nysalogs | [semi-closed]

[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.

[semi-closed]

john;

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