“Here I thought it was just you n’ me at the end of the world while I drag my ass back down to the darkness.” Bitterness of the drink beginning to jostle free some of its human counterpart was juxtaposed nicely with a full flash of teeth. Rocky road of humor teetering on grave dirt and loam was flushed through with a murderous laugh. Stretched out on film so severe the frame rate begin to distort, make a mockery of the basic activity of amusement, imbuing with a very translucent ink.
A flint strike of his iris darting down to the glass crawling towards him in feverish want had him clutch at the bottle. Disturbing the remnants of the firebranded booze by grinding it’s sinuous edge along the depths of carved wood grain, Boyd tipped it over onto it’s side without lifting. Cernuous noise of a vacuum swirling about in it’s containment subsided to a generous stream directly into the cheap crystal. One ounce, two, three, it continued to fill until the fragile layer was par to the rim. Finally removing the now severely depleted bottle from his hold it was placed between them for easy access.
“I like knowin’ that after a few rounds that come down to it, really, you’re more worried about goin’ to county yourself than my certainty of endin’ up there. I think this potluck might just end up workin’ in the end eh?”
Nose crinkled as mock disgust poorly attempted to overtake still lingering smile. “Mhm, that how you pictured it?” Twin arches swooped skyward and lower pout fell victim to blunt oral fissure as azures wavered reticently upon his blinding beam. Glass replenished, fore-limb carefully winched whiskey to lips. This time, only quarter of liquor amount inhaled before comparably placed beside lone beer, however digits would not bid release quite yet. It seemed indulgences would reside in harsher Kentucky rye instead of feather light proof. “’Cause no offense, Boyd but you’re honestly the last person I’d thought to be stuck with during end times.” He wasn’t last on her list, but he certainly wasn’t first either.
Fingertips gently swiped golden locks from forehead and palm molded to delicate feminine aspect. Narrowing brows, head shook in disagreement. “I ain’t worried about goin’ to county.” Like him, she was attempting to make changes – or at least planned on doing so. In that moment, she was failing miserably, but celebration was an exception. “What I’m worried ‘bout is you gettin’ me involved in somethin’ that will put me there.” Posture straightened and hand vacated cheek’s comfort for another helping of warm amber elixir, enabling lips to ambitiously polish off inebriate remainder. Decision to squirrel away semblance of sobriety and grant intemperance a rest finally took precedence, driving forelimb to cradle Budweiser within her grasp instead.
“Now, now, don’t go gettin’ any ideas, Boyd. Just ‘cause we’re out havin’ a drink together, ain’t mean we’re best friends all’a sudden.” No, they weren’t friends. Friends would implicate trust and Ava could not yet confide in him.
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