Re: Quicklog, Carnival: Cat/Reece
[Cat remembered being so wasted at that empty house in the neighborhood, but she didn't remember if he'd been drunk. She didn't even remember why she'd been so drunk. Maybe her memory would be better now that new things were being stored in a legitimately young brain, but Cat's powers of retention? Not that hot before.
His wrist was grabbed, he leaned back, he touched her cheek. She snuggled further in her jacket-blanket, tugging a corner up to her shoulder, and it was all night cold and a hint of defiance that remained and didn't allow her to put her arms into the sleeves. No hiding, and he was too drunk to need to hide around right now. Upper-hand, remember? And her fingers tugged lightly on the ends of brown strands. His hair was getting really long, but she liked it, and she was more easily affectionate like this, when she didn't perceive rejection as a thing looming right around the corner.
His glasses slid; she smiled and tried to help him right them. He said man a lot when he was drunk, but she didn't tell him so. He talked and yelled, and the ride started.] That attendant is not going to be your best friend. [Which, you know, was her easing into oil paintings and spills.] People keep stains spilled all the time, Reece. That's why marriages end and people break up and disappear. What makes us different? [The question was asked without verbal italics, without edge. She sounded like a young boy at the moment, one that was sitting on a spinning ride with his hand in his boyfriend's hair and his thighs over his boyfriend's thighs.]