Re: log: dylan & max
His gaze turned upward, and she watched it go. There weren't any truths to be found on the ceiling of the hipster bar. "Happy doesn't hurt," she echoed. She said the words like she needed verification they were true. Something always hurt; that was life. In her experience, the happy moments were fleeting, gone before you even realized you'd felt a moment of it. And losing that shit always hurt, always, so she wasn't sure he was right. She tapped the bar for a beer, and she tapped out a smoke against the wood. "I think happy counts because there's hurt around it. It's the absence of hurt, sure, but it wouldn't count for shit if there wasn't the bad crap to go along with it." It was, maybe, the booze talking. She was a great drunk, which was just a job requirement, but she felt the buzz, same as anyone. It just took more drinks these days. It took a lot more drinks these days.
She didn't point out when the entertainment crossed his features this time; she didn't want to chase it away. "I'll let you know if I manage." Because they both knew she was shit at staying out of things. It was one thing to say she didn't care, and it was another thing entirely to follow through. Sitting there, fresh beer cold against her hand, she didn't care.
The new job. Ha. It was a sign that, yes, she was absolutely not sober that she answered his question without thinking. "It sucks. Great boss. But it's a desk, and some agents in my ear. I'm not good at people." She grinned, and the smile lines around her mouth went deeper than they had the last time the two of them had thrown back drinks. "But you know that." She shrugged. "Fish. I don't give a shit. It's a private org. called SHIELD." She shook her head. "There's something in town I'm interested in, but I have to ask around," she admitted." Yeah, drunk, and she put the beer away as easily as she'd put the shots away.