six_word_stories | (no subject)

"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."