[ This is the kind of voice he could fall asleep to.
A voice that wraps allaying around him, soft like the soft soft blanket, and it feels like a real physical presence or that's someone holding him, why would someone be holding him, well he's going to nestle back against that feels-like-an-arm anyway, just in case, just because it feels all right.
Whatever had been biting's gone now, mostly and then maybe completely, thank you whiskey, thank you better-than-buzzed, thank you this guy's voice and the not-too-chilly night, and Treavor's likes the idea of warm water distant roller coasters people having a good damn time and isn't it good when parks are bright without burning and it's true, even this harbor's all right, that's why he's here, that's why—
Is that why the intern guy's here? To see the harbor?
It's not a bad call. Intern guy's got some taste. Got some good hair too, and Treavor can appreciate that, can respect a guy who shows his hair right.
(There are reasons he. Doesn't like intern guy very much, right? But he doesn't see those reasons not and he boots the thought away. No need for it, no use for it, why let it cramp a good time? Anyway Treavor's been wrong before about people. Usually about okay-seeming people ending up shitty, but whatever, same idea, bad fuckin judgment. And maybe night!intern guy is his own dude? Also very possible.)
(Hey, hey, did someone squeeze his arm? That was nice, too. (Why is this evening so nice now? And what's gonna break it crashing down?) (Hey, never mind. Hey, take it while it lasts.))
His head falls back so he can better regard the sky, think about. Stars. Where they are. ]
Nah, don't wanna fuck the stars.
[ Let 'em be stars. Treavor's tone isn't argumentative; just a soft shrugging away from the idea. He gets where Alice was coming from and the sentiment of it wasn't shitty. It's just that stars should do what they want.
Again he nudges back a little, maybe testing to see whether that pressure around his shoulders is still there. ]
Maybe they saw enough, got the idea and moved on.
Or maybe—
[ There's a small, lopsided grin, and he's about to say 'there's one' and point, about to direct the guy's attention to some place in the sky where a star hypothetically could be if you watched hard enough with pretending eyes, but.
But his hand can't really move.
Or. There's a hand on his hand. (Didn't he have something in his hand?) (Eh, he'll figure it out.) He tried to move his hand but even a little moving told him— Something's there. Someone's there. And he's...
When'd that get there?
He was saying something. He's still looking at his hand and the hand on his hand but he's pretty sure he was saying something. He has no idea what, and what he finds to offer is— ]
Would you be a fish?
I mean, what kind? Doesn't have to be a harbor fish.
no subject
A voice that wraps allaying around him, soft like the soft soft blanket, and it feels like a real physical presence or that's someone holding him, why would someone be holding him, well he's going to nestle back against that feels-like-an-arm anyway, just in case, just because it feels all right.
Whatever had been biting's gone now, mostly and then maybe completely, thank you whiskey, thank you better-than-buzzed, thank you this guy's voice and the not-too-chilly night, and Treavor's likes the idea of warm water distant roller coasters people having a good damn time and isn't it good when parks are bright without burning and it's true, even this harbor's all right, that's why he's here, that's why—
Is that why the intern guy's here? To see the harbor?
It's not a bad call. Intern guy's got some taste. Got some good hair too, and Treavor can appreciate that, can respect a guy who shows his hair right.
(There are reasons he. Doesn't like intern guy very much, right? But he doesn't see those reasons not and he boots the thought away. No need for it, no use for it, why let it cramp a good time? Anyway Treavor's been wrong before about people. Usually about okay-seeming people ending up shitty, but whatever, same idea, bad fuckin judgment. And maybe night!intern guy is his own dude? Also very possible.)
(Hey, hey, did someone squeeze his arm? That was nice, too. (Why is this evening so nice now? And what's gonna break it crashing down?) (Hey, never mind. Hey, take it while it lasts.))
His head falls back so he can better regard the sky, think about. Stars. Where they are. ]
Nah, don't wanna fuck the stars.
[ Let 'em be stars. Treavor's tone isn't argumentative; just a soft shrugging away from the idea. He gets where Alice was coming from and the sentiment of it wasn't shitty. It's just that stars should do what they want.
Again he nudges back a little, maybe testing to see whether that pressure around his shoulders is still there. ]
Maybe they saw enough, got the idea and moved on.
Or maybe—
[ There's a small, lopsided grin, and he's about to say 'there's one' and point, about to direct the guy's attention to some place in the sky where a star hypothetically could be if you watched hard enough with pretending eyes, but.
But his hand can't really move.
Or. There's a hand on his hand. (Didn't he have something in his hand?) (Eh, he'll figure it out.) He tried to move his hand but even a little moving told him— Something's there. Someone's there. And he's...
When'd that get there?
He was saying something. He's still looking at his hand and the hand on his hand but he's pretty sure he was saying something. He has no idea what, and what he finds to offer is— ]
Would you be a fish?
I mean, what kind? Doesn't have to be a harbor fish.