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Dec 11, 2014

It’s not painfully unlike her to get drunk on a weekday — being on call was a mess of waiting (literally) for calls and making cold calls that were too boring for her to deal with. However, it is more or less unlike her to break into Aiden’s storage room for a second time.

How did she get back here, anyway? Not important. Girl’s like a raccoon, really.

Lying on the ground, resting upon her back, Santiago feeds Oreo after Oreo into her mouth — music blares from white headphones lodged in her ears, glossy eyes partially obscured by heavy lids.

God. There are crumbs on her neck. Great.

The shop is closed. The shop is closed, but sometimes Aiden likes to go there to get extra neon work done when he can't sleep. He has an order for a strip club sign that is due in a couple of weeks, so he supposes that he can get a start on that.

Except it's clear, due to the unlocked door, that someone's already been here. Shit. He goes behind the main counter and unlocks one of the draws, pulling out a pistol and slowly peering around. Nothing seems to be missing.

He hears something in the back room. Slowly, he steps up to the door -- peeks through the small crack.

... SIGHS.

He leans his head back for a moment against the wall and quickly puts his gun away, bursting into the room.

"--Maybe we should set up a 'breaking in' schedule or something..."

She really, completely and fully does not notice he comes in for a good five seconds. That is, until she’s shifting to brush the Oreo crumbs from her tits before she catches a glimpse of Aiden. Quickly enough, she’s tearing off her headphones with a slow grin forming on her mouth — she rests on her stomach, looking up towards him with glossy eyes.

“ — Hey. You know, we’re closed. “

Clearly, she either didn’t hear him or wasn’t listening. Probably both. Mostly the first one but she also probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway, especially not when she’s this hammered

Aiden squints at her, immediately realizing that something isn't quite right. Or just different, at least. A few steps closer and the smell hits him, bringing him back to the good old days (and many days spent with Cilla, though she leans more toward things that are even more dangerous for him to be around [cocaine]).

A breath. He kneels down.

"I should be the one telling you that," he says with a raised brow, peering at the Oreo packages. God. It's a little comical, he has to admit. He's smiling a bit.

"Shut up.”

She bites into her tongue, trying to fight that stupid smile that works over her mouth. Santiago is back to lying on her back, a little purr sounding as she stretches, gives her shoulders a roll, head canting by a fraction so dimmed eyes might peer up at him.

She can’t help but tentatively learn to embrace the budding sexuality that she knew — it was a flimsy thing, really. She can hardly get a grasp on it when she /isn’t/ wasted (same, same).

“Are you going to kick me out."

"I don't know if I'd be able to put a drunk minor out on the street with a good conscience. Unless she had a ride. How did you get here?"

That's what he always has to wonder. Does she walk? Where from? Is there a hidden vehicle she keeps somewhere? Does she get someone to drop her off? Does she take the bus? She just seems to magically appear, and he hasn't any idea how. Either way, whatever option it is, it's probably not safe for her to attempt to venture back into the world unless she does have a friend who is willing to pick her up at...

God, what time is it? Shouldn't she be asleep?

(Shouldn't he?)

“Mm. Someone dropped me off.”

Lalo was good for a few things — sorta-semi reliable when it isn’t 10 AM and he needs to be somewhere, she had been dropped off and could just as easily get picked up. Better than her driving, she guesses.

“If you do not want me, then send me out.”

It’s almost playful, the way she speaks — full lips curve into a little pout, dark eyes lift to regard him carefully.

What he should do:

- Help her up. - Call her friend. - Give her his jacket. - Send her home.

What he does:

- not that. Rather, he lets out a breath and finding himself not having the heart to make her leave anyway. Maybe he should be flattered that she came here wasted out of her mind. She takes comfort in his Oreos and finds it safe here.

"...You better clean up this mess when you do end up leaving--"

She seems to think about it for a second — really. To clean up after herself or to not clean up after herself? She tilts her head back, watching Aiden with a half smile upon her rosy mouth.

“No.”

There’s a trickle of laughter — a hand that reaches out blindly, fumbles for her purse till it tips and reveals a half-full bottle of tequila.

It’s snatched up, her eyes fall shut.

“I didn’t want to stay there. At the house. I don’t have any friends.”

"What do you mean 'no'? I--"

Oh, and out comes the alcohol. She's awfully hard to keep up with; he wonders if the strictness of her father matters at all or if she finds out her own way to do what she pleases. Or maybe she's moved out by now. He thinks that's what you're supposed to do.

"What house--? Huh?"

“It’s just a house. Bunch of junkies there. Houses. Lots of those — you know. All around …”

Safe houses that weren’t really safe, but relatively hidden within barrios and slums of the city. Her eyes raise, looking towards Aiden with a little laugh before she’s slowly sitting up, pushing back her hair and sitting criss-cross.

“Mm. But, yeah — it’s…good. Fine.”

Oh. Yeah. He knows those.

Apparently she has moved out of her father's house. It still doesn't sound like a good situation. He finds himself a little worried, the knee-jerk reaction being blinking really hard and considering telling her he has an extra room.

"Gotcha. Well, you can stay, then. But you do have to clean up the oreos later."

“Are you going to stay with me?”

Her gaze flickers — meeting Aiden’s.

Unscrewing the bottle of tequila, she’s quick to wrap her mouth around the rim, sucking down a burning gulp and soon setting the bottle on the floor. She rubs at her eyes, draws in a quivering breath.

“Fuck. I’m drunk. Stay.”

"What, are you kidding me? Leave the wild drunken baby with my Oreos, alone? Of course I'm staying."

He smiles and gives her a nudge, settling beside her on the floor and leaning back against the wall. He watches her for a moment, considers taking the bottle. Doesn't trust himself not to take a habitual drink out of said bottle if he does. Decides against it.

"And I have to make sure you don't throw up on my floor."

It’s too late — because she’s grabbing the bottle and pushing it towards him. Drinking had been normalized within her own household — functional alcoholism was something the Escobars lived off of, and everyone had their weaknesses. Her mother loved Martinis, her father loved mixed drinks — Santiago was still finding her niche. Tequila always does the job, though.

“Mm. Never thrown up on anything — ever. I’m good at holding my liquor. Drink.”

"Nah, I shouldn't."

He gives himself a gold star for saying no to someone who doesn't know the full story behind his addiction histories and is willing to give him a drink. A tiny victory.

"Hmm. You never know. It would be just my luck that the first time you get sick it's on my floor."

A brief cock of her head, but she doesn’t press the matter, staring down at the bottle for a brief moment before she’s resting back with a little sigh.

“Mm. No. I would feel guilty.”

Dark eyes lift, looking towards Aiden with a half smile.

“Like I said — I can hold my liquor. Trust me. I’m like, a pro.”

"You shouldn't be a pro."

He was a pro rather young, too. He'd get sick the next morning and wouldn't leave bed all day, but he was still considered a pro by his friends and the general community. Not a good thing.

But he won't rain on her parade unless he sees multiple causes for concern. It's her life, she makes her own choices. She's a big girl (sort of).

"Fine, fine. I'll believe you. Counting on it."

“Shut up.”

And there’s a brief giggle — she’s not taking it seriously, leaning into him and being quick to rest a full cheek against his shoulder. She fumbles, reaching blindly out for the pack of oreos before cradling the package to her breast and drawing out one. She bites down, nuzzles into his shoulder, sounds another laugh.

“Mhm. Yes. Count on me — I’m dependable .. smart, and beautiful. Everything you can trust in. Promise."

He peers at the girl leaning against him and laughs lightly, shaking his head. He wraps an arm around her and squeezes her shoulder lightly.

"You got it, then."

She's pretty adorable. He can't deny that she is ridiculously cute, even a drunken and ridiculous mess.

Lashes lower as she feels his arm wraps around narrow shoulders — quickly enough, she’s shifting, nudging leonine features into his chest as arms slip around his torso. Clinging onto the man with a little laugh, her eyes fall shut — he’s so warm, he’s so warm.

“Don’t you ever wonder how I break in … “

A pause. A small giggle.

“It is so easy."

Oh. He doesn't know what to do for a moment, feeling his heart start to melt all over the place like that one painting of the clocks by that one guy. He squeezes her shoulder again.

"How do you? I should know. So that I can fix whatever the security issue is."

“I’m not telling.”

She’s good at picking locks. She’s always been good at picking locks. Also, one of the windows in the store is slightly screwy with the lock — but she still keeps her secrets, features hidden against his chest, fingertips carefully brushing over his back with a sigh.

“What if you break in."

"Break into my own store? I'm the one with the keys, in case you forgot."

He leans his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a few moments before peering toward the girl again.

(Is this appropriate??? He can't tell. But she seems happy, so he'll leave it at that.)

(Is it??? She’s not THAT young. Well. Kind of. Whatever).

“No, I am …”

A pause. She can’t help but laugh, chest resting at his shoulder, features pressed against his neck. Her eyes remain shut — warmth courses through her, tongue heavy from the tequila.

“…I stole your keys once time. Out of the second drawer under the register … you didn’t even notice …"

"You stole my keys?"

He thought he was more aware of his surroundings than that. All the same, she must have put them back – because he hasn't missed them for a second.

"Hopefully that's proof of how good you are, and not how bad I am."

“Mm. Both.”

Dark eyes finally raise to look towards Aiden, arms releasing his torso only to curl into her own, small hands resting at his chest and glossy eyes watching him thoughtfully.

“Am I really good?”

"A good thief?"

Aiden peers at her with a raised brow, then registers the look in her eyes must mean she's asking a more broad question.

"In general? Yeah, you're good in general."

She falls silent, chews on his words for a few long moments before her gaze falls shut once more. She nuzzles at him, catlike in this state, threatening disposition long since diminished.

“How good."

Aiden wonders if she gets must positive reinforcement. Various hints have given him the idea that she may not. Things she's said, the way she looks at him very carefully when she asks (or demands) compliments, as though she's checking to see if he'd really do it or something.

"Pretty gosh darn good. Hella good. Damn good. Very good."

It’s seldom an issue regarding whether or not she gets positive reinforcement — it’s whether or not it registers within her. But she smiles at this, lifts her body by a fraction so her full mouth might ghost over his cheek. Unable to fight a well of giggles — she’s pressing her temple to his own, lowering her eyes.

“Hella. You sound so dumb.”

"We have established that I am very dumb."

She's kissing his cheek again. She must be really drunk — really, truly drunk. As if that wasn't clear already. He shifts a bit in place, eyes flickering.

"The dumbest."

“Yes. You are. Who even says that — hella.”

She is more or less pretty drunk. Lingering, her mouth grazes over the line of his jaw, a smile dissolving against his skin before a tumble of laughter escapes her.

“No no.. actually —don’t talk bad about yourself.."

He is very still. This must be dangerously skirting a line. He doesn't know which line, but it must be skirting a line. She is getting a bit intimate, and he doesn't want to get dumb in response to her intimacy.

"I live with great pride when it comes to my idiocy, thank you very much."

He draws back a bit and peers at her, poking her nose.

She blinks hard, mildly surprised by him drawing back — dark eyes watch him, clear skepticism glossed over her gaze before her nose scrunches. Lashes lower, fingertips brushing over his throat carefully.

“—…Then you are a huge idiot.”

There’s a small hum — fingers curling at his throat, grasping loosely.

"Very much so."

He doesn't do anything in response to her hands at his throat, other than letting his gaze flicker downward for a moment.

A small smile.

"Are you going to strangle me to death to claim the Oreo empire?"

“It’s already mine.”

Her brow furrows — palms slowly dig into his throat, clearly testing him, digits sinking into the flesh of his throat as dark eyes lift to meet his own.

“Are you scared. I bet I could kill you.”

"You probably could. Lots of people are very capable of killing me. The great thing is that they usually choose not to and kill somebody else instead."

He stays where he is, shoulders hunched slightly as his hands lay splayed on the ground, as though he's propping himself up despite the wall being right behind him.

"Imagine how boring breaking in would be if I weren't here to catch you."

“I have no one else to kill.”

That’s a lie—we’re sure someone will make themselves more than available soon enough. Digits curl further, forehead bumping against his own as dark eyes hold his.

They’re probably too close. Her eyes narrow.

“Imagine how boring your life would be if I were not here to break in.”

"Very boring."

He can only hold her eyes for a few moments before his gaze is directed downward. He shifts slightly, hands carefully placed on her shoulders.

Probably time to be a mature adult — she's too drunk to be escalating things with him.

"Santiago. What're you doing, exactly?"

“I don’t know.”

She blinks hard, grip slackening, full mouth quirking in deep thought as her hand brushes over her mouth.

“Should I stop."

"I think you might end up with a lot of regrets if you go further."

( BUT SHE'S SO HOT AND CUTE AND BEAUTIFUL, the stereotypical, douchey male inside him complains. )

Shut up, Responsible Adult Aiden Cassidy tells that part of himself.

“Hm. Really.”

Her brow furrows, head canting to the side as her hand moves to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Dark eyes watching him, her free hand resting at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Right. He didn't. He was just sort of hoping that she would come to a sober decision while drunk based on slight deflections.

"—…Yes. I think—I think stopping would be the smart thing to do in this particular situation."

He's biting his tongue. Jesus, it's like he hadn't even noticed all of this stuff about her until he was met with the temptation just now — the real extent of how gorgeous she is.

Okay, Cilla. One point for you. Hate you. Jinxed this.

Priscilla howling in the distance. She loves being right.

Lids lower — she bites into her bottom lip, fingertips ghosting over his jutting collarbone slowly, tentatively. It’s easy enough to be comfortable with him — especially when she’s this drunk, a slow smile forming over her mouth before large optics lift, meeting his own.

“Maybe.”

A thoughtful pause. Her palm digs into his chest.

“I’m not going to stop.”

"Santiago…"

Aiden has never been put in a position where he's had to say no to someone before. He's never had a sweet young girl who may or may not have a crush on him show up at his place of work drunk before. He's not exactly the person people crush on. That's Alo's job.

"Sober you is not going to look on this memory fondly. I promise you."

Her brow furrows -- a frown curves at her full mouth before she rolls her eyes, draws back a few fractions to openly snort.

"What is it with older people saying what I will and won't regret."

Because even if she's drunk, that doesn't mean she's given up her control -- and she's looking at him challengingly, waiting for an answer.

"If you do not want me to continue--*say* that. Tell me no."

"Drunk or sober, I'm not the person you wake up to the next morning and go, 'Yeah, that was a good decision.' But that's..."

Not the point. The point is that this is wrong, she's drunk, she's young, and taking advantage of that wouldn't be right.

Aiden sighs, then leans in and presses a small kiss to her cheek.

"No. Wanting doesn't have anything to do with it—but it wouldn't be good. Not now."

Her jaw sets--there's something stubborn in her that doesn't want to accept the answer anyway, something exceedingly childish that makes her unwilling to play along with this whole 'you're only 19, you shouldn't be doing this kinda shit' thing.

Yeah, she was only 19. And kissing a boy when she was drunk wasn't the worst thing she's ever done.

So she draws back--pushes thick hair from her face and gives a little nod of her head. She can't necessarily say she isn't wounded -- but she keeps her mouth shut anyway.

He wants so badly to make a bad decision right now, but he's avoiding it. He likes her. He thinks that if they're going to do something particularly insane, they should know each other better, and she should decide she wants him without tequila in her brain.

"If you feel the same way after a while, come find me. Okay? But you've been drinking—I don't want to do that to you."

Saying that is probably bad in itself. Encouraging her at all is probably wrong. Is it wrong? It feels a bit wrong. But in comparison to what he wants to do right now, it's much smarter.

"Do that to me?"

She must be missing something. She couldn't possibly think of a crime he's committing -- it's difficult for her to wrap her head around much else besides the fact that he had said no, and that alone was pretty heavy for her inebriated mind.

Resting back against the wall, she shrugs it off -- maybe the words will have more meaning when she's sober. She bites at her tongue, pulling her purse onto her lap and fishing out her cigarettes.

"Yeah—I don't wanna do that to you."

Note to self: Ask Alo how he deals with these situations, since he assumes this sort of thing must happen to him all the time.

Second note to self: Yell at Priscilla.

He looks downward. Damn, now he really wants the tequila too.

"Definitely."

A cigarette is placed between her lips--she lights it after a few tries with her lighter, feeling young and drunk and (worst of all), extremely embarrassed and completely unwilling to even look up from her lap.

God. Well that's the last time she tries .. What was she even trying? Whatever. It's the last time.

Taking a drag from her cigarette, she exhales, swatting the smoke away.

"I can call to get a lift. I'll lock the door."

#since u DIDNT ARCHIVE IT #coyoteuglied

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