[ Harry is a dead weight, unresponsive to all stimulus short of another apocalyptic scenario. It's a far cry from his usual sleeping patterns, light and sporadic as they are. He tucks his face in against John's neck and sprawls about his body, gradually winding his limbs wherever the hell they will fit, heedless of the state he's left John in, or what the morning might bring.
-- what the morning brings is sunlight. Damnable, noisy sunlight that splits his head in two and reminds him that he's not in the dark little cave that he claims is a livable space. It causes Harry to shove the heels of his hands into his eyes and whine, twisting his body around until he can wedge himself under the table that had hosted their dinner mere hours ago. There's shadow there, that's better. He even grabs for what's covering his shoulders, dragging it up over his face as he curses: ] Empty fucking night!
[ It's John's jacket. And there's a faint, confused warble from Harry as he shoves it back at arm's length, perplexed by how it got there. Until he remembers why his neck aches, and why he's missing his shirt, and why it tastes sweet when he runs his tongue over his lips. Carefully wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift hood to keep out the majority of light and noise, he begins to fumble around on the floor, looking for his shirt. ]
[ This is winter morning in Chicago from the fiftieth floor of a glass and steel building on Michigan Avenue. John's internal alarm clock went off at 6:15 AM, undaunted by the hangover. He's washed up in the executive bathroom, lights dimmed low to save his eyes and to keep the mirror there dark. He's not ready for his reflection yet.
The suit he's changed into looks fit for a funeral, and his expression is not much better. The regret, far subsumed under the stoic surface, burns him to the point of pain. The full weight of how dangerous and foolish last night was is a heavy stone in his gut.
This is going to be a hell of a thing to explain to Gard and Hendricks when they arrive. ]
[ He's already drained one bottle of water and taken aspirin when Harry finally wakes up. It's hard to miss, with that exclamation. John's always enjoyed waking up with the city, feeling his heart rate climb while watching the L rumble by, the foot traffic on Wabash and Lake slowly rise. But for Dresden, he presses the button on the wall that drops the blinds from the ceiling, covering the windows and killing the sunlight.
He can see Dresden looking for things that aren't there and sighs. ] They are on the table above you. [ Along with another bottle of water and three pain pills. ]
[ And he may as well get this over with. Rip it off like a bandage. ] The price of the protection and hospitality of the Freeholding of Chicago is paid and no recourse will be sought. Any words or actions that have transpired will be kept in confidence until such time as you break that confidence. You have twenty-four hours of assured non-hostilities. [ John recites with all the enthusiasm of someone reading aloud tax code. It's all by rote, given to him by the team of lawyers who he's paid to be experts on the Accords.
There. He's done what he's had to. God willing, Dresden will be too hungover or to taken aback to give him lip. John's not in the mood. ]
[ Harry chooses his curse words carelessly, and strings them together in new and creative ways. He hasn't been this hung over, since -- well, for a long time. Naturally, he'd rather not drink himself into oblivion, especially with a high-stress occupation that practically begs him to drown his problems in the bottom of a bottle. Can't. Won't do. Instead, he glowers in the direction of the blinds, finding that everything is so much more tolerable when the light has been dealt with. Gradually, he extracts himself from under the table and fumbles about until he can find his clothing - only giving up his makeshift hat when he has to pull his shirt over his head. He chases the pills with the provided water, and gets to his feet in an ungainly, wobbly fashion. You know, like normal people do when they're suffering a hangover. Not dressed like it's a funeral. ]
Say what? [ The world slows for a moment, with Harry clutching his temple and staring at John like he's just grown two heads and the second one isn't spitting bullshit at him. For a moment, the wizard looks... disappointed. Him, of all people. Then the words and their meaning and the tone catches up with him in one fell swoop, and Harry's disorientation turns into a scowl. He opens his mouth, and a million-and-one things are on the tip of his tongue to say, but the only thing that comes out is: ] Yeah. I guess that just about covers it, doesn't it?
[ Harry simmers, and goes to hunt down his shoes, bouncing across the floor as he yanks them on and laces them up. Grabs his duster angrily. Shoves Marcone's jacket back into his hands and slaps the twenty bucks in his pocket down on top of the wadded folds. ] For the Thai. Get your damn accounting division to make change.
[ It's about time to make like a hurricane and slam the doors behind him. ]
John takes the coat and dollar because there's not much choice. And in a moment of self-pity, feels like one of the young women working in Executive Priority.
But this is for the best. Bring it all back down to the trading of debts, make their relationship about the numbers. It'll be easier this way.
John's got a poker face the likes the world has never seen. He could bluff any denizen of the Nevernever. It's a stone wall holding back a flood.
It is, after last night, cracked and crumbling and in need of so much plaster.
So John decides it's best to show a second of weakness to save face. He looks down, away, and shuts his eyes. His breath shudders as it leaves him. ] Mr. Dresden.... [ And what? What the hell to say?
He shakes his head, silent, but picks up the twenty and holds it out to Dresden. ]
[ Harry bristles when he hears his name called out, shooting an annoyed look over his leather-clad shoulder.
Marcone looks like he's about to break into as many pieces as there are community areas and street corners, and it freaks Harry out because it's almost upsetting. John Marcone who won't back down, won't look away from anyone he's chosen to fix his eyes on, who speaks with his eyes what he won't with his voice. Subdued, sacrificing one more little thing for the greater good. Harry steps back towards him and looks at the money being given back to him. Sullenly, he quips: ] It's morning.
[ 'I'm not going to answer your questions, not until morning,' he'd said. Harry does that thing where he attempts to arch a brow like Vivien Leigh, and both of them shoot up. He looks alarmed, not coolly perturbed. The pun is a sharp barb. Harry's anger has never been merciful, and Marcone in such a state is something new that he just doesn't know how to handle:: ] But I guess we've already Accorded ourselves properly?
[ There is a sudden tension down John's arm as every muscle in it tenses. He can feel the urge to take a swing at this man for mocking him. The fact that Dresden is holding it over him, like they hadn't just spent the last night trading intimacies and secrets...
That may have been the repair that he needed.
John settles, throttling the part of himself that wants to grab Dresden and shake him or kiss him or punch him. It's just another part of himself to hold under the water until it's gone.
Steady at last, John narrows his eyes and straightens to look Dresden in the eye. ] I guess we have. So glad I've been so useful to you, Dresden. Now, if that'll be all, I believe you know the way out. If you hex my guards again, I'll buy your housing complex and turn it into a parking garage.
You didn't--. [ Now it's Harry's turn to tense up like a bowstring, eyes hot and incensed by Marcone's inability to catch on to the massive fucking hint he'd just dangled in front of his face. So damn smart, and he missed the obvious. To be fair, it wasn't as though Harry'd made himself clear - and that thought was the vice clamp in his guts and the punch in the lungs. ] You missed--.
[ He sputters out, draws himself up tight inside and bares his teeth. ] It's morning, you ass! You forgot to--! [ Harry bites of the flurry of words, because his head hurts too goddamn much for this, and it's not like he can communicate in any other way, and he might as well use that knowledge and the chill pervading from the man he'd slung himself across for warmth until a mere hour ago as reason to turn on his heel and exit stage fucking front door. Hurricane Dresden, with muttered curses and sharp utterances of ventas servitas to fling doors shut and put every barrier between himself and Baron Marcone.
He pulls his collar up to hide the marks on his neck, and slogs out onto the streets of his city with the knowledge that dawn had kicked the sniffer dog to the pit whence it came. Maybe tomorrow'd kick the stupid memories of John's warmth to the curb where they belonged. Stupid, inane, foolish, wrong again. ]
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timeasmymeasure
precious stupid boys, uUGHHH!
Date: 2012-11-05 05:25 am (UTC)-- what the morning brings is sunlight. Damnable, noisy sunlight that splits his head in two and reminds him that he's not in the dark little cave that he claims is a livable space. It causes Harry to shove the heels of his hands into his eyes and whine, twisting his body around until he can wedge himself under the table that had hosted their dinner mere hours ago. There's shadow there, that's better. He even grabs for what's covering his shoulders, dragging it up over his face as he curses: ] Empty fucking night!
[ It's John's jacket. And there's a faint, confused warble from Harry as he shoves it back at arm's length, perplexed by how it got there. Until he remembers why his neck aches, and why he's missing his shirt, and why it tastes sweet when he runs his tongue over his lips. Carefully wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift hood to keep out the majority of light and noise, he begins to fumble around on the floor, looking for his shirt. ]
and tbh John is stupider when sober, so
Date: 2012-11-05 03:17 pm (UTC)The suit he's changed into looks fit for a funeral, and his expression is not much better. The regret, far subsumed under the stoic surface, burns him to the point of pain. The full weight of how dangerous and foolish last night was is a heavy stone in his gut.
This is going to be a hell of a thing to explain to Gard and Hendricks when they arrive. ]
[ He's already drained one bottle of water and taken aspirin when Harry finally wakes up. It's hard to miss, with that exclamation. John's always enjoyed waking up with the city, feeling his heart rate climb while watching the L rumble by, the foot traffic on Wabash and Lake slowly rise. But for Dresden, he presses the button on the wall that drops the blinds from the ceiling, covering the windows and killing the sunlight.
He can see Dresden looking for things that aren't there and sighs. ] They are on the table above you. [ Along with another bottle of water and three pain pills. ]
[ And he may as well get this over with. Rip it off like a bandage. ] The price of the protection and hospitality of the Freeholding of Chicago is paid and no recourse will be sought. Any words or actions that have transpired will be kept in confidence until such time as you break that confidence. You have twenty-four hours of assured non-hostilities. [ John recites with all the enthusiasm of someone reading aloud tax code. It's all by rote, given to him by the team of lawyers who he's paid to be experts on the Accords.
There. He's done what he's had to. God willing, Dresden will be too hungover or to taken aback to give him lip. John's not in the mood. ]
no subject
Date: 2012-11-05 10:46 pm (UTC)Say what? [ The world slows for a moment, with Harry clutching his temple and staring at John like he's just grown two heads and the second one isn't spitting bullshit at him. For a moment, the wizard looks... disappointed. Him, of all people. Then the words and their meaning and the tone catches up with him in one fell swoop, and Harry's disorientation turns into a scowl. He opens his mouth, and a million-and-one things are on the tip of his tongue to say, but the only thing that comes out is: ] Yeah. I guess that just about covers it, doesn't it?
[ Harry simmers, and goes to hunt down his shoes, bouncing across the floor as he yanks them on and laces them up. Grabs his duster angrily. Shoves Marcone's jacket back into his hands and slaps the twenty bucks in his pocket down on top of the wadded folds. ] For the Thai. Get your damn accounting division to make change.
[ It's about time to make like a hurricane and slam the doors behind him. ]
no subject
Date: 2012-11-05 11:22 pm (UTC)John takes the coat and dollar because there's not much choice. And in a moment of self-pity, feels like one of the young women working in Executive Priority.
But this is for the best. Bring it all back down to the trading of debts, make their relationship about the numbers. It'll be easier this way.
John's got a poker face the likes the world has never seen. He could bluff any denizen of the Nevernever. It's a stone wall holding back a flood.
It is, after last night, cracked and crumbling and in need of so much plaster.
So John decides it's best to show a second of weakness to save face. He looks down, away, and shuts his eyes. His breath shudders as it leaves him. ] Mr. Dresden.... [ And what? What the hell to say?
He shakes his head, silent, but picks up the twenty and holds it out to Dresden. ]
harry jfc STOP IT
Date: 2012-11-06 12:31 am (UTC)Marcone looks like he's about to break into as many pieces as there are community areas and street corners, and it freaks Harry out because it's almost upsetting. John Marcone who won't back down, won't look away from anyone he's chosen to fix his eyes on, who speaks with his eyes what he won't with his voice. Subdued, sacrificing one more little thing for the greater good. Harry steps back towards him and looks at the money being given back to him. Sullenly, he quips: ] It's morning.
[ 'I'm not going to answer your questions, not until morning,' he'd said. Harry does that thing where he attempts to arch a brow like Vivien Leigh, and both of them shoot up. He looks alarmed, not coolly perturbed. The pun is a sharp barb. Harry's anger has never been merciful, and Marcone in such a state is something new that he just doesn't know how to handle:: ] But I guess we've already Accorded ourselves properly?
NO KIDDING.
Date: 2012-11-06 12:54 am (UTC)That may have been the repair that he needed.
John settles, throttling the part of himself that wants to grab Dresden and shake him or kiss him or punch him. It's just another part of himself to hold under the water until it's gone.
Steady at last, John narrows his eyes and straightens to look Dresden in the eye. ] I guess we have. So glad I've been so useful to you, Dresden. Now, if that'll be all, I believe you know the way out. If you hex my guards again, I'll buy your housing complex and turn it into a parking garage.
[ Dismissed, Mr. Dresden. ]
COMMUNICATION IS KEY IN ANY RELATIONSHIP.
Date: 2012-11-06 01:27 am (UTC)[ He sputters out, draws himself up tight inside and bares his teeth. ] It's morning, you ass! You forgot to--! [ Harry bites of the flurry of words, because his head hurts too goddamn much for this, and it's not like he can communicate in any other way, and he might as well use that knowledge and the chill pervading from the man he'd slung himself across for warmth until a mere hour ago as reason to turn on his heel and exit stage fucking front door. Hurricane Dresden, with muttered curses and sharp utterances of ventas servitas to fling doors shut and put every barrier between himself and Baron Marcone.
He pulls his collar up to hide the marks on his neck, and slogs out onto the streets of his city with the knowledge that dawn had kicked the sniffer dog to the pit whence it came. Maybe tomorrow'd kick the stupid memories of John's warmth to the curb where they belonged. Stupid, inane, foolish, wrong again. ]
/SOBBING
Date: 2012-11-06 01:37 am (UTC)But the moment is gone, with a door slam so loud that the hinges bow out from the door.
And it's over. It's gone. ]