The Start of a Beautiful Co-Dependence

"Awwwww, Po-oe!" Jack fake whined as he snuck the fries away from her. Her eyes narrowed on the basket and she rubbed her fingers together as though she were going to swipe a fry, but she was distracted. Eight to eight. Okay. Level field. Not too bad. Not something she could not come back from. Sure, the drinking could not be undone, but one could not expect to have it all, now could she?

She swiped out and managed to catch a singular fry, a look of triumph gracing her face before he listed his next statement. "FAAAAAAAAH!" Jack groaned, flopping her head down on the bartop and raising her fist, putting one of the fingers down. Yes, the drink had begun to take its toll. What restraint she did exercise usually seemed to be temporarily gone.

She sat up and reached forward, picking up her drink and taking a long drink, all the while thinking desperately- what could trip him up? She settled on something she was sure only she could say. She set the glass down and said, "Alright then. Let's get deep here, then, huh? I have never officially dated anyone." She raised an eyebrow and poked the fry into her mouth, sure she had won a finger.

He hadn't so much as resisted the urge to move his free arm in a fist-pumping gesture in response to his victory. "Seven to eight," Nemo cheered as one of Jack's fingers fell to join the two other digits that lay against her palm. And at the thought of those which remained extended outward from each of his own hands, Nemo began absently lapping the salt from the pads of his fingers. Their supply of fries had nearly met its demise.

"Uh, come on!" Nemo whined in protest to the proposition of more meaningful questions. "Leave it to a woman to bring the emotions to the table," He grumbled as an afterthought, his words carrying along his vodka laden breath.

He threw his arms over his torso - and the basket - in a gesture of defiance as he answered, "Do consecutive one-night-stands with one particular person for a month count? There was never any chit-chat, really," He paused, trapped by his own innuendo - before he embraced the humor of his poor word choice with wagging eyebrows, "If you know what I mean." Another fry bit the dust. "Nothing longer than that, though. No real lovey-dovey vomit-inducing get-togethers."

"No thank you," He sung.

He whined his own woe at her proposition and she smirked, glad to have incited such a dramtic response. Jack was always one for the show- that's why she had gone into the business of pranks and trouble anyway- so his loud expressions of emotion did not bother her as much as it bothered the patrons around them who were all shooting them strange looks and whispering about them. She recorded the tally dutifully in her mind, careful to keep track from now on. She doubted Poe's memory would serve them much longer.

At his words she rolled her eyes and chuckled. She swied for another fry but missed- she was a Beater, okay, not a Seeker! She deflated a little, eyes on the prize- the fries. (Oh, God, here came the rhyming! The biggest indicator of true drunkeness.) She took a bigger swipe and managed to grip a few fries between her fingers and cradled them next to her throat. "Miiine."

She thought it over for a second and said, "Yes, it counts. There was an understanding there. I think it counts. PUT THAT FINGER DOWN!" She smirked. "And now it's your turn again."

The nerve of some redheaded-drinking-partners-who-look-like-Ronald-McDonald was something of the imagination. Suggesting that Nemo lose a round of Ten Fingers over an opinion....

Nemo, never lacking in the will and motivation to strike up an argument, had no intention of doing as he'd been told and returning one of his fingers to his palm. "No, It doesn't count. I'M NOT PUTTING MY FINGER DOWN!" He spoke in sync with The Savior, chaotically pasting their words together.

Due to the absence of prior thought involved in the motion, Nemo's hasty swing of his body on his swiveling stool and jump to the floor had been startlingly abrupt. Yet he had eyes for nothing other than the nearest occupied table, which he leaned heavily against upon his forearms as he gazed insistently at the bewildered trio.

"It doesn't count does it? You" - He jabbed a finger in the direction of the only woman at the table, his fingernails dirtied with the weed from the prior afternoon's joint - "What do you think? Does fcking one person every other night for a month count as dating?"

Jack felt a small expression of amusement settle on her face as his voice rose, always glad for dramtics and assuming that was all it was to her companion- a show for sport. But her smile flickered away a bit at the look in his eyes, for there was little there of any sort of amusement or jest. She narrowed her eyes on him, trying to peer into his mind the best she could. "Poe?" she said, testing the waters. How could he suddenly be mad, when he had been so jolly a moment before?

He stood up and she sat back a bit, looking up at him with a surprised expression, trying to figure out his motive. He whirled around and headed for a nearby table, blowing up on the occupants that sat there instead. The bartender was glaring daggers at Jack for having riled up the drunken Seer so much. She was still reeling a bit and finally found herself spurred to act.

She stood up and walked after the panicked Seer. She grabbed his shoulder and said, "Hey! Relax! What's your poblem? It was only a joke. Come on, come back."

The only light to be seen was that of an unidentifiable figure, far off from where Nemo seemed to be rooted to the spot in a psychological sense. A man. But he twisted and turned, thus preventing Nemo from spying upon him with a sense as to who it may be.

Easy. Breathe.

Nemo hastily jerked his shoulder free from the physical contact that had been made between himself and his drinking companion. Such an effect her presence did have on him when she felt uncomfortable, that he paid a brief moment to ponder over the undoubtedly catastrophic result her rage would have on him, should she bridge the gap between them once more to brush his skin with her own.

“I’m fine, McDonald.” His tone teetered along a fine line that joined interest, unease, and amusement. “What is it?” He cocked his head to one side, eyes alive with the curiosity of a philosopher. “Who were you looking for in me just now? That man that I found in your head? The angry one?” Admittedly, that one had been a shot in the dark on his part. “Because I’m not in need of ‘relaxing’ just yet. I pinky swear. I’m fine, just a little bewildered by the idea of being beaten at my own game by a cat lady.” He smiled in a boastful reminder of his ever-present humor, flippancy, and rebellion, if for no other sake than to insure Jack that he had not been angered by their game of truths and alcohol, and that it was not in his nature to react in such a way.

He turned then towards the trio whom he’d previously interrogated, and folded his arms across his chest in their presence, “Come on,” he coaxed the woman to reply, smirking all the while, “Be a good sport; it’s for the sake of records. You just may save my life” – granted, he was referring to his ‘life’ in a game of Ten Fingers, but he had no intention of elaborating – “with that answer of yours.”

It appeared he’d persuaded the woman out from behind her bemused mask, alas, for she replied, “ ‘ow do I get myself nnn-to these sitchyations?” She slurred with a complaining heave of her shoulders, “Nah. ‘ookers ‘er the same way. ‘r they dates now?” Quite the character, this one. Nemo liked her.

“You see?” Nemo spun to face Jack once more, wearing an expression which betrayed his glee towards his victory. “HA! I win this round!” He turned round in another dizzying whirlwind of limbs and extended his arms towards the woman, “Awwww, come ‘ere. I love you, you brilliant motherfcker,” he cooed and cupped her face, planting a loud kiss on her forehead.

“Now!” He exclaimed, simultaneously throwing an arm around Jack’s small frame as he returned to her side, “Put one of those fingers down, McDonald.”

OOC: Shameless multiple character flaunting. =P

Jack found that the reaction was immediate. No sooner had her hand touched the shoulder of the hunched Seer before he jerked upwards and turned to her. Her stomach clenched involuntarily. It seemed she had become accustomed to these sorts of situations and she had it in her head that after such an outburst she could be expected some sort of pain. She did not outwardly flinch, but a dark shadow passed her face, but with the onset of Mortimer's usual behavior, she managed to push out the expectations of pain and look casual.

He suddenly looked at her, peering darkly into her countenance. His first question made her eyebrows knit together with confusion. What had he seen her in her? What had she revealed? He continued on and she swallowed very slowly, trying to keep her cool- but it was increasingly difficult with as much alcohol in her system as she had. Who could he mean by the angry man? He was a Seer after all... Oh God... What had he seen?

He continued on and sounded a lot lighter, a lot more like the Seer she had wanted to watch out for her and maybe even... she wasn't sure, befriend? He turned back to the other woman but Jack stepped backwards in a daze, trying to appear as normal as she could. She stumbled against her barstool and sat down, looking at her drink. He was talking to the woman but Jack reached forward and finished off her rum in one go. She knocked her knuckles against the bar for another. A dark shadow was beginning to loom.

And Poe was coming back.

"Whatever," she mumbled and dropped a finger. "It's your turn." The bartender returned her drink. "Come on, now. If we're playing the rules strictly, we are really competing. Let's go." She pulled on a big grin, cold trickling into her stomach. The presence of a certain poltergeist had entered her thoughts and there was no ridding of him.

"Oh come on, McDonald. Don't do that," Nemo whined as he settled atop his own stool, swiveling from side to side in an attempt to shake the discomfort that had settled within his core as a result of whatever force had overcome his companion. "You're being a buzz kill with that" - he gestured widely towards her skull with his left hand, leaning heavily against the bar with his chin rested within the palm of his right. His chin bobbed as it resisted his hand when he spoke, "I can read you - or I am reading you - can't help it sometimes. And you're making me nauseous and cold," he accusingly informed her.

He reached for his bottle of vodka and took an unconventional swig from it in spite of the rules of their game, before proceeding with his question, "Never have I ever lost in a bar fight." It was Nemo's hope that a change in subject would result in some relief from the tension that had erupted between the pair. He preferred the drinking and giggling.

Her pal seemed irritated by her sudden slip into sulleness, and she supposed this was a bad thing to do for someone trying to keep him for slipping into depression. But whenever she thought of... well... her little creation, a myriad of other memories swept her up and threatened to drown her. It was hard to keep a smile and a chipper expression when you felt like your very happiness was ten thousand leagues under the sea.

But the reminder that she had taken it upon herself to watch after Mortimer's personal mental well-being ever since the day he had shown up in her halls, fresh from asuicide attempt, told her that it was time to stop wallowing for fear of it somehow being contagious. And the rush of rum from the latest chug of her drink was relaxing her as well.

"Alright, alright," she mumbled, and gave him a smile (only a little forced) as proof that she was out of the funk. At his words, she said, "Define bar fight. I have been in fights before that happened to be in bars, but most were unrelated to the alcohol or patrons. Also. Define losing."

Concern was not an emotion with which Nemo was familiar. On the contrary; he often found himself incapable of expressing any sensation that he experienced beneath the cover of his lax persona, for doing so would lodge him in an uncomfortable situation with little promise of escaping unscathed. And he had little desire to share deep and meaningful conversations with those whom he taunted and toyed with regularly. Thus, the fleeting sympathy which had surged within him as he beheld the too familiar sight of reluctant lips behind forced to take on the form of a smile - and at his command, no less. The feeling bubbled amongst stomach acid and briefly twinged Nemo's gut. Indigestion, Nemo insisted.

But what he had deemed Jack's "plastic smile" had yet to cease in its tangling of his nerves. Get rid of it. Replace it with something else. Commence Operation: To Hell With Tame. Drinking super powers, activate!

"You know, a good ol' fashioned bar fight. Lemme demonstrate," Nemo calmly replied, and his smile returned. "Excuse me, sir? Hi there," Nemo tapped the shoulder of a man clad in green who stood adjacent Nemo's seat at the bar, "My friend and I were just wondering how such an ugly bastard as yourself could have possibly come to be. You wouldn't mind explaining to the pair of us what disease your mother contracted before she conceived you to have made you such a creepy fck, would you?"

The 'Green Man' paused for a beat before lunging forward, thrusting his fist towards Nemo with the evident intention of introducing his knuckles to Nemo's face. But it was with the agility of an auror that Nemo did skip beneath the flying appendage, and from his crouched position he sprung to face Jack once more, with his back turned to the Green Man, giggling madly, "The key is to avoid anything that looks like it might hurt in the morning." And once more he ducked, leaving in his place the Green Man's fist as another punch was thrown.