song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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ramon

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After checking the directions on a scrap of paper, Mary Anne stops outside room 19 and knocks.

"Oy! Little birds tell me it's your birthday--you in there?

I brought tequila..."

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Her hand feels nice. It's also a touch depressing and he just shrugs one shoulder.

'Fun.'

She laughs, soft and a tough bitter.

"Looks like it."

'You my mother?'

His head is starting to calm; the valium wont have had time to kick in yet but the knowledge that he's taken it is enough to get rid of nerves and lower the adrenaline.

Her laughter is lighter this time.

"If I am, you've got serious problems."

'Mmmm.'

He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. Better.

'Drink?'

"How about that water?"

If he thinks she's letting him mix coke, valium and tequila, he's got another thing coming.

'How about that tequila?'

His expression is belligerent already, he fucking knew she'd start to give him shit.

'It's my birthday.'

"And you've got enough drugs in you to choke a horse," she counters.

'Your point?'

Now he wants to drink just to piss her off.

She wants to break the bottle over his head.

Instead, she stalks back over to the door and retrieves it, twisting the top off and taking a long drink.

"Here."

She sets the bottle down maliciously hard on the dresser.

'Thanks,' he says, matching her malicious tone with his sarcastic one. He reaches for the bottle and also takes a long drink, eyes on her as he does.

She glares back, arms folded under her breasts.

He puts the bottle back down when he's finished (going to regret that in a minute) and doesn't look away from her.

'Well?'

"Well what? You've got booze to go with your drugs. Looks like you're set."

She almost adds don't even need me here, but changes her mind.

(shouldn't leave him alone)

'What's your problem?'

He scowls, genuinely not getting it. She's never told him outright that she's adverse to drugs, though he has picked up on it a bit.

She doesn't do them, other people do--you don't grow up in the sixties without getting something of a thick skin as far as drugs are concerned.

What does bug her is how she's not sure if he's trying to kill himself or if he's just a moron.

"Nothing."

It's not terribly convincing.

He's pig-headed. So probably more moron than suicidal but he's easy on the latter as well at this point in time.

'Fuck nothing. Spit it out.'

"Fine," she snarls.

"You get coked to the gills to find how much it takes before you pass out and die on the goddamn floor, or were you just bored?"

'Does it matter? It's none of your fucking business.'

He growls it at her and grabs the bottle again in defiance. Even after another large mouthful, he doesn't put it down.

'I can do whatever the hell I want. You don't get to give me shit about it.'

"I don't get to--So I should just let you get yourself killed?"

'Do you care?'

Even he knows - even in this state - that that's a pretty stupid thing to say. She's proved she cares many, many times.

'I've never asked you to give a damn.'

"You never had to!"

God damn but she does want to hit him right now.

She'll have her chance - he stands up (with only a slight sway) and gets up in her face, furious.

'So I'm responsible because you care? Fuck that!'

She draws up all 5' 6" of herself gets in his face right back.

"Since when have I ever said you were responsible for that--that you had to answer to me for that?! I knew you wouldn't give a shit!"

'Then what's the problem?!'

He is really, really not getting it.