The Ai, the Thief and Recovery

[depthlesslock]

Who: Agent Washington (Native), Agent York (Native) and Sigma Ai
What: First meet, coffee and trickery
Where: The Green Fairy
When: Midday
Warnings: Tricks and lies and the possible exposure of both

York is well aware of his habit of being late for things, so he sets in his mind that he's meeting Sigma and Wash at ten to twelve and is rather pleased when he makes it there at five to. He's the first one there so he leans back against the wall and waits for his friend and boyfriend to show up.

This is going to be fun. Ever since Sigma agreed to the facade, he's been grinning every time he thinks about it. That's going to have to stop. If they're going to fool Wash, Sigma's not the only who's going to have to pretend. Fortunately, being caring and protective over him isn't going to be hard to do. It's keeping a straight face that will be the hard part, but he'll give it his best shot.

Comments

[searchandrecovery]

York's damn right he won't. In Wash's experience, that just continues the cycle of shit. No one wants to have a fight with their boyfriend and wake up with an awful hangover the next morning.

Wash keeps patting York. Hey, it works on cats, so it should probably work on best friends, too.

[depthlesslock]

His fingers have started tingling. That's always the first sign he's getting tipsy, but it's not enough. Still half leaning on Wash, he downs the rest of the bottle and then scowls at it, waiting for it to refill.

[searchandrecovery]

"That's a very impressive scowl, dude, but your bottle isn't going to magically fill up. Sorry. That was still a decent amount of whiskey though, you've got to be feeling something. At least."

[depthlesslock]

'All this tech and we don't have automatic refills,' he grumbles. That would be a great thing. 'Not enough. 'Nother one.'

[searchandrecovery]

"Maybe you'll design one, and then you'll be set for life. No more merc work for you. Just chilling. It'd be great."

Wash takes the bottle from him. "Nah, you've had enough. I'll make you a deal, though. Just for tonight. 'Cause I'm feeling really nice. I'll actually dance with you." Wash isn't a great dancer, but he'll do anything at this point to cheer York up.

[depthlesslock]

'Be boring.' York likes being active. He loves working with locks, he enjoys the extra challenge of not getting caught on a job and he gets a rush from the adrenaline that comes with it. Even if he did invent an automatically-refilling-whiskey-bottle, he'd keep up his other work.

He needs no more encouragement. Every time they come to Errera together, York tries to get Wash to dance. Now, finally, is his chance. He grabs Wash's wrist and all but drags him to the dance floor.

[searchandrecovery]

Wash is already regretting this by the time they reach the dance floor. He likes watching other people dance, he likes the idea of dancing, but he's not good at putting it into practice. He hates feeling like he's being stared at or judged. And on the dance floor, he feels plenty of both. He tells himself that if he follows York's lead he won't look like a total idiot, but that doesn't do much to alleviate the awkward feelings.

He looks around at all the other dancers, then back to York, waiting for some indication of what he's supposed to do.

[depthlesslock]

The thing about Errera and most clubs is that there's no set way to dance. There's no moves to each song, no rules. Just the press of people against each other, moving in time to the music. Of course, some people do bust out the moves, and occasionally York is one of those, but as long as you just get in there and move you're good to go. It's getting Wash to move that's the problem.

He pulls Wash into the crowd and lets go of his hand to start moving to the music.

[searchandrecovery]

Wash sways back and forth, and you squint, he's moving almost rhythmically. He's staying pretty close to York. Pressing into the other people would feel like a violation of personal space, and if he's not too close to them, he can pretend he's not there. That it's just him and York and lots of loud, flashy things.

[depthlesslock]

York makes sure he doesn't get separated from Wash in the writhing mass around them. The younger merc doesn't go clubbing much and it's clear he isn't entirely comfortable here, so York's happy to stay by him as they dance.

[searchandrecovery]

Wash appreciates it. He knows York could go off, do whatever it is people do when they're weaving through the mass of way-too-many-people, but he doesn't. He stays there. He's a good friend, even on the shitty days. And that means a lot.

Wash experiments with putting his hands in the air like he just doesn't care. So far, so good.

[depthlesslock]

York has to smile at Wash's attempts. Honestly, they're not too bad. York himself has already found his rhythm, dancing with the music and not having to think beyond staying in time.

[searchandrecovery]

Well, if York's not thinking, then Wash has done his job. Operation: cheer up York after the disaster date has so far been a success.

[depthlesslock]

It doesn't take long for York to lose himself in the dancing and music. Even when the track changes, his rhythm shifts automatically with it.

[searchandrecovery]

It takes Wash a few moments to re-adjust to the new song--why did they have to go and change it?--but he's getting a little more accustomed to this whole dancing thing. Who knows, maybe he can get better with some practice. Lots of practice.

[depthlesslock]

Because the last song had ended, Wash, that's why. This is helping. It still hurts, of course, but he can somewhat ignore it for now, the pulsing beats masking the knot in his stomach.

[searchandrecovery]

Yes, but why do songs have to do that? There are some people who will simply never understand clubbing, and Wash is one of them.

"This helping any?" He manages to shout. The music is even louder over here, so naturally, Wash has too be louder too.

[depthlesslock]

'Yeah,' he yells back, not breaking his rhythm. The reply is almost automatic as he's swept up in the music and sway of the people around him, all dancing in a disorganised, yet collective group.