OPEN POST pt III

[wunderkind]

-1-
pick a character

-2-
leave me a comment. maybe a scenario, maybe an AU scenario, maybe a picture, maybe a word,
maybe a request to resume old game canon, maybe just a comment.
i don't care. do your worst.

-2a-
helpful note: i am currently obsessed with the Walking Dead, coffee, summertime, AUs, and vampires. can you combine those into one tag?

-3-
let's get it on, like we did last summer



disclaimer: we probably won't get it on
+ there are no promises i will take this seriously

Comments

[doggedly]

The other two slink away after Nott, too conscious of his failure to try anything. The man at the bar is still looking in their direction, and Sirius is still not looking at him. He raises his gaze to Edgeworth instead, just as chilly as the one he'd turned on Nott.

"No." The suggestion was clearly ridiculous. Sirius sets his glass down on the gummy tabletop, heavily, and folds his arms over his chest. "We're staying here."

No matter that he's reluctant to have his name muttered in conjunction with Edgeworth's. No matter that he is not ready--will never be ready, probably--to do any of the bold and stupid gestures that Edgeworth had hinted at. Join the Ministry, tell the truth. It's not for people like Nott that he cannot extricate himself. It is for reasons so much more complex, so much heavier.

But by the same turn, he will not be chased out of anywhere by the likes of Nott. So he lifts his chin a little. "Take a drink, Edgeworth."

[jurisimpudent]

Well, that's...the opposite of what he had anticipated. Quite thoroughly the opposite. Offering to buy a bottle and take it elsewhere was the generous middle ground; rather than swinging more towards rejection (saying to finish his drink and then stiffly, proudly, with all his hidebound Blackish haughtiness, going his separate way), Black rejects the middle ground for a more open declaration of allegiance. Edgeworth tries to hide his confusion behind his glass and ends up choking the whole thing down before he manages to regain his balance.

He's definitely on the sotted side of tipsy, now. He's had drinks before, yes, but only ever by himself; he finds the sensation of drunkenness pleasant, and finds that some of his habitual tension has loosened, and finds that the whiskey is taking the edge off the vague nervous awkwardness that he feels really any time he's out with someone. He sets his glass down with a bit of force, and settles back in his seat, and offers a smile that actually lasts more than a half-second.

(Maybe not all of it is the alcohol. Maybe not even most of it. Sirius Black is a snotty, arrogant bastard, but in some way that actually makes the fact that he's willingly spending time with Edgeworth sort of...precious, in some strange way. And that courage, that willingness to stick by him - It mingles really nicely with this pleasant buzz.)

"It really does start going down easier once you're about halfway through it," he says affably. Then he nods to Sirius' glass. "Go on, keep up, I've got to buy you a round."

[doggedly]

As stern and full of conviction as he appears to be, there is a great deal of uncertainty at war in Sirius. He does not show a jot of it. There is nothing in him that wants to return that idiotic smile that Edgeworth turns on him, or his good cheer--

But his mouth lifts a little, just at the corners. Some of it is forced and some of it is, actually, genuine, a little nod toward the sheer pig-headed resilience that makes up the character of Miles Edgeworth. What an idiot, he thinks, without much charity. He's clearly a little drunk. Half a glass of whisky. What an idiot.

"If you honestly are in it to outdrink me, you're going to be vomiting on Nott in twenty minute's time."

He picks up his glass regardless, gives it a little swirl, and takes another drink. The man at the bar is still looking in their direction, but Sirius sips again, carelessly.

"And I'd get your handbag out now, if I was you. The way you're going, you won't be able to find it once we've finished off this round."

[jurisimpudent]

"Yes, ha ha, my sides are splitting from laughter," Edgeworth replies. If he'd had a finger's width less of whiskey, he could manage to grumble that quite admirably; he'd sound devastatingly irritable. Here, now, he can't help but actually sound a bit amused. And, indeed, rather than crabbily shutting down the conversation, he even counters by ribbing Black right back. "I actually keep money in my pockets. I know that's a foreign idea, being as they don't actually sew pockets into evening gowns like the ones you wear under your robes, but believe me, it makes things far simpler."

Still, things will be a bit more difficult rather soon, and truthfully he sort of wants to ensure that they have another round on the table because Edgeworth isn't wholly confident that Sirius will stay for him but he will stay for whiskey. So he stands, and declares (not even sotto voce, more along the lines of voce) - "Besides, Nott deserves to get vomited on; he's a complete arse."

And then he points to Sirius.

"More of the same?"