[Closed] Like Real People Do

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
the leviathan in the early night

Lars had been leaning back against his seat, a little bit drunk but comfortable as he looked over at his strange new drinking companion. This changed immediately when said companion's manner shifted into something a little less friendly. The passive straightened up, first, blinking a few times to better focus his eyes, and then Gideon was leaning forward, closer to him, and he leaned back to counter it, suddenly aware of the small space between them. No, Gideon hadn't liked that question, not at all. It had been stupid of him to ask, and he'd known that, and he'd still asked it anyway. Their hand seemed to be straining on their glass, and he wondered if that glass was going to come down over his head anytime soon. He couldn't stop it too well, if it tried, not now that all his reflexes were a little slowed and his senses dull. Should have went home, that uncomfortable part of him kept thinking, should have turned around when we saw that smile, but even with Gideon practically baring their teeth, the passive didn't try to leave his seat.

Gideon seemed to relax soon enough, even if they didn't quite move away. Didn't like to talk about it, they said, and Lars could believe it. The question certainly hadn't been well-received, and he gave a small, barely-there nod. No more questions like that then, not if he wanted to go home undamaged, as Gideon might put it. Lars forced himself to relax his body as well, breathing out the tension that had taken up residence in his shoulders and his arms, and leaned forward again so as not to offend by leaning away. That was just another stupid thing, he reminded himself, because being closer meant less of a chance to get away if he irritated them again.

They worked the docks? Lars supposed that wasn't all that strange; he went down to the docks often enough himself to sit around and watch the men work, the waves rise, the sun set. He just hadn't taken Gideon's pretty face for that sort of hard work, but it made sense. The docks were a fine enough place for anyone looking for work, ugly and pretty, young and old. He could've ended up working down there himself, but despite being rather strong compared to his galdori counterparts, Lars was not made for manual labor like that. Even working the gardens in Brunnhold had been a struggle for the man, and with the way he took to bruising and bleeding so easily, it was best not to work in an environment where he might drop very heavy things on himself. Gideon, though, Gideon looked like they could manage it just fine. He didn't let himself follow that thought for long.

Gideon looked confused, then, and their words alerted Lars to the fact that he'd just spoken aloud - sometimes he couldn't quite tell. It was bothersome thing, that, and by 'that' he meant -

Don't start, Lars. You don't feel safe with them either, I was just trying to get us out.

"Great," said the passive, pale gaze darting over and down to the counter, where Gideon's fingers tapped oddly against the surface. Another drink might not be the best idea for himself, seeing as one was enough to get him fairly intoxicated, but apparently he was leaning into the more reckless side of himself tonight. Lars lifted his head, looking around for Sally, but was unable to catch her attention just yet. Gideon's voice dragged his attention back to them, and Lars blinked, his expression unreadable.

What did he do? Well, he didn't know how to answer that. I'm a prostitute? I'm a tumble? There wasn't a word he'd found that sounded right, that sounded like it wasn't something dirty to be ashamed of. He thought about lying, but there wasn't much else that he could say - he didn't work down at the docks, obviously, and that ruled out plenty of jobs in the Rose, nor did his delicate frame lend itself to sailing, or fighting in the Arena.

Lars was able to get Sally's attention then, as he glanced in their direction, and he motioned toward the empty cups, before dipping his head in gratitude. It worked well enough, seeing as the barmaid went to fill two more glasses and bring them over, looking to Lars with an expectant (and was it... annoyed?) look. He reached into Yulis' pockets again, only finding half of what he needed, and then reached into his own for the rest. He slid the coins over the counter, left hand going to grab his drink and pull it closer to him.

"I work at the Mad Queen," that should be enough, he decided. It wasn't blatant nor was it denying any of the facts; someone that didn't know the Queen could just assume him some sort of bartender, or cook, or anything else really. He didn't think he needed to elaborate.

"I - 'm sorry," he slurred just a little, lifting his glass to take a good swig before continuing, "about your clothes, I mean. I'm - do you want me to wash them? For you? I'm... really good at cleaning stuff. And clothes. Or I... think I am," his eyes drifted down to his free hand, which rested upon the counter. It was cold, now, that hand, and he moved his fingers to keep it warm, "I used to clean a lot of clothes. And stuff."

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719- Five Drinks In
The Leviathan Public House, Old Rose Harbor

This one was funny, they thought. Peregrine had snarled, had snapped his pretty jaws. Most folks didn't like when Peregrine did that, no matter the face they wore--and it weren't like this one liked it either, hey? Leaning back and away from them, blinking like that. But he didn't get up from his seat. Nodded at Peregrine's mumbling about not liking to talk. Even leaned back in again. Peregrine wondered a little at that. Maybe this one liked the Gideon face. Was it vanity to agree, if you picked the face out special? If it weren't a face as you were born with? Peregrine thought it might be, but they had no point of comparison. They were in, a person might say, something of a unique situation.

Their water-strider fingers still beat out a jerky little rhythm on the counter as Cailan's face went all blank. Peregrine didn't say as they minded much; their face was all kinds of things, some of them on purpose and some of them not. Couldn't fault a face for just not having anything on it. For a moment they pictured it--wearing that face, Cailan's face. Something--something in them recoiled from the idea. A memory, or a memory of a memory, or just a feeling based on nothing at all. They wouldn't like wearing Cailan's face, they thought. Even though it was a pretty face, and Peregrine always liked to pick a pretty one. They almost had the idea in their grasp, but Drink Five swelled up and took it down into the waters of their mind before they could do anything like look too close at it.

Ah well, there was SimoneScarlettSallySallySally, looking annoyed but with more drink in hand. Peregrine hesitated. Six drinks was a lot of drink. They didn't think as they often had six; three, four, five, yes, but six? For a moment they paused in consideration. Was rude, wasn't it, not to drink it now that it was here? Seeing as how Cailan paid for it and all. What a friendly sort. Peregrine tried to remember where his knife was.

"Don't know that one," Peregrine commented mildly. This wasn't true. Peregrine knew exactly where and what the Mad Queen was. Didn't go, really. Hadn't much need. The Gideon face was... unreliable, as well. As unreliable as it was with holding glasses or not dropping things at the docks. Saved them the coin, they supposed. But if Peregrine had a respect for anything, it was folks not liking to answer questions. Not as Peregrine thought there was much point in avoiding that sort of question, but they knew that not everyone could be as worldly and enlightened. As owing to their unique situation, of course. Weren't often a body got to live over a century and a half--ha ha! A body? No, no body, just the mind. Just Peregrine. Bodies came and went. Might as well do with them what you wanted until you couldn't no more.

Peregrine chuckled to himself at his own internal joke, the sound like dry leaves scratching over stone. They never had gotten laughter right, even worse than smiles. Didn't remember as it was so hard, before. When they were new. Ah well.

Cailan's face swam a little, in front of Peregrine's eyes. Swimming in drink. Sounded like his voice was too; they laughed at that as well. They hadn't touched Drink Six, not yet. They were a little curious, after all, to see what would happen if they didn't. They felt as though you could learn a lot about a man by how he took to drink. Seemed as if they had been right at the start; Cailan was not much of a drinker. This seemed funny, for some reason, and they smiled a smile that was almost wolfish. Not quite the hatcher's grin from before, but not less hungry than that one had been.

"Would have to not be wearin' them for that." They couldn't remember if they had any others. They thought so, but lots of their thoughts turned out to not be true. At least not true for this face. It was getting so awfully hard to keep them all straight and neat. Like pins, or cards. Peregrine wondered a bit if that had been the point of the question. They wouldn't mind, except for how the face weren't so keen to listen to instruction. They weren't sure though. Some folks just liked to look at the face and it didn't mean nothing at all.

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
the leviathan in the early night

Gideon's response to where he worked was refreshing, to say the least, or at least it felt that way now, sitting beside them half-drunk. Perhaps half-drunk was a bit of a lie, there, but for all his slurred words and increasingly foggy thoughts, Lars knew that he could get worse than this - knew that he hadn't quite reached the point of no return that he'd been looking for earlier. No, he hadn't gotten there yet, because he could still hold himself up straight in his chair. Lars swayed forward a little, hand catching the back of his chair before he was in any real danger of falling. Maybe he couldn't claim that specific point about balance anymore, but no matter, he was still fine. He was sober. He knew it, because he was still drinking, and that meant he hadn't blacked out yet, so - sober. He had his best thoughts after a drink, he decided, and hoped he could remember that later.

In any case, the passive could appreciate the words; he looked away for just a moment, before a strange sound dragged his attention back to the figure sitting beside him. Were they... laughing? Lars blinked, his eyes struggling to focus, blurring against the lights above. It sounded like it was meant to be a laugh, and that made the Hessean smile, lopsided and confused though it was. He didn't know what they could have been laughing about, but he was glad to hear it, if it meant that he hadn't bothered them too much with the question before. Lars could feel something in the back of his mind, something familiar, something that felt like an annoying, insistent voice that just wanted to come out and shut down their encounter -

Lars brought his hand up to his mouth, lightly covering the smile that resided there, but it was still obvious in his features. No, no talking. He wasn't allowed. He'd already told him to shut up tonight, like he did every night before, and he wasn't allowed to use their mouth to make Gideon go away, or get mad at him again. He was not allowed to speak to the pretty human anymore. What had he said before? He tried to remember now, as he stared through bleary gray eyes at Gideon's strange smile, and listened to him laugh again. Lars laughed too.

He reached for his drink again, but didn't tear his gaze away from Gideon. His head tilted a bit to the side as he pulled his glass in close, bringing it up to take another sip of it and blinking rapidly as it went down. Was he drinking too much? He couldn't remember if he'd thought about that yet. Did it matter, if he wasn't out cold yet? Some part of him noticed that Gideon hadn't taken their drink, yet, and some part of him ignored it. He wondered how many drinks they'd had already - they couldn't have had many, considering they were still rather... composed, but then Lars wasn't a great judge of that.

At the words, Lars raised his eyebrows a little, looking surprised. Admittedly, he was - what was Gideon talking about? He couldn't remember what he'd said, before, couldn't remember what they might have been talking about. The passive took another sip of his drink, laughing into it like he wasn't quite in the moment. What the fuck had he said? Had he said something about the clothes, again? He felt like that was it. It was something about... washing them? Lars looked away, briefly, his smile no less amused.

"Yeah," he replied, eyes darting back to Gideon's face, "'s that any worse than... than um, dirty clothes?"

It made sense in his head, at least.

"Could take them right down to the water, even, right out - out there," he motioned towards the door, his hand waving clumsily, "throw 'em right in the sea, and wash 'em there. Though... that sounds cold. Maybe not there. I'm... I'm pretty good at it, you know. Washing clothes. I c-could get those stains right out. Real quick."

Lars shrugged a shoulder, raising his glass to his lips again and downing the rest of his drink. How many had that been? And - was that his drink, sitting there, or was it Gideon's? Had Gideon finished the other one, and... oh, he didn't know.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719- Five Drinks In
The Leviathan Public House, Old Rose Harbor

Peregrine had laughed and Cailan had laughed too. That was good, usually. Mostly. Folks didn't tend to laugh much around Peregrine. Weren't too sure what Cailan was laughing about; Peregrine's joke had remained inside their head where it belonged. Secret jokes, hey? Peregrine liked secret jokes. Almost all their jokes were secret, on account of how nobody listened to them one way or the other. Grew to like it that way, out of necessity.

Cailan was guttered, more than Gideon. PereGideon was drunk, which weren't the same. Drunk just made all the aches less, made everything liquid and so on. Felt good, drunk. Curious to watch such a thing. The pale man reached for his drink, but grey eyes didn't leave Gideon's face. Peregrine didn't look away either, but Peregrine didn't usually. Unless they were reminded, of course, that it weren't usually the way folks looked at things. Steady and unblinking.

Was it worse than dirty clothes? Peregrine thought about this. Was a time when Peregrine didn't get to choose, on account of how there weren't no other clothes available. When they'd been young and less clever, leaving little secrets for themself to scoop up and start out a new face on a good foot. Like a squirrel hiding acorns for the winter. Even forgot where those secrets was hid, sometimes--did other squirrels find them? Peregrine assumed so, which was fine with them. They had lifetimes to hide more secrets, what did it matter to them if a few went missing now and then?

"Better 'n bein' a squirrel," they agreed, loftily. Well wasn't there a thought, being a squirrel. Proper-like, of course, not in a metaphorical way of being a squirrel, like they were thinking before. Peregrine wondered if they could be a squirrel, or any manner of beast. They thought as not, as they'd not been compelled to try. Not even when they was desperate for a face, scrabbling around and feeling themself shred to bits. When all that they were was teeth, gnashing together. Seemed as though to pour a soul into it, there needed to be a soul to force out too. And squirrel didn't have no souls, as far as Peregrine knew.

The sea, Peregrine knew, was a miserable place for washing clothes. They had serious doubts about Cailan's ability to do as he was saying with washing clothes. The problem with seawater wasn't just all the fish and so on in it, no no. There was all the salt, too, making things stiff and worse off than they were before. Peregrine almost said as much, drawing Gideon's handsome face into something very nearly like a proper expression--if you didn't mind all the sharp corners and hollow places. Cailan reached and took the drink in front of Peregrine, downing that too. For a bad drinker, he sure was eager to do it. Weren't likely to be much good with clothes, Peregrine thought, so that left the theory of the face.

"Oh," they said, leaning in just a little. They had stopped smiling and gone back to looming, without no notice at all. "I bet you could."

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
the leviathan in the early night

Lars blinked, and his eyelids were slow to reopen, like they'd stuck together when he'd closed them. His eyes were slow, too, as they drifted upwards from the empty glasses (he didn't remember there being that many) and behind the bar, watching the little human fill glasses and wipe the counter as she went about her night. She was hard to focus on for long; she kept moving her hands, and going back and forth between patrons, and the passive could barely keep up with it all. Fortunately, he didn't need to, as Gideon's voice drew his attention back to them and he was left to wonder about their strange words instead.

Squirrel. Squirrel... what was a squirrel, again? He wondered if he was too drunk to be trying so hard to think. Squirrel. Better than being a squirrel. Yes, it had to make sense, because Gideon had said it like it meant something, and just because he didn't understand it right now didn't mean it wasn't the proper response. The passive doubted that he was in the right place to be judging anyone's manner of speech right now, especially a stranger's, and so he nodded, and let his questions subside. He hardly thought that anyone came to a bar to be questioned all night, and he had a feeling he had asked too many already, considering the way Gideon had reacted to the others.

Lars was surprised when the human leaned in again, but this time he was a little more used to it, a little better prepared, and didn't lean away as he had done before. He remained still (for the most part, he couldn't really help the slight wavering in his seat), his own smile fading from his lips but not entirely from his eyes. He couldn't tell what Gideon was thinking, and he wasn't sure whether to be worried by all the sudden shifts or not. Perhaps that was just what Gideon was like, and none of it meant much of anything at all.

I can't tell if they like us or if they'd like to stab us in an alley.

"Both, maybe," said the passive, sounding quite interested by the prospect. Whatever that prospect was, of course, hadn't been said aloud, but it was so hard to tell what was spoken and what wasn't anymore. He didn't have the brain power to think about it much. He scooted a little closer in his seat, until he was stuck at the edge of it, one hand clinging to the back of it again to keep himself upright. He had the most annoying urge to reach out, then, to touch Gideon's pretty face - he clung a little tighter to the chair, and let his other hand rest on the counter.

No touching.

Lars narrowed his eyes a little bit, looking over the sharp lines of Gideon's face. The passive wasn't used to feeling so unsure. No touching, he'd said. No touching. They were so close, though, and it would be so easy - he closed his eyes, head tipping forward before he caught himself again, jolted upright like he'd been about to fall forward. No, he had to stay up. Stay vigilant. All of that chroveshit that he kept spouting in his mind every time he looked at Gideon.

"I have - um," and he sorted out his face, then, easing the tension from his features and glancing down, settling his pale gaze somewhere around Gideon's shirt collar, "I can wash 'em at m-my place instead. Room. That... whatever the fuck it's called. I sleep in it. Apartment...?"

That sounded right, didn't it? Lars didn't know. He didn't feel like the word choice mattered, because washing clothes there sounded better than washing them in the sea. Warmer, too, if he lit the hearth. The former servant thought Gideon's smile would look nice, lit up by fire.

No, no, no. We don't want this one knowing where we live. Stop it.

You're the one that suggested washing the clothes.

There was no response to that. Lars didn't need one. He looked back up to Gideon's eyes, to the odd darkness around them. He didn't ask for another drink.

"Word doesn't matter," he decided, "'s the least I can do, right?"

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Too Late
The Leviathan Public House, Old Rose Harbour

SarahSamanthaSally was watching the both of them from behind the bar, and she didn't look like she approved. Peregrine wanted to protest--they weren't breaking nothing, not tonight at least--but they were too pleasantly blurry to care. Let her disapprove, they thought. She weren't the boss of Peregrine. Not even the boss of the bar, was she? No. They were just having a good time, regular-like.

Cailan didn't lean away, this time, when Peregrine loomed again in their seat. Could just reach out and wiggle Gideon's musician fingers right under that skin, they could. Feel all the muscle and fat and even bones, if they got in deep enough. Maybe not right under, they reasoned. Would take a bit of work to get them in there. Skin weren't usually likely to give like that, not with just fingers. Needed to cut for that. It was the thought that counted, as folks always said. Fingers or no fingers, the point was, Peregrine had loomed and Cailan hadn't moved this time, which they took as a good sign. Cailan came a little closer, even, which seemed a better sign again. The eyes narrowing, maybe less.

They weren't sure to make of Cailan's words. Figured as it was the drink what made it so confusing, but they weren't to dismiss other possibilities. Lived as long as Peregrine, and you tended not to dismiss possibilities. Leastaways they didn't, and they didn't know anyone else had lived quite as long as they had.

"You seem tired." The statement might have sounded kind, coming from a different kind of person. When Peregrine said it, the flatness of their low voice made it unclear what they meant by saying something so obvious. Peregrine wasn't too sure what they meant either, of course. Just said it, on account of how it was true. Seemed as though that many drinks didn't sit well with this one, not at all. Least he wasn't sick, they reasoned. Sick was something they could never abide. Sick was too close to dead, as far as they were concerned. Like sleep.

Ha! That predator's smile was back, soon as Cailan mentioned his place. So they'd been right, and it was the face after all. The face and all the rest, they thought humbly. It weren't like the body was any slouch either, no. They took good care of it, generally speaking. Was important, to take care of the body and the face both. Keep them together as long as possible. They didn't much mind being appreciated, of course. Gideon seemed awfully cooperative tonight, five drinks in. Awfully cooperative indeed. Peregrine was weak to pretty faces of any sort; it was how they'd gone and become Gideon, after all. Wouldn't have had to wait so long if they weren't so picky, but they was. Worth it, they felt. Usually.

"Ent nobody ever tell you not to say them sorts of things to strangers? Someone," they said, a flat rasping chuckle punctuating their sentences, "could get hurt."

Not Peregrine of course. Never Peregrine. Worst that could happen to Peregrine was an inconvenience. That hatcher's grin widened and they thought, hey, why not? Let's see what happens, eh? They reached out to cover the hand that rested on the counter with Gideon's, cold as as the grave.

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
the leviathan in the night

Tired? He wasn't tired, not at all. He didn't feel all that tired when was staring at Gideon, anyhow. A little dizzy, maybe, and a lot blurrier, and sure, if he was alone he might've taken this time to lie his head down against the counter and see how long of a nap he could get in before Sally kicked him out, but he was perfectly content to stay awake, for once. He could always fulfill his wish of blacking out later, where it was more appropriate, and save himself the trouble of getting kicked onto the street or waking up somewhere entirely random. Was Gideon pointing that out to be considerate, somehow? He wasn't sure if they seemed like the considerate type. It sounded more like an observation than an attempt to be kind, and that was fine with Lars.

Gideon smiled at him again, and that strange, off-kilter grin was more than enough to elicit the same response from the passive. His mouth curved, his white teeth visible for the briefest moment as his face settled into the smile, bleary-eyed and all. Lars knew that his face was pink, it must've been, because it certainly felt warmer now that Gideon was smiling again. He kept feeling that little bit of doubt, even still, kept hearing that annoying little voice saying that something was off, something was wrong about Gideon, but what was so wrong with that anyway?

There was no point in continuing lying to himself; that was why he felt so drawn to them. He had seen many beautiful faces in his life, but there was a unique charm to this one. Something that made him think he could be honest with them, or something like that, but maybe that wasn't the best way to think about it. Being honest - truly honest - with anyone didn't seem like a great idea, no matter how pretty and strange they were. He'd never met anyone like himself, never met anyone that he didn't have to at least partially deceive himself into liking, and there was no use in drunkenly thinking that this Gideon was any different.

What was happening? Gods, it was annoying, that. Thinking.

Gideon spoke with a low chuckle, and Lars felt himself smiling anew, although the expression was perhaps a little more mischievous now.

"You're not a stranger," he managed the words without much issue, neglecting to mention that it really didn't matter if they were a stranger or not anyway. Lars certainly didn't care, not anymore. While Gideon was right - and the passive wasn't sure if he'd brought anyone back to the apartment above the blown glass shop - he didn't think he had anything to worry about now. Nothing that he'd mind if it happened, even if he didn't exactly want to get stabbed and bleed out in front of the hearth tonight, and that had to count for something.

Lars hadn't been paying attention to his hand, too caught up in the face, but still didn't glance down when he felt it covered. Gideon's hand was cold. Very cold. His thumb brushed against it, curious. He would admit that this wasn't normally how things went, for him - Lars didn't know if he ever just happened across someone, rather than waiting to be sought out and paid. It was different; it made him feel more like a green-uniformed student passing notes anxiously and hoping, not dreading, that they passed back the note with the answer you were hoping for. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but he wasn't sure he was of the mind to consider it.

"You - you've got a nice smile," the passive commented. Was that fine, for him to say that? Lars reached out with his other arm, slow, resting his free hand against Gideon's arm to help himself slide out of his chair, his shoes hitting the ground with a soft tap against wood. He didn't feel as cold, anymore, despite the lack of a shirt beneath old, dead Yulis' jacket, but the thought of the hearth back home had convinced him already to go.

He hadn't stepped away, yet, and so was left in the space between his own chair and Gideon's, one hand beneath theirs while the other remained on their arm, so long as they hadn't brushed it off.

"I'm... 'm willing to ignore that advice 'bout strangers anyway," Lars added with amusement, "if you'd like t- to follow."

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Time To Leave
The Leviathan Public House, Old Rose Harbour

Not a stranger? Cailan was so wrong it drew another rasping laugh from Peregrine. Stranger than the pale man so keen to buy him drinks knew. Couldn't ever know Peregrine, they thought, never never never. Too much of them to know. Lifetimes of Peregrines, all of them different. Even they didn't think as they could say they weren't a stranger to themself. Of course, there were strangers and there were strangers. Peregrine weren't of a mind to argue on the matter.

Cailan hadn't looked down when Gideon's hand laid over his. Smaller, Peregrine noted, smaller and like paper next to Gideon's. But warmer. They thought as that was likely owing to how the breath and blood was moving properly, with the right soul inside running the show. They could draw it up into their body, they thought, all that warm. Keep it. Not even leave a little extra bit behind. Easy peasy squeezy. But--no, no, that wasn't what they were doing. Not right now.

"Yer fair strange," Peregrine said in response to Cailan's comment about their smiling. They thought it was nice too, leastways it should be. Weren't often as other folks agreed on that point. They weren't judging, not really, just another of their flat-voiced observations. Strange suited Peregrine just fine. They were strange too, far stranger than a little pale man in a bar what wasn't wearing no shirt under his jacket.

Cailan slid down from his chair with his hand on Peregrine's arm. The hand didn't move once he was on his feet; they weren't especially keen to make it. Instead they set a coin or two down on the counter, for the trouble (they always did this, as they found it made a place keen to have even Peregrine back regular-like) and took Cailan's hand with them as they came to stand. It was easy to tell how much height Gideon had on Cailan now they were both standing. Gideon's dark frame towered over Cailan.

"Ent bother me none." They were still grinning, all their pretty teeth on display. "Lead the way, yeah? Seein' as how yer bein' so fair generous 'n all."

Peregrine never could say no to a pretty face.

[Lars]

vortas 2, 2719
the leviathan in the night

Gideon didn't seem to mind the added contact, so he left his hand on their arm. Felt better there anyways; his hands liked to tap and tap and tap against each other and any other viable surfaces when given the chance, so he liked having somewhere to put them. Somewhere they were meant to be, rather than useless at his sides. He hated the useless tapping, it made him more anxious than when they were still, and he didn't need to be any more anxious than he already was right now. Gideon slid a few coins over the counter, and then they were getting out of their chair too. Lars made to step back and give them some room, but stepped back into his own chair instead, so it didn't have much use.

...And Gideon was tall. Tall. Lars wasn't sure if it was because of all the drinks he'd downed or if the human really was that tall, and it was a little intimidating - but that just made it more exciting, right? He didn't know if that was a good thing or not, to only find them more and more interesting the more intimidating they were. Perhaps he shouldn't think on it too hard. Lars smiled back up at them, and nodded.

Right, now... where did he live?

Lars let his hand linger for only a moment longer on the human's arm, but kept the other with Gideon's much colder hand as he turned and stepped away from the bar. The passive walked through the tavern with only the slightest struggle, interlocking his fingers with Gideon's in some attempt to warm them up. Certainly not just to keep them closer, he thought idly. This was just. A thing. Like everything else. No reason to think otherwise, so he wouldn't.

"We've be... been over this before, Lars," said the passive, his voice relatively quiet now compared to the people around them as he walked them towards the door.

"No," he insisted, stumbling just a little bit to the side as a human (much wider than Gideon, in the midsection) stepped back into his path, and Lars gave them a small shove to get them back into place.

"No, not - not th' same. Shhh -"

"Don't shush m-me. St - stop that," and the next words followed in a whisper, "we're tal-talking out... out loud. Shh. Really."

Fuck off. Don't get to shush me either.

Lars pushed at the front door as they approached, frowning when it didn't work the first time. He laid his forearm against it, pushing harder the second time, and smiled to himself, rosy-cheeked and bleary-eyed, as it swung open. The shorter of the two stepped outside, immediately struggling to suppress a shiver as he was reacquainted with the cold night air. He stepped a bit closer to Gideon, once they were outside too, but judging from the hand, he wasn't all that sure if he'd be getting any extra warmth from them on the walk over.

"I'm - I'm at... over here," Lars gave, pointing with his free hand towards where he remembered his apartment being - he sure hoped he was remembering right, anyway. Only stayed there almost every night. He was just distracted, right? Having too many drinks was enough to distract anybody, and Gideon was distracting, too, seeing as it was difficult to look away from their face anytime he allowed himself to look at it.

Which he was still doing, currently, even as he started walking in the appropriate direction (yes, he remembered now). Lars was walking close enough to the other that their arms brushed against each other, so long as the taller didn't move away, and kept their hands interlocked, even if his fingers itched to tap against their hand.

Or... were they doing that already? He couldn't tell if the cold was making his fingers feel tingly or if he was tapping them, but he could hope that it didn't matter either way.

[Peregrine]

02 of Vortas, 2719 - Too Late and Getting Later
Outside of the Leviathan Public House, Old Rose Harbour

Their smaller companion was odd indeed. Peregrine wasn’t quite sure what to make of the way he kept talking to himself, then answering too. Plenty of folks talked to themselves, Peregrine knew, it just weren’t as common for folks to answer back. They wondered who Lars was. Peregrine didn’t think that Cailan was like them. Peregrine didn’t think as there was anyone else like them. They’d certainly never met one. So it was more likely that Cailan was just odd.

Still, they weren’t objecting to where they thought as the evening was going. What did a little oddness matter, hey? They followed after Cailan, the hand removed from their arm but the other now interlocked with Gideon’s fingers. Woven like a basket. This too made them raise Gideon’s eyebrows. Being so close to Peregrine for so long wasn’t exactly popular as they’d found. Not until a bit later, when things were further along.

Another human blocked their way for just a moment—Peregrine followed up Cailan’s shove with a dark glance over the top of his head. The man paled as he stumbled away; the smile returned to Peregrine’s face. Weren’t as though they especially tried to intimidate, really, but it made some things a fair sight easier when they could manage. Like getting out of a bar. Like getting out of all sorts of things.

The pair of them exited the Leviathan and Gideon shivered, involuntary. Peregrine never understood how bodies decided what to do without their say-so, seeing as how things like blinking sometimes didn’t go as they should. Cailan had to be cold too. Liquor was warm when it went down, but didn’t stick around. Peregrine had at least worn a sweater, a warm knitted thing they’d seen a few other men around the docks wearing. Seemed as it was a strange choice of clothing, given the weather, to wear a jacket and no shirt underneath. Did regular types of people also forget things like bodies getting cold? Peregrine thought as they normally tended to remember, but they could be wrong.

Peregrine glanced down with a thoughtful tilt of their head. Cailan’s fingers were tapping against their hand, an odd little rhythm. Peregrine tried to find the pattern of it, even tapped back a little. Seemed as like there were none to be found. Could make one, of course. Peregrine weren’t much for anything musical, though. Tried, a few times, and it just never quite seemed to work. Some things must be more in the Peregrines than the faces. Cailan might be musical. Peregrine thought to ask, but a different question came out instead.

“What’s a Lars?” No, no—not “what”. Supposed to be “who”. Peregrine almost corrected themself but decided not to bother. Weren’t as though Cailan seemed much interested in Gideon as a conversationalist. Weren’t as though Peregrine were interested in Gideon as a conversationalist, neither.