milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: Lilly doesn't like feeling guilty. For one thing, it leads to her doing stupidly risky things in order to make up for the guilt Indy keeps insisting she shouldn't feel.]

However, surviving stupidly risky things and pulling off guilt-assuaging missions can only improve a girl's mood. This is why she's grinning as she comes into the bar, a box in her arms.

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Weighing the whiskey glass in his hand, Jack considers it, before lifting it to take a swallow.

"Sure 'nough. Just got back from a long drive, though. Kinda tired." It's transparent, but he doesn't care, is too weary to care, and the whiskey's starting to go to his head.

"'choo been up to?"

[ooc: off for a short while for coffee!]

"The usual," Lilly says, snagging a glass from bar. "Running a brothel, having sex, stealing stuff from Nazis..."

She casually leans over, takes the whiskey bottle, and pours a generous helping in her glass.

"Helping people share their booze."

[ooc: all good! I'll be around]

"Help yourself."

He pushes the bottle towards her when she puts it back down. Probably best not to drink it all himself, he figures, a little fuzzily.

"Sounds like some pretty excitin' times, there. Nazis, huh?"

"Nazis," Lilly confirms, scowling as she takes a rather lengthy swallow of her drink.

"I hate those guys. Let's talk about more fun stuff. Oh, how's Ennis?"

Jack stiffens, and after a moment reaches out to pour himself some more whiskey. It isn't until after he's tipped most of the newest measure down his throat that he shrugs.

"Dunno. Seemed fine the last time I saw 'im."

That fine is almost spat out, and Jack looks at his almost-empty glass in sudden, almost childish, anger.

Lilly blinks, takes another healthy swallow, realizes she's still way behind, empties her glass and tries again.

"Yeah, okay. You guys fought, then?"

He shakes his head.

"He's fine. Him 'n his...daughters and his ranch work, 's all just fine. Shit."

He goes to drain his glass, realizes it's empty. And that's no good. Concentrating, he tips another measure of whiskey into it, and looks over at Lilly a little unsteadily.

"Pretty nosy gal, ain't you?"

"Yes," Lilly says promptly, switching his full glass for her empty one.

"I am extremely nosy. But, I can also keep secrets. Especially when they're about people I like."

"Ain't got any secrets," he mutters rebelliously, into his glass.

There's something wrong. He pauses.

The glass is empty again. Well, fuck that. He reaches for the bottle to remedy the fact.

Lilly picks it up faster than he can. Her reflexes are doing much better at this point.

"Here, let me pour."

He gets a small splash of whiskey before she sets the bottle down just out of arms' reach and takes a hypocritically satisfying drink from Jack's former glass.

"And of course you do. Everyone does. If not... well, they should. People without secrets are boring."

Enjoy those reflexes while you can, Lilly!

He empties the glass without really making any judgement on the amount of whiskey in it, made marginally more cheerful at the impressive way that Lilly's catching up.

"You got some secrets, darlin? Or you just innerested in other people's?"

Lilly tips back another healthy measure of whiskey.

"Both!" she announces cheerfully, the alcohol running warm through her blood.

"See, I am a renaiaiassance woman."

Reaching awkwardly for the whiskey bottle, Jack blinks at her in fuzzy bemusement.

"Rena--ren--what now? Shit, you ain't had hardly nothin and already you ain't makin sense. Seems like," he says, solemnly, and then is immediately distracted by a successful grab of the bottle.

Lilly pauses in her drinking of whiskey to be affronted in his general direction.

"Seems like to you, maybe. I don't think you're a very sensible man, Jack Twist."

For one thing, he put the bottle back down where she could reach it.

"Nope," he says. Except he's agreeing with her. It makes sense, honest.

"Not me, I ain't never been sensible. Fuckin day-dreamer, my daddy allus said."

He squints a little, thinks back, nods.

"Ain't what I was gonna say," he protests, remembering suddenly, and looks over at her indignantly.

"Seems like you're gettin' a mite tipsy. Soon you'll be singin', and then what the fuck am I supposed to do? " he concludes, shaking his head and reaching for his glass.

"It seems like you're way beyond tipsy, Jacko," Lilly replies brightly.

"So if I manage to get to the point where I am singing, or if like, the evil karaoke machine pops up, well. I think you'll be too drunk to care. So ha!"

She feels this application of pure logical brilliance deserves another drink.

"That was the point," he tells her, with the sort of look that usually goes along with Duh statements.

"'f a man can't get drunk the nights he needs it, what can he do? 'Sides, I started well before you."

"Yes, but you're a lot bigger than I am," Lilly replies.

More logic! More drinking to celebrate said logic!

"Why do you need to get drunk s'bad anyway?"

He slants a wary look at her. A little more in control of his comprehension, and he'd be smug at the amount she's had since delaring him so much drunker than herself.

Unfortunately for him, he really is that drunk.

He points at her, a little unsteadily.

"Nosy again."

"Nosy still," Lilly corrects. "And persistent."

She smiles innocently at him.

"Might as well just tell me. S'either that or karaoke."

He looks at her, and looks away again, down towards the bar. One hand comes up to rub at his forehead.

"Ain't nobody's business."

Hard to tell if it's to her or to himself. It's quiet, has the tone of something repeated over, and over again. Enough so maybe he's even started believing it.

His mouth tightens.

"Shit."

The hand slams down onto the bar, palm flat, and he looks at it for a minute before laughing wryly, shaking his head.

"Oh, no. I ain't drunk enough yet for questions."

He makes an ungainly reach, pours more for them both, and raises his glass to her.

"Well then," Lilly says, raising her glass in return, "here's to getting drunk enough for questions. Or karaoke. Or both!"

She clinks his glass fairly enthusiastically and takes a sip.

"Trust me when I say you don't want a hear me singin'," Jack informs her, before tipping back his own glass.

"Even Ennis used a say he'd prefer hearin the goddam fuckin coyotes."

The word comes out in two syllables: ki-yote.

'Course, Ennis had been joking.

Mostly.

He chuckles a little.

"Is this when you and Ennis were camping?" Lilly asks artlessly.

Ennis had mentioned the camping. He hadn't mentioned the singing. From what Jack's saying, there's probably a reason for that.

Jack nods.

"Campin. Yeah. Wait, no."

He shakes his head.

"Weren't campin. Fuckin Joe Aguirre told us couldn't stay in the same fuckin camp. Was herding sheep--sheepherder had to fuckin go up 'n sleep with the goddam sheep up on the ridge. Ten years back now."

"Ten years. Shit. Long fuckin time."