[ amazingly enough, lance is able to follow this particular line of... "logic." context clues are definitely helping, at least enough that lance realizes the paper is for something important, at least important enough that he needs something written down immediately, lest he forget. and, considering how much the liquor is affecting him? the chances of that are pretty dang high.
so that's one thing. the other thing? ]
How do you know about the mission?
[ the smoke thing is ignored for the moment, a far more immediate line of inquiry shoved into the foreground out of sheer panic now. how did keith know about the mission, which his guilt-ridden mind assumes can only be referring to his own. did giovanni tell him? he tenses up, but he isn't sure if it's because of the sudden proximity, or the fact that his dirty little secret of the evening may not be so secret after all.
he's so frozen in his panic he can't even think to move away, even when keith's heavy drunk breathing warms his ear and neck. his mind starts to put imaginary pieces together. ]
Were you... there?
[ it makes sense, doesn't it...? did keith see something on his way to the bar to get hammered? ]
[He'll pull his head out of hiding, but trying to focus on Lance is difficult. There's a general direction, works for him.]
More like...how do you know?
[There's some faraway place in his brain that is, actually, trying to rediscover coherency even as their conversation unravels all the more. The suspicious top, the smell of smoke, the fact that they'd returned at the same time -- nearly.
He starts to pull away, shaking Lance's hand from his own and abandoning that pinch of clothing he'd been holding hostage.]
Are you working for the Wyvers?
[Must be why he's acting skittish and won't help him find paper. It's all coming together.]
[ it's kind of weird trying to have a serious conversation with someone who's staring intensely at your right cheek, but lance does his best. ]
The who?
[ he shakes his head, reaching out reflexively when he sees keith pull back — not because he's missing having his own skull used for a head prop, but because he'd seen how the other boy had teetered, and if left on his own, lance is sure that pull back would quickly become a fall back. so now it's him holding onto keith's clothing, hands fisted over the front of his shirt to keep him upright. ]
Never mind, I think we're talking about two different things.
[ more like he hopes... but the more he actually allows himself to think about out — truly think about it, not just panic about it — he realizes none of that really makes sense. ]
You had a mission for the Guard, then? [ some skeptical staring. ] Did you have to find something at the bottom of a keg, or...
[It sure does feel like they're on a boat. The boat from A Perfect Storm during the ending sequence.]
That's -- what you would say if you were.
[He looks down, squinting at the anchor that is Lance's hand. One of his own settles on his wrist, holding it loosely.]
...were working for them. If you were working for them.
[It's an accusation lacking conviction, but it's hard trying to decode what Lance is on about when his brain feels like it's been flipped upside down and been bloated. His pinky brushes the mesh of his cuff and he's back to subtly rubbing it with that finger.
It'd be a genuinely sweet thing if only he weren't doing it for the froggy(???????) texture. Accidentally romantic.]
I'm not talking about it if you're doing weird stuff. That's what it feels like.
[As if to accentuate his point while ignoring Lance's (rhetorical) question, he'll bring his other hand up Lance's ribs, resting an open hand against the spot...but with enough pressure it might cause an automatic twitch.]
[ weird is definitely one word lance would use to describe all this. not only is keith drunk, but he's awfully handsy, too, and strangely fixated on his shirt which, okay, lance has regretted enough times this evening that he doesn't need one more reason, okay. but this, on top of the already strange night he's already had... lance is starting to feel like he's gonna need a pack of ice on his head soon, never mind the actual lush here. ]
I'm not. [ as usual, he's quick to rise to his defenses, but at least this time he's got some ground to stand on. the words themselves aren't that intense, more mumbled really. the fight isn't really there, which is another weird thing. shouldn't be react a bit more? the fact that he isn't that weirded out is probably what's making this even weirder! ]
I was doing a mission too, okay. I was... helping. We were undercover. It's legitimate.
[ he doesn't really want to get much further than that, though, please don't make him..............
anyway, he lapses into silence long enough to finally truly take notice of keith's hands, glancing down between them with furrowed brows. weird, he thinks again. the touch to his wrist made him tense up, but the touch on his ribs just caused a shudder. like an almost tickle. a tickle that never was. he seems stable enough on his feet, at least, so lance can chance releasing his shirt with one hand to wrap it around keith's own wrist, gently trying to pry him off. ]
You're the one acting weird.
[ omg sTOP TOUCHING THE SHIRT— ]
If you like it so much I'll get you one for yourself, okay!
[That's incredibly suspicious. Undercover tackling a mission...not his mission. Was he being spied on? He can't tell heads or tails of anything; just that Lance sounds like he's trying to prove something and he doesn't have much of a brain (or motivation) to drill him on it. It's like he's a cop that's just caught Lance peeing outside...]
Hmm...
[That's it. That's his full reaction. At the same time, he's being released, and re-remembering that his own task wasn't quite finished yet. Paper, pen. He's backing up, so Lance doesn't have to worry about being fondled for the moment.]
It's not weird, just because I need paper.
[The shirt's yesterday's news. He's backed himself into the nearest doorframe, gripping at it with a hand while turning himself around so he can proceed without tripping on himself. Which is smart, but not exactly the most well-thought thing he's done in the past five minutes. He's positively, distractingly nauseous again and slouching himself against the panel -- crumbling slightly against it.]
[ yeah, lance watched every single moment of that brilliant move. truth be told, he had been expecting a much more disastrous turn of events, but keith managed to surprise him there with his amazing grace. or grip strength.
in any case, he's right behind keith not too long after. it only takes him like two steps anyway. a hand along the boy's back, another on his arm, gently stabilizing him. he peers at the boy's face, looking even paler now under the dim lighting. he isn't looking too good...
gently, he brings a hand up to push most of keith's fringe back. ]
If you're gonna hurl, [ he says, like a doting tender nurse with amazing bedside manners, ] try to aim for the trashcan.
[As if he'd miss the trashcan at such a crucial moment...
He is slinking further down the doorframe; it's more controlled, just to get closer to the bin because it's gonna happen. He can feel it surging up in a direction it really shouldn't be.
I'm gonna spare us both the torture of writing/reading a scene where he's puking, but he is, and it's a gross pasty color. He thinks he's finished, prepares to wipe his mouth with the end of his shirt -- but there's more to be donated.
Sorry about this. At least he's keeping the retching sfx to a minimal.]
[ this is it. this is the height of their relationship. there's no turning back from puking bonding.
to keith's credit, his puking sfx is pretty tame compared to lance's, who cannot help but gag each time keith gears up for more. one would think after being hunk's friend for so long, lance would have an iron stomach, but he's kind of also like less than a FOOT away from all this, and he can't even turn away properly because he's too busy holding keith's dumb mullet hair back from sticking to his face. lance has already got a fifteen-minute rant all scripted in his mind for when keith finally pulls back up for air. hairties were invented for a reason, you caveman!
by the end of it, lance has got a fistful of mullet, the other hand rubbing cropcircle patterns over keith's back, a stench stuck in his nostrils that amazingly rivals the breath of that total creeper he and giovanni arrested just earlier, and also he's aged about ten years. his "friend of the year" award is expected in the mail any day now. ]
Sweet crepes, Keith, did you drink the whole district?
[By the end of it, he's leaning back, semi-reliant on Lance one more, panting unevenly, sweating just a bit..even. He finally finds an opportunity to dab at his mouth -- Hunk not far from his mind either. How did he manage to puke so often? It's...such a taxing thing.
On the other hand, he's feeling better! Not sober, but better. He's pulling himself up, feigning poise while still having to rely on the wall. It's as if he aged 90 years.]
I couldn't have spent that much.
[R-right? At the same time, he's not so willing to admit he hadn't had that much to drink. It was a business thing, after all. Some level of professionalism had to be maintained. That said, it's not like he has any past experiences to compare it to.]
...I gotta use the bathroom.
[Both for a tinkle and to brush his teeth. It's a groggy-ish confession as he turns to face his companion.]
[ more context clues! if keith was the one paying, that removed (or, at least, most likely removed) the possibility that he had been approached by someone during his outing. it is a strangely comforting thing...
because it'd be pretty embarrassing if lance hadn't garnered anyone's interest to that extent, and keith, of all people, had. right? right.
although that doesn't diminish the possibility that keith had then been the person with the interest... purchasing drinks for someone else?? and why did he care about that?
because. because keith liking anyone that much is weird! that's why! does keith even know what that emotion is?? ha ha good one, lance, sick burn.
anyway, uh. what were they doing? ]
Probably should have gone to it five minutes earlier, but yeah, let's get you there. [ it was literally just four more steps down the hall... gdi, keith. lance leads him there, taking him all the way to the sink and setting both of the boy's hands tight around the edge to steady himself. he backs away towards the door. ]
You good here by yourself...?
[ he's not helping you tinkle... also he has to go toss out all that puke. gj keith. ]
[All of that inner turmoil is literally the woman doing algebra meme. Wait until he gets the sick deets on his job and additionally learns that everyone here thinks he's weird.
Puking into the bucket there was necessary; he couldn't have postponed it, better to puke there than in the bathroom doorway...in the cracks of the tiles...]
I'm fine.
[What do you mean you won't hold his bepis for him? He...he doesn't look fine, but he doesn't look as unstable as he'd been moments ago, if that makes sense. He'll sooner vomit again than tip over and concuss himself against the toilet rim.
He'll take some initiative, finally, washing his face, rinsing his mouth out. Whether or not Lance decided to close the door for him, he's gonna do a #1, one hand still holding the edge of the sink for balance.
The next time Lance should run into him, he'll be stripped to his underpants and brushing his teeth in slow motion.]
subconsciously tryna appeal to keith's inner cryptid-loving self
[ the door was left open, just in case keith decides that gravity is his best friend and collapses to the floor. lance would be able to hear it a lot more clearly. of course, what he ends up hearing instead is his fellow paladin taking a leak, which is fine, whatever, urinals etc etc. he isn't there to stand guard, at least, busy running that trashcan out and dumping its contents... do they have a hose outside? if they do, he uses it to hose the whole thing down. you know what, let's just leave it there, too. give the space raccoons something to talk about. (shout out to rocket, eeey.)
anyway he comes back just in time to catch the mini stripshow, and he squawks a little indignantly at the utter lack of warning. he looks away quickly, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. black briefs, his mind screams at him. but also, why not red? ]
Do you need help getting to the room or what?
[ he taps the small pad of paper that he'd brought along against the doorframe, just in case all his noise hadn't already gotten the other's attention. ]
[Listen, none of this is comfortable, his clothes smell and he wants to get comfortable. On any other occasion, he'd have his pajamas to change into. This is actually the second time Keith's undressed in front of Lance wtf....but away, he's not thinking about pajamas or making himself any heavier than he already feels behind his eyes.
Which, putting on pajamas wouldn't affect the psychological(?) weight of his brain, but he's not interested in that complex kinda logic right now.
He's rinsing his mouth (of toothpaste, at least) while wrapping up that stripshow, overlooks an initial response..but he does turn to face him at least...annnnd he's readily distracted by notepaper.]
You found some paper?
[He's moving forward with the finesse of a newly birthed zombie, taking Lance by a forearm when he's near enough to. It's vaguely exciting that Lance remembered to scrounge some up for him, vaguely, only because it feels like he's existing as a cinderblock man.]
You're gonna have to write a few things down for me.
[ the fact that keith has pajamas is still pretty surreal to lance... he and allura totally forced it on him during their shopping montage, didn't they.
anyway, lance tenses up when he's approached... because he's totally sure keith is gonna fall over on himself or something. obviously. still, his eyes dart over to the strange vice-grip keith's got on his forearm — did he mean to grab the paper? oh crackers, he's still super wasted, isn't he — before looking back to meet his eyes. ]
I thought I couldn't be trusted with your super secret confidential information?
[ ok it's probably not a good idea to bring that back up, especially if keith is still as reluctant to welcome logic into his life as he seems, but since when does lance make good life choices... tbh... ]
[Most probably. That would explain the matching lion onesie he's never going to wear....
Their eyes lock, there are approximately three to four blinks before he's pushing at the seized limb. Yes, he may've just remembered that whole thing. No, he can't go back on it now....]
I don't have a choice, you're part of the guard anyway.
[That doesn't mean anything he says will make any kind of sense to Lance. Logic comes in spurts. He's already being contrary to himself.]
[ they'll get you in that onesie one day, keithew mccree. ]
Yeesh, did all that alien alcohol make you forget your please's and thank you's, too?
[ still he turns, moving out of the way to let keith stumble along the hallway first. fortunately, their bedroom isn't too far down and (even more fortunately) the door to allura's remains quite closed. with any luck, she'll sleep through this whole thing, and be none the wiser... lance doesn't know if he can even begin to explain all that she might walk in on right now.
he half-walks, half-watches keith walk himself to the room, and once they're there he flicks the light on to aide them both. there's precisely one desk and one chair in the room, apart from their bunk bed, but he leads keith over to his bottom bunk instead. might as well get him situated there as soon as possible. it'd be that much harder to get him there if he's all passed out. ]
[Even setting aside the unmistakably gay undertones, drunk and basically naked Keith is absolutely a sight to behold. He's shifting between using the hallway wall and Lance to keep his balance -- not so fixated on his shirt this time, though he does make a grab for it at least twice. It's flimsy and unhelpful, for the record.
He could be more polite, or he could bumble through this queasy post-drinking probably-hangover thing without any gratuitous frills added on. He's suffering.
And, still not a fan of the light. It isn't so nauseating as it once was, but he's squinting as he takes a heavy seat at the edge of his bed, inwardly thankful Lance decided to bypass the desk for this one.]
Sit with me.
[It's his warmest demand yet. He's scooting back some, wanting something sturdy to rest against and the wall's right there.]
Yeah, yeah, hold your horses... [ because after all they'd been through in the last twenty minutes, sitting with keith on his bed while his underpants is on full display doesn't really seem that strange in comparison...
or maybe he's just grown complacent.
either way, he has to rummage through the desk for a pen first, because keith's fixation on paper made even him forget the actual writing part. he plops himself down in the middle of the bed, thoughtfully away from the pillow so it doesn't smell like red light district when he finally falls face-first into it. he toes his shoes off and sits crosslegged, using one knee to act as his desk. ]
Okay, shoot.
[ he looks up at keith expectantly.
then he frowns.
pokes keith on the leg with that pen. ]
Hey — no sleeping till this gets finished! You made it sound so dang important...
[See, the light isn't all that bad, because once Lance decides to sit and hassle him about the details of his inebriated night, he gets his first good look at his horrendous mesh top.
He's grinning, even as he's nagged.]
Hold your horses. [With a belated swat, aiming for the pen, but he's about seventeen feet off-target.] What are you wearing?
[Thank you for hosing off my vomit in a barrel but also: the heck.]
There's no way you went on a mission wearing that.
[Out of context, he's the world's most critical fashionista. In context, he's tilting his chin up like a cocky jerk, like he's just cracked the DaVinci code. In all actuality, Lance was probably creeping around the Red Light District acting like...well, his usual self. It's late enough to merit something like that, and he wouldn't have had time to catch him doing anything illicit as per his goddamn mission.
[ true story but lance hadn't thought the shirt was all that bad, all things considered, but that was also because he'd been 100% sure no one he knew (apart from giovanni) would actually see him... he hadn't anticipated having to explain himself to his friends, let alone keith, so when he's suddenly confronted by it, he's unprepared, meaning he can't do much more than go bright red in the face. his shoulders hunch, like he's trying to retreat into an imaginary shell, as if that might somehow... make that mesh top go away... ]
I did and it was very important and official, okay??
[ fortunately for keith, lance is so rustled, he doesn't notice the boy's waning smugness, focusing instead on moving things along. he waves the notepad in the air. ]
Are you gonna do this or not? I'm gonna start charging by the letter soon!
Edited (so many italics tho) 2017-08-22 00:32 (UTC)
[Keith busies his hands, both of which are also naked, btw, abandoned in a heap with the rest of his belonging for Allura to yell about in the morning. In his defense, he's rather on the ball when it comes to laundry; maybe she won't care.]
I'm going to.
[While toying with the ends of his hair, the choppy pieces that come to his cheek. They're wet from when he washed his face, it serves to keep him busy, especially where he finds himself getting annoyed by Lance for absolutely no reason again, yes, despite all of the help he's provided. Must be love.]
lance ducks his head down and begins diligently writing this piece of information down, though he realizes there's probably A Lot so he decides it's best to do shorthand on it, except he decides this a little too late and so takes a bit of time to decide what the shorthand should be, meaning it winds up taking him twice as long to get IO =/= WY.SPY written down.
when he finishes, he looks back up, rapt attention and all, and waits patiently...
for the rest of the information that never comes. ]
[By the time he's formally acknowledged again, Keith's slid all the way onto his side, pushed his bangs from his eyes..and is, ultimately, creating the laziest Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls scenes of all time.]
Yeah. She's not a spy, so there wasn't anything else to get out of her.
[If memory serves...at least. He could have pressed harder, but she seemed relatively calm and collected in answering his questions. Even after claiming to be of Wyvern descent himself.]
Unless you found out something else...
[In the red light district...he's onto you and your scheming ways.]
[ now lance could launch into a whole who is "her"? thing, but he's starting to get the idea that it's not even worth it. whoever she is, she was keith's mission, and what flicker of worry (wait what why) might have felt over the thought of keith gallivanting in the red light district are quickly dashed. he looks about as pleased with this business as he might an actual party. which is to say, less than zero.
he sighs, tossing the notepad aside now that it's proven to be completely useless. you know who else is useless? keith. ]
My mission had nothing to do with Wyverns or spies or whatever. [ mannnnn... why does keith always get the cool stuff... of course, he regrets even saying that much now, because then that just opens the door to questioning about it, and he'd really rather not, thanks!
he shifts self-consciously, tugging along the collar of that dumb mesh hoodie. ] It, uh. It was pretty boring actually... [ move along... nothing to see here........ ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
so that's one thing. the other thing? ]
How do you know about the mission?
[ the smoke thing is ignored for the moment, a far more immediate line of inquiry shoved into the foreground out of sheer panic now. how did keith know about the mission, which his guilt-ridden mind assumes can only be referring to his own. did giovanni tell him? he tenses up, but he isn't sure if it's because of the sudden proximity, or the fact that his dirty little secret of the evening may not be so secret after all.
he's so frozen in his panic he can't even think to move away, even when keith's heavy drunk breathing warms his ear and neck. his mind starts to put imaginary pieces together. ]
Were you... there?
[ it makes sense, doesn't it...? did keith see something on his way to the bar to get hammered? ]
no subject
More like...how do you know?
[There's some faraway place in his brain that is, actually, trying to rediscover coherency even as their conversation unravels all the more. The suspicious top, the smell of smoke, the fact that they'd returned at the same time -- nearly.
He starts to pull away, shaking Lance's hand from his own and abandoning that pinch of clothing he'd been holding hostage.]
Are you working for the Wyvers?
[Must be why he's acting skittish and won't help him find paper. It's all coming together.]
no subject
The who?
[ he shakes his head, reaching out reflexively when he sees keith pull back — not because he's missing having his own skull used for a head prop, but because he'd seen how the other boy had teetered, and if left on his own, lance is sure that pull back would quickly become a fall back. so now it's him holding onto keith's clothing, hands fisted over the front of his shirt to keep him upright. ]
Never mind, I think we're talking about two different things.
[ more like he hopes... but the more he actually allows himself to think about out — truly think about it, not just panic about it — he realizes none of that really makes sense. ]
You had a mission for the Guard, then? [ some skeptical staring. ] Did you have to find something at the bottom of a keg, or...
no subject
That's -- what you would say if you were.
[He looks down, squinting at the anchor that is Lance's hand. One of his own settles on his wrist, holding it loosely.]
...were working for them. If you were working for them.
[It's an accusation lacking conviction, but it's hard trying to decode what Lance is on about when his brain feels like it's been flipped upside down and been bloated. His pinky brushes the mesh of his cuff and he's back to subtly rubbing it with that finger.
It'd be a genuinely sweet thing if only he weren't doing it for the froggy(???????) texture. Accidentally romantic.]
I'm not talking about it if you're doing weird stuff. That's what it feels like.
[As if to accentuate his point while ignoring Lance's (rhetorical) question, he'll bring his other hand up Lance's ribs, resting an open hand against the spot...but with enough pressure it might cause an automatic twitch.]
Weird.
no subject
I'm not. [ as usual, he's quick to rise to his defenses, but at least this time he's got some ground to stand on. the words themselves aren't that intense, more mumbled really. the fight isn't really there, which is another weird thing. shouldn't be react a bit more? the fact that he isn't that weirded out is probably what's making this even weirder! ]
I was doing a mission too, okay. I was... helping. We were undercover. It's legitimate.
[ he doesn't really want to get much further than that, though, please don't make him..............
anyway, he lapses into silence long enough to finally truly take notice of keith's hands, glancing down between them with furrowed brows. weird, he thinks again. the touch to his wrist made him tense up, but the touch on his ribs just caused a shudder. like an almost tickle. a tickle that never was. he seems stable enough on his feet, at least, so lance can chance releasing his shirt with one hand to wrap it around keith's own wrist, gently trying to pry him off. ]
You're the one acting weird.
[ omg sTOP TOUCHING THE SHIRT— ]
If you like it so much I'll get you one for yourself, okay!
no subject
Hmm...
[That's it. That's his full reaction. At the same time, he's being released, and re-remembering that his own task wasn't quite finished yet. Paper, pen. He's backing up, so Lance doesn't have to worry about being fondled for the moment.]
It's not weird, just because I need paper.
[The shirt's yesterday's news. He's backed himself into the nearest doorframe, gripping at it with a hand while turning himself around so he can proceed without tripping on himself. Which is smart, but not exactly the most well-thought thing he's done in the past five minutes. He's positively, distractingly nauseous again and slouching himself against the panel -- crumbling slightly against it.]
...Lance?
no subject
Yeah, man?
[ yeah, lance watched every single moment of that brilliant move. truth be told, he had been expecting a much more disastrous turn of events, but keith managed to surprise him there with his amazing grace. or grip strength.
in any case, he's right behind keith not too long after. it only takes him like two steps anyway. a hand along the boy's back, another on his arm, gently stabilizing him. he peers at the boy's face, looking even paler now under the dim lighting. he isn't looking too good...
gently, he brings a hand up to push most of keith's fringe back. ]
If you're gonna hurl, [ he says, like a doting tender nurse with amazing bedside manners, ] try to aim for the trashcan.
no subject
He is slinking further down the doorframe; it's more controlled, just to get closer to the bin because it's gonna happen. He can feel it surging up in a direction it really shouldn't be.
I'm gonna spare us both the torture of writing/reading a scene where he's puking, but he is, and it's a gross pasty color. He thinks he's finished, prepares to wipe his mouth with the end of his shirt -- but there's more to be donated.
Sorry about this. At least he's keeping the retching sfx to a minimal.]
no subject
to keith's credit, his puking sfx is pretty tame compared to lance's, who cannot help but gag each time keith gears up for more. one would think after being hunk's friend for so long, lance would have an iron stomach, but he's kind of also like less than a FOOT away from all this, and he can't even turn away properly because he's too busy holding keith's dumb mullet hair back from sticking to his face. lance has already got a fifteen-minute rant all scripted in his mind for when keith finally pulls back up for air. hairties were invented for a reason, you caveman!
by the end of it, lance has got a fistful of mullet, the other hand rubbing cropcircle patterns over keith's back, a stench stuck in his nostrils that amazingly rivals the breath of that total creeper he and giovanni arrested just earlier, and also he's aged about ten years. his "friend of the year" award is expected in the mail any day now. ]
Sweet crepes, Keith, did you drink the whole district?
CROP CIRCLE PATTERNS
On the other hand, he's feeling better! Not sober, but better. He's pulling himself up, feigning poise while still having to rely on the wall. It's as if he aged 90 years.]
I couldn't have spent that much.
[R-right? At the same time, he's not so willing to admit he hadn't had that much to drink. It was a business thing, after all. Some level of professionalism had to be maintained. That said, it's not like he has any past experiences to compare it to.]
...I gotta use the bathroom.
[Both for a tinkle and to brush his teeth. It's a groggy-ish confession as he turns to face his companion.]
:*
because it'd be pretty embarrassing if lance hadn't garnered anyone's interest to that extent, and keith, of all people, had. right? right.
although that doesn't diminish the possibility that keith had then been the person with the interest... purchasing drinks for someone else?? and why did he care about that?
because. because keith liking anyone that much is weird! that's why! does keith even know what that emotion is?? ha ha good one, lance, sick burn.
anyway, uh. what were they doing? ]
Probably should have gone to it five minutes earlier, but yeah, let's get you there. [ it was literally just four more steps down the hall... gdi, keith. lance leads him there, taking him all the way to the sink and setting both of the boy's hands tight around the edge to steady himself. he backs away towards the door. ]
You good here by yourself...?
[ he's not helping you tinkle... also he has to go toss out all that puke. gj keith. ]
CUTE
Puking into the bucket there was necessary; he couldn't have postponed it, better to puke there than in the bathroom doorway...in the cracks of the tiles...]
I'm fine.
[What do you mean you won't hold his bepis for him? He...he doesn't look fine, but he doesn't look as unstable as he'd been moments ago, if that makes sense. He'll sooner vomit again than tip over and concuss himself against the toilet rim.
He'll take some initiative, finally, washing his face, rinsing his mouth out. Whether or not Lance decided to close the door for him, he's gonna do a #1, one hand still holding the edge of the sink for balance.
The next time Lance should run into him, he'll be stripped to his underpants and brushing his teeth in slow motion.]
subconsciously tryna appeal to keith's inner cryptid-loving self
anyway he comes back just in time to catch the mini stripshow, and he squawks a little indignantly at the utter lack of warning. he looks away quickly, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. black briefs, his mind screams at him. but also, why not red? ]
Do you need help getting to the room or what?
[ he taps the small pad of paper that he'd brought along against the doorframe, just in case all his noise hadn't already gotten the other's attention. ]
u unlocked the third eye
Which, putting on pajamas wouldn't affect the psychological(?) weight of his brain, but he's not interested in that complex kinda logic right now.
He's rinsing his mouth (of toothpaste, at least) while wrapping up that stripshow, overlooks an initial response..but he does turn to face him at least...annnnd he's readily distracted by notepaper.]
You found some paper?
[He's moving forward with the finesse of a newly birthed zombie, taking Lance by a forearm when he's near enough to. It's vaguely exciting that Lance remembered to scrounge some up for him, vaguely, only because it feels like he's existing as a cinderblock man.]
You're gonna have to write a few things down for me.
his erogenous zone
anyway, lance tenses up when he's approached... because he's totally sure keith is gonna fall over on himself or something. obviously. still, his eyes dart over to the strange vice-grip keith's got on his forearm — did he mean to grab the paper? oh crackers, he's still super wasted, isn't he — before looking back to meet his eyes. ]
I thought I couldn't be trusted with your super secret confidential information?
[ ok it's probably not a good idea to bring that back up, especially if keith is still as reluctant to welcome logic into his life as he seems, but since when does lance make good life choices... tbh... ]
i hate this kink
Their eyes lock, there are approximately three to four blinks before he's pushing at the seized limb. Yes, he may've just remembered that whole thing. No, he can't go back on it now....]
I don't have a choice, you're part of the guard anyway.
[That doesn't mean anything he says will make any kind of sense to Lance. Logic comes in spurts. He's already being contrary to himself.]
Bedroom.
:*
Yeesh, did all that alien alcohol make you forget your please's and thank you's, too?
[ still he turns, moving out of the way to let keith stumble along the hallway first. fortunately, their bedroom isn't too far down and (even more fortunately) the door to allura's remains quite closed. with any luck, she'll sleep through this whole thing, and be none the wiser... lance doesn't know if he can even begin to explain all that she might walk in on right now.
he half-walks, half-watches keith walk himself to the room, and once they're there he flicks the light on to aide them both. there's precisely one desk and one chair in the room, apart from their bunk bed, but he leads keith over to his bottom bunk instead. might as well get him situated there as soon as possible. it'd be that much harder to get him there if he's all passed out. ]
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He could be more polite, or he could bumble through this queasy post-drinking probably-hangover thing without any gratuitous frills added on. He's suffering.
And, still not a fan of the light. It isn't so nauseating as it once was, but he's squinting as he takes a heavy seat at the edge of his bed, inwardly thankful Lance decided to bypass the desk for this one.]
Sit with me.
[It's his warmest demand yet. He's scooting back some, wanting something sturdy to rest against and the wall's right there.]
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or maybe he's just grown complacent.
either way, he has to rummage through the desk for a pen first, because keith's fixation on paper made even him forget the actual writing part. he plops himself down in the middle of the bed, thoughtfully away from the pillow so it doesn't smell like red light district when he finally falls face-first into it. he toes his shoes off and sits crosslegged, using one knee to act as his desk. ]
Okay, shoot.
[ he looks up at keith expectantly.
then he frowns.
pokes keith on the leg with that pen. ]
Hey — no sleeping till this gets finished! You made it sound so dang important...
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He's grinning, even as he's nagged.]
Hold your horses. [With a belated swat, aiming for the pen, but he's about seventeen feet off-target.] What are you wearing?
[Thank you for hosing off my vomit in a barrel but also: the heck.]
There's no way you went on a mission wearing that.
[Out of context, he's the world's most critical fashionista. In context, he's tilting his chin up like a cocky jerk, like he's just cracked the DaVinci code. In all actuality, Lance was probably creeping around the Red Light District acting like...well, his usual self. It's late enough to merit something like that, and he wouldn't have had time to catch him doing anything illicit as per his goddamn mission.
That smirk is shrinking so fast.]
Did you?
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I did and it was very important and official, okay??
[ fortunately for keith, lance is so rustled, he doesn't notice the boy's waning smugness, focusing instead on moving things along. he waves the notepad in the air. ]
Are you gonna do this or not? I'm gonna start charging by the letter soon!
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I'm going to.
[While toying with the ends of his hair, the choppy pieces that come to his cheek. They're wet from when he washed his face, it serves to keep him busy, especially where he finds himself getting annoyed by Lance for absolutely no reason again, yes, despite all of the help he's provided. Must be love.]
Io's not a Wyver spy.
[That's it, that's the whole thing.]
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lance ducks his head down and begins diligently writing this piece of information down, though he realizes there's probably A Lot so he decides it's best to do shorthand on it, except he decides this a little too late and so takes a bit of time to decide what the shorthand should be, meaning it winds up taking him twice as long to get IO =/= WY.SPY written down.
when he finishes, he looks back up, rapt attention and all, and waits patiently...
for the rest of the information that never comes. ]
Wait. That's. That's it?
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Yeah. She's not a spy, so there wasn't anything else to get out of her.
[If memory serves...at least. He could have pressed harder, but she seemed relatively calm and collected in answering his questions. Even after claiming to be of Wyvern descent himself.]
Unless you found out something else...
[In the red light district...he's onto you and your scheming ways.]
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he sighs, tossing the notepad aside now that it's proven to be completely useless. you know who else is useless? keith. ]
My mission had nothing to do with Wyverns or spies or whatever. [ mannnnn... why does keith always get the cool stuff... of course, he regrets even saying that much now, because then that just opens the door to questioning about it, and he'd really rather not, thanks!
he shifts self-consciously, tugging along the collar of that dumb mesh hoodie. ] It, uh. It was pretty boring actually... [ move along... nothing to see here........ ]
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