six_word_stories | (no subject)

"That kind of day, huh?" Henry had stepped out onto the back porch -more of a veranda, really- for a cigarette of his own. His voice was low, rough-edged as if he'd been using it too much that day, or screaming, and knowing Henry either of these was possible.

Warren spares a glance up from where he's seated, an eyebrow raising in curiosity then lowering after he turns his attention to the alcohol. "Yeah," he admits, still flipping the stick of tobacco. "Trying to decide if I should go off and make it worse."

He made a thoughtful sound in his throat as he lit his cigarette and took a long pull, talking around a mouthful of smoke when he asked: "Would making the day worse make you feel better, or nah?" He exhaled then before just dropping down to sit in a comfortable sprawl on the steps, brow lifted a little, waiting for an answer.

A shrug, one hand upturning while the other lifts the cigarette to his lips. "Could," he admits, huffing around the filter. From his peripheral, Warren follows the guy all the way down, waiting until he's seated before stretching out the feathery appendages on his back. "Might not even be worth it."

"Oh. One of those." He'd had more than a few of those days himself, though few enough in recent memory.

A slow, almost sad shake of his head, "Can't say as I'll be any good as the voice of reason or the voice of temptation in this situation."

"S'alright. Honestly, I should know better than to go stirring up extra trouble. Never had a problem with it finding me before, so playing the waiting game should be enough."

Not that it makes what happened okay, but if he's planning to go and pick fights with groups of people, it might be better if he had some backup first. He reaches for the bottle at his side, removes the smoke to take a long swig then briefly holds it out toward his associate. Why not, right?

He took the bottle with a quiet: "Thanks." Taking a quick swallow himself before handing it back, "Fuckin' hate the waiting game."

He shook his head then, waving a hand as if to brush that comment aside, "It works, yeah, sometimes it's the best way to do it, still hate it."

"No problem," he states, reaching to take the bottle and another drink without missing a beat. "Ain't gotta like it for it to be the right way."

Or for it to distract from the here and now of the situation. A brief glance down the stairs, lips pursing around the cigarette. Then, he heaves a sigh, removes the stick and tucks it behind his ear, offering the slightest grin. "Know any good drinking games?" Another perfect diversion.

He hummed low in his throat, the sound oddly resonant for a moment before he shook his head, "Nope, play 'em just fine, but don't know any off the top of my head."

There was a crooked smile and an arched brow in return, "Besides, if I remember how to play 'em the next morning it means I wasn't playing hard enough."

A noise that brings up more than a few questions, but none that he deems necessary to voice. "Well, damn," he huffs, pulling from the bottle again then offering it once more. And he'll continue to do so, as long as Henry keeps taking.

He raises his free hand, goes to respond, but all he can manage at first is a smirk. Then, he points at the other man, "You got me there."

He made a flicking, half-circular gesture with one hand, as if presenting himself or his opinions, accepting the bottle once more, content to share both the alcohol and the conversation, "I do have good points, occasionally."

His smile tilted into place again as he handed the bottle back, "It's just that nobody usually listens to them because of literally everything else about me."

"Occasionally," he repeats with emphasis, the mirth clear in his voice. Angel takes the container and kicks back, a little more than he has intended to, but he's more graceful than he lets on sometimes. It's an easy motion for him to swing his arm back to catch himself on his elbow, without sloshing any alcohol down his front.

He lowers the bottle after a moment, blinking lightly, the buzz finally beginning to settle in. "Well, 'm listening now, so ..."

He snorted, shaking his head, "Nope, already used up my good point quotient for the day, maybe even for the week." Another little head-shake, or perhaps a continuation of the same movement, "Any points I have from here on out are bound to be terrible."