all I am is a body floating downwind

[selfmadman]

Who: Don and Kalinda
What: A promise kept.
Where: A rooftop (kind of) bar, Canker Wedge.
When: St. Fuck-this-holiday-I'm-going-drinking
Warnings: Help I can't think of anything flippant.

On this block in Canker Wedge, in a gap between buildings so slight the wind holds its breath to squeeze through, stairs rise from nowhere. A glowing railing corkscrews into the sky in a silver strand. The first step clangs metallic underfoot; as Don sets his hand on the railing its light fades then begins to pulsate. The climb isn't as steep, doesn't last as long as it should. It feels like flipping forward in a book.

At the top is a star-flecked night blanketing a distant city. For a while he drinks in the view; for a while it offers the same soothing burn as a glass of whiskey. Then he makes his way between the two long counters reaching for the bar. Heat blooms in unexpected pockets along the way: it's warmer up here than it is inside.

He orders a drink and as he waits realizes there's no music playing.

Comments

[selfmadman]

He draws in a breath, holds it, exhales through his nose. The line of his shoulders sinks; he reaches for the ashtray, taps his cigarette once. "You'd like that," he says with a trace of disbelieving admiration.

Don dislodges his gaze from her, stares for a minute or so out at the city. The lights in all those far-off windows. "You wanna go back down," he asks. His eyes are dark in the bar's dim light. "Try to throw me off balance there?"

[betterthansubpoenas]

Whether she takes the answer as confirmation or denial, Kalinda smirks. It's a good answer. She could say that she maybe just hopes he can keep up with her, but instead she takes in the sky for herself, working down her cigarette with another deep inhale.

Through half-lidded eyes, she watches the paper glow red and burn down to ash to be caught in the breeze or tapped off into the tray. She considers what he's proposing silently. If he were anyone else, she'd give him the standard warning, that this isn't any more than what it appears to be on the surface. But with Don... she doesn't feel the need to.

"Sure." The cigarette's crushed into the receptacle on the bar rather than beneath the sole of her boot. She leaves her cash there, too. "Let's go." Without waiting to see if he's going to lead or follow, she takes the initiative, pushing off the bar and heading for the stairs.

[selfmadman]

“After you,” he says to her back. Lightly but loud enough to carry. Mouth twisting in a smile he jabs his cigarette out beside hers.

At the foot of the steps the street waits in a moment of emptiness, a glass in need of refilling. Hooves clop in the distance. The air's regained its chill; it stings the back of his throat when he breathes, a welcome sharpness. “Where to?” Don asks, and not as a formality.

[betterthansubpoenas]

Self-satisfied, she smiles at the way Don falls into line. There's a lot about him that she appreciates. Some of it she can articulate, and some she can't. She sweeps a look down the length of the street in either direction as if she might see something that will decide for her where they should head from here.

"How about your place?" she asks smoothly, not even turning to face him until after the words have left her lips. The look she gives him is politely inquisitive, but appraising at the same time. Then again, there's always a sense about Kalinda Sharma that suggests she's filing away every move he makes, assessing and judging - though not maliciously - as they go along.

[selfmadman]

The breath that escapes him isn't a laugh: too soft, too contained. "It's not exactly around the corner." He peers at her, pictures their knees knocking together in a hansom. A level amusement in his eyes.

He hasn't said no.

[betterthansubpoenas]

"You chose the bar," Kalinda chides with a grin in her tone rather than on her face. "Unless you have an alternative in mind..." Which doesn't necessarily rule out her own home, but she won't be the one to suggest it. Likely for the same drawback associated with his place. "Ball's in your court."

Somewhere, she hopes Will Gardner is smiling, and with no idea why.