Furthest thing from an expert in this field - in anything medical, really, but he’s up and talking, making jokes if anything. The bleeding doesn’t seem too active either, nothing overly concerning. She’s high enough for her brain to immediately take flight, set at a running pace to match his tone - at least the version of his tone that she’s hearing in her mind, everything so exaggerated she might’ve assumed they’d stepped into a Looney Tunes segment, “Didn’t take anything but your dignity, right?” she corrected, teasing, suddenly hopping back, hand dropping from his face so she could hold both of hers in fists - fighting stance completely off, wobbling with it, but to Lara she figured she actually came across as genuinely tough, “Alright, tough guy, gimme your best shot. I can take ya down, guaranteed - I knocked out this girl’s tooth in 8th grade. It was, like, my proudest moment. What she gets for being a total cunt though. Were you a bully in school? I feel like you were the super quiet but cool kid - like, no one messed with you but you weren’t popular. And you actually stood up for the bullied kids. I have the sight, Adam, you can be all grumpy whenever you want, but I see your big loving heart right there,” Dropping her stance to poke gently at his chest - more so the center than where his actual heart would be, though she had meant to aim for the left. It feels like she’s won something, when he accepts her offer for vodka - her entire core goes warm with it, smile widening more if possible. It takes up so much of her face her eyes are all but swallowed by it, vision blurring until she forces herself into a more neutral expression - pursed lips, doing a terrible job of hiding how pleased she is, maybe even giving her away more than before. Rolling up comically long sleeves clumsily, she reaches into a pocket inside the denim to tug out a full flask - a bonus gift that came with the jacket she’d stolen. Semantics, “It’s watermelon flavoured. Not too fruity for ya is it?” Taking a generous swig herself, mouth pinching at the taste, before holding it out to him. While he’s still clutching the flask, Lara does a full 360 - gathering her bearings, after being distracted on an attempted walk home - before taking off in the direction of her place, “Alright, c’mon,” she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll clean ya up at my place, better booze there. My mama’s gone on a business trip, she won’t even notice. Did you know she’s taking 3 weeks off for my birthday? ‘Cause it’s my 23rd - champagne birthday,” Rambling a mile a minute the way she did, spinning on her heel to face Adam, beginning to walk backwards - brows rising expectantly, “You coming? Can’t walk around looking like that, Adam - you’re still pretty but it’s, like, illegal. I’m officially declaring it’s illegal now. I’ll get you an Uber after, my rating is excellent.”
GETTING LOWKEY ROASTED BY a tiny lady on a fuck-load of drugs is not something he thought he’d have to put up with tonight, but.. there they are. sure, sweetie, just kick him while he’s already on the ground, on the knees, ripping his jeans while crawling through piles of metaphorical cow shit. dignity. pff, what dignity? vaguely remembers trading it for crack behind one of these containers for used clothing, around ten years ago. “right.” replies with a nod, brows lifting slightly, indications of amusement behind naturally sullen eyes. “thanks, lara.” but of course, no actual offense taken. watches as she goes from floaty seventh realm type of ghost person to a mortal kombat character, a lighthearted, though barely audible huff making it past his lips. “nah, you’d fuckin’ kick my ass. my wrist's ‘bout to snap off, man- ‘m practically on the death bed.” nonchalantly admits defeat before they can even get started. though, it’s not as if he was actually gonna engage in battle with a person significantly smaller than him. realistically speaking, he could probably judo flip her right there, even despite the current conditions, but... it wouldn’t be a fair fight. and, it wouldn’t be a fun fight, either, because at the end of the day, he genuinely doesn’t mind lara- even if half the time he feels like he can barely keep up with her. it’s as if she’s the lively person going for a morning jog, and he’s just now on the way home after having drunkenly napped in a dumpster, pantless, with yoghurt in his ears and rats hanging on his socks. listens to her rambling, making assumptions about him right to his face, painting an image that couldn’t be any further from the truth. cool? he was never. however, like the awkwardly mysterious sack of shit he is, he doesn’t neither confirm, nor deny. instead, appears mildly confused, trying to process the words enough to figure out which part to address first. eventually, decides on none, instead taking his shot at a casually blunt joke. “yep- no, man, i was such a fuckin’ bully. yeah, j’st fuckin’- bullied everyone. kids hated me. went to juvie twice.” remains deadpan, even when a dainty finger pokes at his chest, respectfully gentle, seemingly aware that anything above 76% force would cause a brief, dull ache somewhere within. her beaming smile, while probably considered infectious in the eyes of people who don’t have a hard time genuinely expressing their emotions, happens to be about enough for his own expression to soften up a bit. all he did was agreeing to some booze, and she’s grinning as if the universe is worth a while. it takes balls to be so openly joyful, even when on drugs. “like your jacket.” notes, matter-of-factly, deciding there’s something mildly pleasant about the way the whole piece kind of just hangs on her body, few sizes too large. watches her take a gulp of the liquor, briefly wondering how much of it she’s had combined with the pills before a crimson-stained hand reaches for the flask. “t’s fine.” decides. watermelons are chill. “‘s long as it’s not fuckin’ grapes, man. what a pile of shit. grape flavor.” mocks. “hate that crap. tastes fuckin’ nothin’ like grapes. the guy who made it must’ve suffered several brain injuries at a young age to think that’s what an actual fuckin’ fruit tastes like.” goes off, suddenly appearing... passionate about artificial flavoring in various food products? perhaps he’s the one suffering several brain injuries. stops himself from going any further by taking a swing from the now blood-stained flask, the harsh liquid coming in direct contact with the busted bottom lip before hitting the back of his throat, causing the briefest of grimaces to sprawl across rough features. swallows thickly, clearing his throat before handing the booze back, lips now pressing into a thin line, forming some kind of a half-grateful smile. expects this to be it. it’s where they casually part ways, with her prancing off to explore whatever wonders irving has got to offer before 6 am on a sunday and him withering on some bench behind the swimming pool. so, when she starts to walk off, he doesn’t even think about following, hands returning into the depths of his pockets, feet glued to the pavement until she’s calling out to him again. “what?” huffs, as the last thing he wants is to actually be a burden to this girl, but the more he just stands there like a moron, the further she walks, and the less he can hear whatever she’s rambling about. so, he finds himself awkwardly tagging along, figuring that even if he’ll end up refusing the offer by the time they get there, he can at least make sure she concludes the night at home, in one piece. “23rd?” repeats, brows furrowing. “oh shit. okay, yeah, uhh, you’re fuckin’- older than i thought, dude. good job.” genuinely believed she was around nineteen, so... it’s certainly bit of a relief to discover she’s not, in fact, an infant. scoffs when she refers to him as pretty, as if receiving compliments was a sin, a crime and a bother, but does however try and pick up the pace, not wanting to be the token grandpa character who’s slowing everyone down. “illegal.” repeats with an amused huff, because... actually, it probably is. “sure, ms. mayor. i’ma keep that in mind.” salutes before using one finger of that hand to sternly point in her direction. “careful, by the way.” warns, blunt, though far from menacing. “with that whole fuckin’ walkin’ backwards business, yeah?” she is high, after all. “don’t want ya’ eatin’ shit on the sidewalk.”
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