Booker DeWitt (
wipeawaythedebt) wrote2014-09-12 09:58 pm
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life's a gamble
Booker's not drunk, but he wants to be. Problem is, work's been thin and he's losing more than he's winning these days. He's had streaks like this before, he knows it will get better, he's just lacking the motivation to make it better. To be honest, he's been lacking motivation for much of anything anything since Elizabeth left. Life's blended into dull days and fist-fight filled nights. Probably for the best she left he keeps telling himself, he's no one to be around, but at the same time it's a hole in his life that he misses. There was just something about her, her grit maybe, that stubborn way she digs in right when he thinks she should listen to him.
Damn girl's too smart for her own good.
"Another." He points to his empty glass and tries to tally what he's drinking with what's in his wallet. He should still be good if he nurses this one.
Pretty sure at least.
Damn girl's too smart for her own good.
"Another." He points to his empty glass and tries to tally what he's drinking with what's in his wallet. He should still be good if he nurses this one.
Pretty sure at least.
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"You now my name and that I'm not carrying enough cash to make it worth the effort, lucky you. I'm almost flattered you cared enough to try." Holding his hand out, he figures she'll either turn it over or he will have do something. If only on principle. He doesn't like being stolen from, and she's already someone he doesn't like.
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"Also that you're the sort to drink your worries away, apparently. Now there's an attractive habit," she mutters between her teeth, taking in a deep draw, then letting the smoke slip between her teeth.
She doesn't smoke as often as she used to. Now, it's more for the feeling than anything else. A gesture meant to set the mood.
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"Didn't think I was supposed to be anyone's, what do you call 'em, role models?" Pausing for a beat, Booker nods his head to her cigarettes, "Don't suppose I can have one of those since you dragged me away from my drink?" It's something to do at any rate, while he's sizing her up. The women in this world, he just doesn't get them. He's in the wrong century, he figures - and not for the first time.
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But for now, sharing a smoke sounds like a better idea. There's a strange sort of familiarity in spending time with fellow bounty hunters, even those who aren't in her circle. Faye flips the top of her box of cigarettes, holding it out to Booker.
"The way Elizabeth talks about you, she certainly thinks of you as... something. Maybe 'role model' isn't the right phrase. But she cares. Haven't talked to her in a while, though."
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"That much is obvious, if you still think she likes me." He takes the cigarette and puts it between his lips as he reaches for his pocket for his lighter, cursing when he realizes it's still back at his place. 'Course, he has other options and with a little bit of focus he's able pull up enough flame to touch to the tip. It's probably not a good idea, he's working on fumes these days and he needs to conserve the salts he has until he finds a place to get more. But maybe he's in a mood to show off, he's gotta do something to keep himself occupied these days.
He hadn't realized until recently how big a place Elizabeth had taken in his life until she was gone.
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Somehow, the thought of it pisses Faye off.
"Great. So, since I'm guessing that you don't just happen to enjoy magic as a pastime, care to tell me what's running in your blood to spark that fire?" she asks, arching a brow sharply.
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"Little of this, little of that." No way he's going into the ins and outs of Vigors and Salts, he likes his secrets, gives him an edge. "What's the matter, little fire make you nervous?"
Taking a step forward he smirks at the woman. Maybe he's found a button, maybe not, but either way it's amusing to him and he can use the entertainment. Besides, if it steers the conversation away from Elizabeth he's all for it. God knows he has hard enough time bringing the shit up in therapy, a pursuit he's still not convinced is going to help him in the long run.
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"But if you're trying to make me quiver in my boots, you'll need something else for that. If you're not sharing the mechanics of it, well. That's your secret to keep," she adds, folding her arms across her chest, her entire stance daring him to come closer still.
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It's a bluff he's willing to call, taking another step closer and using his height to his advantage. He doesn't even know why he's doing it except he's half-way to drunk, pissed off, and looking for someone to push. Maybe she'll push back. But maybe he doesn't even want a fight, hell, he doesn't know. He just knows he's feeling bottled up and ansy, ready to burst and something needs to give soon or he's going to end up on the wrong end of a bar brawl.
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"Go ahead," she dares him, not even glancing at the flames close enough to sear the air by her face. "Just try me."
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"I might, but not today."
Dismissing the fire, he smiles like a wolf instead. She seems to have some kind of death wish and that's something he can actually appreciate. God knows, he doesn't take any real concern over his own life these days, but it refreshing to see someone else willing to bait the bear.
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She's not in the habit of making assholes feel like they've won a victory.
"What is it that you want, Booker? Other than showing me exactly why Elizabeth would end up tired of you."
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