whimsy

Who: Mickey and December
Where: The Round
When: Evening

Getting drunk hadn't been as tall an order as Mickey thought it might be and in what seemed like no time he was more than pleasantly buzzed. The fact that he was still damp wasn't bothering him as much, evident by the broad smile on his features as he reached for the refill from the bartender. "To...what was it? Whims?" he asked December, holding the glass up for a toast.

"Whims." December confirmed for him, clinking her glass against his. "And speaking of--check out the advice box. Okay, I say we both have to write something for in there." she challenged. She wasn't even sure what she'd write and if she'd make it a serious question or not. But it seemed like a fun idea, either way.

Mickey took a sip of his drink then followed where she indicated. “Advice? What do we need advice on?” He didn’t feel like he could use help with anything outside of maybe asking what to do about Eily, but what was there to ask? ‘I like a girl...” No, that was silly. “What are you going to ask for advice about?”

"Personally, I could use advice on what to do about a big looming shadow in my life." December said, something that really earlier she wouldn't have, but she'd had a few now so her tongue was looser. "And I said you had to too, so come up with something." she demanded, going over to get sheets of paper and pens for them. She sat back down, and hummed in thought, taking another drink before she even put the pen to work.

Mickey made a face as he took his paper and pen from her. “What kind of shadow? That’s sort of vague. You ask about a shadow, the...” He leaned over again and looked at the sign on the box, making a face. “The goddess is going to tell you to turn on a light.” Who called themselves a goddess? That was odd.

"Maybe. And if that's what I get, that's what I get. I might not even come back for a reply. I just saw it, and we're whimming it up, so write, before I kick you. I've got a good angle on your shin, Mr. Sunshine." December told him, smirking as she leaned a little over her page. Scribbling down her question, she then sealed it up in the envelopes provided, and waited for him to follow suit so she could go drop them into the box. She even drummed her nails for effect.

Even the threat didn’t scare him, especially given that in this state it might not hurt that bad. He leaned a little more, trying to get a glimpse of what she’d written but she covered it too well. That left him frowning a little, but he pondered for a moment and managed to write down his own sloppy request, something that was definitely about a girl who was well out of his league. Following her example he put his in an envelope then handed it to her. “Whim catered to or whatever.”

December reached out and patted his head, giving him a saccharine smile. Then she went and dropped them into the box. "Okay, there we go. Now you get to pick something." she informed him, pausing to kill the rest of her drink, and she ordered another. "I picked that thing, your move, Ace."

Mickey shook his head when she patted it, feeling childish. When she turned it around on him he made a face, contemplating and trying to come up with something worthwhile. He really wasn’t good at this, not at all. The song on the jukebox changed and he grinned, getting up haphazardly and holding a hand out to her. “Dance with me.” It didn’t matter that it was the Round and not a place for dancing, it was a good song for it.

Laughing a little, December reached out to take his hand, ignoring her usual twitch at physical contact. They were drinking and she was staying true to the spirit of the night. Therefore...she was apparently dancing with Mickey. "Lead the way."

He wasn’t terribly great at leading much of anywhere, but he got them around a few tables towards the small space in front of the short stage that the music could still be heard at. It wasn’t his best move both being drunk and not very good at this sort of thing, but he got his arms around her, and moved somewhat slowly. “I am likely to step on you. Don’t hold it against me.”

She for some reason hadn't quite expected it to be a slow dance, but okay, that's what it was. She shifted, putting her arms up around his shoulders, or as well as she could for being a very short girl who was not currently wearing heels. "If you step on me, I reserve the right to..." she paused in thought as she considered, eyeing him with eyes narrowed. "Tattoo something on you."

A slow dance was about all he could muster with his disability but he did bend over a little more to give her less height to reach for. “Tattoo something on me? Drunk? I’m not sure it’d look like anything.”

"Oh, you don't know how good I can be." December told him. "I mean, if you didn't keep still, maybe that'd be a problem, but you are drunk! So you wouldn't be feeling it like normal anyways. Besides, you think it would be the first tattoo I did while shit faced? You would be wrong, there, Saint Helperman."

“You normally tattoo people drunk?” Mickey asked, taking a step back to twirl her a little. It was easier on him if she did all the moving anyway. “Let’s say, just saying, I stepped on you and you got to tattoo me, what would you suggest in the way of artwork?”

"Not normally, just saying it's happened." December corrected. "It's my side job. Sometimes people come in when I'm having some relaxing free time. Most people don't actually care." she told him, since it was the truth. Then she paused and put her mind to that question. "I don't know, it would have to be in the moment." she decided. "I'd get inspired then."

“I really can’t see why someone wouldn’t care,” Mickey said. “I would completely be worried if you were drunk.” He was smiling though, enjoying himself at least. “Get inspired, just on the spot like that and design something on the fly. Crazy.”

"Hey, I've done that before. Turned out great." she said, smiling a little at the memory of Eric's tattoo, though the thought of him quickly had her face falling, a shadow overtaking her features. She looked away. "Anyway. You wouldn't let me do it." she said, imagining that he would rather cut off a finger or something.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, watching her face going from smiling to something else entirely. “And what do you mean I wouldn’t let you do it? Do what? Give me another tattoo?” If there was anyone else she was going to get another tattoo from, he was starting to think it was December.

"Nothing." she said, skipping over the first part. "And yeah, you wouldn't let me give you an impromptu tattoo while drunk." she said. "You sound a little horrified with the idea. Though it would be a great way for you to remember your night of whims--since with the rate we're drinking this might be what people call a 'black out drunk' by the time we're done."

“Well maybe I am a little worried yeah, especially when you can’t even tell me what it is you think you’d want to tattoo on me!” Mickey smiled for a moment then frowned again. “You’re a horrid liar. That’s obviously something. Not nothing. Nothing doesn’t look like that.”

"I'm only a horrid liar when I'm drunk." She protested. "And it's nothing. Just a bad memory that was supposed to be a good one. Or...something." she said, usually more articulate, but she was tipsy as hell. So her wording didn't really line up right.

Mickey gave her a look, slowing the dance more. “Tell me,” he said softly, not demanding, but with a sureness of someone who was willing to listen.

December made a face, then looked up at him. Night of whims, right? she reminded herself. "Someone I know, who I did a really great, huge backpiece tattoo on, freehand without him knowing what it was, is...let's just say they might not be the person I thought they were." she said, not giving details because she wasn't about to say 'I think my sort-of-boyfriend is the Tyger'.

Mickey considered that for a moment, tilting his head a little. “Guessing he or she was...more than just a client?” She didn’t strike him as the type to be that emotionally invested in her clients, not with the way she’d talked about them earlier.

“He.” December said, though she was pretty surprised that Mickey would even put out there that it could be a woman. It was a frowned upon practice at best, though maybe she just looked the part. In reality, it would be just as likely to be another woman. She appreciated them as much as men in attraction factors. “And yes, more than just a client. A friend.” she told him. Because really, at the heart of it all, that was the pure truth. Eric was her friend, and that was what hurt the most, the very idea that he might be a mass murderer. She looked back up to his eyes. “But no one’s who you think they are, are they.”

“A friend,” Mickey said with a nod. He’d guessed friend in the strictest sense of the word, which was why he’d left it open to be a woman as well. Not a lot of women had male friends, as Eily had reminded him just recently. Though in this case, just in the way it seemed to really eat at her, he wondered if she meant more than a friend as well. “Yes and no. Some people are easy to read, some give you something to believe that isn’t the truth. And others...no aren’t who you think they are.” Like himself. He never really was who anyone thought, even if he was good at blending as well as he could. “It’s not easy being disappointed by people though. I’m sorry that it happened.”

"Not your fault, don't apologize for someone else's fuckups." December said. Then she considered him. "You know a bit about people not being who they're thought to be?" she asked, since he'd spoken about it like he had experience.

“Still, I feel the need to apologize,” he said with a shrug. At her question he made a face, looking like he was considering it. “I know a little, seen it a few times.” And lived it every day which was something else entirely.

"Okay, like what?" she prodded, poking his shoulder while she was at it. "C'mon, I answered you. So, spill. Tell me about what you know, what you've seen." she encouraged, curious. Plus it was a great way to get her mind back off of Eric, and she wanted that. So--throwing herself into this conversation and finding out more about Mickey seemed a good plan.

He hesitated for a moment then considered the situation and wound up nodding. “Alright, since we’re throwing caution to the wind,” Mickey said. “Me. No one really knows who I am. Not really at least. So maybe I know.”

Arching a brow at that, December watched him. "What don't they know? Who are you really?" she asked. Because if he was throwing that out there then she absolutely had to latch on. Especially if there was a mystery here, with mr. good Samaritan.

Mickey let go of her when she asked, rubbing the back of his neck and taking a step or two away. “No one asks about the tattoo, or why. Or where I was after high school. No one wants to know. They just talk about themselves, and I help.” He shrugged a little starting back towards the bar.

December didn't try to pull him back, more she just frowned and followed him. "I asked about the tattoo." she told him, taking up her seat again and she propped her cheek on her hand, her attention totally on him. "So, I'm already different. Where were you after high school?" she asked. "But I know most people are like that. Most people just want everyone else to focus on them. It's why I don't bother with most of humanity."

Mickey flagged down the bartender, ordering another drink. “You did ask,” he said, not quite looking at her. “And the sad thing is that I do still like humanity. So I keep dealing and just stay distant.” When his drink came he took a big gulp, then glanced at her. “When my sister died, my parents died as well. I lived on the streets for a while when I couldn’t join the army.”

Nodding, December got another drink too, and kept watching him as he spoke. She could have added details of her own, but he'd just said he felt like no one bothered with his details, so she kept the focus there. "How did you survive?" she asked. Because everyone did something to make it. Stole, sold themselves, squatted...everyone did something.

Shrugging, he ran a hand through his hair. “Luck mostly. Little help from the church. Looking a hell of a lot weaker than I am.” He frowned, finishing off his drink and looking back over at her. “No one asks, which is fine. But yeah, not everyone is as they seem.”

She smirked faintly. "You don't think that's going to cut it, do you? That I'll let it drop that easy?" she asked. "Looking a hell of a lot weaker than you are--what do you mean? You won fights?" she assumed. "Did you prize fight? Do it for money, bet on yourself?" she asked. "Where did you stay?"

He gave her a look and shook his head. “Should have guessed you wouldn’t. I don’t look tough, which got me a few handouts here and there. And when someone tried to screw with me, I could fight my way out of it.” He shook his head. “Prize fighting would have been a lot more glamorous huh? No I just...did what I do now. Odd jobs here and there, mostly fixing things. Floated until I got the job at the garage.”

"So that's what you did to survive? Fixed things?" December said, though it was rhetorical. "So why haven't you done something different? Sought out something new? Or are you still just trying to survive?" she asked thoughtfully, watching him closely as she spoke.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about it. “No, it’s payback. A few people helped me back, so I help others out. Just in case I’m doing the same for someone that they did for me.” And he liked it. There was solace in putting something back together.

"What if it really means you're just stuck in the same place?" December asked. "Just...keeping with the cycle, or keeping yourself down. You ever thought about trying to move up in the world? If you made a lot of money, you could help a lot more people." she posed, since that was true. Most who made it big didn't do that, but sometimes it happened.

That had him laughing shaking his head. “Me? Move up in the world? No. This is as far as I go I think. Don’t get far with dirty fingernails,” he said holding his hand up so she could see. “Why would I need to move?”

"Why not move up in the world?" December asked. "Why should this be as far as you go? What, just another guy, cleaning up other people's messes? Fixing shit other people break?" She glanced at his fingernails. "They can be cleaned up, you know." she added with a faint smirk. "Doesn't take much to polish up something that didn't look like much ten minutes ago."

“And now you’re telling me I don’t look like much,” Mickey said with a smile, shaking his head. “Just don’t know where else I’d go. Unlike most people, I’m not that upset with where I am. I like parts of it and it’s a hell of a lot better than where I was.”

Laughing, December shook her head. "Oh, whatever. I'm sure you clean up just fine." she told him, genuine with that. He had good bone structure. He was probably cute when he wasn't all grimey. Right now he was cute. "Just not being someplace that isn't shitty isn't good enough. C'mon. If you could do anything or be anywhere...?" she prompted.

“I do clean up just fine thank you very much. Though one of the last times I did I wound up in a brawl which messed up my nice clothes.” Mickey chuckled a little then shrugged. “Anywhere? I’d probably still be here. Maybe in a nicer place, doing a little more than making ends meet.” Knowing where his brother and sister were, providing for them as well, giving them a proper life.

"So why aren't you going for it?" she asked. "I don't know. Open your own shop, or invest in something, or look for a higher paying job." she rattled off, ticking things off on her fingers. "I'm sure there's something better out there, if you look for it. I can be a reference. Though...not sure how well people would take a reference from a coroner."

“I like working for Garrett, he helped me out of a bind. And if I left, I’d take all his business,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure what line of work I could be in where I’d need a reference from a coroner. No offense of course.”

"So, he helped you out once. Doesn't mean you owe him your whole life." December told him. "I don't know. I just think you're a guy who apparently no one bothers to get to know, you're wading in the shallow end of being able to support yourself, and you seem to me like a guy with more potential than that. Jesus, dream a little."

He was laughing again, shaking his head. “We’ve already established that I’m not good at taking whims. What on earth makes you think I’m a dreamer?” He shook his head. “If I was a dreamer this night would have gone completely different.”

"Maybe you should be." December told him. "Okay how would the night have gone if you were a dreamer?" she asked, downing the last of her drink and she pondered another one. She was already drunk, but they were still going strong, so maybe another one. Sure, she might be hung over tomorrow, but whatever.

“Somewhere after the third drink I would have started telling you how pretty you are. And you’d have either slapped me or kept me around to hear it.” Mickey shook his head a little and finished off his drink as well. “Dreamers are romantics. Not my cup of tea. I know my place.”

"You'd probably be lying if you told me I was pretty. And I don't slap people just for saying something nice. Anyone who does is kinda psycho, just so you know." December told him sagely. "And yeah, dreamers are romantics, but the world would be a pretty shitty place without someone dreaming of something better. That's how shit gets done. Someone comes up with some half cocked idea and goes for it. But I'm curious. What's 'your place'?"

“I’m not much of a liar. You’re different, sure, you’ve got some...interesting tastes, but you’ve got a pretty face. That wouldn’t be a lie.” He shrugged a little, tapping the bar. “I’m a worker. Just like I said. I fix things, put them back together. Someone needs to do that.”

"'Interesting'. Nicely diplomatic there, son." she told him, smiling at that, amused. "And that's it? That's all you see for yourself? Just...that guy who fixes shit, a 'worker'. Like a drone bee?" she asked, going to take another drink from her glass but it was still empty. "That sounds like bullshit to me. And it sounds like you think you're meant to be there or some shit. Like it's your lot in life, or whatever. I mean, if you're really happy? Fine. You do that. But I don't know. You seem like someone who could do better."

“You’re not going to get some sort of comment out of me that you can take insult to,” he reminded her. “Alright, so maybe I can do better. What do you see? What whim should I be taking that’s going to be that much better.”

"I'm pretty hard to offend." December told him, looking again for a drink, and finally she ordered them two more. "And I don't know. Just something that isn't bottom of the barrel. Are there any factories hiring or something? You know of there being a need someplace? Maybe you could start a business. I'd say you could open a shop on the Boardwalk, but it's a shady place. Never know who you're going to find." she told him, winking at that sentiment.

He watched her order a new drink and winced. He knew for sure he was going to be hurting tomorrow. “You’re determined to make me not like you aren’t you?” he asked looking at her with a sidelong glance. “Is this because I won’t let you tattoo me drunk?”

"I'm not very likeable." December told him. "I sort of strive to be that way. You've lasted longer than most others, though." she told him, giving him props for that. "And it could be. I'd like to." she decided. She took another drink, curling her arm on the bartop and she rested her cheek there, looking sideways at him. And, in a moment that lacked anything like forethought, she said something she never normally would have. "My parents died when I was little. Yours died later. But it still sucks to be abandoned to your own devices."

“I mostly like just about everyone,” Mickey pointed out. “Plus you got me drunk.” He watched her curl up like that, thinking she looked too young to be a coroner or a tattoo artist. The confession didn’t completely surprise him, he was used to people trusting him like that, but he still went somber when she said it. “It does suck. But we managed.” He touched her arm gently, something reassuring.

She watched him touch her arm. "I suppose." she said. "You know, most of the time I don't like it when people touch me, either." she added, though she didn't make a move to shove him off. And she'd danced with him earlier already. "Guess you don't set off the alarm bells, or something." she added, more to herself than him.

He was definitely drunk because as she didn’t push him away and she made that comment he wound up tracing a random shape on her arm. “That’s me, totally harmless.” He moved his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck again reaching for his drink instead.

She smirked faintly at the little shape thing. "Yep. Harmless." she said. "No one's harmless." she added, shaking her head. She took another drink, making herself sit up again. "Including you. You told me you could hold your own in a fight therefore ha! You already proved you can, in fact, cause harm. Nyaa." she said, sticking her tongue out at him. Then she paused. "...Pretty sure I've never in my life been this drunk."

He laughed, especially when she stuck her tongue out at him. “Alright harmless to you. Or any girl.” He took another sip of his drink and nodded. “I think the last time I got this drunk...I was in a fight. Maybe. Maybe I haven’t been this drunk before.” It was hard to remember.

"You gonna get into a fight tonight?" she asked. "We gonna start a big brawl here?" she asked, glancing around critically. "If you really wanna cause yourself some pain, I still vote for the tattoo thing." she added. "But, whatever you want. It's whim-night."

“Do you want me to get into a fight?” he asked, shaking his head. “No not unless. I dunno some guy tries to grope you or something. Or someone else starts something.” Mickey would if something happened. He wasn’t going to start something. “If I keep drinking you’re going to wear me down on this tattoo thing. You don’t remember when you’ve ever been this drunk and I’m actually considering it.” He was losing his mind.

December laughed. “You’d start a fight if someone tried to get grabby?” she asked. “Fat chance. See these?” she asked, indicating the piercings in her face. “These are like a big sign that says ‘back the fuck off it might hurt to touch this one’.” she told him, shaking her head, smiling. “Kind of sweet though, defending my honor or some shit.” Then she perked right up. “ooh, really? What if I batted my eyes at you?” she asked, and she leaned in really close and did just that, though it was an unnatural move on her part at best.

Mickey squinted at her, eying the piercings. “Yeah no, I’m guessing there’s still some idiot who’d make a play and need to be decked.” When she moved in closer he swallowed a little, very aware of her being closer than she’d been all night. “Don’t...don’t make that face. You don’t even know what you’re going to do!”

“So? I’m really good! it’ll be something...memorable.” she told him, grinning with an evil sort of glint in her eyes. “Trust me.” she added, even if her expression was utterly untrustworthy. At the moment, she very much wanted to give him a tattoo. She still had no idea what? But she wanted to do it, damnit.

“No shit it’d be memorable, it’d be permanent,” Mickey pointed out, not liking that grin or that look in her eyes. “Trust you and you look like you’ve got some sort of mischievous plan in mind? That doesn’t seem like the way to convince me to trust you.”

“I could tell you that it’s my work, and important to me, and I wouldn’t do anything stupid like tattoo ‘insert here’ on your ass or something.” she told him, swinging her feet back and forth around the stool she was perched on. “C’mon. Live a little. If nothing else, it’ll be a big reminder of why you stick with your dull, non-dreamy, whim-free life.”

“What makes you think I’d let you anywhere near my ass?” he asked narrowing his eyes at her. “If I give into this whim and I’m not saying that I’m giving in to this whim, what whim are you giving in to? It’s only fair.”

She shrugged. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?” she posed. Since they were sort of doing back and forth sorts of things. She’d made them write stupid notes to an anonymous source, he’d got her to dance, which she really didn’t normally do. Ever. So, she imagined it was fair if she convinced him to let her tattoo him that he ought to pick out what she did in return.

Well that backed him into a little corner didn’t it? He had no idea what whim she could indulge in if he made a decision. Not with his head half spinning from being drunk like it was. “I...I got nothing. The best you’ve given me to work with is not usually letting anyone touch you but I’ve got...nowhere to go with that.” He wasn’t the type to suggest anything anyway. “I’m terrible at this,” he said rubbing at the back of his neck and looking back down at the bar.

December snorted. “No, you don’t have anywhere to go with that that you’d let yourself go with.” she corrected. “And you’ll just have to come up with something, now won’t you. Put that head to thinkin.” she said, reaching out to pat it again. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Mickey opened his mouth then close it. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. then shook his head when she patted it. “Stop...I’m sure I’ll come up with something eventually.” Maybe. He fixed his hair a little, not that it changed anything, it was still a bit of a mess.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" December asked, downing the rest of her drink. She also reached out to re-fix his hair. "And you'll come up with something eventually--that mean you've decided? I get to tattoo you?" she asked, beaming. December rarely beamed, but she was right now.

He was drunk, he was more than drunk because that stupid smile had him nodding slowly. “Sure. Fuck it.” More than drunk, he never talked like that. “And yes, do spell it out for me I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

"Most people would immediately jump to 'touch me'." December told him, setting her glass down on the bartop. "Now let's go--I have tattooing to do. Finish that drink and we're out of here." she demanded, dropping down to her feet, though she reached out to grab the bar and his arm as she swayed slightly. Ohhh yes very very drunk.

“We’ve established I’m not most people,” Mickey said as he finished his drink. When she reached for him he had to glance down at her, giving her a look. “I’m totally going to regret this. You can barely stand.”

"And we'll have a shower on the way back, that'll sober me up some." she assured him. "Don't worry. Just trust me." she added. "You won't regret it." she promised. Which meant she was really hoping her drunk mind was as good at inspiration as her sober one was. She really didn't want him to regret it.

None of this was reassuring but he still got up, dropping some money on the bar and starting them towards the door. “I’m going to worry, but sure. I trust you.” It was a something, no matter how drunk he was.

"You won't regret it." she repeated herself, heading out into the torrential downpour. It felt good, really, nice on her skin and it immediately served to clear her head more, as she'd expected. It wasn't that far a walk to the Boardwalk, thankfully, because she was still swaying, but her mind wasn't on that. It was on her subject, and what she was going to add to that nearly blank canvas.

The rain was sobering in a way but it was also a little annoying. He kept an eye on her, watching her sway a little, keeping one hand out just in case she needed it. The Boardwalk was still a mess, but what work he’d done to keep her shop from flooding had helped. By the time they were there, he was leaning against the store front sighing a little. “I am going to be a wreck tomorrow.”

"Yeah, but you'll be a newly decorated wreck." December told him, letting them into the shop. Walking inside, she immediately shed her coat and kicked off her boots. She was going to be as dry as possible. "Alright, all my shit is upstairs, so we're doing it up there. You giving me free reign that isn't your ass to tattoo on, or are you picking somewhere?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

Mickey pulled his coat off once they were inside, leaving it with hers. “Upstairs it is. And...no not complete free reign. I don’t need my entire body done up. But I am willing to let you weigh in on where you want to work.” He shook his hair out, making the mess fall in his eyes again.

"Pick a hemisphere. Upper body or lower?" she asked, starting the journey up the steep steps, really not giving a damn that she was using her hands to help her up, or that he was behind her and she was wearing a skirt and probably had a pretty good view at the moment.

“Upper,” he said without thinking about it. As she moved ahead of him, he ducked his head, watching his feet as he followed her up, making slow progress of it, not just because he was drunk, though unlike her, he used the wall to help him up the stairs. “You are going to have to work harder to get my pants off.” And that sounded ridiculous. He needed to stop talking.

She laughed at that. "Oh? So if I suddenly decided I wanted you, wanted you desperately, so much so that I had to have you right here and now, it'd be a huge challenge?" she asked, glancing back down the steps over her shoulder. She grinned, then made the rest of the way up the stairs quickly, getting to the top of the steps as she looked down at him. "Lose the shirt." she told him, dark smirk on her features.

“I...yes. Maybe. Don’t say things like that,” he said stumbling over the words more than he should have. He made a face when she looked down at him like that, but took a deep breath and wound up pulling his shirt off before making it to the top of the stairs and leaving in a wet heap on the steps. “Shirt lost.”

"Maybe?" December asked, arching a brow. She considered him, narrowing her eyes. "In there." she said, pointing to a door. "I'll be right back." She disappeared through another one, having directed him to her bedroom. It would be easiest, since she didn't have much furniture, and they weren't doing it downstairs where she had the right chair. She herself was ducking into her bathroom to change, her closet was in there.

“Yes maybe. I’m the good guy remember?” And he didn’t do things like that. Ever. He went through the door indicated, not sure what he should have been expecting but her bedroom wasn’t it. Mickey looked around like there’d be some sort of escape but he knew better. Sighing he managed to stumble out of his boots and sit on her bed, staying towards the edge but not sure where else to sit. There weren’t many other options anyway.

"Technically, wouldn't a good guy give a girl what she wanted if she wanted it that badly?" December posed, playing devil's advocate. She stripped, then changed into a lighter dress, something that looked like it should have been a sun dress, only it was, of course, black. She put her hair up with some chopsticks she had in the bathroom, so it wouldn't be in her way when she got to inking. Then she headed back out, grabbing the boxes that he'd brought up for her to bring them into her room.

Mickey was probably too drunk for that line of questioning but he forced his muddled mind to try and come up with something. “No a good guy is going to respect her. No matter what she does. Or wants. I wouldn’t...wouldn’t be of much use anyway.” That was more than he should have let on but he wound up just looking at the floor so he wouldn’t have to actually face her when she came back into the room.

"Respect is overrated. Sometimes people just need some oblivion." She'd enjoyed sex when she'd had it with Eric, though it had been her first time. She'd definitely felt desire since. "And oblivion served up with some hard, animal passion?" she trailed off, smirking. "And what's wrong with it? If that's what a girl wants, why does 'respect' have to play into it? Guys are horny creatures. The secret is--women are too." she informed him with a whisper. "And why not much use? You not working down there, or is it the drinking?" she asked. She set her boxes down, and went to get another. Her mind was actually more on what she planned on doing design wise than it was sex, but she was keeping up the conversation. It was interesting.

“Oblivion? That’s how you’d describe?” Christ, he was well out of his league. Why was he always so far out of his league? He didn’t even plan these encounters. “You do realize that no one talks like that. About..fuck I can’t even say it.” Running a hand through his wet hair he looked at her this time. “No, things work fine, which I can’t believe I’m saying. Just...haven’t.” He gave her a look that very much said what he wasn’t saying out loud. He hadn’t been raised in the church to not still be a virgin. Not with no prospects on the female front.

"If you're doing it right, it's oblivion." December said, not having realized that maybe the wording was odd. When she walked back into the room as he was explaining himself, she stopped dead in her tracks, blinking at him. "...you're kidding me." she said. "You do not expect me to buy that you're a virgin. That you have never once, taken some girl to bed."

Oblivion didn’t sound right at all, but what the hell did he know? Looking up at her, he gave her a bit of a smug look. “What girl? We’ve been over this December. Why would I even start to joke about that?” He could only hold her gaze for so long before he waved her towards him. “Don’t stand there and stare at me like I’m some sort mythical creature. It’s making me reconsider everything.”

"Well, ya kinda are a mythical creature." December said. "Like a fucking unicorn or some shit. A guy your age and being cute and sweet and all that shit in no universe I believe in has never ever fucked anyone." she told him, shaking her head as she put everything within reach, then walked over to stand in front of him. She cocked her head to the side as she considered him, looking down his chest, the line of his collarbone, his arms, the curve of his neck, everything.

“You’re the one that keeps patting my head, tell me how that works out to taking you to bed,” he said surprised that sounded a little sarcastic. It was a tad ridiculous maybe, but his friends in high school who had, had girlfriends, which he didn’t and after that...well surviving had been more important and then he’d bought into the church, of waiting for marriage, or maybe love, but that never came either. He let out a sigh then watched her watching him, trying not to blush under the scrutiny.

"Physical contact." December answered him, tone distracted as she was still considering his form, and she walked around to the side of the bed to look down his back as well. "Doesn't matter what it is, if someone touches you, it's an excuse to touch you, unless there's some implicit, express purpose. Like you reaching out to help steady me. That's not touching me because you want to touch me, that's touching me because I might fall." she explained, still mostly concentrating on what she was going to ink and where. "You, my friend, best lose that whole virginity thing. I know the church has this stupid thing about it, but I always thought that was fucked up anyways. There's nothing wrong with losing yourself in someone else. Maybe it's how it's meant to go."

“You pat children on the head,” Mickey clarified, but still felt himself sink in on himself more. This was why he didn’t share, didn’t let things out in the open. “I don’t find the church’s ideas about it stupid either. Might just not be meant to be or whatever.” He wasn’t the type to find a wife, or he hadn’t yet at least. He wasn’t going to lose himself in someone else. That would require giving far more than he was giving December now and Mickey wasn’t sure he could do that.

"The church's view might work in a perfect world, but it isn't a perfect world it's a broken one at best." December said, finally crawling onto the bed with him as she gravitated towards the back of his left shoulder. "And 'meant to be'. Psh. Bullshit. There's 'meant to be for now'. And maybe things grow from there. But maybe you're physically incompatible. How would you know if you were unless you tested it out? You test everything else out in a relationship. Sex shouldn't be some taboo, weird mystical, magical thing that isn't to be touched. There's nothing wrong with it, and the church always comes off to me like they think you should be ashamed of it. And you shouldn't be. No one should be made to feel ashamed of perfectly normal, natural urges or their own goddamn bodies." Which, she wondered if that was where it stemmed from in him, that awareness he was imperfect, physically, and therefore that might extend elsewhere. "And yes, you pat children on the head, that doesn't mean it's the only connotation for the gesture. Don't read in so much, you might get it wrong." she added. "Here." she added, placing her palm flat against the back of his shoulder. "Is right here acceptable?"

“I’m not saying it’s something mystical,” Mickey said frowning once she was out of his sight. “But it’s not something that should be shared with just anyone. I think they got that part right. If that’s it, that’s the ultimate way to express how you feel about someone why go wasting it?” He knew enough people who didn’t buy into the letter of the theological law to completely buy into it himself, but he was pretty sure he held sex in higher regard than most. That it was supposed to be more sacred than the average person seemed to treat it. “I think in taking it as nothing I reading very little into it,” he told her but nodded when her hand went flat against his shoulder. He turned a little, looking over his shoulder at her then nodded. “Yeah there works.”

"Because it isn't like it's actually wasted?" December said. "As someone who lost her own virginity sort of ridiculously recently, all I can say is this. It was something I'll never forget, and it didn't make it any less special for me that I wasn't his first. It was just...being together." she said, pausing in her wording. "And now that I've had it, let's just say I'd really like it again." she tacked on the end. She sat down indian style on the bed, and started to set herself up. "This is probably going to be more comfortable for you if you lie down." she told him.

That had Mickey really looking at her again, studying her. “Being together?” he ventured, somewhat curious in a way. “And if you want it again I’m sure...You could tell him? I find it hard to believe that he’d turn you down.” he moved a she instructed though, turning and lying on his stomach on the bed, head propped on his arms.

"If you want, you can lose your pants too--they're wet. And this is my bed you're getting wet." she added, but she wasn't going to make him. "And yes, being together. It was like being a part of him, like he was a part of me, and like I said--not being the only woman he's ever been with? Absolutely didn't matter in the slightest. It's not a one shot deal, you do it and suddenly it's not special anymore." December said, aware she was giving out more information that she normally would have, but she was still drunk, and she actually did want him to hear an alternative viewpoint. "And I know I could tell him." she added. "Just...right now things are complicated." She added, eyeing his shoulder more as she considered. A design was already forming in her head, though.

The comment about his pants had Mickey giving her a look. “Part of the goal was to keep them on...” he said not moving to take them off. Maybe if she said something else he’d consider it, but given the current conversation and that he was being lectured on his viewpoints being stupid, he opted for staying clothed, at least until she really complained. “But it isn’t. It goes away. It has to...” he trailed off again, watching her over his shoulder. “He’s the one you were talking about earlier, who wasn’t what you expected.” Mickey’s tone had changed, not the almost defensive tone, but something more concerned.

"I'm not going to rape you." December promised, rolling her eyes. "Just, wet clothes suck, I'm sure you can't afford to get sick and remember when I said this was my bed I have to sleep in?" she said, though she didn't actually demand he take them off. She kept her eyes on his shoulder, mapping out what she was planning. "I don't think it goes away. Not with how I felt." she told him honestly, voice lighter. When he made the connection, she nodded, a bare incline of her head. Yep. He connected that correctly.

The comment annoyed Mickey enough sit up and actually tug his pants off. It left him feeling ridiculous exposed in his underwear, but he wasn’t going to let her think he was afraid of her. She wasn’t scary, not really. He didn’t turn back on his stomach right away though, looking at her instead. “Even knowing what you know now...you don’t regret it?”

She looked up from where she had been picking out colors, and made eye contact. She maintained it as she answered. "I don't regret it at all." she told him. "I've never felt like that in my life. I felt...connected when I've spent most of my entire life feeling this huge disconnect between myself and everyone else in the world. It was the first time I felt like I wasn't..." she shook her head, finally breaking the eye contact. "I didn't feel like I was the round peg in the square hole for once."

Mickey watched her eyes as she spoke, taking in every syllable. He could understand what she felt. They were nothing alike, but he never felt connected to someone, not in the way she was describing. “Maybe part of that makes sense.” It was more than he usually gave, having a bad habit of being stubborn. There was an urge to touch her again, something he quelled with poking her leg lightly before flashing a small smile and spreading out on his stomach again.

She didn't say anything as he laid down, and because he'd been so twitchy about his pants, she took the trouble to lay a blanket over his backside. Then she settled in, sitting close, enough that she was up against him, at any rate, not about to be standoffish when art was about to happen. "What part doesn't make sense to you?"

He could feel her there, warm against chilled skin. “It’s not the parts that don’t. It’s the parts that do. I don’t ever feel out of place, but I feel disconnected. The idea of being that close to someone...I can’t see just some physical action doing that.” Not when they wouldn’t know who he was.

"It's not just a physical action." December said. "And by the way--if you do see it like that, why does it hold that significance in your mind?" she asked, because that didn't quite make sense. She got everything ready, her inks, the gun, and she leaned closer to him, breath softly ghosting over his shoulder. "I'm sure I don't tell you that this is going to pinch." she told him, just to warn him she was about to start. Then she did, her mind made up already of what she was going to do.

“For it to be with anyone it seems like it would be just that. But to wait, to make it something more, that would be more than just physical. I can’t see myself being that close to just anyone. No one knows anything about me.” He inhaled slightly, but more from her breath on his skin than the pain when she started.

"Can't there be a middle ground?" she posed. "That's where I hit. It wasn't with 'just anyone'. But I wasn't waiting to get married, either. So, pick someone special, and go for it." she told him, very carefully throwing herself into the design, resting her arm across his back like he was a desk. "I know things about you." she added. "Why does no one else? Just because they don't ask? Are you like me, and make people work for it?" she asked.

That still meant he had to find someone special, which was probably near impossible. There was a sense of solace there, maybe a result of being drunk, but it felt good to have her draped across him, voice close to his ear as she worked. “I stand out enough,” he told her, surprised he was admitting to it but he was still pretty drunk himself. “I don’t need to add to it. It’s easier to blend, to fit in, and just keep the rest to myself.” He held back and he knew he did it.

"Your limp was not the first thing I noticed about you." December told him. "And it's hardly the only thing that stands out about you and I've known you for what...twelve hours or something?" she added. "Blending in isn't all it's cracked up to be. And you don't sound happier for it, really. You sound lonely." she said, for once letting her voice soften, wanting to be gentle on that point. "What are you looking for that would have you letting someone in?"

“That’s because I wasn’t walking when you saw me first,” Mickey pointed out. “And you, if anyone, is going to see beyond it. Or I’d hope you would.” She was the one with the metal in her skin. “And I am lonely, that comes with the territory.” He didn’t want to lose more people. Not like his family. “It’s not something special I’m looking for, there just hasn’t been something. I just figure it’ll hit me or it won’t.”

"Or it's not as pronounced as you think." December suggested lightly, but didn't press the point, curving a line down the back of his shoulder carefully. "In my admittedly limited experience, it isn't like it is in the movies. No love at first sight or anything. Just...something that makes you want to seek someone out again, and it grows from there." she told him. "Why aren't you looking for someone? Or trying to give people information that might strengthen that? How many people do you tell about your sister? Or your parents? You told me, and we have that in common, sort of. That loss."

“There are a few people I reach out to but not many. Nothing like that. Not yet at least.” He was quiet for a moment. “Elle knows, my best friend. But she knew me before. It’s more a result of that. Otherwise I don’t talk about them.” There was another long pause, one too heavy to be written off as him reacting to the pain of her work. “There’s others. I have a brother and a sister. When our parents died, they were taken away. I was eighteen but couldn’t care for them. I haven’t found them yet.”

"I don't talk about my parents either." December told him, totally honest on that. "I think tonight is the first time I've even mentioned them in...god. I don't know." She shook her head, stopping to get more ink. She took that moment to consider what he said there. "How old would they be now?" she asked. "What are their names?"

“Did you know them?” Mickey asked. She’d said they died when she was younger. Much younger. “Rachel and Jeremy. He’d be nineteen and she’d be fifteen.” He closed his eyes when he spoke, fighting back new pain welling. Mickey looked for them, but he never found them. Not like he’d hoped. Even if he did...what right did he have to be a part of their lives now?

"Before you leave, write down their names." December told him. "The only family I actually have is my cousin, he's a detective at the PD. He could at least run some names." she told him, deciding that she could do that, at any rate. It might turn up nothing, but she didn't care. She also smirked faintly. "And if he is too busy to do that then I'll scare some rookie into doing my bitch work. A lot of them are terrified of me." she admitted. "As for if I knew my parents, yeah. Sort of, I guess. As much as any little kid 'knows' anything, I suppose. My father, he fucked off at some point, no idea where. I assume he's dead or if he isn't he might as well be. My mom, she kicked off when I was eleven. I didn't know it at the time, but she overdosed. She was always strung out. Like...one minute she'd be all penitent, saying she was so sorry she wasn't a good mom, and the next she'd be tossing my room, accusing me of stealing her stash. it was fucked up at best. After that, I didn't have any family left but my cousin, but he wasn't going to take me in. So--orphanage time. The nuns there hated me. The priest..." she paused and frowned, her mind sending black shadows across her memory. "I don't know. Something bad." she said quietly and moved ahead. "I was only there for a few months before I fucked off and joined that carnival and freak show."

Mickey couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than his life. His parents had been good, but they’d died nonetheless. Further proof that death caught up with everyone he supposed. Opening his eyes he watched her as best he could from where he was laying. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, gently. Especially when she hesitated over the bad part. He hoped it wasn’t like that for Rachel and Jeremy at the orphanage. That it wasn’t full of bad things.

A frown flickered over her expression. "Sorry?" she asked, looking back up to meet his gaze. "You don't have to be sorry. I didn't want sympathy...just...sharing, I guess." she said, suddenly unsure. Like maybe she should keep her drunk fucking mouth shut. She went back to her design, really focusing her attention there as she brought another line down.

Mickey frowned as well. “I know I don’t...I just feel like no one who should have said it said it. I have a habit of apologizing for humanity as a whole I guess,” he said. “Don’t stop sharing,” he added on after a moment. There was something there, something in the back and forth that he was really enjoying.

December smirked faintly at that. "Yeah, you and your liking humanity. Well, don't apologize for it to me. I don't buy it. I think most of humanity generally sucks, and I want nothing to do with it. But I guess now and then you find people who aren't so bad." she said, tone indicating he might make that list. Which was weird, really, but she was enjoying her time as well. "What else do you want to know?" she asked.

“They’re out there,” Mickey agreed with a slight nod, pleased he’d passed her test. “Anything you want to tell. I’m curious about it all.” He gave her a smile, not his brightest but she was shoving a needle into his shoulder.

She noted the smile and returned it a little, before she went back to her work. "Well, if I'm going to be telling you things you have to return the favor." she told him. "But give me somewhere to start." she prompted, switching out colors so she could start in on another part of the design.

“Here I was hoping you’d get distracted and not ask me about me,” Mickey said half teasing. “Why’d you leave the carnival? Did you tell me that yet?” She might have, but he’d had enough to drink to forget the finer points of their conversation.

"I don't think so." she said. "The carnival disbanded. With the war on and people not having the money for side entertainment, we weren't making enough to keep afloat. So, I found my way back here, because I didn't have that anymore." she explained. "What's one thing you would want someone to know, but no one ever asks?" she posed to him. "Some key piece of you that just...never sees the light of day?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering that then he looked at her again. “You already hit on it. That it’s lonely. That I’m lonely.” He had friends, a few but so few he was close to and while most of the time it was easy to just smile through it, at the end of the day there was still something missing. “How’d you manage to open up the shop?”

"What do you do to combat it?" she asked, carefully putting color into the design, a brilliant red. She paused. "...this is going to alter your opinion of me." she told him first. She didn't tell people this, she really kept this close to the vest. But it was the night of whim, they were both drunk, and there was sort of a back and forth that she should respect. "I got back and things weren't going well. I didn't have any money, and there's little a girl can do to really get anything beyond one thing. So, when I was desperate enough, I sold myself. Or, I was aiming to. It didn't go that way." she explained. "He wanted something a little...different from me. And I could provide it. Turned out I was good at it. And I could take clients that only wanted to be dominated. So that's how. I became a dominatrix. That money turned into the shop on the boardwalk, which turned into money for school."

“I immerse myself with people. I’m everyone’s best friend,” Mickey said with the tone of a shrug even if he didn’t move. “It helps most of the time.” He was going to counter, to tell her to stop saying things like that, but then she explained herself and Mickey forced himself to just listen. Twice he opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t quite find the right words. “I don’t...I don’t even know what that would entail. I can guess but...Do you enjoy it?”

She could practically feel the struggle he was going through mentally, like she'd expected. "Told you your opinion would change." she told him, starting to work the design down the back of his arm as well. "It entails me humiliating and causing pain to men who want me to. There's a lot of just being a straight up bitch because that's what they want. It doesn't involve sex." she added, because that was an important distinction. "I wouldn't say the word is 'enjoy'. I do it because I'm good at it, and it pays better than you'd think. But it's..." she paused, trying to find the words. "It's a mask. Pretend. None of them knows a thing about me." After another pause, she continued. "You're everyone's best friend. Who's there for you?"

“I didn’t say it changed my opinion of you,” Mickey corrected. “It just takes a guy a moment to wrap my head around it.” He let out a breath when she moved to his arm, trying not to flinch again. “Would you want them to know something, to know you? I wouldn’t think so. Nor does it seem like they’d care.” At her question he paused, biting at his lip because he couldn’t move his arm. “Elle I guess, but I’m there for her a lot. She reminds me of my sisters in a way. She’s the closest I have to someone like that.”

"No." December said, immediately and firmly. "They know nothing about me because I don't want any of them to know anything. I'm just...a fantasy for them. A character there to cater to their damaged whims. Not that I don't have damaged whims of my own, but still. And no, they wouldn't care. It would probably take away from the experience if they knew anything real. No one wants to be smacked around by someone who you know their middle name is Marie, and there's a little mutilated carnival toy on her nightstand." She glanced up at him for a moment then continued. "If you only guess she's there for you, it doesn't sound like an equal sort of deal." she said. "Does she know your hopes and dreams? Know what scares you, or how lonely you feel?"

“Marie?” Mickey asked, looking up at her with a bit of a smile on his features. “No. I think she could guess at a few of those things, but no she doesn’t know them because I haven’t spelled them out for her. She just knows more about my history than anyone else.” Besides maybe December now.

"Knowing someone's history is hardly knowing them." December said. "You really are isolated, aren't you?" she asked rhetorically. "Sad. You seem like a guy worth knowing." she added. "And yes, Marie. What's your middle name?" she asked. "And what scares you?"

“I prefer guarded,” Mickey said. He still gave her a smile, eyes, glinting a touch. “I like Marie, it’s pretty,” he told her, genuine tone to his voice. “James, after my dad. And Mickey’s just a nickname. Michael is my real name. No one’s ever called me that though.” As for what scared him, that had him going quiet. “Losing more people I’m close to.”

"Michael? Huh. Interesting." she said, taking note of that. "Michael James. Lucky you, church boy, you share a name with an angel. Maybe that's why you're determined to be a better person." she said, smirking a little. Though when he gave up what he feared, she nodded. "I could see that. Though...who do you consider 'close'?" she asked. "Since you deliberately keep people at arm's length."

“Aptly named I suppose,” he said. “And not many people, fears safely avoided.” There was a quiet pause, something thoughtful for a moment. “I’d still hate to lose the people I have now, even if I’m not that close to them. It’s still a fear.”

"Think you're ever going to let anyone in? You realize if you're this 'guarded' as you put it, that it'll mean you miss things. That you will miss out on other people, too. I know, I make a career out of that. It works, by the way. But I don't think it's what you want." she told him, pausing to sit up for a moment, her back cracking as she gave herself pause, rubbing at the back of her neck.

When she moved Mickey took a moment stretch slightly turning a little to look at her better. “I’ve let you in haven’t I?” he asked, drunkenly realizing that he’d done just that. He’d let some almost stranger into his life, into the hidden parts. “Eventually, eventually someone will get through. Or I’ll find what’s left of my family and be a little more willing.”

Looking down at him, she smirked. "Yes, but I don't think you would have without all the alcohol in your system and the fact that I pushed you into going with whims tonight." she told him. "And, I don't know if I'll ever see you again. We haven't discussed the 'hey are we buddies now who hang out or is this a one time deal' thing." She paused as she considered his wording there. "Is that it?" she asked. "The core reason why you keep people out? Because you lost your family? ...letting someone in won't fill the space that belongs to them. In fact, it might just mean they have even more to come back to."

“Well probably yeah,” Mickey agreed with a slight shrug, wincing already from the work she’d done on his shoulder. Going quiet for a moment he laid back down then shook his head. “It’s not like that. I don’t think someone will take their place...I just know I’d be better at letting people in if I had that again.” Family loved unconditionally, no matter the failures and the maladies. They’d been brought up that way and Mickey had hope that his brother and sister would have held on to that, like he did. “Do you want to be buddies after this?” he asked, opting to change the subject instead.

December cracked her back, then leaned back over him, starting again. "Do you?" she countered, feeling suddenly vulnerable at the blatant question. She needed to think about it. Really, they'd both shared quite a bit this night already, more than she ever normally would have. Did she want him around when they weren't drunk, knowing what he did? In the end she imagined he was a good guy. A good if lonely guy. Hm. Though she did add one more thing. “...I wouldn’t want you to do the same thing with me as you do everyone else.”

Mickey was about to answer that he wouldn’t mind. She knew more than most but he never turned down being around people. Sometimes it helped to just be around them, and he did like people as a whole. The stipulation kept him from answering, turning that over in his mind for a moment. “What thing is that?”

"Decide you're my new best friend, but never tell me another thing about yourself. Put me at arm's length, and call it good." she told him. Because she wasn't very good at going backwards with things. And if they were going to be sharing, and he was going to be wandering around with information about her and she had information about him then she wanted things to not be superficial, like he seemed to treat the rest of his relationships.

“I don’t decide I’m everyone’s new best friend. They decide that because I seem like I couldn’t not be,” Mickey corrected softly. He wasn’t out to con people, he just did what he needed to do to blend in and people liked him for it. They trusted him, rightfully so, he wouldn’t betray them, but at they didn’t get close to him, like he did to them. Letting out a slow breath he glanced at her as best he could. “I don’t think I could fake it with you anyway. You’d notice I’m sure. So no, I wouldn’t do that. You already know the good stuff anyway.”

That had December smiling. "Well, you're right on that." she confirmed. "I tend to see through bullshit. So if you were trying that, I wouldn't let it fly." She continued on the design, really concentrating on the color shading. "And c'mon. I know stuff no one else knows, that can't be all the 'good' stuff. There's got to be more to you than you're a kind of isolated, nice guy who wants to find his family and is a virgin with no ambition. That's just what you get when you barely scratch the surface. And did you actually come out with a definitive answer? You want to be around?"

He considered it for a moment then shook his head. “I’m not sure if there is much else. Or much that I can think of at the moment. I’m a simple man.” He tilted his head so he could see her work, considering it for a moment. “If you were willing, I could be around.” It would be someone else to talk to when his normal means of conversation just weren’t filling the void.

"I think you either don't give yourself enough credit, or you need someone like me in your life to make you do shit that you wouldn't normally do. If anyone was in desperate need of being shoved out of his comfort zone, it's you." She glanced up at the last part. "I'll take a chance. Put myself out of my comfort zone too. Sure. Deal, whatever."

He would have laughed, but part of the alcohol was starting to wear off enough that his shoulder was definitely starting to hurt. “Probably a little of both really.” When she agreed to their friendship of sorts he went back to watching the top of her head. “Then I guess I’ll be around.”

"So what now?" she asked. "Beyond I finish this." she added, because she was definitely going to do that. She was really going on the design, it wouldn't take that much longer, she imagined. And hopefully he liked it. She was starting to arc up slightly over his shoulder, and was finishing the slide down the back of his arm as well.

“After this...you’re supposed to have a whim you cater to and I still haven’t come up with something good. That or I stumble home and hope I can function tomorrow.” Mickey was fine with either option really, probably because part of him was worried what whim she might want to cater to. “How’s it look?”

"Wouldn't be fair if you didn't give me my whim to follow." December told him, knowing she'd be really disappointed if she didn't have to do something. She paused as she sat up straight again, resting her hand on the back of his ribs lightly as she surveyed her work. "I think it looks good." she told him. "Of course, it'll ultimately be up to you if it's satisfactory."

“Not much I can do about it if it’s not,” Mickey said with a grin, tilting his head so he could see her. “And alright I’ll come up with something, but you’re gonna have to help me with a direction. What’s something you never let yourself do?”

Her first thought was one she didn't share. Not because she didn't trust him, but because she didn't trust herself. She never set foot in a church, and as a church goer, she was sure he would latch onto that and have her go. But she couldn't. She walked on the other side of the street of churches. It was a deep, sick feeling she got deep in her stomach whenever she even really thought about it, and she told herself that it was against the spirit of the evening to even mention it. That was dark, and they weren't looking for dark. "Hang out with total strangers and tell them my life story?" she suggested dryly. "I don't know. Honestly I don't have much of a life. I just...do tats, occasionally slap people around and tell them they're maggots, and I cut up dead people. I don't really...I don't know. Do a whole lot. It's less a matter of not letting myself, and more I live how I'd prefer, which isn't the same thing. I don't usually let people in, I guess. And there's that touching thing I said before."

The no touching rule she’d let Mickey break more than once. That thought was tainted by their earlier conversations and Mickey couldn’t help his mind spinning from it. They were already in her bed and face it, most of his clothes were off at this point. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the thoughts of what they could do away. He didn’t know her, not like he should and he’d lasted this long he could at least wait until he was with someone before he started breaking standards he’d held himself to for more than two decades. Forcing thoughts of that away he latched on to something else. “What if yours is that you have to agree to do something with me, not under the influence, something...more sociable.”

December considered that. "Okay, just don't take me to church." she said. "I don't even care if it's a church function, just so long as it isn't on the property of a church." Because that was a no-go, she wasn't doing that to herself and it wasn't going to be something that either of them would enjoy. The goal was to do something that might be fun, might be against the grain, sure, but entertaining. "But deal."

“No churches?” Mickey asked. “That with the bad thing?” She’d mentioned that but it had been linked to the orphanage. “But sure, no churches. I can work with that. I do other things.”

"Yes." She answered, figuring the best thing to do there was to be flatly honest. "But anything else. So, there. I'm at your disposal. Though if you need me to not be dressed all scary, you might need to give me notice." she added. She could clean up just fine, leave some piercings out, wear something slightly less 'Fuck Off'.

“Let’s assume that, not as scary is a requirement. The idea is to be sociable.” He smirked a little, thinking that was amusing its own way. “But not much less than you are now. Though I don’t really find you scary. Guess I’m just crazy.”

"That's one word for it." December said, having to smirk to herself. "But okay. Less scary. Check. You going to give me a day here, or are you just going to show up out of the blue, and I better get ready fast?" she asked. She was finishing up with the brighter colors, and was moving towards the colder hues, even if she was putting those in sparingly.

Mickey thought about it for a moment then shook his head. “No. I mean not right now. I will give you a head’s up, but I don’t have anything at the current moment. As soon as I do though, you’ll know.” He’d find and event to take her to if it came down to it.

"Okay. Just don't be disappointed if I'm at work. I'm the night coroner, so I don't have many nights off. And if something stupid happens in the city over night, sometimes I stay after to look it over. Like the murders The Tyger has been claiming? Yeah, I'm the one looking over those." she told him. "But we'll find something. And I don't work every night."

Mickey turned to look at her a little. “Doesn’t have to be a night either,” he reminded her. “But I can work with that.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking about the murders. “How is that, all those dead? I was...was in the park after the attack? Not related I know, but that was a lot of dead in one place. It looked like the war zones they talk about. Is it that hard every day like that?”

"Be still." she said, pushing down on his shoulder a little as she readjusted herself and how she was leaning against him, to continue her work. She didn't answer immediately, thinking over how to word things. "The hardest part about the people in the park was usually I can work out some type of motive. Husbands kill wives, shady guys come in with scars all over and someone busted them up a little too hard. Not exactly mysterious, a lot of this stuff. But that? I could tell you how long they suffered. And trust me, some of them very much suffered. Some were killed outright, but the randomness of the crime itself, meant that there were people who were impaled to the earth, screaming and bleeding out, and there really wasn't anything anyone could do. Even if there were medical professionals on location, they were going to die. But they had minutes to lie there, screaming, watching their blood pump out of their wounds..." she trailed off. "And there was one, where the man was tortured. For hours. The killer took the time to poison him, retrain him, pull his guts out then sew them back in with a gift inside. Whoever did these things is a monster, plain and simple. I don't usually see them. Honest monsters. Most people are victims of their own lives or their situations, passion sparked in the wrong way, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But...him. He's...different."

Mickey nodded slowly, though he stayed still this time, moving just his head. “I saw a lot of that. I can’t...I can’t move fast anywhere. I wasn’t going to be able to run away and I tried to help, but I know what you mean. I saw it. I still do sometimes when I close my eyes.” Not that he talked about it much. That was on purpose. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. “By him...you mean the Tyger? He did that too? And what kind of gift? Do I want to know?” he asked.

"Oh, they can't officially pin the park on him." December said. "I just know darkness. And the level of darkness that it would require to do what happened at the park is the same thing you'd need to turn someone into a big old fortune cookie, then set them on fire while they're still alive." She was quiet again for a moment before she continued, making herself re-focus on her work. "It was the poem. That's how they started calling him The Tyger. It was an old poem."

“Christ,” Mickey swore softly. “I was...I dunno. I feel like I’d started to think of it as something that a person wasn’t behind. It seemed like too much for one person.” He didn’t know anything about poetry, which meant the choice didn’t make sense to him, but he also wasn’t the one killing people.

"I'm not sure if it being a group of people would make me feel better or not. Mobs are stupid things. They're only as good as their dumbest member. But one man? That can delve into true, black darkness. And that's what I see." she said. "Just because he's been quiet for a little while doesn't mean he's done. I think there'll be more." She realized in a sick fashion that she'd stopped referring to the Tyger as 'they' to leave open the possibility that a woman could have done it. It was a cold feeling in her stomach that spread out dully.

Mickey was quiet for a long moment. “That’s what worries me, that it will get worse before it gets better.” The only hope was that it didn’t get much worse. “Are they any closer to finding him?” If they could. Mickey read the papers from time to time, he had a guess that a lot of the crime in the city when unsolved.

"No." December said. It was a simple answer, even if it was one that she didn't especially like giving. She wished she could say they were, that she didn't have her own suspicions, but yeah. No one was any closer to finding him, and she didn't have any real grounds for her own suspicion. She didn't have any real grounds for anything. She finished up with one of the colors and started in on the very last.

That left another dark silence between them, Mickey wishing it was different. “Maybe the next time. Or maybe someone will retaliate.” Not that he wanted more death in the world. He’d been raised in the thought that life was sacred, but for someone to take so many lives, he wondered if they had wasted all that made life sacred enough to no longer deserve it.

"I'd love to tell you something else, but I don't think so. I think this guy isn't going to get caught til he wants to get caught. I think he's good. Better than you'd want him to be. I don't think he's crazy, is the thing. See, crazy people, they don't make the best choices. But sane people? They're harder to trail. And this guy..." she trailed off again, biting at her lower lip. "I wouldn't hold my breath, Mickey." she said, probably using his actual name for the first time that night.

“Not crazy?” he asked, questioning that because December was linking him to the park. That seemed crazy. They way she said his name though, that had him looking towards her again, somber expression there. “Then I suppose I’ll keep praying for safety over justice.”

"You do that. I'll keep looking over the corpses when they come in and hope that eventually I'll be able to answer to them that I've found who did that to them." December said, letting a little of her own view on her job slip there. It wasn't really intentional, it was just how she thought about it, and while her buzz was dying down here, it wasn't completely gone.

“Seems like if anyone can, it’ll be you,” Mickey said, showing his own bit of confidence in her. He’d pray for her as well, but he kept that to himself. He doubted it would go over as well as he’d mean for it to anyway.

She smiled faintly, but didn't answer. Instead, she finished up her work, finally sitting back. She blotted at the ink and the faint traces of blood lightly, a soft sort of touch that was generally uncharacteristic of her, but she wasn't overthinking things. "You're done." she told him.

The soft touch was sweet, something that caught his attention but it didn’t get anything from him other than a soft smile as he sat up, body slow to adjust to not being the in same place again. He managed eventually to get up, finding a good angle on the mirror in her room. The firey bird climbed up his shoulder, orange and red with hints of blue and purple along the edges of them. “Wow.” It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he loved it.

She watched him as he saw it, paying strict detail to his reaction, his expression, everything. "I thought phoenix was appropriate." she told him. "Plus, I want you to rise from the ashes. You did before, with finding your feet after your parents died, and maybe you'll eventually decide to take your life and fly a little higher. And if anything knocks you back down, you should be able to get back up."

He tilted his arm again looking at the way it seemed to move. It was still red and sore, but very very impressive. “Rise from the ashes,” he repeated, liking the feel of that. “It fits.” Even if he wasn’t sure he needed to rise more, it did still fit his history. Looking back at her, he went back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “I shouldn’t have doubted you huh?”

That got a smile out of her as she dropped things back into the box. "You shouldn't have. But now, I have proven my prowess to you, in artistic ability, even while drunk. And insight. Because clearly, I now know you better than anyone, and you're marked by me forever. So it better damn well be awesome." she said, finally looking back over. "Worth it?"

He smiled at that, mostly because she was as well, but also he enjoyed what she was saying. “Prowess indeed. Completely amazing really. And yes, totally worth it.”

"Then my work here is done." she said, dusting off her hands as she set the box aside. Standing, she stretched, her back cracking in the process. "I'm sure you remember how to take care of it." she added, though she started out of the room. "Give me a sec, I'll get you a bandage to put over it for now."

He really shouldn’t watch her as she moved but given everything it was hard not to. “I think I remember the gist of it yeah,” he said with a nod, not sure what he should do as she walked away. Getting dressed was probably necessary and when she left he reached for his pants, starting to pull them on even if the arm and shoulder she’d worked on were starting to throb.

She ran downstairs quickly to get the ointment she always used and a bandage and tape. Then she bounded back up the stairs, heading into her bedroom. She smirked lightly. "So, those all cold and uncomfortable?" she asked, moving to stand up on the bed itself. She was a sort girl. If she was going to reach his shoulder while he was standing, she needed to differentiate the height. She reached out and started to smooth ointment over the tattoo, feeling the raised skin beneath her fingertips.

Looking up once she was there again, Mickey’s smile was back. “They’re miserable thank you, but I can’t very well walk home in my underwear.” His sore arm was making the button unruly and then she was touching him again and Mickey just let himself give up on them for the moment, turning slightly so he could see her while she worked.

Her eyes were on his shoulder, on the design she'd marked on him. She made sure she got all of it, taking her time as she kept sliding her fingers along his skin, always liking the feel of a new tattoo. They were only raised like that for so long, then the swelling went down, and the design was a part of the person, not separate at all. Uninterrupted flesh. But for a short time after the procedure, it could be felt. So she was taking her time and letting herself feel that. She was aware of his eyes on her, but didn't break the moment.

Just as she was silent, Mickey held it between them for as long as he could. It was strange, her hand on him like that, the way she stayed focused on what she was doing, caught up in it and the moment not so much him. “The touching thing, how does that translate to you touching others?” he asked, voice soft so that he wouldn’t interrupt her fully.

"I don't know." she admitted, voice as soft as his, still making sure she covered every little bit of the design. "I don't usually get close enough to touch anyone, and there isn't a lot of situations where it would come into play. I obviously have to for tattoos, but that's work. Though, to be clear, this wasn't. This was just because."

Mickey nodded, understanding that. It was the root about a lot of things about himself as well. “So if this is just because...what is it? Are you going to shy away next time I see you?” He didn’t very well think that he’d be all over her or they’d be here again, but at the same time even a slight rejection from her would be disappointing.

"I don't know, are you planning on touching me next time you see me?" she asked, finally ticking her gaze towards his for a moment, to lock gazes for just a heartbeat before she started to gently place the bandage onto the design. "Or are you going to want me to touch you?"

“I have no idea. But I’d hate to upset you if I accidentally did, not thinking it would be a problem,” he said, not sure what to make of the way she only briefly met his eyes. “And I wouldn’t expect anything from you. I’m not like that. You should know that by now.”

"I didn't ask if you expected anything from me. Just if you were going to want me to touch you." December said, light little smirk on her lips. "There's a difference." she added, making that brief eye contact again. That, before she started to carefully tape the bandage to his skin.

Mickey made a face at that smirk, giving her a bit of a look when she glanced his way. “Alright, fine. I wouldn’t mind if you did. Want’s a strong word. It implies...more than what this moment is I think.” Unless he’d read something wrong. That was possible, especially considering he’d never been in anything close to the same as this moment before.

"Sure know how to make a girl feel wanted." December said dryly as she finished up. Then she finally stopped the contact, letting her hands drop down to her sides. "And the short answer is I don't usually backtrack. So, you should be fine with the touching thing."

“Does that imply that there’s a long answer?” Mickey asked, turning to look at her again. “And honestly I have no idea how to make a girl feel wanted or to even know if that’s what she wants at all. A lot in the dark on that in general.”

"You're kidding." December said dryly, though it was with a quirk of a smile. She fell back down onto the bed, bouncing a little as she landed. "There's a long answer but it's boring. And just basically fuzzy details about how I'm feeling versus the situation versus the context of said touching and--I mentioned it's boring?" she said, looking up at him. "And I'll help you out. You want to make a girl feel wanted, you tell her you want her. Or go for something you want, non-verbal cues? Those work. In fact sometimes they're far better than the verbal ones, if you have a tendency to not know what to say."

“Alright, alright, long answer is boring,” Mickey conceded, working at the button on his pants again even if it left him wincing. “You didn’t answer the part about whether or not that’s something you want. If you wanted me to walk out of here, wanting you and wishing I hadn’t left,” he said, tone casual, as he started to look around the room for his shirt. Where had he left that again?

"You didn't ask that part." December said. "And I think you've made it pretty clear you're uninterested." she added. "You've all but said 'December, you're a nice girl and all...'" she said, watching him look around for his shirt, but she made absolutely no move to help him. "So I'm pretty sure even if I was desperate for you to want me and leave with longing in your nether regions, I'd be shit out of luck on that."

Starting to think his shirt wasn’t around he looked back at her and shook his head. “That’s not at all what I said. Or necessarily what I’m thinking. I just happen to have self control and don’t usually hit on women for no reason. Nice guy, remember?” He gave her a little smile then let out a sigh. “Seriously where did I leave the rest of my clothes?”

"There's self control, and there's you backpedaling away from any inference towards that that's even come up tonight." she said. "which is what you did. And also--the fact that you just said 'for no reason' says something. It means you couldn't think of a reason to hit on me. Usually there's pretty clear, straightforward reasons--being attracted to someone. It's pretty obvious you aren't to me." she said, though she didn't sound like she held it against him. She was used to that. It was part of the whole deal with dressing and presenting herself like she did. People were much less likely to even consider touching her if they were repulsed. Glancing around, she pointed towards the door. "Is it out there?" she asked, thinking that might have been where it got left.

Mickey shrugged even if it hurt. “You didn’t strike me as overly interested in me either,” he told her, though his tone was like hers, not holding it against her. There was more than one thing about her that was cute in a way, even if he didn’t understand the piercings, no matter how she explained them, and being close to her wasn’t a bad thing at all. But she hadn’t really seemed like she wanted that from him and without even the slightest of interest, Mickey was likely to stay away from that realm of interaction. Like her, he was used to people not being interested in general. Looking out the door he went that way, finding his shirt in a pile on the stairs where he’d left it. He made his way back into her room, pulling on his shirt with a groan from the tattoo. “You’re still going to owe me that date though,” he pointed out before reaching for his boots and pulling those on as well.

"Yep. I got you almost naked in my bed because I have absolutely no attraction to you whatsoever." December deadpanned. "And I danced with you, and came up with a design specific to you, half layed across your back for the past hour or so..." she said, shaking her head. "And yeah, I won't go back on it. I said I'd do it, I'm a woman of my word."

Mickey had one shoe on, the other half on when she said that and he wound up slowing, looking at her curiously. Alright, he’d been here for all of that, but he hadn’t thought much of it really. Especially the almost naked in her bed part. Looking over his shoulder towards the door he made a face and stopped trying to shove his foot into his boot. “I don’t have to go...” Not that he had any idea what he’d do if he stayed, but there was nothing waiting for him outside of the rainstorm.

December arched a brow at him. "And what would you do if you stuck around?" she asked. "And I don't really need charity, you know. I don't want to be a charity case." She was sure he didn't like being charity for others either, so he'd understand that.

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue, but I’m sure you’d come up with something for me to do. Some huge thing you need carried up and down the stairs,” Mickey told her. “And you aren’t...you really couldn’t be a charity case December. It’s honestly not possible. Not that I wouldn’t want to help you if you needed it, but you have way to much...presence. Yeah presence, to be a charity case.”

December was a little lost when he was talking about carrying things up and down the stairs. As far as she knew that hadn't been what they'd been discussing at all, and so it threw her a little. But in the end, she ignored that part of the statement in favor of everything else. The 'not that I wouldn't want to help you if you needed it' part was nonsensical unless he was talking about things she was sure he wasn't. In the end she said what she was thinking. "I'm kind of thinking you and I aren't having the same conversation." she told him. "Which means it's time for you to go. Or me to go to sleep, if you wanted to stick around, I don't care. It's still pouring out there. If you want to ride out the storm here, you can."

Mickey frowned and nodded. “Guess not,” he said going back to shoving his foot into his boot with more force than was probably necessary. It was too hard to keep the disappointment out of his tone. He shouldn’t be, but for some reason he was, like whatever had just happened was some opportunity missed. “I can handle the rain. Can’t be any more wet than I already am.” His jacket was somewhere but he’d find it on the way out. “I’ll see you soon though,” he added. “And thanks for this. I do really like it.” Taking two steps back he wondered if there was something else he should do, something else he should say, but it wasn’t coming to him.

Noting the frown and the excessive force there, she watched him, head tilting just a little to the side. "Are you angry?" she asked, not quite sure what that was about. Or why he might be mad. There were apparently a lot of crossed signals going on.

“No, I’m fine,” Mickey lied without even thinking about it then shook his head running a hand through his hair. “No,” he tried again, honestly this time. “I’m not angry, just confused and oddly disappointed though I have no idea why or what about and sort of feeling like an idiot.”

"Thank you for starting again." she told him, seeing that he definitely switched up his answer, even if it was technically the same initial one. "What are you confused about? And give yourself a minute and think over why you're disappointed." she added, because she figured that might be important.

“I’m confused because I don’t know what happened. It made sense, but now I feel like I screwed up or something.” Mickey let out a slight sigh then looked away from her. “And disappointed probably because I was hoping you’d just say ‘yes’.” Which was ridiculous and admitting it made him want to leave even more.

"You wanted me to say yes to you staying here?" she asked. "I did say you could. It does suck out there. Your clothes would dry by morning. But you're not that guy. And we've had a lot to drink. And if you did something you regretted tomorrow, I might actually feel bad about that. And I don't feel bad about much. But that? I'd feel bad about." she said truthfully. Which sounded silly to her own ears, but it was true, too.

“You didn’t in the same way that we’d started talking. You all but offered me the floor, and don’t say that’s not the case, even if it wasn’t that was how I was going to take the offer.” Mickey made a face then closed his eyes. She was right, he wasn’t that guy, not at all. Sighing he opened his eyes again started towards he door. “I should go, you’re right. Maybe another time.”

"We'll talk about it when you show up for my date." she told him, because she did think at this point things could only get worse. But she stood firmly by the idea that he wasn't the guy he was sort of wishing she'd ask him to be. At least, that was what she thought had just happened. "Go get some sleep, Mickey. And take care of that phoenix. It'll take care of you." And because it was whim night, she went with one last one, which was to blow him a kiss.

He couldn’t help rubbing at the back of his neck, still feeling a little lost, but nodding nonetheless. “Right then, we’ll talk then.” The kiss helped, earning her one last smile before he shook his head and left the room.