eisoptrxphobiic:
{ ☢ } Lewis seems to miss Paxton’s first sentiment, nodding clumsily as he attempts to get up. The first try is an abject failure and he lands back on the seat. The second is a little smoother and, aside from an intense lean to the left and then the right, finds his equilibrium again. He wanders in an aimless zig-zag into his kitchen, heading towards his fridge.
Something clatters audibly when he begins to rummage around, a glass bottle by the sounds of it as he searches for one of the three or four cans of coke he has lying around.
He returns on the same meandering, non-linear path, catching himself on a table as he passes it before dropping back into his seat. His left hand has a can of coke, the right the same nearly empty vodka bottle he’d been drinking from for the last two hours or so. He holds out the can to Paxton. “Here.” Paxton’s words take a moment to seep in, having to pierce the foggy haze of alcohol.
“None taken.” He tries for a smile, crooked and tired. “Was a stupid question anyway. I hated who I was then, too.” He shrugs himself, mirroring Paxton’s gesture. “Would you believe me if I told you that this was the, uh… Second attempt?” He gestured towards himself, a hint of disgust having seeped into his expression.
It’s replaced by confusion as he tries to remember the stranger’s name. “Sorry, I, uh, asked you in and didn’t get your name. I’m Ch-uh, no. Nope. Lewis. I’m Lewis.” He sets the bottle on the table and unscrews the cap.
Welp... Receiving the coke effectively derailed Paxton’s somewhat muddled considerations of blatant messy murder. Good hospitality and obligations had been skillfully drilled into his brain for eons. The Fallen teachers (assholes) hadn’t really meant for it to count for humans. But fuck them, they had all the racism of Hitler and Donald combined and the imagination of a half-dead pigeon.
Besides this guy was... Well you wouldn't go into a pet store and just start eating the three legged kitten would you?
The crack of the coke can was like a shot, the small things were the most grounding. No, he’d play nice. Drink the fizzy and enjoy a nice conversation about the unbridled uselessness of life.
“Call me Paxton. Pleasure to meet you Lewis.” A sip and an appreciative hum of thought. “Your second? That’s not too bad, considering you’re what? Twenty-something? People reinvent themselves all the time. What’s the point of being able to change if you can’t put on a new life costume every now and then?”
