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NONAH, NC. #003

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$nastygram: (C:\itanic)$

From:

nastygram

Awww.

[Darlene, grinning, takes another sip of her drink. Then she slumps down, chin on her chest, legs loose. The glass is basically empty and so can safely loll at her side.]

'Always' is being pretty freaking generous to yourself.

From:

magnitudes

( Sarissa holds up the bottle, eyebrows raised in a silent question - top up?

It occurs to her they've not really been keeping track of how much liquor they've been hitting, so probably they should ease up. On the other hand, she's miserable and this is making her feel better, so hmm. )

Yeah, but someone has to talk about how great I am. May as well be me.

$nastygram: (C:\bletch)$

From:

nastygram

[Darlene, without a second thought, slides her glass closer. Who cares how much liquor.]

If your narcissism is secretly one of those self-actualization rackets, I am going to blow chunks. Self-transcendence. Being-awareness. Suck a fuck.

From:

magnitudes

My narcissism is secretly one hundred percent sincere. Beneath my layers of bullshit, you will only find more bullshit, a gift that keeps on giving.

( One top up, done, zero spillage. )

But you seem to know a lot about self actualisation for someone who hates it. ( Dripping with exaggerated false concern:) Are you seeking validation?

$nastygram: (C:\steved)$

From:

nastygram

I fucking hate narcissists.

[Darlene raises her eyebrows in a kind of challenge as she leans forward to take a long sip of her drink. Well past the point of non-buzzy lips, the sip is actually more difficult than it should be, but she manages.

Then she rolls her eyes.]

Why? Are you gonna validate me? No thanks. Loooots of daytime TV and bullshit outreachy get-close-to-you seshes to thank for my awesome knowledge bank on the actualization front. The only thing I am seeking is for you to suck it. And my frickin' samosas.

From:

magnitudes

But we're so great.

( Greeeeeeat, with her accent adding a strong twang to the drawn out, exaggerated syllables and the 't' bitten out. Sarissa doesn't sound like she loves narcissists. She tips back a good portion of her glass, and quirks an eyebrow. )

I like saying what I like about people because it's the sort of shit that gets neglected. That uh— validation psychological crap can fuck off, but. Bunch of ways to manipulate people and make yourself feel better, but it's not bloody sincere. And I've honestly lost track of what I'm meant to be sucking, at this point.

Edited (fussing about sentences 2k17) Date: 2017-02-08 08:28 am (UTC)

$nastygram: (C:\smop)$

From:

nastygram

My dick.

[She grins, loosely, over at Sarissa.]

Still wanna be sincere at me, bitch?

From:

magnitudes

( A moment, and with a hint of Dramatic Sincerity, she leans towards Darlene.)

You are a stunning, awe-inspiring

... pain in the arse.

$nastygram: (C:\visionary)$

From:

nastygram

[Her laugh starts as kind of a snort, before it gets genuine. She flops her hand over to push against Sarissa's face, trying to push her back.]

Asshole.

From:

magnitudes

( bless this drunk mess

she leans back, obligingly, but does whip out the spirit fingers as she sways back with a grin. )

Congrats, you nailed it. Good call. Only took you this long.

$nastygram: (C:\tty)$

From:

nastygram

Nailed what, that you're an asshole? Um, I knew that. I've been shit-talking you since day one, babe.

[Without face to push against, her hand is now laying loosely on the couch between them, but she doesn't bother to move it or lift it or do anything. Especially not return spirit fingers.]

From:

magnitudes

Nah, you knew I was a moron. Subtle but essential difference. I mean, still true, but different.

( She is very aware that—

1. probs easing off drinks would be smart, hey
2. especially if she wants to eat Indian food and not feel extra bloody terrible
3. flirting with Darlene right now would be a terrible idea, don't do it
4. her hands feel weird

only 1 and 3 are really actionable, and she is more likely to accept the logic of 3, given that she just tipped back more of her drink and fully intends to continue. )

So, apparently in Greece they got these places called ouzeries, which basically only serve ouzo. Alls sort of kinds, and they serve savoury appetiser things and that. Apparently it is an essential part of the ouzo experience. Dunno if Indian'll cut it, 'xactly, but we can pretend.

$nastygram: (C:\teergrube)$

From:

nastygram

Aren't you just a fountain of goddamn knowledge. I am done with this shit--

[She announces, loudly, as she moves to try and balance her mostly-empty glass on the arm of the couch. Try being the operative word, as the arm is a little soft for balancing purposes. So flirtable, right??]

--for now. I'll totally pick it up again when the food gets here. Personally I would do, you know, a very shitty beer or, like. Milkshakes. You don't even like Indian, do you.

From:

magnitudes

I have so much shitty beer. And some good beer. And I got milkshake supplies. Might be better for having with Indian.

( She stands, a lunge that's oddly well coordinated for how alcohol soaked she is, turning and grinning at Darlene as she gently rights the glass, and sets it on the coffee table. (But not on Shakespeare, though, Shakespeare is sacred.) )

And I like food. I just like Greek and normal stuff better, I know what I'm gettin'. So, you like milkshakes with syrup or where the ice cream flavour is the flavour you get? We got options.

$nastygram: (C:\machoflops)$

From:

nastygram

Normal stuff? Listen to you. Miss Cultural Sensitivity of the Desert, 2015. Like Vegemite and what the fuck ever isn't grown in a friggin' lab.

[Darlene does not stand up, but observes the standing with her ass all slumped down and her head somewhere in the middle of the back cushion. She smiles back at Sarissa, loosely.]

And I like strawberry milkshakes. Or chocolate, but only if you're gonna Irish it up for me. I do not give a fu-uck about syrups or whatever, go ham on that. Are you seriously making me a milkshake right now?

From:

magnitudes

Do I have to get a tat of that, too, or can I just have the sash this time?

( A beat skips by, and Sarissa grins, bright and brief, leaning her arms on the back of the sofa now that she's circled around it. The grin softens off to a more eh, I guess sort of smile, albeit friendlier. )

Looks like it, hey. What can I say? I'm hospitable, as well as dazzlingly charming. ( An eyeroll, though, because aren't I a tool, though? ) I'll see what I got. Definitely have some vanilla vodka and strawberry liquor knockin' about, if you want non-Irish but still-boozy options.

$nastygram: (C:\onelinefix)$

From:

nastygram

Okay, obviously it's like Miss Congeniality or whatever, so a sash will be perf. You already have one tattoo to remember me by. Let's not get crazy.

[Milkshakes may be tempering her, or doing whatever work is left after booze has tempered her a little.]

And I will take Russian over Irish. Thanks for asking.

From:

magnitudes

( Is she about to ruin it all? She might be about to ruin it all. Sarissa clicks her tongue and aims fingerguns at Darlene, before swaying back upright and moving to the kitchen. )

I'll be right back. You like milkshakes where your straw stands up because it's so thick, or the thin kind?

$nastygram: (C:\smop)$

From:

nastygram

[Fingerguns stray pretty close to ruining it, but. Darlene endures. Because she doesn't really want to get up right now, and she has food coming, and she wants a milkshake.]

I like 'em thick. Straw you could pop a tent over.

From:

magnitudes

Nice. I'll chuck some dirt and mozzie repellent in there for the authentic camping flavour.

( She grins stupidly, and disappears off to the kitchen. Not for that long, she's an efficient shake maker for all her booziness. Strawberry ice cream, vanilla vodka, some strawberry syrup, milk, and she makes herself a chocolate one, similarly furnished with booze. Different is she puts an actual strawberry on top of Darlene's sliced into a little fan, and shoves a chocolate pop tart broken in half in top of her own. Sarissa is victorious, albeit quietly sweary, and when she returns there's a purple band aid wrapped around her thumb.

The shake is set down on the coffee table in front of Darlene with a satisfying thud. )

Honestly, I'm wasted in merc work. This is an art.

$nastygram: (C:\gawble)$

From:

nastygram

[Darlene, boneless and disinterested in any part of the shake-making process except for this part, the results, looks up from scrolling through her phone when the thud of the shake gets her attention. Then she grins.]

Yesssss. Dude--

[She lets herself slide the rest of the way off the couch so she's sitting in front of the milkshake, scoops the strawberry off the top with her fore and middle fingers.]

Why do you even know how to make milkshakes? Summer job?

From:

magnitudes

Who doesn't know how to make milkshakes? It's ice cream and milk. Even a bitch this basic can get that.

( Jerking towards herself with her thumb, and smiling around her straw. )

All my summer jobs were helping maintain fields and fixing fences and sheep driving, that kinda shit. I learned to make these because I'm a self-indulgent dickhead.

$nastygram: (C:\chomped)$

From:

nastygram

Umm, I don't know how to make milkshakes. Because I buy my milkshakes, like everyone else.

[Duh. She scoops out a little milkshake and licks it off her finger.]

Seriously, farming? You freaking hick. How the hell did you not lose it?

From:

magnitudes

Americans are hicks. I'm a rough as guts rural, sorry we can't all be metropolitan fuckers like you.

( She grabs her pop tart pieces, crunching into one, and spearing the other into her shake. )

Grew up with it. Taught myself how to make explosives outta fertiliser. Wasn't all dull as sheep shit.

$nastygram: (C:\getalife!)$

From:

nastygram

Rural, [she drawls, playfully, in a way she wouldn't otherwise,] is like the same as hick, dumbshit.

[Profound. You can tell by the way she does brief one-handed spirit fingers.]

Props for finding a way to shift that into something I'm kind of into though. How do you make shit explosives?