nysalogs | ( closed )

[ johnny and alvis are both gone. she's checked their houses, then she'd checked the station and found them both in stasis, peaceful and still and looking like they're both dead, gone from her reach, and then? then she'd found herself a large bottle of whiskey and poured the first two shots in their name and every shot after in the name of everyone else she misses. it's a long list, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she thinks khlyen is laughing at her, cruel and cold even though she knows better now.

she got attached. he told her never to let her feelings get in the way and she got attached and she's not going to fall back on khlyen's lessons now, but it hurts.

alcohol dulls the edge, but it doesn't make her any less angry or hurt. when the bomb goes off, dutch keeps drinking, but she takes her gun out on the streets regardless. it'll be a distraction. she's a killjoy, or she was. finding people is what she does. (she's never been a killjoy solo; it was always with johnny or with d'avin, with both of them. she wants her team back.)

running into byerly isn't expected, but not unwelcome. ]

Nosing about? [ her voice doesn't immediately betray that she's drunk, but — it's there, her tone a little less crisp, her gaze a little less focused than usual. ]

[ He can tell at once. Much of his job consists of this: seeing who's intoxicated enough to have their guard down, who's still sober enough to get suspicious; he can see all the little signs with her. The softness of the eyes, the looseness of the gait, the uncharacteristic not-quite-slur of her words. His eyes flick over her even as his face sets itself into a pleasant, welcoming smile. ]

Esteemed Dutch!

[ He bows to her. ]

What a pleasant surprise. I was just out for a stroll. Join me?

[ dutch knows how to look for those signs, too, or for others: to search for signs of poisoning, something to betray a wound, any kind of weakness. khlyen taught her these things and she hasn't forgotten them, though she's doing a good job of pretending that she has right now. analysing this situation is far from her mind. ]

Where are we going?

[ might as well join him. might as well let him distract her. she's not doing a great job of distracting herself, after all. ]

Where would you like to go?

[ He reaches out and takes her arm, tucking it into his gallantly. ]

I was headed for what was rumored to be a very well-appointed opium den, but I doubt that's your drug of choice. So - dinner instead, perhaps?

[ she lets him, without protest. for a moment, dutch thinks about opium, but — no. she's seen what jakk does. she's not sure if opium is better or worse, but she'll stick to alcohol, thank you very much. ]

You're buying. [ her tone is often bossy or demanding. it's a little more so right now, with the determination of the drunk backing it. ]

I'm buying? Esteemed Dutch, I'm a recent arrival. I'm still struggling to build any sort of savings at all. Frugality and thrift are my watchwords.

[ Which is, of course, the reason that his suit has new shiny gold cufflinks, and his fresh pocket square is made of silk. ]

I'm to be your coworker, by the way. Did you hear?

So buy something cheap.

[ she's not so far gone that she doesn't notice those things, and she flicks one finger against his cufflink. it could be an accidental and meaningless gesture, really. it isn't, of course, but it could be. ]

Koralle hasn't mentioned it.

I'm to be one of her models.

[ He tilts his head towards her, lowering his eyelashes coquettishly. ]

I'll have to start charging you for our nights of passion.

[ sober, dutch probably wouldn't have reached out and put a hand on his face when he tilts it toward her, lowering his lashes like that. she probably wouldn't have, but it's not impossible. drunk, she does it without thought, thumb lingering against the curve of his lower lip. ]

But you won't. Or you'll ask way too much and I'll never go for it. [ one of those options. ]

[ He presses his cheek into her hand, then turns his head to kiss her palm. Dear heavens, she really is drunk, isn't she? Far beyond what she ever was in his presence. What prompted this, he wonders... ]

Are you saying you think I merit charging high rates? I'm flattered.

[ alcohol isn't distraction enough from what prompted her to drink, but there's promise in the touch of his lips against her palm and for a moment, dutch smiles. ]

I'm saying —

[ what is she saying? ] I'm saying I think that you think that you merit high rates.

What a flatterer you are.

[ He slips his hand into the small of her back. ]

I like you a little tipsy.

That wasn't flattery.

[ she's not a little tipsy, though he's probably aware of that. she's verging on drunk— not quite drunk enough that she couldn't still kick arse if necessary, but trying hard to be drunk enough not to think. it's a fine line to walk, that.

it's drunk enough, at any rate, to lean into his side. what? he's a handsome man and she already knows he's good in bed and this isn't affection or leaning on anyone in any sense but the literal. it's just physical, all right. ]

[ And he curves his hand around her waist fully, drawing her in closer. ]

Well, it's true. I always provide a - hmm - classy experience. Didn't you feel pampered, being with me? Tended to? Taken care of?

Who says I want to feel pampered?

[ dutch makes a noise that's closer to a derisive snort than a laugh. ] Not that kind of princess. Never was.

No? I see. So what kind of princess are you, Dutch?

[ that gets a smile. ]

The warrior kind. [ duh.

also the kind that got her husband killed the night of their wedding because her mentor who taught her to kill wasn't ready to let her go, apparently, but dutch is nowhere near drunk enough to say that. ]

But of course. How silly of me. Of course, then one must ask - what sort of culture lets their princesses go to war.

What culture wouldn't? [ hah. but no, in all honestly? ]

They didn't really get the choice to let me do anything. [ she was their princess for a day. well, night. ]

[ Hm? That joke goes over his head. ]

What do you mean?

[ well, damn it all to hells. ]

I ran away the night of my wedding. After the prince got killed.

[ His eyes sharpen. His voice, though, stays mild: ]

Ah, heavens mine. I never would have taken you for a widow. You wear it well.

Not like I knew him. [ dutch says, aiming for dismissive and landing on sad instead, at least if he manages to read the nuance. which he will.

she didn't know him well. he was still a dream, a ticket out of a life dutch never wanted. only she hadn't been dutch at the time yet. ]

Then why marry him, dear princess?

[ dutch's smile is not entirely humorous, her tone not as casual as she'd like. ]

It's what we were all trained to do.

« byerly »

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE xoxoxo

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