Petit Lapan LeBeau (prettylilbunny) wrote in utr_logs, @ 2008-02-26 14:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | artan stillman, petit lapan lebeau |
The continuing adventures of Petit & Artan
Who: Petit & Artan
Where: Petit's place
When: Monday evening, after their grand adventure Monday morning
Warnings: Gets long, again, they're chatty, swear like always have some booze and some pot and then fall asleep.
The two black-haired ex-pirates had decided that going out was a great idea best left for another day. Artan had his share of people, frankly, and was more than happy to pull on a set of clothes he bought, feeling much more at ease in a sleeveless top and boot cut jeans than anything else. He'd gone through the movie collection, lip curling in disgust at all the chick flicks Petit seemed to have inherited. "Jesus christ, Beaches, Squirt?" He asked, finally sighing and pulling out a comedy starring Adam Sandler and sticking it in the player. "I mean, I like watching Bette Midler die as much as the next guy, but goddamn."
Petit was comfortable enough in the jeans and the shirt, but the boots had been left by the kitchen door with her work shoes, "Don't look at me man, they were here when I got here. Probably came with the entertainment system. I mean, does that look like the kind of collection someone would put together on purpose? And do I have a phone book, I'm ordering a pizza."
"Pepperoni and sausage on my half." He said, looking over the collection again. "Actually, the whole thing reads 'party hearty frat-boy fucking bimbo' to me. She's got every Punk'd season on DVD, a shitload of sappy chick flicks, and every Adam Sandler movie, which frankly, is the only thing I approve of." He shrugged, "I don't know what I'd expect from your collection, actually. Horror movies and like -- Iunno, The Wall."
She nodded, unfolding from her chair to go find a phone book, there had to be one somewhere after all, rummaging through drawers as she answered, "Yeah, that's about right, and some of the classics, Manchurian Candidate and Wonderful Life and stuff like that." Gone With the Wind, but she wasn't going to admit to that.
And since she wasn't going to admit it, he'd never admit to owning it back home, either. "I've got a lot of Kubrick, myself. A couple cheesy B-flicks when I'm toasted. Shit like that. I think I saw one in the kitchen, lemmie go check. If not, there's the internet."
"Got one." She said, leafing through it, finding folded pages, "Heh, no connections to people, but she's got the nearest takeout places marked. Nice." While flipping to pizza and going to get the phone she added: "Had a whole lot of Tarintino, not all of it, but a lot of it. Henri didn't get the appeal."
"I liked Grindhouse." Said Artan with a shrug, dropping into a chair and sipping from his glass of water. "More a fan of Rodriguiez, though. I ever tell you I met him? Nah, I wouldn't have, that was only a couple years ago or something. We were in Vegas, and he came through the convention, and stopped by my booth. I shook his hand, and he wound up signin' my table. God, that was great." He sighed and grinned. "Jesus, it would have kicked so much ass to give that guy ink."
She nodded, finally punching in the number for the pizza place, smiling brightly enough as she made the order, snickering when she hung up, "Apparently this is a pretty common occurrance." A shrug then as she sprawled across her chair once more, "Should be about a half hour, and I'm no good with zombie flicks, call it genetics."
"Damn voodoo ladies stirrin' up mojo." Artan said, looking over at Petit with a weak smile. "Hey. S'great to know you're here, you know? Out of all the people I'd want to run into in this crazy antireality, you'd be the first."
She smiled at that, and if he'd been closer she would have ruffled his hair, as it was she just nodded, "Nice to see a familiar face. Even if it did catch me off guard at first." A shrug, settling herself comfortably once more, "And damn nice to have something familiar."
"Anything familiar would be great at this point." Said Artan, slipping into silence as he started the movie. Between the time the movie's intro popped and when the doorbell rang, he'd gotten into a crosslegged position in the chair and almost draped himself along one arm.
Petit somehow managed to insinuate herself around and upright, heading to the door, already fishing out her wallet, she beamed at the deliveryman, tipped the same as always, and kicked the door shut behind her, "Meatiest meat pizza ever, breadsticks, and I'm sure I've got liquor somewhere."
"I know where it is, I found it while searching out the coffee this morning." Artan said, bounding into the kitchen to open up a cupboard and pull out two bottles of fine scotch. "At least you know what's good." He said, handing one to her and reaching into the breadstick box. "Damn, it's been almost a week since I had breadsticks, I might have died!"
She grinned at that, "I didn't even have to ask! They just said: 'you want blahblahblah like usual?' and I was all: 'sure!'" She curled herself up around the bottle of scotch, leaning over so she could get a slice of the pizza, "I don't think I even want to know what all's on this, because it smells really good."
Artan dropped himself into a half-reclined position on the couch, snagging a slice for himself. "At least she has good taste in something." Starting the movie once more, he set about eating and drinking until he felt like he was going to be a little sick.
Petit, in typical fashion, managed to polish off most of the breadsticks herself, as well as three slices of pizza, still nibbling at a fourth. This was washed down, of course, with about a third of the bottle of scotch that she was still curled up around. She was sort of paying attention to the movie, but mostly she was just tracking movement at the moment.
Artan had simply gone off into his own little mental tangents, his eyes still watching, but his mind entirely elsewhere. It was in this particular mentality that he forgot Petit wasn't a mind reader, so when he said "Yeah, I'mma do that," he completely didn't realize that getting up and heading out of the room was probably unexpected. Of course, it was only a brief trip in any case, because he came back down with the baggie he'd found in his hotel room.
In fact, the speaking aloud startled her, blinking over at him a moment, brow creasing, utterly and completely puzzled when he wandered off, but smiling again when he returned, "So that's where you went."
"Oh yeah, I totally forgot to say something again, didn't I?" He said, dropping the baggie between them on the table after nudging the pizza box aside. He handed off one joint, "This is going to be gone by the end of the week, or we won't have done things right." This was said with the utmost sincerity.
Petit tilted her head, calculating, realizing that she still had a pizza crust in one hand she dropped it into the now empty breadstick box, "Best idea ever, 'cept I've still got work." She wasn't exactly slurring just yet, but she was certainly a whole lot more lax in speaking.
"Big baby. Smoke more pot." Artan rolled his eyes, taking one for himself and lighting it. Apparently, this was no longer just teenage giggly 'ohnoes we're doin' somethin' naughty' shit to him, he nearly smoked a quarter of the joint in one long, intense hit, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling a cloud of blue-grey. "Yeah, now okay, I don't care. Bill and Jack would have loved this shit."
There was an eyeroll, making grabby hands at the lighter. This was far from a regular sort of thing for her, but she wasn't a total lightweight, "Gonna call in dead. S'a good plan. Moving anyway, right?"
"Yep. Back home for you." He said as he tossed his lighter to her, taking another hit before saying with as little breath as he could, "It's not like you've got anything to prove to anyone, that's whoever you've become, not you. Anyway, once you get your bearings," he exhaled, "You'll be fine. Set up shop down in New Orleans, maybe pull some strings with Not-Dad to get you into the Guild? Hell. Henri's still Henri, you know all the man's buttons."
She nodded, lighting her own and tossing the lighter back as she took a hit, setting herself more comfortably in the chair, almost burrowing, really, "Don't wanna." A shrug, "Do my best work freelance."
"Sure y'do, Squirt. but at least pull a couple strings so you don't go gettin' under the skin of the Guild, you know they don't take kindly to people messing with their territory." He stretched out across the couch and groaned as he got his back and shoulders to pop. He let out a sigh as he relaxed once more. "Dot your I's, cross your Ts, make sure they don't decide to go vendetta on your ass." He set the joint down in an ashtray he'd swiped from the market earlier, and rubbed his face. "Actually, I'd love to start up again. Actually go out and do shit that doesn't require multi-platinum hits."
She shrugged, "Worry about that when I get there. And I'm telling you. Offshore accounts and then pfffft, dead. Best way to start over." Another long drag before sighing and eying what was left, shaking her head and setting it aside as well, "Maybe something'll come up."
"Something always does, babe." Artan put his arms behind his head and smiled at her. "How you wanna kill me this time?" He asked. "Just remember that I actually have to recover from whatever death you put me through."
She rolled her eyes, "We aren't actually going to kill you." In fact she didn't even think a maiming was in order, but wasn't going to say so, just because. Because why? Well, because she had a pizza crust to finish, and it was good.
"Tch, party pooper. I like to do my own stunts. But how do you think I should go out?" He asked with a smirk. He had to think it over, "You know who I replaced, what's the most fitting death for a melodramatic drug-abusing industry pioneer?"
"Hit by a bus?" Mind, this was said around a mouthful of pizza crust and was quite honest. She might come up with something better later, but they still had time to plan.
He snickered. Actually, it was quite a while before he stopped chuckling before he shook his head, "No, it's gotta be good. Like... truly befitting. No ODing, either, that'd be way too anticlimactic." He thought about this, possibly not realizing his Thinking Face was ridiculously comic before his brows shot up and he stared at her. "We could have it be ritual suicide for the pagan god of... I don't know... Darkness or something."
Her head tilted, just watching the Thinking Face get more and more amusing, trying not to snicker and at the exclamation she finally cracked, muffling her laugh against the wing-back of the chair, finally shaking her head, "No good. We don't know any pagan darkness gods."
"Do you have any cheetos?" Was the response from Artan, who'd completely lost track of what they were talking about because of the tiny little assassin/thief's laughter. "Seriously. Cheetos. I need them."
"I... don't know. Maybe? Do they even make those here?"
There was only one way to find out! Of course it took her a couple tries to actually disentangle herself from the chair before going into the kitchen to look through the cabinets
Artan decided to help! Which of course, by 'help', we mean 'stand behind Petit and reach the higher shelves, but generally be in the way'. "If they don't make cheetos, I'm firing England."
"You can fire whole countries? That's awesome!" She was distracted by a package of Jaffa Cakes, grinning and perching herself on the counter to eat them, quite contentedly forgetting about the search for cheetos
"I can fire everything. Could fire you right now for not sharing." Artan said, arms crossed over his chest. "Gimmie one of those."
She shook her head, holding the package against her chest with one arm, "Can't fire me. S'my house." She apparently still had some grasp of logic, "Could fire you for coveting my goods." ... Sort of.
"I covet your goods alright, but I was talking about the whatever-those-are that you're eating!" He snagged the package and laughed, holding it up over his head as he jumped away, taking one out of the package and taking a bite of it. "Ha!"
Crispy-sided sponge cake, orange jelly-stuff, chocolate on top. Best invention ever as far as Petit was concerned.
Which would be why there was pouting. A lot of pouting. And bloopy eyes. She'd had a lot of practice at this.
"Don't you start with that, it doesn't work on me, Squirt." He said over a mouthful of cakey-goodness. "What'll you give me for 'em?" The smug smile was back in place, as he kept his arm held up.
and because this is where I fell asleep, we decided that she offered something like 'a jabillionty dollars' and then they fell asleep on the couch