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[lifetothefullest]

@lance.sweets | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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[wittingly]

[ I'm usually better at handling these sorts of things earns Lance a reassuring little shoulder grip there, with his arm crossing the distance and his hand very carefully on sleeve-only terms. It's short, nothing huge, he's just a tactile guy. It falls away, and he settles more deliberately down into a comfortable half-slump on the couch.

His apology earns a blithe smile and shrug. ]

Thanks, man. I don't know if at stake is really the right term for it, that kind of implies there's an alternative where we win.

[ He shakes his head, light and amused — on the surface. Deep down in there somewhere is a little accent mark of cynicism or darkness, easy for most people to miss. Maybe unless they're in Lance's line of work, kind of a toss-up then.

He carries on just as casually, conversationally. ]

A ton of these guys... I think they're from places that are like... movies. Books, you know? You have the right plucky attitude or determination, you get some... deus ex machina or a triumphant montage and you overcome obstacles. That's not reality. Not my reality, anyway. No heros, no plans, just... winding down the clock. End not with a bang or whatever, you know?

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance isn't typically big on physical contact, but he doesn't mind the gesture this time; it's kind of nice, really, and he'll take all the reassurance he can get at this point.

He's quiet as Ian continues, watching him and reading between the lines as expected, even if he's slightly less sharp from the effects of the alcohol and everything else that's happened the past few--or more like one and a half?--days.

He's naturally optimistic, underneath his pragmatism, and so he wants to offer Ian the the advice that nothing's truly over until it's over; things do change, even in the more dire situations, and it could still happen. But he also doesn't want to just completely ignore the sentiment Ian is sharing, and so he decides to save the optimism for later. Sometimes you just want to drink and be a little sad about things.]

It's worse when it's so drawn out, at least in some sense. Having to just watch and wait.

[He doesn't have the experience on the grand, all-encompassing scale that exists in Ian's world, but he's had enough other experiences to at least know what he's talking about. Being in a situation in which you can't really do anything but just survive day to day, knowing what the likely end will be and that you're just moving closer and closer to it, is a terrible experience.]

I think you're right, about the people here; some of them, anyway. My world is pretty... Normal, I guess? We make our own meanings, and find our own purposes, but we're all just... No one's more special than anyone else. The murders we investigate, those people who died, they're just people and no better or worse than people who are still alive.

[There are people that are heroes through their own actions, but that's something self-made; they aren't destined, or chosen, or somehow greater or more special than the people who don't make it. It surely isn't everyone here, but it definitely feels like there at least some who are used to things just falling into place for them in the end because that's the way their world works.]

[wittingly]

[ Ian used to be an optimist, he really did. Opting for that whole you get what you put into the universe mindset, nothing being completely unattainable if you tried. He didn't lose it as soon as the ships touched down, no, he was one of the stupid people saying shit like maybe we can communicate and then nuclear bombs. Six weeks in, it wasn't the aliens that made him lose hope. It was other people.

Story for another time. ]

Must've been a big fucking adjustment.

[ Observed kindly, lifting his glass an inch or two in acknowledgment. ]

Going from that to... whatever it was like in Hadriel.

[lifetothefullest]

I thought I was hallucinating for most of the first month, so that helped.

[Which is true, though in actuality he also doesn't remember most of his first month in Hadriel; he remembers some conversations, meeting a few people, and some scattered pieces in between but overall it's mostly incredibly hazy. He knows some part of it had been shock and the rest was just blocked out, which is usually not the best thing but it did help in the particular topic at hand.]

But it was definitely an adjustment. What about you, coming here? This seems a little more like 'normal' life than Hadriel was, but it's still a big change even if just for the magic and alternate universes thing.

[wittingly]

[ The question earns Lance a nice wide smile. ]

I woke up fucking stoked to be here.

[ With absurdly chill enthusiasm. The first hour had been hard, confusing, he'd been convinced they needed to get the fuck out of that warehouse because the metal was practically a beacon.

Once he figured out where and when he was? ]

Don't get me wrong, the hovercars were an adjustment, but I'd seriously have given up a kidney to see a taco truck and take a shower in something other than lake water.

[lifetothefullest]

[Okay, that reaction gives Lance pause for only a moment before he can't help but laugh, taking another sip of his drink.]

Ephemera brought me eggrolls in the safehouse and I think I gave him the impression I'd never seen food before.

[He's exaggerating, since Ephemera had been aware at least distantly of the Hadriel situation, but the sentiment is what's important here.]

There are definitely some good things about being here, and I'm glad that this is an upgrade for you, even with... Everything.

[It's not like the situation here is perfect, but still.]

[wittingly]

[ If pressed, yeah, he wouldn't lie — the mini monster apocalypse fucked him up good. It was a trip straight back to PTSD land involving more than one drunken panic attack. He misses Nathan — other Nathan — and that feeling of connection, like they were both going through that same... thing. Some undefined specific thing, a split mix between substance abuse and anxiety disorders.

He never did learn what that guy's whole deal was. Maybe for the best, he's got enough attachments going on as it is. ]

Thanks, man. Same about, you know, fighting an eldritch chaos door. Now all you have to deal with are assholes on the internet.

[ And... more monsters, but that's not as snappy a line.

There's a blip — his eyes go suddenly away the way some people do when they're interacting with the implant. A second later: ]

Nate read the saga. You alright with more misery drinking company? Preemptive warning, the last time I got drunk he made me jog.

[ NEVER FORGET. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[Unfortunately, it seems like monsters and assholes on the internet are both universal occurrences, at least in Lance's experience. But he offers a faint smile at the comments, nodding and taking another drink, and then notices the shift in Ian's expression. At first Lance isn't sure if it's the network or something more serious--with the subjects they're talking about it could've triggered something--but then he explains, and Lance relaxes a little again.]

That's fine. I think Nate knows better than to try to make me do any jogging.

[Or at least he better.]

[wittingly]

I'd love to know how you pulled that shit off.

[ A good-natured grumble — if he'd had any real problem with it he wouldn't have done it in the first place.

Or, you know, if he didn't have the constant looming fear of fucking up attachments now that he dares to form them.

In any case, he'll just drink about it.

Also, dip back into precarious topics. ]

You talk to Kyna yet?

[lifetothefullest]

Maybe I'll teach you my secrets someday.

[He's joking, of course; it really is just that he and Nate have known each other so long that Lance's own usual fear of doing something to make people suddenly decide to hate him is no longer there.

No longer there with Nate, anyway.

At the question he gives a quiet sigh and shakes his head, downing a larger drink of his mostly-tequila.]

I haven't. I probably will soon, though.

[And that said--]

What about you?

[wittingly]

[ His lips pull into a mostly-straight line, dimples visible even through that ridiculous beard. It's a shade shy of a grimace, just a little too subdued to qualify. ]

Yeah.

[ A vacant sort of nod, and his eyes settle on the wall across from them. ]

We're good.

[ In the sense that he didn't actually talk to her for more than two minutes without shoving the whole thing down and pretending it didn't happen. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance gives him a look for a moment, before--]

I'm nowhere near drunk enough yet to buy that, but if you don't want to talk about it, it's okay.

[He's not going to force it, but Ian also doesn't have to try to play like everything's totally cool either.]

[wittingly]

[ He offers up a wry smile in turn — yeah, he'll give you that one. He's not gonna try all that hard to sell it. There's some quiet humor in the shake of his head that settles before he answers. ]

There's nothing really to talk about. I got a reality check, she said she was sorry for snapping and that I thought she was defending the kid, and that was it. She asked to come over, we smoked an assload of weed and watched a movie.

[ An anticlimactic story. ]

[nonscriptum]

[ He got the invite, assuming his company is welcome provided he doesn't make anybody run any laps - as if he actually could - and finds his way to a relatively nice hotel about the midway point between Lance's actual apartment and the casino.

The barest flash of a smile and a wave gets Nate past the concierge and up the elevator, and he meanders down a hall that pulses quietly with neon orange light and reflective wallpaper to a room at the end of the corridor.

No sound from behind the door, but he raps thrice on the metal jamb. ]

[wittingly]

[ In a feat of sheer, unadulterated laziness — the door opens itself. Check out that metal bending. Who stands in 2512?

You're both welcome. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[It's for the best that Nate arrives just then, because Lance might've been tempted to comment on how Ian's conversation seemed to have gone very differently than Lance's did. He's sure he'll end up getting into that still, but Nate's presence is a good distraction for now.

Also Ian's power is definitely convenient.]

Hi Nate.

[nonscriptum]

Uh. Hi?

[ Seeing as the door isn't keyed to his implant he quietly assumes it was the result of Ian's ever-burgeoning power, which is why he takes it in stride and enters the room as it slips shut behind him. ]

Nice parlor trick. [ He lifts his right hand, which clutches the neck of a bottle he (shockingly) did not liberate from Red Wings, but came from his own stores back in the Drake-Drake-Wilson residence. ] I come bearing gifts.

[wittingly]

You're welcome.

[ With all the earnestness and smugness a human being is capable of having. Matter bending.

He points his cup at the kitchenette counter. ]

I brought SunnyD-an if you need a mixer.

[ There's... just... so much in his refrigerator. There's just so much. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance gives Nate a faint smile, especially at the offer of more alcohol he totally doesn't need but will accept, but hold on just a second--]

SunnyD-an?

[He's not sure if he's impressed or horrified by this pun.]

[nonscriptum]

[ The clear distinction between Nathan Drake and Lance Sweets, as people, can be most evidently defined with their respective reactions to an otherwise terrible pun. Lance with something that could be construed as torn between amusement and disdain, Nate with a high, stretched laugh that has the same genuine air as those he emits when he's just survived something absurd. Sunny D-an, he repeats under his breath and wanders over, setting a bottle of clear liquid in front of Lance on the coffee table.

Rounding their little makeshift gathering he pulls another chair up and reaches for a glass, examining their drink choices and lifting the tequila up for inspection before shooting Ian a knowing look.

He then proceeds to pour himself a very generous helping. ]

I've been told I can hang out with the cool kids so long as I don't make anyone jog.

[wittingly]

[ Ian seems equally delighted by both reactions — is it really a good pun if at least one person doesn't hate themselves and also you after you say it? Round that out with a laugh and you get one very pleased Fowler.

Pleased enough that he isn't even gonna defend himself over the Tequila Knowing. Just a little hands up surrender gesture — what can you do. He is what he is. ]

You got the wrong room, man. The cool kids are like three doors down wearing leather jackets and smoking.

[ Let's be honest with ourselves here, this is three dorks and a coffee table. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance rolls his eyes at both Nate and Ian's reactions, but the hint of a smile is back on his face. He watches Nate set the bottle down and then pour himself a lot of tequila, and he's not sure if he should take it as a good sign that Nate's feeling up to drinking now or a bad sign that he feels like it's worth it to drink. It could be either and Lance is not at his best in figuring out which it is.

But either way he'll just make sure to pay attention in case it's anything to worry about, or at least pay attention as much as he can with how drunk he plans to be.

In response to the conversation, very helpfully--]

I had a leather jacket once.

[And he looked very cool.]

[nonscriptum]

[ Nate makes a there you go sort of gesture, as if to indicate that Lance is, in fact, a person who qualifies as cool. ]

And I'm sure you looked very handsome.

[ He situates himself in his chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table in an utterly impolite, if exhausted, motion. Nate takes a sip of his tequila, pulls a face, and subsequently leans over to top off his glass with a little of Ian's final batch SunnyD.

Like a tropical beverage one might find on the beach in Montego Bay, but bad. ]

So... [ Is he allowed to broach this? Fuck it, he's going to broach this. ] Is this a somber occasion, or...?

[wittingly]

[ You know what, color him impressed. He shoots one of those mildly surprised, approving looks in Lance's direction. What can he say, once a grunge teen always a grunge teen.

It turns into an appraising flicker at the question, from Lance to Nate and then right on back again. Doing a little reading of the room, weighing, assessing... ]

I think it's one of those occasions where you pretend you're not somber by laughing about your problems with repressed bitterness.

[ Correct him if he's wrong. ]

[lifetothefullest]

[He definitely does not choke on his drink when he tries to laugh at Nate's comment, rolling his eyes again, though he catches that look from Ian and he'll take it. Let him have all three times he was ever cool, okay.

He isn't at all bothered by Nate's feet on the coffee table, considering he's pulling one of his own up onto the chair he's sitting in, like an utter heathen. The question earns brief contemplation, but Ian answers in a way he can't really argue with and so he gives a small shrug and nods.]

Speaking of repressed bitterness, I told him I'm actually an angry spirit cursed to walk different dimensions and be ignored by the populace until the very last second.

[He adds it for Nate's benefit, so he's brought up to speed.]