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[brushoff]

"You've reached the inbox of one Dorian Gray. Don't forget to leave me a message. If you're interesting, I'll get back to you."

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Re: permatext

[madaboutit]

There's another fella that posted about organizing food rations on the comm while back. You talk to him at all?

[brushoff]

Lark, isn't it? He's on my list of people to talk to, especially since things are apparently more of a problem than either of us were planning for.

Urgh, I should probably talk to kitchen staff as well just so we're all on the same page.

[ there's a little hint of 'but I don't WANNA work' in Dorian's tone. ]

[madaboutit]

Ya'll talk and let me know. I'll be in for my scheduled shift until then.

[brushoff]

Thank you. I know in advance that this is going to be a shit job, and I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to swap out of it. But I won't lie, I appreciate the help.

[madaboutit]

I made the deal to do it. Ain't gonna see that go to shit just because folk have ta lay off nice things for a while. They wanna start shit, let them come. I've died for less than that before.

[brushoff]

To be honest, I've died for less as well. Or at least, died for stupider reasons.

[madaboutit]

Then this one should be easier for both of us. Would you protest to drying/pickling some of the produce?

[brushoff]

Not at all. People will want to eat the prettier ones first. Anything a little lumpy, a little bruised or misshapen, we should preserve those instead.

[madaboutit]

I'm going to take it today. There anything else right now?

[brushoff]

Not that I can think of.

Though, on a non-work note, I do have a half-drunk bottle of scotch in my room that I should probably finish off sooner rather than later. Care for an evening nip?

[madaboutit]

[Several minutes pass.]

You planning to kill the whole thing tonight?

[brushoff]

Probably.

No point in saving the dregs, after all.

[madaboutit]

Alright. You like to drink on the deck or looking to stay in?

[brushoff]

My room. Level 6, Room 12. Come over whenever you're ready.

[madaboutit]

Sweeney doesn't have more than a couple of decks to travel, and he sees no particular reason to wait when there's drink to be had. He hasn't changed clothes or made any effort to be different than he normally is.

He finds the door and knocks twice.

[brushoff]

Dorian opens the door, giving Sweeney a nod and a little grin. The door leads out onto a small hallway. There's three doors: one's open to a bedroom, one's open to a small kitchenette area, and one's closed. There's also an attic hatch on the top of the hallway.

"I've already poured two tumblers for us," Dorian says, as he gestures Sweeney to follow him to the bedroom. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die! Or at least, we deal with people bitching about the food."

[madaboutit]

It's always weird to Sweeney how different cabins are, Wardens' doubly so. Like what the fuck is all of this? There's no real resentment, his motel room does him just fine, it's just strikes him every time.

"Hm." The sound is a low sound of muted agreement. Seems plenty a good reason to drink. His expression is smooth if a bit dry. "Worse things ta bitch 'bout."

When he steps in the bedroom, he lingers near the wall by the door until things settle a bit more. He's not looking to assume or invade the man's space.

[brushoff]

"Get in here," Dorian says, with a little laugh. His bedroom is very much a magpie nest. The bones of the house are late 1800s with vintage trim and vintage flooring. But the furniture is an eclectic mixture from all times and places. The bedframe looks solid and wooden, the bookshelves are filled with knick-knacks and old books, and the whole place looks messily lived in. There's a small side table with the half-drunk bottle of scotch as well as the half-full tumblers.

Dorian picks up one of the glasses and takes a little sip. Bloody delicious. "I figure I'm not going to do all that well on rationing—what with being a creature of hedonism and all. So why not spend the last few days before everything goes to shit living it up?"

[madaboutit]

Wariness clings to Sweeney, but he crosses to the table silently.

A creature of hedonism.

The idea bypasses his natural inclination towards gold, and he flicks his fingers as his hand lowers to pick up the glass. The twisted foil wrapping nestles between his index and middle finger, and Sweeney sets the truffle on the table before picking up the glass. He lifts it up but doesn't yet bring it to his lips.

Thank Bran he's working inventory or the rations would be burned through in two weeks.

"Ain't sure ya want me gettin' reckless in here." There's a lot of shit to break.

"Just a drink will do me fine." Sweeney tips the glass slightly in illustration, but still doesn't drink it.

[brushoff]

Dorian watches the slight of hand (or spontaneous generation? he's not so sure) as Sweeney sits the truffle down on the table. He doesn't know why he did that, but Dorian's not going to say no. He sets his glass down and reaches for the truffle, unwrapping it slightly as the conversation goes on.

"What, you're a fighty drunk? Then we'll move out into the hallway before things get too bad. Don't worry about me, though—I can take a punch."

He pops that truffle in his mouth, noting that Sweeney still isn't drinking. Odd, that. Is he waiting for permission? "Go ahead and take a sip," Dorian casually says, talking with his mouth full.

[madaboutit]

"Don't need a drink ta fight, but I ain't a giggly drunk either." His tone is dry but casual.

There's a difference between taking a punch and breaking shit, but at least the man has some sense of taking things other places. Still, he seemed pretty keen on not dying, so avoiding violence may be the best while in each others company.

"Pacin' myself," he replies to the suggestion. Even when he's not trying to smother his thoughts, Sweeney ain't great at 'sipping'. And so he stands near the table, glass in hand.

[brushoff]

"Go ahead and take a chug then," Dorian grins. He moves to pick up his own cup as he takes a decently sized drink of his own. The scotch burns down his throat and it feels bloody brilliant.

"I'm not one for moderation myself anyway."

[madaboutit]

Fair warning given, Sweeney tips the glass back and empties it in one go, if only because he's able to hold all of the liquid at once, swallowing it easily. There's no response to the sensation of it, though he does take a moment to consider it with a tip of his head before setting the glass down on the table.

"Prob'bly why the Adm'ral ain't made ya my Warden." Because that would be an interesting day.

[brushoff]

Oh hell yes. Dorian lets out a triumphant little laugh at Sweeney's drink before he takes another large drink himself.

"What would I even do as your warden?" he laughs. "You seem to have your shit together more than most people here!"

Come to think of it, that's a good point. Why is he an inmate anyway?

[madaboutit]

His chuckle is dry and precedes a roll of his eyes.

"That's just 'cause ya don't fuckin' know me from fuckin' Adam." It's not like how he's been in the last week is anything like how he actually is.

"Shit's gone sideways. I know's well as anyone how that ends. Hungry people, panicked people, folk lookin' ta make a markup off other folk's misery." He offers a vague shrug.

"Add ta that fuckin' list a horde of monsters that eat people when things get dodgy. Pays ta keep as much shit together as possible. Get ahead of the wave while shit's still dry."