes roll ceilingward and his shoulders slump as he releases an enthusiastic sound of disgust -- ughhhhhh.]

Says who?

[Dirk is reasonably sure he has some merrymaking left in him. An additional song or three at least. He's prepared to argue the point -- or at least to try to twist this development in his favour.]

I don't think I want to go to bed. Or are you going to follow through? Tuck me in, tell me a story? One of your cases, maybe?

[Eyebrows raised, eyes wide -- both earnest and eager, if a bit wobbly.]

[ oh, for God's— John huffs a laugh, massages fingers over an eye. Dirk Gently, you're unbelievable, but also near impossible to deny. ]

Go on. [ a vague shooing motion in the direction of bed. ] I'll bring your water.

[ that's a yes, probably. to which parts of that request, who knows, but a yes all the same. ]

[Dirk beams and claps John on the shoulder before he turns and makes his way through the flat to his room, still munching idly at the slice of bread. He has, for better or worse, a relatively unrefined understanding of his own persuasive powers -- it's only so intentional, the being impossible to deny. Part of the problem is of course that he means it: absolutely shameless earnestness is, apparently, a powerful tool.

He's humming again as he toes clumsily out of his shoes, which requires a rather more extended effort than it might normally, though this doesn't seem to do anything to put a damper on his mood. Jacket, tie, and belt follow in short order, being thrown haphazardly and with relish onto the floor. Dirk is generally a reasonably neat roommate, perhaps surprisingly so given his generally chaotic demeanour, but this tendency is a relic of his life at Black Wing and one he occasionally (for instance, when intoxicated) enjoys flouting.]

Avert thine eyes.

[The warning is sort of mumbled down his front distractedly as he tries to undo the buttons on his shirt one-handed, which requires a great deal of concentration at the moment. It's not until he's a few buttons in that he adds, at more conversational volume:]

What's your favourite one? Case, I mean.

[There's something to be said for... this. All of it. All of them, adrift, in spite of how deeply awful it all also is. The subtle horror of it is at least shared; they are none of them entirely alone. Dirk has friends. More friends he's ever had in his entire life, people whose company he genuinely enjoys and who seem to enjoy his. It's... strange. Good. Warm.

It's these sorts of thoughts primarily that Dirk entertains as he waits. Catching up with Prior seemed... well, after the events of the gala practically obligatory. Dirk may not be the most socially adept but absolutely regardless of his intentions it seems only decent to keep up with someone he'd kissed. Especially as it really hadn't gone particularly poorly at all, which is... nice. Unusual, but nice. That is, in fact, sort of the overall impression he gets: unusual, but nice. Maybe not his own brand of either, but he can appreciate both.

So, lunch. A lunch invitation. Sitting, waiting, drumming his fingers on the table, smiling at waitstaff -- if someone had told him a handful of months ago he'd find himself in this situation, he'd have been profoundly dubious. Stranger things have happened, certainly. Actually, stranger things happen with enough frequency that this, the relatively mundane, the relatively serene seems all the more profoundly unlikely.]

[A lunch date. Why, it's practically civilised (and will seem more so over the next weeks, as the rest of what passes for civilisation in the city slowly slides to hell).

Prior doesn't know Dirk well - a bad start, a sweet and strangely apologetic middle - but what he knows he likes well enough to have agreed easily to coming out for this. He's left the office, in fact, as much as the local brothel can be called such a thing. Not that he plies any trade there but the one he occasionally dabbled in at home: party planning.

And if the parties demanded here lean a little more to latex and stable wear well. Who is he to judge.

He leaves any hint of that back at Shades Darker, though. Dirk was skittish enough about a cursed kiss for Prior not to want to fright him more. It's a shame, really. There's nothing to take the shine off a kiss more than to have someone say they're sorry for it. But it was compelled, after all, nothing to be taken too seriously.

A shame.

But Prior's smiling as he turns into the cafe, a bright spot among the earthy tones of most citizens. He's adapted to their style of clothes, mostly, but not to their colors. He settles easily into the opposite chair.]

I warn you now, if the word sorry comes out of your mouth once in the next hour, I'm leaving you with the bill.

[This with a sweet smile.]

[Dirk meets Prior's approach with a smile, at first bright and then almost sheepish at that... slightly unorthodox but nonetheless entirely apt greeting.]

Ah. Well. Yes.

[He raises his hands in front of him, palms outward. Bear with me here.]

Unfortunately I find that I use quite a lot of words? Or rather that quite a lot of words tend to sort of happen occasionally before I've really noticed them happening, which is sort of in keeping with the general vein of my being, come to think of it, things just happening, so no promises, exactly, but--

[But. Phew. There's that wide smile back again, warm and genuine. It's a fair accusation, really, if he's honest. Looking back, he'd been... well, certainly a bit silly. This is all the more apparent in light of the new memories of which he's recently come into possession. The aftermath of Sound of Nothing had certainly been a great deal more embarrassing, a great deal more personally confusing, and somewhat less clothed. The events... suffice it to say it's put his experiences here in a somewhat different light.

So. So, here they are. And he is, yes, capable of taking that in stride this time around.]

Hello. Probably ought to start there.

The very beginning. It's a very good place to start.

[Please tell him someone in this culturally bereft universe is familiar with musical theatre. Prior takes a seat and listens to the little spiel about no promises - and if Dirk thinks he rambles he should know he's practically succinct compared to people whose mouths have previously been on Prior's. He doesn't hav a thing to worry about, except-]

I'm not going back on the threat just because your mouth does something you don't have control over. [A beat.] Again. This is already the wrong way round - you're supposed to buy me dinner before you kiss me.

[Sorry, Prior. Dirk spent most of his formative years in a CIA prison. His pop culture knowledge is practically nil. He is, however, perfectly capable of responding to the tone of the utterance with a smile which, while not necessarily indicating that he's in on the joke, does indicate that he's aware that there's a joke of some sort being made in the first place.]

Yes, I've been told I'm not very good at doing things the right way.

[The Right Way. Careful enunciation and pointed emphasis: this is something he hears in all facets of his life and is generally speaking not something he's convinced is a valid concept -- though Prior does have a point here. And is taking the piss, obviously, which Dirk accepts good-naturedly. Warmly, even. The thing he's wanted most all his life is someone to poke fun at him in a friendly sort of way, and now that he's acquired a few he finds that yearning lessened but the underlying want still very much intact.]

It's a work in progress.

[He says this with an arch little smile, letting Prior in on the joke: no it absolutely isn't.]

Do you suppose that means I owe you an extra dinner, or have I just irrevocably broken the continuity?

[A beat, and then, somewhat wistfully:]

Again.

[semi-closed]

claire;

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john;

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prior;

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