nysalogs | [semi-closed]

[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]

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