ainsley kennedy ℘ éowyn (withoutrenown) wrote in ourtrueselves, @ 2009-12-12 00:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | ainsley kennedy, walt schmidt |
Who: Ainsley Kennedy and Walt Schmidt
When: Friday evening (December 11)
Where: A bar in Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, and possibly a boat.
What: Walt needs to complete one of the dares, and he ropes Ainsley into helping him.
Warning: Drunken shenanigans, and a teensy bit of angst.
Ainsley was good at hiding - or, at least, she was good at running away. Wasn't all that hard, really, especially when you had a decent-sized plane at your disposal. But as good as she was at running away from her problems (and a certain group of people with a certain person as their leader), she wasn't very good at running away from her own thoughts. Those tended to follow her wherever she went, and tonight wasn't any different. Jamaica was a good distraction, and so was drinking in a crowded bar like Rick's, but she was still drinking alone. That was never very helpful.
She sighed and threw back a shot. She'd lost count of how many she'd had already, but then, she wasn't trying to keep track in the first place. After Michael's underhandedness and learning about the Fitzgeralds, she really didn't care how drunk she got tonight. Plus there was Walt and whatever the hell he was planning, just the thought of which made her want to run far, far away. She had sort of promised to meet him, though, so she just sighed again and waved at the bartender to bring her another. While he was pouring it, she stuck her elbow on the bar, held her head in her hand, and grumbled, "C'mon, Walt, where the hell are you?" She was getting impatient, and she was already bitter and depressed - not a good combination, even on the best of days.
Walt's trip wasn't the fastest it could have been, but it was much quicker than conventional travel. MTNs and a few boat rides, he was there. He looked comfortable; it'd been some time since he'd been down this way, and it looked the same. Ainsley was always a strange girl, and he'd decided someone had to look in on her now and then. Plus, it was fun to get under her skin. Not that he liked causing trouble, not at all, but he did like seeing the girl express some emotions other than the woe is me and fear she had going.
"So, how far behind am I?" He settled onto a bar stool beside her, flagging down the bartender to set up a few more shots before they would be off. "You look like shit, Ainsley, my girl. Haven't been brushing your hair with the horse brush again, have you?" The smile could have suggested he believed what he was saying, or he didn't. Walt did like to keep things ambiguous.
"Finally, Jesus Christ, I thought I was gonna be here all night before you showed up!" She really was incredibly relieved to see him; technically, he was the first reincarnate she'd seen in person since she came back into the fold, and she was glad she was meeting with Walt instead of... well, anyone else, to be honest. It was easy to be around him, which was saying something for Ainsley. It wasn't easy for her to be around anybody.
Keeping her elbow on the bar, she turned slightly on the stool to address him - and, yes, to glare at him a little. "Do you always point out the obvious, or is it just on days that end in -y?" she drawled. "Of course I look like shit. Jamaica doesn't like my hair, and my hair doesn't like Jamaica. And I've been drinking for..." She thought about it for a second or two. "A while. Or something. What the hell do you need my services for, anyway? I can't fly you anywhere tonight, I've gotta be here tomorrow. And I'm drunk, so. Bad idea."
"Actually, I need an accomplice, and you seem to be a likely candidate for that." Walt shrugged, taking the shot placed before him and downing it. It took a good bit of alcohol to do anything to the spy turned music manager, and he knew that the woman beside him couldn't put away the drinks like he could. He'd take it easy on her. "You need fun because I know you haven't had any. I need to do something reckless because that is how I live. We do this together, two birds one stone. You know how it works."
He downed a few more shots before nudging the other two toward her. "Drink up, my girl, drink up. We have places to go. Many miles before we sleep and all that." If he hadn't shown up, maybe she wouldn't be getting shitfaced, or maybe she would. At least now he could know that he made sure she got shitfaced and not dead. Well, preferably not dead.
She bit her lip to keep from pouting. She might have felt shitty, but she wouldn't pout, no sir. She would, however, protest. "I have fun! I fly all over the Caribbean and the Gulf - I was in Cancún last week! That's generally considered to be a fun place... isn't it?" For a moment, she looked at him with wide, almost desperate eyes, then rolled them and looked away. "Fuck. Who'm I trying to convince." She downed the shots he'd scooted towards her and coughed a little once she'd finished them. "So. Reckless, huh? This have anything to do with that ridiculous dare war that's going on?"
"Does it matter?" Walt's smile widened for a moment before he gave her a playfully light punch to the shoulder. "Get your sorry ass up. Got a car round here? Or just the plane? The plane will not be of any use, but I wanted to make sure." He slid off the stool, not caring that he probably wasn't that much taller than she. His hands slid into his pockets as he waited for her to join him.
"You acually do anything while flying all these exotic places known for partying and stupidty?" He laughed softly. "Com'on. You can tell me about your life, and then complain about the war and how much you do but don't want to be a part of it."
She scoffed as she slid off the stool - surprisingly gracefully, considering all the alcohol she'd imbibed. That was all Éowyn's doing; if anyone could be drunk and graceful simultaneously, it was her. "Are you kidding? If I can't fly, I'd rather just walk. Can we walk wherever we're going? If not, we might be able to find a taxi, or hitch even, if you really wanna be reckless." She pulled a couple of bills out of her back pocket and tossed them on to the bar, then turned and headed to the door without waiting for Walt. He'd catch up.
She pretended not to hear his last statement until they were outside, where it was much noisier and much more humid. She crossed her arms and shrugged at no one in particular. "What's there to tell? Nothin's changed. I fly around, I take care of my horses, and I avoid people. Nothin' new there. And don't even get me started about this stupid war. I don't wanna be a part of it, but Michael keeps -" She cut herself off and glanced at Walt. "I just don't. End of story. Now, where are we going?"
"Yeah. End of story. Your story's not much different than hers. I'd read it a few times before you were even born. Don't give me that 'same ole, same ole' bullshit." Walt could be demanding, but he wasn't a bad guy. He reached over and gave her a half hug. "Right, now we're walking then. Fresh air isn't bad for a body. See, I have this plan. There's got to be a boat somewhere, and it's going to need rescuing. Thenw e'll return it, and you can go back to moping while I go off to give some poor stranger the worst lapdance she or he has ever had."
"It will be the highlight of the day for this poor soul though. For it shall be memborable and give them a story to tell their grandchildren when said grandchildren are old enough to hear stories about random lapdances." He smirked, starting to walk away.
"Ugh, you really had to bring that up, didn't you?" Ainsley was painfully aware of the parallels between her life and Éowyn's; sometimes it was even hard to tell the difference between the two. Uncharacteristically, she let him hug her, and she even leaned a little against his shoulder. For all the shit she gave him sometimes, she really did like Walt. "Poor soul indeed. Mind if I take pictures? You never know, I might need to blackmail you someday. Or whoever you're gonna be torturing, either one."
But then, after a moment, she remembered what he said about the boat, and she stopped her in tracks and looked at him carefully. "Wait. A boat?" She raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean we're going to be pirates?" She paused, and her face split into an involuntary grin. "Of the Caribbean?"
"I don't have any money. You think if I had money, I'd have come out of hiding." Walt probably would, but he couldn't let people know that he actually had savings. Well, if he had any. He continued walking, pausing only briefly to look back at her. He thought for a moment. "Damn, I missed that one. Yes, yes, we are. We should get a little rum to go with it. I should have thought of that."
He shook his head. "I'm getting pretty fucking old if I missed an excuse to be a pirate." He glanced over at her once she caught up. Grinning was a step in the right direction. "So, kid, what are you flying these days?"
Her eyes widened, and she laughed as she caught up with him. "You missed that one? Damn, Walt, and I thought I lived under a rock! How could you miss Pirates of the Caribbean?! But never mind that, we should definitely get some rum and we should definitely not burn it. No Elizabeth Swanns allowed on this adventure!" She laughed again, even though she figured he wouldn't get the joke, and hooked her arm around his and leaned on him again. She didn't exactly know why she did that; she wasn't exactly a touchy-feely kind of person. Probably because she was too drunk to care.
She shrugged. "Same thing I always fly. Cessna Citation I. She's not as shiny as she used to be, but she hasn't failed me yet." She sighed and brushed some hair out of her eyes - windy and humid, Jesus, what a combination. "I wish I had my daddy's plane. I loved it so much." She almost said, "And if I had his plane, I'd still have him," but she stopped herself before she could. There were some things she just didn't talk about, even under the influence.
"I missed the connection. I saw the movie. JD wasn't bad, not bad at all. Knightly and the other fellow, they were okay. See, I see movies. No shit. Damn bird kept getting in the way." Walt shook his head, leaned against her in return. She needed to be touchy feely, and he didn't mind getting touchy feely with a hot gal, even if he could have been her father four times over. He looked at her for a moment; she really hadn't changed too much since the last time he'd seen her.
"Yeah. Just get a new one, kiddo. Save up your pennies, get rid of some of those flea bitten mares, and buy yourself a brand new areo-plane." He knew she'd never get rid of the horses. "Speaking of flea bitten mares, how's my filly doing?" He didn't really have a horse, but there was always one that seemed to like him, or want to bite him. Women, if they weren't snuggling up to him, they were beating him up. Way of his life, right?
She punched his side, possibly a little harder than she should've. "I'm not selling my horses, you ass, and I'm not getting a new plane either! I like them, and I like this one, and why would I change anything if I like everything the way it is, huh?" Story of Ainsley's life, right there. Even a person who had just met her would be able to tell that she didn't like change, and she'd do whatever she could to keep things from changing. Sometimes, though, she got a little impulsive, and that's usually when the shit started hitting the fan. She never made good decisions when she was impulsive. "And Imogen? She's fine, I guess. I think she misses you. She always seems a little disappointed when she realizes it's me brushing her and not you. That's horses for you. You take care of 'em for years, then somebody else walks in and feeds 'em something special, and they never treat you the same again." Ainsley was 90% sure she was still talking about horses. She told herself that whole little rant didn't make sense otherwise, but like that had ever stopped Walt from reading between the lines.
"Right. I see you haven't changed a bit. Bad with people and lying. I like it. Stay sweet, never change." Walt smirked, having only offed a little at the hit earlier. It was what the did. She'd abuse him, he'd abuse her, they lived happily ever after. Only neither of them were really all that happy. "Here's the thing, pigeon, you're going to have to stop living in that comfort zone that really isn't making you happy and get back out there. You and yours are heroes. Cindy and I can take a break. We live longer than the horse people." He reached up and squeezed her arm softly. Every once in a while other people's mortality got to him.
"Now, which way is the dock? Boats are usually at docks. We are definitely not at a dock." Turn the conversation. "I think I'll come give Imogen a good brushing soon. Need to get out of Seattle before I kill those boys. If that Snow White freak asks me one more time about wearing a fucking shoe, I'm going to trounce him. Estrada's a fine guy, damn good musician, but shit."
For a moment, she didn't say anything. Didn't really know what to say. She knew what he was saying was right - hell, she'd been thinking herself for quite awhile now - but she didn't really want to admit it, not yet. But then again, maybe she did. He was trying to do her a favor by changing the subject, she knew that, but she was tired of keeping things to herself. She had to open up sometime, right? Might as well be now, when she wouldn't remember doing it in the morning.
She rested her head against his shoulder, so she wouldn't have to look at him as she spilled. "The truth is, I don't know what my comfort zone is anymore. Or if I ever had one. It's so easy to keep away from people, but it's so hard too. Most of it's my own fault, I know - flyin' around, keeping myself distracted, running off to Montana when being around people gets to be too much - but Éowyn doesn't help any. She's so lonely. She lost Théoden twice, and there's no one else out there for her. I mean, there's Jason, but he's Gandalf, and she wasn't that close to him to begin with. But... I don't know. I don't even know what I'm saying. Just that I don't know how to be.... happy, I guess." She sighed and pulled herself away from him, then laughed, more than a little embarrassed. "God, how drunk am I? Anyway, I think the docks are that way." She pointed to a street on their left "If we keep walking, we should find 'em pretty soon."
"Well, it's a fucking island. If we keep walking, we'll end up on a beach eventually." Walt smiled. "You know you could tell him how you feel? Or find someone new to squeeze." Yeah, they both knew who the 'he' in that sentence was, and Walt didn't seem ready to jump into the new category. He was just fine being the old creepy guy she bitched at. "You've been getting laid right? That could be part of your problem. Unless that's why you keep that stallion around. Maybe we should call you Catherine instead of Ainsley." He laughed, not wincing or flinching for the swing that was sure to come after that. "
And swing she did, hitting his arm as hard as she could. "Shut up, you old perv! I may be drunk and pathetic, but I'm not that drunk and pathetic!" She laughed a little in spite of herself, but now that she'd got the truth out of her system, he wasn't going to get anything else out of her. Old habits die hard. "And I don't know what you're talking about, and even if I did, that is so not an option. And why do you care if I'm getting laid, anyway? That is so far from being your business it's not even funny." She hit him again, more playfully this time, and quickly changed the subject. "By the way, I can't remember if I told you this before, but if you ever tell anyone that my ranch is in Montana, I'll kill you. I don't know how just yet, but I will. "Swear to God."
Walt winced. He may be hard to kill, but that had hurt. He knew that had been the point, and maybe he played it up a little for her benefit. It'd be healed soon enough. He pouted just a little, but the look never suited him. Not in this sort of situation anyway. "Yeah, yeah. I'm an old man. I have to get my jollies somewhere." He reached over and mussed her hair, which was already a mess. "Don't you worry. Your equine love nest is our little secret. Although, I bet you would get a little more attention from the not so fair sex if you admitted to your penchant for studs." He laughed again. Yes, he liked this kid; she was a figher. He'd been fond of Eowyn too; the two women had something, if only they'd figure out what and use it.
She ducked away from his hand a second too late. "I get enough attention, you old fart. Got a man in every airport, what do I need studs for?" She was joking, of course. She wasn't in most airports long enough to even look at men, let alone sleep with them. "Can we hurry up and steal this boat, please? If we're gonna get caught, I'd like to be able to make my escape before dawn."
"We're not going to get caught. Oh, ye of little faith." Walt tsked before giving a soft whistle. "There we go." The smile faded rather quickly, and his whole demeanor seemed to shift from the usually easy going to possible assassin mode. There were times he bragged about what he knew and could do, but usually he was great at the bullshit. If no one believed him, then they'd never see him coming. "Okay, looks unguarded."
It was a small slip, nothing overly pricy in the boats, and that was exactly what he wanted. Nothing too expensive, but nothing so cheap that if something should happen someone would lose a means of support. "We take one with the douchiest name possible, send her out, then bring her back. You ditch as I make explain I just happened by, got it?"
Ainsley rolled her eyes. "Aye aye, captain. You know me, I'm awfully good at ditching douches."