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[lifetothefullest]

@lance.sweets | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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[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.]

[nonscriptum]

[ Bitterness, maybe. Exhaustion for the most part, a bone-deep sort of weariness that clings to him when he gets up in the morning, follows him around like a shadow all day, and crawls into bed with him only to hog the blankets. ]

Oh, so, Hadriel all over again, huh? [ Nate says, light and conversational over his cup. ] This must be Purgatory. Or like- the myth of Prometheus. Cursed to have your liver eaten every day for the rest of your li- you know.

[wittingly]

[ Damn, Nate, save some angst for the rest of us.

He's just gonna take a second to squint between the pair of them — angry spirit cursed to walk different dimensions — for the rest of your lives. ]

Oh my fucking god.

[ Drawled out with slow disbelief. Just a little splash of are you serious slipped into the humor. ]

This is gonna be a thing, isn't it?

[ You know what he means. ]

[lifetothefullest]

People here better hope it's not Hadriel all over again.

[There's more of the bitterness, and he downs more of his horrible drink as he watches Ian's reaction. He doesn't know for sure if Nate's told Ian his own story, and so he isn't going to give it away, but--]

There's like, literally no benefit to being dead except making morbid jokes no one notices. I don't think anyone ever picked up on it in Hadriel if they didn't already know what I was doing.

[nonscriptum]

[ Lance hedges gently without bringing Nate's own status up out of courtesy, and it's something that Nate appreciates deeply despite the lack of its necessity in this express scenario. He tips his head toward his friend in agreement, nodding along, because it took him a while to truly grasp how often Lance clutched at those opportunities to be morbidly ironic.

Over his drink and wistfully, with a put-upon expression that is so unabashedly feigned Nate can't even pretend he's not screwing around: ]

Sometimes I ride the elevators up the big department store buildings just to lift my spirits.

[wittingly]

[ So, you know what, he'd been bringing his drink up to his lips to try and tequila away Lance's foreshadowing — mentally lamenting over the upcoming being dead jokes he's sure to see in his future, as it so happens. He's got about half a mouth full of TequilaD when that atrocity comes out of Nate's mouth.

He chokes. Sloshes a little drink down his front, sprays a little more from his mouth. The silver lining is it means he can cough instead of laughing, because nobody should encourage him.

Hoarsely, incredulously: ]

Jesus Christ.

[lifetothefullest]

[Lance fixes Nate with a look at that horrible, horrible remark, glances toward Ian to make sure he's not dying, and then looks back at Nate again.]

Six months or so, and that's what you've come up with?

[At least it's very clear from that comment that Nate isn't trying to hide anything, so Lance knows he doesn't need to be so cautious, but still. Still. What even was that?]