xp_logs | Doug and Angelo - Dia de los Muertos (backdated)

Backdated to November 2. Doug and Angelo spend el Dia de los Muertos talking about some things. But mostly they spend it getting blind stinking drunk.

Doug briefly thought about picking the lock on Angelo's door, but casual B&E wasn't really his thing. He didn't have the same disregard for personal space that Jubilee or others who would be more prone to that did. But respect for personal space didn't mean he was going to leave Angelo alone, and so he knocked at the door, several low, reverberating thuds made with the flat bottom of his fist. "Vamos, 'mano. I know you're home."

There was a considering pause, broken only by what sounded like Joyita attempting to open the door by herself, and finally it swung wide to reveal Angelo with a wry smile on his face.

"Word spreads, huh?"

"Hm?" Doug cocked his head at his friend. "Anything in particular I should know about? Kyle just mentioned you were doing your best shut-in impression. And it being this particular day, I figured..." That neither of them should be drinking alone on el Dia de los Muertos, he left unsaid but fairly clear in his expression. What with Genosha, and what had happened there. Even if a woman calling herself Rachel was around.

"...yeah", he agreed after a quick mental catching up. "On this particular day. And after I got set up like an idiot in Africa. Want to come in, or go out?"

Doug examined Angelo with a raised eyebrow. "We're going out. Claro. I mean, this is not a day to be closed up alone." Especially knowing both his and Angelo's tendencies toward brooding. "So vamos."

"Okay, okay." Glancing to the side of the door, he grabbed his coat from whatever it was hanging on there. "Usual place? The dog-friendly one?"

"Por supuesto," Doug replied, giving Joyita a chuck under the chin and a smile, and getting an enthusiastically wagged tail in response.

~

Doug raised his hand and signaled the bartender for two more shots in the careful, delicate way that someone who is on their way to a truly impressive bender does. "So, are we drunk enough to talk about things we don't want to talk about yet?" he asked Angelo.

"Iiii think we might be", he said after a moment's serious consideration. "So which thing we don't want to talk about should we start with? The redheaded one or the Africa one?"

Given the day... "Redheads," Doug muttered, knocking back his shot as soon as it arrived. He was pretty sure at this point that there was something about him and redheads that just added up to danger and drama.

"Redheads", Angelo agreed, downing another shot of his own. "Like Chistery. Flying monkey who's not Rachel", he clarified at Doug's look.

Doug grunted. "Not Rachel, or 'not' Rachel?" he asked, making air quotes with the second one. Because he was pretty sure it was the second, after the very awkward interaction he'd had in the library the week before Billy Kaplan had arrived at the school.

"'Not' Rachel", he said with an echo of the gesture. "She's... not our Rachel, that much I know. Other dimensions hurt my head, but the things that girl's seen, done... I never wanted a world like that for my baby sister. But she's the only Rachel we've got, while she's here, and sometimes, for a second, I can still see Ray in her."

Doug nodded. "The dimension thing...isn't a problem, really, with the things we've seen and done." He shook his head. "No, the weird thing for me is when she drops into sounding like Remy." Hearing that Cajun patois and calculation coming from a girl who was at least somewhat Rachel Dayspring Kinross was...weird didn't even begin to come close.

"Oh yeah. She switches from Remy to Kurt to Moira to I don't even know who, one second to the next. Guess they must all've been around a lot when she was growing up." There was an ache in his voice, try as he might to hold it back, on the last two words.

"Her body language isn't much better. Mishmash of however many people trained her." Doug choked a bit on the last pair of words himself. "I also...got the impression that I didn't...fare too well in her world." And he had entirely too many guesses as to what that likely entailed.

"Her world's a pretty hard place", Angelo agreed sombrely. "I know I'm still alive there, she's dropped a thing or two about it, but... damaged."

"I'm apparently alive. Technically." Christ, there wasn't enough alcohol behind the bar for this discussion. Doug hammered back another shot. "I'm sleeping on your couch tonight," he declared.

"You're sure as hell not driving anywhere", he said with wry amusement. "Or walking alone. Technically?" Mastermold was coming to mind.

Doug tossed his keys on the table and signaled for another round. "She didn't mention particulars, but I can guess what you're thinking," Doug said. "And it's the same guess I made."

Angelo picked up the keys and casually pocketed them, wincing at the implications. "Yeah. Makes sense, given... everything."

"Through a mirror darkly," Doug murmured as the requested drinks appeared in front of them. "Any ideas for a toast?" he asked somewhat bitterly as he picked up a glass and gazed at the alcohol inside it.

"Hah." Angelo was suddenly deeply fascinated by his own drink. "Not any good ones. Our lives."

"It sure beats the alternative," Doug agreed, then tipped his glass back. "L'chaim."