extent | duplicitynet

What sort of hallucinations?

( curiouser and curiouser. sometimes tate just says these things like they mean nothing at all, and nick thinks he could fill a book with them and still not find enough to satisfy his interest. there's just a lot going on under the surface, and the more he knows the more he wants to uncover, understand.

in fairness, he doesn't often meet ghosts that died in the nineties – but then also, nick was already like this before that little piece of information landed. )

You died before I was born, that's weird. Five years. Did I tell you it's my birthday soon?

( a fascinating topic, probably, but not nearly so interesting as the pink powder he'd previously indicated. he taps some out, plays with lining it up by the edge of the baggie, and then pauses to slide a new colour over to tate. )

That one's supposed to be to come down, so it'd probably work if you took too much. I guess?

( probably. maybe. i guess. he doesn't sound very confident for someone who's already bending over to snort the line off of a questionably clear table at best. )

How soon is soon?

[So Tate knows when to send those birthday wishes; he smiles in a way that doesn't meet his eyes though, when thinking about what to divulge about the hallucinations that plague him even after death. He occupies his hands with the baggie in front of him, spreading out a line for himself but taking his time in setting it up. It lets him have time to figure out how to answer.]

I see shit sometimes - when I'm stressed out, mostly. It's like seeing shadows on the peripherals of your vision type deal. Things that aren't there, when it's really bad. Only heard things a few times, but I'm getting better at ignoring it.

[Tate's eyes are downcast when he speaks, and he doesn't look up immediately. Much rather, he does his line of mysterious powder - rubbing at his nostril afterward, even when there's no burn. It doesn't feel like he's snorted anything without it, so it makes him immediately doubtful. So he waits for the buzz to hit, but sprinkles out another line just incase. He should probably be more reserved about his mental health. Save it for the therapist's chair.]

You think I'm weird yet?

It's the 27th, best get me something nice.

( by virtue of being a drug designed both by and for nick, it's quickly effective. there's a quick and immediate rush that makes him blink a few times, tapping a finger as he waits for it to settle. the moment is pretty obvious, mostly because nick more or less immediately props his chin up with his elbow and a lazy grin much more becoming of nick.

he's not entirely expecting to get an answer about the hallucinations, but once he does he's glad for it. he taps his other finger over the table lightly, crossing the space until he can poke the tip of his fingers a few times on top of tate's hand. )

If you're weird, so am I. Do you think I'm weird?

( maybe. maybe tate has a little more of those ...oddities than nick does, some of the time, but he's lumping himself in the category anyway. he pinches the back of tate's hand, looking with a quiet tilt of his head and wondering if it would be reasonable to demand every thing that tate has ever thought about nick. )

I told you, I think you're interesting. I want to know everything about you. Is that weird?

Edited (words?) 2021-03-22 06:53 (UTC)

I don't think you want to know everything.

[Tate answers honestly, remembering a brief moment when the talk of stabbing someone had to be backpeddled as not to put off an impression Tate couldn't take back. Nick's understanding, he's - not afraid of what Tate is but if he knew the depths of the truth of who Tate really is? He might not still think of him as a fascination. He just might turn the other cheek and want nothing to do with him at all, and Tate doesn't want that. He can't have that. Not here, not from people he's come to like.

He's made a note of Nick's birthday but it's not like it's going to be a time where he expects celebration to be center stage. Will Nick still need some time to himself, then? Still, Tate'll check in on the day. Hopefully find something worth giving to him. Might stress him out for the better half of the week, trying to figure out what kinds of things witches like. Real ones, not the stereotypical ones.

Tate's lining up more powder, taking a moment to loll his head to the side and close his eyes. He feels it, thank God, a sweet buzz in his head that feel a little too good to be true. He's eager for more, so after a long few seconds he's bowing his head again and taking another hit. Probably should've asked more questions about this shit, but hey. They're saying fuck you to convention and logic.]

But I like that, though. Knowing someone intimately.

[A certain romance he appreciates, even though that doesn't apply here. But the toxic, neediness and overly indulgent desire to know everything about someone? That's what he idealizes as romance but really is something darker and much more selfish. Tate wipes his nose again, wishes he had gotten a drink before sitting down.]

I think I probably do.

( it's all very conversational, for a talk about a habit that neither of them should probably be entertaining. but then it's probably a little late for that — it was probably a little late right around the moment where he managed to convince himself that stabbing tate was a good idea.

( it had been a good idea, he stands by that, but there's no denying that the whole thing was perhaps a little too intense )

he trades out for something new, this bag filled with brightly coloured crystalline structures that look an awful lot like rock candy. it leaves the impression of something sweet in the mouth too, even if nick can't quite get the taste to linger. )

I don't usually, but...you're lucky, I suppose. ( if that's the word for it. the idea of knowing and being known never settles comfortably with nick, but it's also pretty easy to ignore the knee jerk need to bolt the second tate looks away.

...the sex and drugs has probably helped a lot with that, actually. ) Don't overdose, I haven't renewed my CPR cert.

Takes a lot more than this to kill me.

[Tate's feeling more relaxed now, now that Nick's aware of who - and what - he is, and what that means. He can drop the layer of filtering he usually does around people who don't know he's dead, and be drier with his humor. Let it stoop to darker places without blinking. He's always been a morbid kind of kid, but that's nothing to be afraid of admitting here. In time he'll even admit more of his... interesting side habits, too. Squeak squeak.

He looks at the 'rock candy' and arches a brow, silently imploring Nick to explain it but also breathing in deep and steady when he feels a warm pull of endorphins surge through his skull. He's happier now, shoulders slumped and a half-smile on his lips.]

What do you want to drink? I'll grab it.

Good thing too, I could be in prison right now. Killing a Dominant, scandal.

( it's all fun and games of course, because there was no lasting damage. tate's wounds practically disappeared before his eyes. nick's crept away a little slower but they're definitely all gone by now. it's a funny joke only because nick stabbed tate in the side and he's still sitting across from him, no worse off for it.

as he shakes a couple of the candy looking things out onto his tongue he considers the merits of making them crackle like pop rocks, but he expects he won't remember the thought come morning anyway. it's not particularly exciting, something designed to drag out the peaks of these highs and keep them going longer, but he slides the baggie over to tate without explanation all the same. another trust exercise, maybe. he really should stop this, but the rush is sweet and high is getting quickly tangled with the rush of all these weird little games. )

Something that embarrasses you to order, I don't care what.

( there's no need for it at all, except for that the idea makes nick grin wider, clearly and easily amused. )

I'm not going to get embarrassed ordering you a drink.

[Tate says with cocky confidence, swiping his hand to take the offered baggie as he pushes to stand up. He's going to swipe it away with him when he heads off to the bar, disappearing from sight with an eye roll. If he was ordering for himself, well - maybe there'd be some embarrassment in choosing a particular drink rather than the beer and shots he's used to but. Well, when he can pin it on Nick it's not the worst thing.

He comes back around with a beer for himself, bottle held by the neck and a frosted glass with strawberry lemonade and vodka; a skewered piece of pineapple and cherry stuck to the rim. He slides that toward Nick and then sits back down - whether he took some of the candy or not, he's not forking back over the baggie. Instead, he's just carrying on through.]

So.

[He's prompting Nick for something, anything, because what do they talk about if not that or any reference to it? Tate's sipping his beer like it'll give him a long enough period of time to think of something else.]

What d'you wanna do next?

( nick grins, apparently very pleased with the drink choice. he doesn't particularly care one way or another for fruity, sugary drinks, but he cares an awful lot about issuing challenges and having them taken up. or, probably more accurately, making demands and having them being met.

he pulls the cherry off with his teeth, pointing the skewer in tate's direction and buying himself a moment of his own as he works over a response. all he wants to do is keep drinking and taking things until it no longer feels like a good idea, but it's hardly all that interesting to anyone that isn't nick.

his leg flicks out to kick idly at tate's shoe under the table, and he then he hooks his foot around tate's ankle as he takes a sip of the drink before he answers. )

You don't strike me as a big dancer, so. ( he ticks off the options on his fingers as he speaks, prodding the end of the skewer into his fingertip idly as he rattles them off. ) One, games? I suck at pool but I like the drama of it. Two, find somewhere with music or something to listen to. Three, blow this joint and find somewhere quiet to hook up.

( is it a test? not really, but also sort of. there's no wrong answer, exactly, but nick's head tilts a little as he watches tate. for all his insistence of not talking about it, nick is pretty well consumed with the need to know exactly how people's perceptions of him have changed. )

Wow.

[Tate feigns a look of hurt when Nick implies he's not into dancing. He's not big on it, maybe, the way other people seek out clubs to dance for the fun of it. For him he won't pass it up if it comes to pass, but he won't exactly be the one seeking out the dancefloor, it's true. He feels Nick's foot tug on his and it makes his stomach do a little flip of anticipation, prompting him to lean forward with his elbows on the table. He reaches for Nick's wrist, tugging it and the skewer closer; tipping his head to bite at and pull off the piece of pineapple. Then he leans back, chewing and raising his brows to show he's still thinking of his response.

Pool's an alright way to go about wasting some time. Tate's not sure he's going to be any good at it with a buzz between his ears but it's nothing he'd run from. Music though? That sings to his heart, where as the idea of disappearing for a hook up speaks directly to his dick. He smiles, a bit crooked, and then decides to narrow the options.]

I'd miss every shot, but - raincheck on pool? I'll hustle you another day.

[Tate taps his fingers against the glass bottle he's alternating sips out of.]

But we could hit two birds with one stone with those last two. Find some music, feel good and then - well, feel better. You up for that?

I think I could beat you.

( nick absolutely could not beat anyone at a game of pool, but he says it confidently anyway. if it's a test, which it's not, but if it was, it seems like tate has passed. he grins, visibly pleased, and jabs the skewer down into the table. it only sticks enough to stand up for a moment, but by the time it falls nick has gone back to his drink anyway. )

Anyone ever tell you that you're full of great ideas?

( it's not really a drink designed to be necked but nick is working through it reasonably quickly anyway, thumbing a drop off the corner of his mouth. for all the appeal a dirty hole of a bar has for various reasons, tate's suggestion has much more appeal. he sweeps together the pills and powders into one pile that gets nudged in tate's direction — it's not like nick brought a bag — and then he gestures a couple of wiggling fingers towards the beer. )

Drink up. If you finish first I'll get the next round.

( and nick is a dirty little cheat, because that's all the warning that tate gets before nick lifts his glass to tip the drink down his throat. )

Hey.

[Tate catches the way Nick's off to the races so far as drinks go, and he tips back his bottle to join him. He's not very graceful or talented at gulping back beer, so likely not about to finish in time. Not that he expected to, Nick's someone he thinks can throw it back without regard. He sets down his beer in mock surrender with a small amount at the bottom and wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. Then he turns to start sweeping their collection of good vibe materials into his bag off the edge of the table.]

Alright, alright. C'mon.

[There's music to be found and fucking to be had. He gets to his feet and strings his bag over one shoulder, chuckling lightly as he feels his buzz really settle in. He then half-holds his hand out to Nick to beckon him to get up quicker, tugging him toward him in the process.]

( nick has never been particularly competitive, but he likes this. small victories, little personal meaningless wins that give him the opportunity for a brief, smug smile as he tips the empty glass above the table. it passes quickly, and then he quickly reaches out to snag hold of tate's hand.

he only really stumbles slightly as he gets up because he does it so quickly, but it still makes him snigger. the two of them make a right pair, nick takes a moment to examine tate's face – his eyes, really, just curious to see if it comes with blown pupils, wondering if he's blinking back with the same look. )

Do you know anywhere, or do we just keep our ears open until something calls?

( nick, it seems, doesn't actually plan on letting go of tate's hand any time soon, because he still has it wrapped up tight in his own as he sidesteps away from the table. )

[Tate's eyes are always so dark it's hard enough to tell where his iris stops and his pupil begins; but his eyes are quite dilated indeed as he stares back at Nick almost expectant of something when their eyes lock. He gravitates toward Nick subconsciously, staying tethered by touch and the way his eyes are still hooked into him - hand wanting to reach up to touch his face but his brain nixing the motion because he's not gone enough yet to give in.

He doesn't have a particular place to go, especially in the Down, but there are some old haunts. He has to think, and so with a shrug of his backpack strap higher up his shoulder he pulls on Nick to lead him out of the bar. The smell of smoke and bad decisions only dissipates slightly in the cool outside air, but he's already tugging him toward an alley.]

I know a place that's kind of cool. Might be good for both, just... yeah, follow me.

[Alleys and small crowded roads are the way he pulls Nick along, clubs pounding music in the distance with little pockets of intense sound when they head past doors that opens to release drunken subs and doms into the streets. Then they close again and mute it all away, hushing them like a secret. The farther into the more industrial zone of the Down they go, the wilder the music but the sparser the lights. Tate gestures to one decrepit looking warehouse, nudging a board away from a window.]

Just a little breaking and entering. You in?

( nick goes along quite willingly as they walk down the streets — beyond the fact that it's a pain to actually get anywhere, because he's easily distracted at the best of times. especially now that he's got something good running through his system and someone who seems vaguely competent at leading them through this.

by the time they get to the warehouse nick is mellowing slightly, which is not ideal but not pressing either. he squints at the window for a moment, sizing up the place a bit, and then turns to cast a glance around them too. as if he expects cops to be rolling up behind them already. )

Obviously I'm in.

( nick is more of a rule follower than he'd probably like to admit, honestly, that much isn't all that hard to tell. but he hasn't come this far to back out now. he walks up close again, stood next to tate with a little thrill in his eyes like a spark of promised danger. it's the ring and the knife all over again, really. )

So how do we get in, window?

( god he hopes so, because nick doesn't know shit about breaking into a place, but he does think smashing in a window will be very fun. if tate says yes, he's going to go for it, right away. )

Yeah, I mean - there's some loose panes around but...

[Quickest way in is what you make it, right? Tate has to really pry aside the plywood that was over one of the windows, letting it fall to the wayside to be either replaced later or wholly forgotten. He takes his bag off his shoulder to start rifling through it, finding the small silver flashlight he carries with him; holding it between his teeth as he re-zips the bag shut as not to lose any of their precious drug cargo.]

You want me to-

[He likes that Nick takes charge. He laughs, straight up, really fucking amused.]

Hell yeah, go at it.

( honestly, nick is a little surprised that he does it. one moment he's listening to tate talk, nodding and everything, and the next he's turning his face away and smashing an elbow through the glass. so. that happened.

he looks just as surprised as he feels when he turns back to tate, shaking off some of the tiny shards of glass on his sleeve before just unzipping the hoodie and peeling the whole thing off. he looks back at the window, briefly, until tate isn't the only one laughing. something bursts out of him, and nick slaps a hand over his mouth as his shoulders continue to shake. )

Did I do that?

You sure fucking did.

[But Tate's not going to say it wasn't the quickest solution. He does step closer though, reaching out to hook his fingers into the crook of Nick's elbow to pull it toward him just to look at it. You know, make sure the whole glass breaking thing didn't also break the skin. After a soft check of "you good?" he looks around to make sure the sound hasn't attracted any attention as he then moves to break a few jagged edges off the frame with a knock of his sideways fist.]

I'll boost you in first. Take this.

[The flashlight, of course.]

( it's a sweet little gesture, odd only because nick wasn't really expecting it to come. he twists his arm under tate's gaze, dutifully confirms that there aren't any injuries there, and then before he turns back to the window nick touches his cheek lightly. just a little press of his finger tips accompanied by a smile, and then he's back to the task at hand. )

Oh my God, I'm going to drop it.

( he says, very confidently, taking the flashlight and immediately shoving it into his front pocket. the balled up hoodie in his other hand quickly gets shoved over the window frame to sweep off any more glass, and when he's reasonably confident he won't slice his hands open, he grabs hold of the frame. )

Don't drop me.

( that said, he's reasonably confident he can get in, with only minor dismount issues most likely. the window isn't that high, and even intoxicated nick isn't especially uncoordinated. )

Just - don't fuck it up?

[Tate's playfully barking back, once they're in a position where he can help boost Nick up the rest of the way that'll help him get through the freshly shattered window. Glass crunches under the toes of his chucks and Tate makes a grunt as he helps haul Nick in, not as strong as a lot of other people in this city - it's not exactly an elegant or softly dropped hauling at all. But once Nick's inside, Tate's taking the cheap way in. He just sort of steps out of the shadows next to Nick, like the wall was a revolving door.]

Upstairs has a good view, and the club across the way's loud enough to give us some sound.

( nick is looking at the window waiting for tate — wondering if he's supposed to be helping in some way, actually — so naturally, it scares the shit out of him when tate just sort of appears. he curses loud enough for it to echo a little weirdly in the big empty space around them, and pulls out the flashlight, clicking it on while pointed at tate as if in retaliation. )

I don't think that's very fair.

( but then he got to smash a window, so maybe that's the win on its own. nick swings the flashlight around the space a little until he finds the stairs in question leading up, scuffs his feet a few times through the glass and dirt under his shoe before heading out into the warehouse. )

You've been here before then? How did you even find this place?

Did I scare ya?

[Tate asks with a grin, before lifting his hand to block away the beam of light as it enters his eyes. He swats at Nick a bit after that, laughing as he follows Nick up the stairs. He kicks a crumpled tin can off the steps as he goes up them, watching the graffiti on the walls light up when the flashlight catches them and half wishes he thought to bring some paint in his bag for occasions like this. Well, there'll be more vandalizing opportunities in the future.]

Before I was in a contract, back when I was just a sub... I hadn't found any good places to be alone. This was one of the buildings that I could hang out in to pass some time when I didn't want to be stuck in the government's chosen holes.

[On the upper landing, there's a long stretch of windows and a loft-like overhang that gazes down on decrepit machinery and empty space below. Along the walls are signs of other people's past visits - clothes, a dusty mattress and a few spent condoms in the far corners. It's not exactly sparkling fresh but hey, it's got privacy and the heavy hum and beat of the adjacent club's base.]

Kinda cool, right?

[... Right? His expression shows he knows it might be up for debate.]

You were a sub before? I didn't know they let people change.

( that's not actually something nick knew was even possible. it had seemed like everything around here was all about rigid rules, little flexibility. a change like that happening in this place, it just doesn't make sense at all.

the warehouse is kind of cool, though. nosy to a fault, nick kicks his foot against what appears to be some kind of shirt, nudging it up until he can see if there's anything underneath it. )

No, I totally get it. I like this. I used to uh, go hang out on the roof a lot. No one really went up there, I could kind of just do whatever I wanted. It was good, when I needed breathing room.

( something makes him pause briefly in his poking around the space though, where he'd just picked up a cut open can and was inspecting the scorch marks on the underside. )

Do you have a contract now?

For my first year here, yeah. I was a sub. I don't know why it swapped me, but it swapped my then Dom at the time too. We got to keep our contract going, at least.

[Tate moves toward the ratty looking mattress that most people would avoid, and after kicking a blanket askew to make sure there aren't any spent needles under it - he collapses down on it, back against a cold brick wall. He raises his brows as if to invite Nick to join him in this luxury, and folds his legs under him, sitting forward with his hands resting on his crossed ankles and his elbows on his knees. His bag gets set in front of him, zipper pulled to part and re-reveal their stash.]

No.

[He answers, while rifling through the belongings again and keeping his head down.]

We had to break it off so he could sign with someone else for a bit. Guess you could say I'm between contracts right now.

That's weird. Right? That seems weird.

( he approaches the mattress with only a little hesitation though, pushing his foot down on the corner a few times as if testing it before sitting down, surprisingly neatly for someone who also might not be able to confidently recite the ABC's at this very minute. nick shifts until he's turned towards tate and the bag, one knee pulled up to his chest and the other leg stretched out in front of him.

there's plenty of options in here that belong to nick, but he just sticks his hand into the bag and feels around blindly until he comes across something small and solid. pills, that definitely aren't his, and he holds them up with a mildly questioning look. he's not just going to take...except for the part where he more or less is. at least there's the illusion of asking permission, first. )

Huh. Well, if you don't find anything... ( he shrugs, reaching out to snag one of tate's hand and twist it until it's facing palm up. ) ...let me know. Here.

( even if the math would work in their favour, nick couldn't figure it out right now anyway. besides, more important is shaking out a couple of pills onto tate's palm and sticking his tongue out at the same time, eyebrows raising in amusement. )

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