Re: [Quicklog: Jack/Dahlia]
[The dog doesn't interfere. This is a vast improvement on Jack's imagined response from Bukowski. It looks doleful, which it probably should do. Jack's work is quick, because there's no point stringing it out in a futile attempt to be gentle. Dahlia has wrecked her hand and there's no rectifying that without pain. He's not entirely convinced she's not going to punch him, but this is the inevitable consequence of the odd friendship that has struck up over shared vices.]
If you got a raincheck, I'd fight you for it. [Dry. Jack knows enough of Cat's past to guess at it being a horror-show: there are a number of Cats about in town with enough horrific memory between them to power the town on a bender. Dahlia looks the adrenaline has subsided out of her and with it, whatever has been holding her together. He listens. It's self-pity as well as what is presumably, a string of actions that have occurred, Jack bides his time until she's done.]
You're going to give up? You? Good grief, Dahlia. I thought you had more in you than that. [It's polite surprise, and antagonism as deliberate as Jack knows how. 'Tired' could mean she needs to retreat to the upper room, but he knows exhaustion fed a different way.] We have nothing but the prospect of a shit-show ahead of us. Do you mind telling me how you fucked up the road-trip? I can listen. Or the dog can listen, he's got nothing better to do.