put away my early grave

Locke

Let me go on

It's quiet. Weirdly so. An aftermath of the lockdown and people smarter than he is being afraid of the enforcers. He keeps his hands tucked into is pockets, head down, watching the neon lights reflect off the water he's walking through. Locke doesn't have anywhere specific in mind, but he can't stand being cooped up in his tiny ass apartment. Maybe he'll find himself in a bar. Some are still open, behind their closed signs and dimmed lights. The cigarette between his lips goes out for the tenth time since he lit it and he groans. He flicks it into the water, watching it spin lazily away from him. He wants to scream. He doesn't.

Hand threaded through annoyingly damp hair as he stops. What to do, what to do? The neon signs before him are recognizable, familiar, but in no way comforting. That bar is probably open but does he really want to drink? He looks from one alley to another and sighs. Nothing. Fucking lockdowns. Fucking riots or whatever the fuck. Idiots. Annoyance, boredom, it all bubbles up as anger and he kicks at the water, sending an arc of grimy water flying.

But then, a noise, to his left. Something down one of those ominously quiet alleys. Something interesting. His hand slips into his pocket, wrapping around the little switchblade he keeps. For defense, of course. Slowly, he makes his way towards the sound, around the corner, and. Oh.

He knows that guy.

"The fuck you doing out here so late?"

Like I blister in the sun

climbing the ladder, faster and faster
impending disaster goes faster, and—

He has been having a night. There aren't many people Nate would be willing to put his ass on the line for, but one of the few who had earned his hand had needed a favour, late night delivery after an absent mind had left a refill too long.

Bitch of it means he's left in the rain hiding from the enforcers in an alley, nursing the damp end of a smoke and a lighter almost as dead as the alleys are. His flame clicks alive just as steps sound at the mouth of the alley, dragging sharp eyes up as his cheeks hollow.

He knows this guy.

Smoke sighs out the corner of his mouth as a shoulder rolls, Nate rolling his eyes up and away, glancing down the other end of the alley. "Could ask you the same thing." He counters, tipping his chin back towards the other - Lukan? - and shaking the bag slung across his shoulder, dark strap even more obvious against the loud red of his jacket.

"I'm working." A dark brow lifts, Nate silently returning the question, expecting an answer in return for his.

NATE

Locke

Let me go on

Oh, someone's in a mood.

Locke shrugs though, trying not to let the other's mood get to him. "Just out for a stroll." Because this is strolling weather, clearly. He's about to step closer when he hears something behind him, in the distance. A bang and then a scream. He scowls, clicking his tongue. "Should find somewhere else to be. Forcies probably gonna be out looking for whoever that was."

The alley does look a lot more enticing now. He shrugs the pinprickly feeling off and leans against the slick wall across from Nate. "Been meaning to find you recently. With the lockdown, s'little harder to find work." He mostly does smuggling, sometimes a little stealing but there's not much coming into the city or out.

Like I blister in the sun

climbing the ladder, faster and faster
impending disaster goes faster, and—

Shots in the distance bite off Nate’s sarcastic reply, his brows twisting in annoyance rather than the concern the sound should likely inspire. “You got a place in mind?” Regardless of the answer Nate turns and starts deeper down the alley, putting distance between them and the shots.

“You’re lookin’ for work from me?” Nate huffs a laugh over his shoulder, his gruffness gone in a turn. “Guess I could always use someone at the front desk.” It’s as much a genuine offer as it is a teasing jab, Nate ducking into a doorway to take a break from the drizzle.

A smoke finds it’s way between his lips, the acrid smoke carrying a faint fishy scent, the same smell that permeates anything that spends its life in the water. “Business isn’t good right now?”

NATE

Locke

Let me go on

Locke gives one last look towards the direction of the scream again and kind of shrugs. "Was mostly out to avoid bein' home. Was thinking of finding a bar maybe, or a club, or someone else's bed." He keeps telling himself he's just laying low, just keeping his head down. But he mostly feels aimless. Kind of in limbo.

"Kinda jus' lookin' for work. Not much coming in or out of the city and all of that." Another dismissive hand wave as he slinks past the taller man. He tilts his head, gesturing towards a bar that is clearly closed. "Here, let's play some cards. If you win, I'll play customer service for you. If I win, you give me.. somethin' good." Locke is typically a connoisseur of the cheap and easy to get a hold of.

"Yeah. Everyone's still too panicky to really step out of line." He pushes the door of the bar open, smokey haze drifting into the cool night air as he gives Nate a playful bow. "For now, that is. Can't imagine they're going to lay low for long."

Like I blister in the sun

climbing the ladder, faster and faster
impending disaster goes faster, and—

“Shit man, you don’t know whether you’re comin’ or goin’, eh?” Nate means to say it as a joke, something he can accompany with a wink and an elbow, but well… it hits too close to home. Times like this, who has any idea what to actually do?

Turning on one foot to watch the other man pass, Nate makes a show off considering the bar, the deal Locke offers. “I’m not opposed to a hand or two, but both of those options sound like things for you.” It’s his turn to step past the other, breathing in the smoky air and glancing around, eyes settling on a table that he leads them towards.

Two lazy fingers are held out towards the bartender before Nate focuses on his opponent for the night. “Nothing ever really stops for long. Especially not business.” A long way of saying it’s nothing either of them should worry about, even as it squeezes their pockets.

NATE

Locke

Let me go on

"S'part of the fun." He says it with far more confidence than he feels about it. Something that has always irked him, tugged at the back of his brain. He licks his lips as he slides into his seat. He rests his chin on his hand, hazel eyes drifting from Nate to the other patrons. No one catches his attention so he returns it to Nate.

He clicks his tongue at the teasing remark, "Awe, c'mon. I can dress up like a nurse." A beat and he pulls out a cigarette, "Or your welcome to make your own wager. I'm sure you have to want something." Locke doesn't have a lot of money but he does have.. Whatever it is that he has. Moxy? Yeah. We'll go with that. "You got a light?"

The bartender interrupts his next train of thought and he makes a mental note to tuck it away. "Just a beer. Whatever's cheap." No point in wasting money on something that's gonna taste like piss either way.

Like I blister in the sun

climbing the ladder, faster and faster
impending disaster goes faster, and—

“You do know how to sell it, don’t you?” Fingers tap the table, a quick beat as Nate thinks, his tongue dipping out between his lips shallowly. “Maybe I’ll just pocket the favour.” He suggests lightly, eyes sliding across to the other man from beneath dark brows. 

Instead of answering the question Nate simply fishes out his own case of smokes, lighting his own before holding the lit lighter out towards Locke. “Double it.” He directs towards the bartender casually, smoke drifting out of his nostrils.

“What’re we playing?” The cigarette leaves Nate’s lips to flick against the overfull ashtray on the table, expectant blue eyes locking on the other.

NATE