A discussion, a promotion [Petrel]

[archer]

That smile is contagious. Archer doesn’t even want to wipe it off Petrel’s face. He wants to watch it grow, wants.. for once, he thinks perhaps he’d love to help Petrel, or bring Petrel in on one of his games. The two of them would make a wonderfully destructive team, and he knows Petrel has at least somewhat of a love for screwing with other people.

“I intend to make the consequences of abandonment clear,” and there’s a sharper edge than usual, and he takes a drag from the cigarette, which is essentially burned down, “but I suppose positive motivation can be useful as well. I don’t have the patience to make Rocket a ‘family’ environment, but some cohesion and loyalty among the grunts might be an improvement. Rather than pairs, I’d prefer groups, so when we need larger numbers sent on a single mission they already know and can work well with each other.” He’s got so, so many plans that differ from Giovanni’s.

The cigarette’s burning dangerously close to his hand. For a moment, he sits and watches it, letting the ash falls onto his hand. Petrel leans in, and he’s treated to a breath that smells like smoke. He puts the cigarette out suddenly, almost violently, on the table right beneath where Petrel’s leaning, perhaps a bit close for comfort.

“Is that the attitude I get for giving you what you asked for?” His look is disapproving, but his eyes have a rare spark of life behind them. He’s enjoying this. “I could tell you no, if you’d prefer. Make you ask a few more times before I give in.” This he says in a firm voice, a commanding voice, but it’s not his no-nonsense Rocket-business tone. This is a voice most often heard by Proton and a few hand-picked others Archer consorts with. “Whatever turns you on.”

[errantcriminal]

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Petrel doesn't even flinch when the cigarette comes down inches from his face, he merely inhales a little at the last puff of life that swirls from the remains. The smoke itself twists up around his face and he grins, one hand coming down on top of Archer's where it put the cigarette out. He doesn't let the other man lean away just yet.

The tenor in Archer's voice is something that Petrel hasn't heard before and it intrigues him. This is strange, because largely Petrel has only had eyes for women, not that it was unheard of him to openly flirt with whoever, or to unabashedly check men out. But his interested has been peaked, and somehow he's staring down Archer across a smoky table in some dirty bar and he's not sure how it came to this. But he sort of wants to see where it goes, wants to see how much he can bug Archer. Its interesting, a blip in his otherwise so-far uneventful day.

"But you already gave in, there's no going back now." He comments lazily, still holding down Archer's hand over the butt of the cigarette. "I don't beg. It's not in my nature. Waiting the other person out is much easier." This grin is toothy, and his tone off-handed. "Why give in to expectations, after all, when it's so much more fun to watch them squirm?" Oh, and Petrel had a lot of patience to spare. It was funny how people reacted to time. The impatient, demanding people often felt the situation turning around on them if one waited long enough. And it was hilarious to watch them struggle to keep their precious control.

Slow chaos. Beautiful. Petrel's eyes are sharp now, even if his expression is mild. And he's looking directly at Archer.

[/style]

[archer]

Archer doesn’t fight Petrel’s grasp, even though it holds his hand perilously close to the smoldering cigarette end. In fact, if anything, he seems eager to feel the heat, to keep the connection. His hand tenses under Petrel’s, but he doesn’t try to move it.

He doesn’t answer Petrel’s observations, either. Instead, he merely reaches around with his other hand, and snatches Petrel’s glass. He doesn’t like alcohol, never has- the burn is momentarily enjoyable but it makes the void deeper, makes the void colder- but that doesn’t stop him now. He drains the glass in rapid gulps, mindless of the burn it produces. Then he does pull back, with a violent tug, yanking his hand free. The empty glass is placed, upside down, over the cigarette, and it’s a good thing it had smoldered out because alcohol and fire are a truly terrible combination.

He glances back at Petrel, wiping the last of the alcohol from his lips as he does so. And he says nothing, just looks him in the eye, practically daring him to speak.

[errantcriminal]

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Petrel's hand snaps away as the empty glass comes down, eyes flying from it to Archer, watching as the other man wipes away the last of Petrel's drink. Well- in all fairness the man was going pay for it, so if he wanted to drink it, who the fuck was Petrel to deny him. In some ways the motion Archer makes with his hand, placing the glass over the cigarette, is much reminiscent of a chess player smugly putting their opponent into check. The lackadaisical look is back on Petrels face.

The glass doesn't rest for long, for with a neat motion he slide-sweeps the glass up and over so that it sits upright, smouldering cigarette butt resting in the bottom of it. A clean sleight of hand, and the glass makes a most satisfying clunk as its broad bottom hits the table.

Oh, this is fun. So terribly fun. And Petrel can't even feel worried about it. Because its a bit of a mind game. A bit of subtle banter. And he likes that. He leans, resting both elbows on the table, hunched a little and arms crossed. A sly smile "You missed a little, darling." And he taps his own face just at the corner of his lips, eyebrows raising.

[/style]

[archer]

The little sleight of hand trick is what Archer loves about Petrel- his unpredictable streak, his spirit. Nothing Archer does keeps him down for long, Petrel responds as if it’s a game. In a way, it is, though for very high stakes. A hand of cards is a hand of cards whether there’s pennies or millions resting on it, after all. Petrel, unlike so many others, seems aware that it’s still just a game in the end.

Slowly and deliberately, Archer licks his lips, getting the last of the drink off them. He leans back over the table, setting his elbows down on it with a thunk as he places himself nearly nose to nose with Petrel, and breaths in his face. Then he laughs.

“Maybe the mints are for your visitors. I could use one,” because the smell of alcohol is strong on his breath. Archer isn’t a man of regrets, but he’s got an inkling of what’s coming. One drink isn’t enough to leave him drunk, of course, but every bit of alcohol seems to add to the emptiness in him.

It’s almost funny, since most get relaxed and happy as they drink, but Archer goes the other way. Always has. He drank with Rocket once, at a celebration of a major accomplishment. If anyone remembers, they haven’t spoken to him about it since. Perhaps the foul mood it put him in is best left to history.

“as I assume you don’t drink these because you enjoy the smell.” Like all alcohol, there’s that bitter, boozy current to it, and Archer really would like a mint right about now.

[errantcriminal]

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Mourning the loss of his drink, Petrel splayed his hands on the table top, running a thumb through the condensation gathered in concentric rings. But while his hands fidget idly his eyes are glue to the other Rocket, really curious to how deep this rabbit hole went. They could continue to play in this dingy bar, across the stained table, indefinitely. Dancing around each other. Petrel could do that, he was quite happy to poke the whole experience with a long stick and sit back to watch how things panned out. But would Archer let it drop once they left? Because Petrel was used to playing faces- a face for his grunts, a face for dicing, a face for dirty bar rooms. And then he could walk away, leaving the façade behind and everything would be as if it never had been.

But could Archer? And did Petrel want him to? When Archer came forward across the table he didn't shift, he perhaps may have leaned a little closer himself, unconsciously mimicking Archer. And really they were breathing the same air now. It smelled like booze, tasted like smoke. A heady combination.

"Alcohol not to your liking, Archer?" He murmured, teasing, pouting a little. And suddenly an idea, forming almost as a physical manifestation on his face- lighting his eyes up, transforming his face into one of epiphany. Fingers deftly sought at a pocked just inside the breast of his jacket, fishing around. Ah- there. A neatly wrapped peppermint. He pulled it out and held it just under Archer's nose.

"Say please." His tone was honey, was bitter tea, it bit with teasing in sweet tones. It was perhaps a little daring, a little come on. Come on Archer, say please for me.

[/style]

[archer]

Where this was going, he didn’t know, but alcohol wasn’t a wise thing to throw into the mix. And suddenly, there was a mint under his nose, though he could barely smell it through the wrapper.

“What sort of Rocket says please?” he mocks. There’s a bit of genuine tension to his tone, beneath the teasing. There’s something welling in him that he can’t quite place, it’s almost like heat but not quite, and he’s certain the alcohol is to blame. Impatience roars through him, and he’s not sure if what he wants is the mint or Petrel himself, but he grabs for Petrel’s hand anyway. He doesn’t even intend to eat the mint at this point, but to smash it against the table. But Petrel’s too quick for him, and Archer’s unable to get it from his grip.

He abandons the idea only momentarily, to reach in his pocket for his wallet. It’s strange to have to pay for things, now that he’s back in Rocket, with a corporate credit card. But he does it, throws down the cash to cover their drinks, and stands. Perhaps the air outside will help calm whatever’s arisen in him.

[errantcriminal]

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So the jig was up and Archer was done with their little game- or so Petrel perceived. He half regretted not letting Archer just have the mint if it meant prolonging their little tête-à-tête. But all good things must come to an end, he supposed. Petrel stood a little slower, offering the waitress a wan smile. Was she really still staring at them? He chuckled a little and gave her a cheeky wave before following Archer out of the pub.

The day had gotten little past noon outside, and the scene hadn't changed. Still the same unsavoury types sulking about. A cool breeze buffets Petrel's purple hair, and he smooths it down almost unconsciously. The other hand toys with the mint, and after a split decision unfurls the wrapper and pops it into his own mouth. And he grins at Archer the whole time he does so, because he knows its a jerk thing to do, and he knows it'll irk Archer. So maybe the alcohol has made him a little bit bold.

"I would thank you for the drink.. but you drank most of it." He prods a little, grinning good naturedly and sidling up to the other man. "Where to, boss?" Petrel's eyebrows raise, and he's standing close enough that Archer can probably smell the peppermint on his tongue.

[/style]

[archer]

His mood didn’t evaporate with the outside air, nor with Petrel’s comment. He’d actually intended to treat his fellow executive, but this hadn’t been much of a treat, had it? Still, he could still turn it around. Of course, his feelings twisted as Petrel popped the mint in his own mouth, reminding him again of why he’d taken Petrel’s drink. He regretted that he hadn’t been faster in snatching the mint, too.

“You’ll have to wait until you have your office set up,” it’s not an apology, but Archer doesn’t fail to reward those who work for him. Eventually. And that, he wants Petrel to keep in mind.

Rather than tell Petrel where they’d headed, he reaches for his arm, to guide him. They can continue their talk somewhere private, somewhere they can have a clearer discussion without worrying about who overhears. He’s got a small safehouse down the road that will do nicely.