Participants:
| Scene Title | Drunk Dialing |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Magnes and Sable, drunk at 8:00 PM, go over the finer points of chatting up girls, and then proceed to call Delilah to harass her about her baby daddy. Classy. |
| Date | April 26, 2010 |
Magnes' Apartment.
It's around eight, and Magnes along with Sable have been drinking. He bought a few of those sampler packs, all bottles, and there's quite a few empty ones already laying on the floor. One of his legs hangs over the couch, while the other's propped up on the arm, laying down and staring over at the television. He's in a black tanktop and blue jeans, with no shoes on, drunk as he can be. "And then… she says she'll hurt me herself, can you believe that? I'm a great guy! One day I'm gonna put on a cape, and then fight the Riddler!" he slurs, taking another long sip.
Sable has retained a certain restraint in her drinking - Magnes is not in a great way, and even within the depths of her operational crazy she understands that she's along for /his/ ride, as a sort of drink chaperone. If she drinks too much, she might (who are we kidding, she /will/) suggest some crazy goddamn course of action that will get them both in deep shit. So she stays just sober enough to gauge how drunk /Magnes/ is. Sad days, when Sable feels she has to be the responsible one.
"Classic bullshit fucking excuse," the yellow eyed girl growls, all grim sympathy, "I mean… suited for the fuckin' context. But you'll show her, huh? You'll… uh… yeah. Do that," she waves, indicating the nerdtastic prediction that sounds fine coming out of Magnes but would be totally incongrous emerging from Sable, "Look, fuck 'er. I mean… don't… you won't. But… you know what I mean! Fuck someone else. Or don't. Just keep your eyes on the prize, /your/ prize, as /you/ see it."
I never claimed she was sober. Just sober /enough/.
"No, see, she like, made a threat that she'd hurt me if I got in her way, like I can't be responsible! I poured my whole heart out, my whole heart! See?" Magnes pours some beer into the dark blue carpet of the floor, then brings it to his lips. "Fuck someone else? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Every girl in this whole city talks! I'm, like, a fucking pariah. I don't mean I'm a pariah and I'm trying to put emphasis on it, I mean I'm a pariah of fucking!" He can't shake his educational geekiness, even while he's drunk. "I'm a piano player, a bass player, I saved the whole world. Where's my Mary-Jane, my Lois Lane, my Lana Lang, my Betty Brant, my Gwen Stacy, my freakin' Stephanie Brown!"
Magnes makes a semantic distinction that is worth explication, and Sable nods her agreement at this clarification. She eyes the puddle of bear that darkens the carpet, wrinkles her nose. "So yer sayin' you've made many a lady's blackbooks? Jesus. That's tough fuckin' luck. Usually you just gotta pack up and move on after that shit. Huh…" she taps her chin with the top of her beer, thoughtful in a vague, alcohol influenced way, "Y'know… all them… all those gals… they were written for their boys, right? Like… that shit's stories, and while I ain't sayin' stories are only just stories, cuz that'd be a stupid thing to say, what I /mean/ is that… like…" What /did/ she mean? She takes a moment to recapture her line of thought, "Shit… where is it you think you went wrong, huh? What made the birds o' New York turn their backs on you? I mean, like… not to get too harsh, but let's just /assume/ they're not just flighty bitches, and they have a reason. What d'you think that reason would be?"
"I'm immature, everyone thinks I'm unreliable, I'm not good looking, I like comic books, I'm young, there's a huge list. There was on girl who liked me, but I rejected her 'cause I wanted Claire, second time I did that." Magnes groans and drops the empty bottle, reaching for another. "Who cares! Stupid women! You're the best woman on the planet. Air bass!" He suddenly plays the 'air bass' with one hand, his other occupied with the bottle.
Sable snickers at her being lifted to the rank of greatest of her sex, and joins Magnes with air guitar of her own, opting to store her beer between her knees so as to free up both her hands. "Boy, maybe it's just how you go about shit. You need a proper fuckin' /method/ is all. A… y'know… seduction /method/. Pouring out your heart, that shit's bound to look like the game of a boy, y'know? You need an /angle/. It ain't pretty, but it's the goddamn truth. Took me some time to figure that shit out myself, y'know?"
"Angle?" Magnes raises an eyebrow, sitting the beer on the air inbetween the table and couch. He clearly thinks there's a table there, which somehow results in him using his ability to keep the bottle floating. Cartoon physics. "I don't get it, how do you get a, um, method? You mean like looking into their eyes?"
Sable glances to the floating bottle. Damn, but wouldn't that come in handy? She takes her own beer back in hand conventionally, from its conventionally spot. She takes a swig, shakes her head, then swallows. "Naw. I mean, sure, if that's called for, but that's kinda cheeseball, doesn't really work on most chicks. Particularly doesn't work on chicks that are any good in bed, y'know? Mostly that works for gals who's, like, main fuckin' fantasy is gettin' boned on the beach. They just…" she makes a face, "/Lie/ there." She shakes her head again, banishing the impression from her mind, "Method is about playin' to your strengths, and their preferences. Figuring out what'll get them thinkin' the best of you, and imagining the best /with/ you. Telling them how /you/ feel, all out there in the open, breaks the magic. It's gotta be /their/ dream you've walked into, y'know? You have to… like… fit into what they want."
"So…" Magnes has no idea what them laying there is all about, but that's because most of his experience is with Delilah. He seems to be contemplating everything she's saying, trying to make sense of it, even burping once to show off his absolute concentration. "I have to like, pretend to be someone else?"
Sable waves her hand vigorously, dispelling Magnes' words. "Only dipshits think that. Which is good for you since that means you're not a dipshit yet. No, dude, no way. It's not about pretending anything. It's about…" she pauses, "Okay, I'm a little too drunk to, like, really properly explain this, but here goes: when you're with a woman, what are you thinkin' about? Like, the part of your brain that's still working, what's it doing when you're between the sheets? What're you /thinking/ about and what are you doing?"
"I'm usually thinking 'Oh god I love her accent so much' and then I'm just trying to make her feel as good as humanly possible, so I'm usually trying to learn and pay attention to how she's responding, y'know?" Magnes never thought about it before, but it was a fairly simple question when he got around to it. He grabs his beer again, but doesn't drink, he just holds it with an arm lazily hanging over the couch. "Why?"
"Bingo," Sable says, a finger uncurling from the neck of her bottle and pointing in Magnes' direction, "When you're hard at it - one sec," she takes another drink, wipes her mouth with her wrist, "When you're hard at it, yer lookin' to figure out what she wants," her brows waggle, "So you can give it to her. And that ain't pretending, is it? It's just treatin' her like she wants to be treated. And what applies in bed, bud, applies before. Don't think of it as, like… you trying to get to the point where you're pleasing her. You gotta start givin' her what she wants from the first time you meet her, get me?"
"Yeah, I got it. But, I don't think I completely understand. I mean, bed is one thing, but… Alright, explain what a guy would have to give you." Magnes finally decides, since the best way to get taught is by an example! And he finally takes another drink, but seems pretty much planted on the couch.
Sable snickers once again, "Uh… Jesus. Man… I dunno, that's not how I do thing. I don't…" a pause, "I'm not really…" another pause, "/I/ move in at the angle. I don't let myself get approached, y'know? It's not my… situation?" she shrugs, "But, okay, sure… let's just, for the sake of argument…" she gets to her feet, a little unsteady at first, and walks around behind the couch, "I'm a chick at a bar, okay? Right now, I've got long pretty blonde hair or something, but I look, like, tough minded and independent, and am drinkin' a drink that tells you that. Whiskey or somethin'. You spot me, decide it's time to work the Magnes magic, eh?" she grins, "What do you do?"
Magnes sits up suddenly, holding his head as he sees colors for a moment, then rests his arm against the back of the couch and looks up at her. "Hey, my name's Magnes J. Varlane. I was just… wondering if I could sit here." He coughs a little awkwardly, even though it's not even a real situation. "Sorry, I imagined you were Abby and got nervous."
"Beeeeh!" Sable says, approximating the sound of a game show 'wrong' buzzer, "I'm not into squares who introduce themselves with a fucking 'J' middle i-fuckin'-nitial. You can keep wondering, chumpchange, for all the good that'll do you. Do-over! Try again!"
Magnes always introduces himself with a J! He looks surprised when she says it makes him a square! "Hello, my name's Magnes Varlane, I was just wondering if I could maybe sit here and buy you a drink?" he asks, speech a little slurred from being drunk, but otherwise he tries to say it rather casually.
"Better," Sable says, though it's evident that she thinks there is some further improvement to be had. Still, they are /both/ too drunk to split hairs, "Okay. Ahem…" she shifts to affect a slightly more girlish voice, "'Oh? Sure, I guess.'" Sable breaks character, "Okay, notice, there's no committal and no real interest. You've got, at best, an opening. I'm gonna be happy to take your drink and then totally fuckin' ignore you if you screw this up. So… what do you do?"
Magnes pauses to give that a little thought, running the scenario over in his head. "You wouldn't believe how late band practice can run. But practicing two instruments takes some dedication." He tries to leave the question of 'what two instruments' up for grabs, playing this like a strategy game! He keeps eye contact with her, which isn't difficult, Sable's yellow eyes being nearly hypnotic.
Sable lifts her finger, "First mistake, offering information like that. Being in a band /is/ totally /fucking/ awesome," on this point she is insistent, "But you talk about two instruments and it's like you're tryin' to show off. Boy… think about what /I/ wanna hear? Say the reverse is happenin'." Sable leans down, smiling, looking at Magnes like she's interested. She adopts the girlish tone again. "'What if I think yer cute? How'd you like me to start the conversation?'"
"Ah, well…" Magnes is getting bashful and starting to blush when she leans in and takes that tone, but he swallows hard and tries to answer. "I guess I'd like it if you maybe asked how I am, or what I've been doing today, or just ask me what I do. Something that shows she thinks I'm interesting…"
Sable backs off with the look and the voice, but she is good enough at least to substitute a grin. "Thass right," she says, taking a quick drink, "See, you got it all, you just gotta, like… apply it," drink produces vague statements like this, but Sable checks herself well enough to realize how vague she's being, "So turn that around, arright? I'm the blonde again, and I let you sit next to me, and you said you're gonna buy me a drink. So… see if you can kill two birds, as it fuckin' were. See if you can make me feel interestin', smart, independent, whatever, and also figure out what I wanna drink. Go!"
"I've never been too good with drinks." Magnes says as he suddenly gets back into the character of things, and he's telling the truth, he isn't very good with them! He leans on the couch again, staring. "How about you order and I'll try what you're having? I could always use a good recommendation."
This earns Magnes a smile. "Not bad…" she admits, "Not what I'd do, but you and I have… different ways of doin' things." She draws herself into character again: "'What if I said you should get us Cosmos?'" The pink drink as made extra popular by 'Sex in the City'. It's clear she's (the character Sable is playing) is giving Magnes a hard time, but in the form of banter. Ball's in his court.
Magnes laughs, clearly not getting it, but he tries to be smooth about not getting it. He casually shrugs his shoulders, smiling, then answers, "I'd say you've just thoroughly proved how little I know about drinks, but I'm willing to try almost anything once."
Sable doesn't give any commentary this time, but just carries on with the game. She leans on the bar, gestures to some invisible bartender. "Two Jack and Cokes, on the rocks," she says, then turns back to Magnes, "I guess you don't go out too often, then. You do kind of look like a fish outta water." She's clearly trying to groom her words, to sound less like a vagabond and more like… someone else.
"I'm still a little new to the whole bar thing, but I'm trying to spread my wings, y'know?" Magnes takes a sip of his drink, eyes half-lidded to go along with his drunken slur. "What about you? You seem like a woman of the world, what do you do?"
Sable pauses for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "Jesus!" she says, fully herself, "I am /way/ to fuckin' drunk to think up a… like… whatever for blondie." She takes a seat on the top of the couch, hiking herself up and then looking down at Magnes, "But y'get the idea, right?" She teeters a little, steadies herself, "It's so fuckin' simple, 'course you ferget to do it."
"Yeah, guess it is simple, just gotta think about how I wanna be spoken to and turn it around." Magnes decides, and on that note, he looks over at her with an exaggerated squint. "You wanna have a quickie?" he asks, right before a loud burp.
"Blondie ain't here no more," Sable says, with a snort, "And if she was, whaddya think she'd do, huh?"
"Slap me." Magnes lays back on the opposite side of the couch, just relaxed as he can be, his clothes even having a slight weightlessness to them, as if he were under water. "I heard you and Colette the other night, y'know, heard you."
"Remember that shit. That's /one/ thing you ain't gonna be able to turn around. Cuz I know what /you'd/ do if blondie asked /you/ for a quickie," Sable says, with a grin. The grin gets a bit crooked at Magnes' latter words, hangs there, then smoothes into just a smile, "Sorry, then. Thin walls, eh?"
"Well, you don't have to be too sorry." Magnes' cheeks are red, and he leaves any implications up in the air for her to figure out. "And hey, I wouldn't… wait, I kinda did… alright, nevermind. Can I ask another question? If a girl likes older, more mature guys, y'know, guys I won't be able to compete with for a decade or so, what should I do?"
Sable quirks her mouth to the side, considering Magnes' question. Her answer is quite forthright. "Find another girl that doesn't have a fucked up daddy complex," she states, simply. Sable kicks her feet, heels thwapping the back of the couch, "I hope it's cool, though. Y'know… with Colette. I, like… don't want to put you out or some shit, y'know? She's cute as hell, and all. But she's got someone in a real way that I can't touch, and you, y'know… you're my comrade in arms. So… unnerstand that I'm not, like, gonna let anything get in the way," she smiles, a little uncertain, but in attempted good cheer, "No Yoko, y'know?"
"I don't mind at all. I mean, think about it. I'm living in an apartment, and lesbian sex happens here! It's like…" Magnes is a bit too drunk to articulate properly, so it takes him a moment, but he twirls his finger in the air a bit. "The American dream! If anything, add more lesbians, or invite me."
Sable rolls her eyes, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" she says, "Well, 't least you aren't pissed off, I guess…" she wrinkles her nose. Then, something strikes her. She points at Magnes, "Okay, get this… I don't fuckin' /do/ labels, arright? No 'gay' no 'dyke', none of that shit. It fucks with the market share, you unnerstand?"
"Yeah, it's alright, I don't care what you do in your own room, or on the couch, just make sure you clean up after." Magnes groans, holding his stomach, all the varieties of beer starting to get to him. "You're an awesome person, that's all that matters. And one day we're gonna put on the best concert in the freakin' world."
"Boy, I need you to understand what I'm gettin' at here," Sable insists, "Obviously you aren't gonna hate on me, that's not what I fuckin' mean. I mean that us, as a band, need a certain level o'… ambiguity, y'know? People gotta wonder but not know. I'm talkin' about market share, about /selling/ us as a band. The more people can, like, make us their fantasy, the better the sales, dig?" she grins, "Damn right I'm awesome. And you're my strong right hand, chum. We're going to thaw this frozen city out!"
"Oh, yeah, I get it now." Magnes nods, then slides off the couch and starts heading for the bathroom. "I'm gonna try and sober up a bit, I wanna take a nap and go outside for a little." He's wobbling, barely walking in a straight line to the bathroom. "I wanna talk to Abby."
Sable allows herself to fall backwards onto the couch, her legs sticking straight up in the air. "Don't /do/ that to yerself, man!" Sable says, trying to balance the bottle on her upper chest, hand catching it as it keeps tipping over, "Not unless it's /just/ about us playing, dig?"
"Then I wanna talk to… I wanna…" Magnes isn't entirely sure who he wants to talk to, thumping into his bathroom door, then floats backward as if he's just completely given up trying to walk. "I don't know what I want, I want something, some mysterious thing…"
Sable stares up at the ceiling, expression flat. When she speaks, it's low, almost too low for Magnes to hear properly. "Jesus, if that ain't wantin' itself…"
"Forget it, I got you, Sable. You're one of my best friends." Magnes seems to have completely lost his grip on… well, everything physical, he's floating nearly upside down, slowly moving over Sable's head as he stares at the ceiling, arms and legs sprawled. "So what if Claire crushed my whole soul, I've got a band, and a hot boss, and the kids. Delilah's gonna have a baby, and even though it isn't mine, I'm gonna take care of it. I don't care if Claire hates me…"
Sable blinks, "Wait, what the /fuck/?" she says, "I dinn't just hear you say that, did I? 'bout a fuckin' /baby/? Hold yer fuckin' horses just one fuckin' second…" she reaches up a hand, trying to bat at Magnes, though he's too far away, "'xplain yerself, fer Chrissake!"
Magnes slowly descends on to the couch, laying his back against the cushion, and his legs up against the back, keeping his feet in the air too. "Delilah's pregnant, that hot red head I was doing stuff with. She said the baby's another guy's and not mine, which I guess makes sense 'cause I never did it unprotected."
Sable places her hand over her eyes and mutters, quite audibly, "Stupid bitch…" She turns her eyes Magnes' way, and there's a gleam in them he hasn't seen before, at least not quite like this. "Arright. Arright. So. It ain't yours. Why ain't the guy whose the fuck it /is/ gonna take care of it?"
"Hey, don't talk about Delilah like that, alright? She made an honest mistake, and she's taking responsibility for it." Magnes moves a hand to place it on her's, to indicate that he's not quite angry. "He's gonna take care of it financially. I don't know who he is, but when I find out, I'm gonna knock his teeth out."
"An honest mistake?" Sable echoes, "Jesus. It's a fuckin' kid, a… a… a goddamn /shit/ machine. And it's ain't just money, for chrissake. You can't…" Sable grits her teeth. This is evidently, and perplexingly, something of a sore spot for her. The hand he touches is a clenched fist, "You are /not/ takin' responsibility fer it. No /fuckin'/ way. She can live through her own goddamn mistake /goddamn/ it," she closes her eyes, take a deep breath, opens her eyes again. "The /father/," her voice is level, but that word is spoken with absolute venom, "Do you have any leads? Name or anything? I want this cocksucker knee-deep in shit-stains and puke."
"You know what, you're right! We need to make him take responsibility!" Magnes rolls off the couch, hitting his head lightly on the table, then shambles up to his feet and walks to the phone, dialing Delilah's number, then putting it on speaker. It's only around 8PM, and when she answers she'll hear drunken stumbling, and the slurring of his voice. "Delilah! Who's the father of that kid? We're gonna like, make him take full responsibility!" He finishes the bottle he grabbed again at some point, then drops it… up on to the ceiling where it shatters. "Crap, dropped it on the ceiling."
Well, /this/ spun quickly out of control. Even in her transport of irrational, seemingly sourceless fury, she understands the efficacy of a drunk message - which is to say, no efficacy at all. "Jesus!" she says, and struggles off the couch and to her feet. "What the /fuck/?" she says, scrambling over to Magnes and trying to grab the phone, "Gimme that!"
There's a rare day that Delilah doesn't answer her phone in a timely manner. She picks up the other end, only to stay silent when she immediately hears Magnes start ranting before she has formed the H in Hello. So, she waits, her breath relaxed on the speakers.
"Magnes, what are you doing? You're drunk- who is that? Is that your roommate?" Delilah's voice has caught Sable in the act, so it's a bit late for going back now. "Wow."
"I'll show that guy! Doing my Delilah wrong!" Magnes lets Sable get the phone, and suddenly he's rushing to the bathroom. "I have to vomit!" Delilah will hear the bathroom door slam, and the rest of the sounds are about what would be expected.
Okay, okay, okay… don't sound drunk, don't sound drunk. "Hey," Sable says into the receiver, with what she /imagines/ is a sober, reasonable voice. She even tries to loosen the fist she was so adamantly forming, "Yer gonna have to excuse Magnes. Poor guy's sorta… well, broke up is all. Concern. Boys, y'know? Ideas beyond their, like, capabilities," she leans around, catching glimpse of the closed bathroom door, "He just rang 'fore I could talk sense to him. Sorry to, uh…" no, no, no, concentrate! "Anyways. I hear you're expectin', huh?"
"…" Delilah is quiet for a few moments, wherein nobody is able to see her blushing except her dog. "Ah." She signals that she's listening to the female voice now, and there's a slight laugh on the speaker. "Sable, right? I'm sorry I haven't met you more than in passing, you seem like a good anchor for him. I guess. Yeah, I am. Quite an accident- but it's not like I was being unsafe. I suppose some things are just supposed to happen." Dee doesn't know how honest she's being.
"What was he on about that he needed to call me? Just to find out the father?" That worries her. What's he gonna do to make Teo 'take responsibility'? Oy.
All those beers he had in succession seem to have finally gone to his head, as he's stumbling through the living room again after washing his mouth out. "I'll show that guy!" he announces from a distance, crashing into things a few times. "Tell us who he is, he's gotta take responsibility! I'm not gonna let him be the Norman Osborn to your Gwen Stacy, damnit, that was a terrible story!"
Sable grins a bit stupidly on her end of the phone, "Yeah, that'd be me," she says. Her, an /anchor/? Holy Jesus… "And sure, yeah, mebbe we can get a proper introduction sometime. But yeah… uh…" Sable takes another look at the bathroom door. Does she /want/ Magnes coming out yet? Ohshitthereheis. Sable waves an arm vigorously at Magnes, warding him off, then pointing at herself. She's got this handled… she swears!
The yellow eyed girl navigates back to the couch, and flops down, taking stability where she can find it, "See, Magnes mentioned yer situation and… well, to be honest hon, it was /me/ that was put off to hear 'bout the father situation. Personal reasons, y'see. And I may have, dunno, 'xpressed some o-pinion's 'bout parental responsibility, and Magnes, sweet heart that he is, took my 'pinions a bit to heart."
"He does that, sweetheart. I know all about it." Delilah and Sable are speaking so frankly. It's a wonder they don't do this more often. "It's not that the father isn't taking responsibility. He is- he's just- socially retarded." Well. That's close enough without getting into something else. "So it may seem like he's not. But what I need isn't some guy fawning and fussing, I just need to know that I have someone behind me. I've got the father and I've got Magnes now, and really, I have all of my other friends. I dunno what you guys see as defining 'responsibility', but as far as I know, it just means being mature enough to help a person that needs helping should they need it from you." There's a short pause.
"Do you really wanna know, Magnes, or is this the alcohol? Cause I'll tell you if you really did wanna know, even without beers." Delilah won't make him stressed out more if he's only doing this out of drunkenness. Then again, maybe it'll slip.
"I wanna know who this guy is!" Magnes exclaims, shaking his fist as he lays stretched on the back of the couch, like some sort of six foot long cat. "I wanna know who's so verile that he cancels out all my DNA!"
"In my wantin' to show Magnes the sympathy due a friend and compatriot," Sable says, rather carefully, her prose constructed with the care of a consciously steadied hand, "I may have had a few drinks m'self, and therefore am in no fit shape to c'ntest you on any point. 'n' I know it ain't the least bit my fuckin' business, pardon my French. But mebbe it's somethin' worth discussin'. Speakin'…" a pause, "Speakin' as…" But no, she's not going there. Sable's resounding egoism relies on some sense of her own dignity, not to mention a certain mystery… or that's how she imagines it, at least.
"I'm gonna take care of Magnes, arright. But I hope to see your pretty face, uh… face to face sometime. So… yeah. Evenin'." She hangs up with great swiftness, and shoves the phone into her pocket. "Mother of God…" she says, blinking at Magnes, "We've got to fuckin' work on our game. /Both/ of us."