nonscriptum: if you put a vegetable on there, so help me God (I'll have one meat lovers pizza please)
𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚎 ([personal profile] nonscriptum) wrote2019-12-08 12:08 am
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@nathan.drake| ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

wittingly: (Aɴᴅ sᴏ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-10 12:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's a pretty clear air of contemplative energy rolling off of Nate that he can see even through the gentle cloud of being stoned. Aside from that, Ian's own brain starts turning over practical applications for this kind of power - monetary gain aside, Jesus, influencing luck has got to be one of the most insane and abstract ideas he could think of. Something like that could legitimately save your life, it could save other people's lives, and it could do it in a way that was effortless. He'd love to know what in the hell the limits are, what happens if Nate needs luck but doesn't have an intent in mind, the scope of it, the--

Nate yanks him back into the present, and his eyebrows shoot up. ]


...What happened at the casino?

[ Carefully, pointedly, because if movies taught him anything it's that fucked up things happen to people who screw with the house too much. Accidentally winning big consistently enough is bound to attract attention. ]
wittingly: (Oғ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴜʀ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-10 04:43 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ian starts groaning at the word undid, because he pieces it together almost instantly. God in heaven, of course he did, and then whoever was running the joint would've seen the glow, figured out he was a displaced, and assumed he was cheating the everloving fuck out of everything.

He scrubs his hand over his face, scratches at his facial hair while his lips twist up into something concerned. ]


Well you're still running around and not, like, in jail or-- I don't know, what in the fuck would a casino owner do to a magically cheating gambler? How'd you get out of it?
wittingly: (As ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-12 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ian does not, in fact, take it as a hypothetical. He's learning from his mistakes and he's assuming the most dangerous eventuality is in fact the truest account of Nathan's history. He's leveled with an flat, patient stare throughout his circle-talking — right up until that big delivery, at which point his features shift into something more resembling distress. ]

A job? They- meaning, the owners of a casino, people who have goons, people who are interested in paying other people to magically cheat at high-stakes gambling — are they the fucking mafia? The mafia offered you a job?

[ But wait! There's more! The conclusions don't end there — ]

Oh fuck, you took it, didn't you?
wittingly: (A ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ I ᴍᴀʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-12 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Does all of that make complete and total sense? Yes. Is he happy about any of it regardless? Resounding no.

His lips press together in a gentle unhappy line, though the soft cloud of pot in his mind keeps him from dipping to outright upset. His fingers card through his hair, catch about midway through as some of the curls lock together. He abandons the motion, and the tendrils sort of flop dejectedly over onto one side.

Nate doesn't shy from the eye contact, but Ian does a little - it's just a slight dip and sideways look wherein his eyes land on his glass as he settles heavily back into the couch. ]


I just don't want you to get hurt, man. It sounds fucking dangerous.
wittingly: (I ᴡɪsʜ I ᴡᴀs sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-19 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's quiet for a second, words in his head that he turns over a few times to weigh them against the sober part of his brain and determine if it's a good idea to actually say them. Weed makes his filter drop a little, he forgets for a few seconds at a time to actually think before he speaks.

What he's thinking about saying feels a little too real-sounding, though, and responding to doesn't mean a lot to you the way he almost does... Yeah, he'd replay it later on without being stoned and probably agonize over it. Kick himself like a moron.

In the end, the sand sifts under the surface and it's smoothed back into glass with the absent motion of his tongue passing over his lips. ]


Alright, man, but if you get into trouble...

[ You have his number. Does it come across as that, or does it come across as if you get into trouble keep it away from me? Can't be sure it comes across the way it means it to, he's second guessing himself a little with that pot-based paranoia.

Just to be sure, he follows it up with a blithe, self-deprecating offer. ]


I can make some neat fucking... walls, or something.
wittingly: (Mʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪs sᴛʀᴏɴɢ ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ)

[personal profile] wittingly 2020-10-23 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
[ It drives a soft, amused scoff out of him. Yeah, yeah, shut up, maybe he's not the best at delivering the appropriate amount (but not too much) of sincerity while stoned.

Good to have the lightness back, and it's written in his expression somewhere even as he lifts his eyes to shoot Nate a look.

Half-mutters: ]


Better than your walls anyway, Winnesota.