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[heresyandlace]

"I'm sorry that I'm away from my device. Please leave me a message and I will get back to you when I can."

[BEEP.]

[open for voice, text, video, or shared files.]

Comments

[killedwithlove]

Whiskey, I think.

[He waggles the bottle at Tek more.]

I stole it from Crowley.

[heresyandlace]

Did you.

[and really, it's that fact that prompts him to finally reach out and take the bottle, and has absolutely nothing to do with what's inside of it. as something utterly immune to toxins, alcohol does nothing for him.

an item stolen from the demon's beloved stash, however? how wonderfully thoughtful.]

It looks expensive. [he sounds pleased, at least.]

[killedwithlove]

[It was taken specifically because of that. because the fact Cole stole it from Crowley would help.]

Maybe. It looks like the bottles in his bar, not Varric's.

[heresyandlace]

He won't be happy to find it gone.

[he knows that Crowley counts his bottles like children. it's delightful.]

What's this for?

[killedwithlove]

Because you're sad and hurt and I thought this might make you feel better.

[heresyandlace]

[and there goes his smile and veneer of amiability, just like that. his smile evaporates and the warmth freezes right over.

it's a more honest expression, at least--immediately pissed off as he's vividly remembering what it's like to talk to Cole.]

... Sometime, you should try keeping your mouth shut. You might make more friends that way.

[killedwithlove]

[Cole looks somewhere else and shrugs slightly.]

I just wanted to do something nice for you.

[He starts fading form view, like the shadows are swallowing him.]

[heresyandlace]

[and something about watching his comments glance through the spirit like nothing--and then the creature's whole body begin to fade along with it--hits him in a way he doesn't expect.

maybe he's growing acutely intolerant of acquaintances leaving him when he's least expecting them to. it's quite by impulse and not at all by thought that he speaks out after Cole, before he fully disappears.]

Wait--

[killedwithlove]

[Cole pauses. He's still partly wrapped in shadows, not all there, but his eyes, pale, silver blue eyes watching.

He doesn't speak. He just stops fading away.]

[heresyandlace]

You don't have to leave.

[especially with the sigh that goes along with it, it's not exactly an invitation to stay... but it might have the same sentiment behind it.]

[killedwithlove]

[Cole shifts on his feet and then steps back out of the shadows. Despite the fact he didn't actually step into them.]

Usually when people say things that hurt on purpose, they want you to go away.

[heresyandlace]

Usually, it's because they're angry.

[because Cole is so far from the simple mortal (or the lofty immortal) things that Tek normally deals with, he can rationalize a few things out in his head. this would be a conversation that he wouldn't demean himself to have in a normal instance, but... he reminds himself how very different this case is. and this fact makes it okay, perhaps.

he can dispense with some of the usual game he defends himself with, and speak more plainly. at least a little bit.]

--And you are especially good at saying things that make me angry.

[killedwithlove]

[Cole is often 'different'. But he does much better if people just say what they mean with him.]

I don't mean to. I don't want to make you angry. I'm sorry.

[heresyandlace]

[Tek speaking plainly is one of those rare, nigh-mythical events--especially when some kind of manipulation isn't actually a goal in mind.]

I know.

[and he... halfheartedly offers the bottle out in the spirit's direction.]

[killedwithlove]

[Cole wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.]

I don't drink.

Or eat.

[heresyandlace]

Not at all?

Have you ever tried?

[killedwithlove]

Yes, I've done both. But I don't like it. I don't mind drinking a little water, sometimes.

[heresyandlace]

What happens? Do you get sick?

[just asking him the little, mindless questions that would maybe make this seem like some normal interaction to an outside observer. no preceding unpleasantness; consider it all forgotten. opening the bottle and sniffing its contents--as if he has any interest in it at all--he's forcefully settling into appearing comfortable and unbothered.]