driftfleet | .06 you give love a bad name

Who: Rogue
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Yup, in a station bar and back on the Vanquish
When: Forward-dated to Valentine's Day

[It dawns on Rogue slowly that it is actually Valentine's day and her romantic feelings have been completely unaffected. When it does, she can't help but let out a whoop and rush to celebrate. Find her (a) in a middle-range bar on the space station, getting a little tipsy and flirting with basically everything that moves just to go NOPE and walk away, because SHE CAN, TAKE THAT.

At some point, she even makes a video post:]

Best. Valentine's Day. Ever.

[She holds up a hand, and in that hand is a glass of champagne. She toasts to the network.] Thanks, Atroma, for makin' this Valentine's Day kiss free.

[After all, the Malnosso had never let a February 14th go by without experimenting egregiously with Luceti's inhabitants.

And so, (b) later on and feeling a bit tipsy, she is back on the Vanquish. She has purchased chocolates and roses for everybody. She is setting them out in the kitchen with little cards, hoping she's got everyone's name right because they have approximately a zillion more people right now.

Much, much later, probably around the time sobriety starts, she'll remember something about 'tempting fate' and wish she'd kept her mouth shut -- but right now? Best. Valentine's Day in years.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By myself? No thanks.

[Eugene, why are you drinking out of a bottle? That is... a bad sign.]

Besides, it looks like ya got a celebration goin' on all by your lonesome as well.

[A nod to that bottle.]

Oh, this? Nah. Just having a relaxing evening in.

[Alone. On Valentine's day. Right.

Either way, his patter's smooth enough as he heads over to the table, intent on exploring the rest of the bounty Rogue's brought home.]

Champagne, takeout - distinct lack of action movies, but no one said the ship was perfect, right?

No, nobody said that. [Watching You now, Eugene. Rogue is either too sober or not drunk enough for this, but this is the feeling of quiet waiting for the other shoe to drop as she tries to figure out just if she should push the married man who'd been separated from his husband for too long or if she should just leave him be to let him cope.]

[He's admiring the rest of the flowers and casually taking another nip from the bottle when he catches the way Rogue's looking at him and pauses, looking at her a few pensive, thoughtful moments before smirking crookedly.]

Okay, I give up. What's the look for.

Tryin' ta decide whether ta give you space or hound ya mercilessly.

[Well, at least she's honest.]

[This sounds like it might take a bit, and he has a seat, still completely lost. Is it something he did? The moonshine still hasn't exploded, and the kitchen's still in good working order, so he's having some trouble imaging what he could've done to upset her.]

I . . . honestly have no idea what you're supposed to be hounding me about.

[She hoists herself up onto the counter and just looks at him for a moment.

She does him a favor, then, and makes it a little more general than she'd planned.]

If you're really okay or not.

-ah. That.

[He looks at the bottle, then. Really looks at it. And yeah, this doesn't look good, does it. But he owes her some honesty, if nothing else, and he sets the champagne down among the flowers and the chocolates with a slow sigh, leaning his elbow against the little postcard of clear table that remains.]

I'm not having a crisis? Which . . . basically counts as okay, back home. [He musters up enough of a smile to show that that's a joke. Kind of.] I'm sorry if I'm acting like an emotional time bomb about to go off. That's not what I'm going for, promise.

[She can understand about that bit about not having a crisis. Rogue hesitates, and something about her gaze goes a little distant. She's making up her mind and then she taps deliberately into Logan's psyche. If she's making this choice she wants to be sober for it.

...and yes, it appears she is making this choice.

She moves forward to lean against the counter across from him, not remotely in Eugene's personal space, but closer. At hand.]

I think you're entitled ta act like an emotional time bomb. The alive-but-not present thing... [She shakes her head.] It's a killer. I think you're entitled ta grieve about it. I just think... well... I've learned that this [a gesture to the champagne] only does so much. 'Course, everythin' only does so much, there's no cure for it, but -- some things work better'n others. You wanna talk 'bout it?

[She will sink right down to sit on the kitchen floor and get drunk again with you, don't doubt it.]

[Just when you think you know a lady. He could have sworn Rogue would be the time to let sleeping and emotionally gutted dogs lie, but . . . apparently not. He wouldn't say he's grateful for that, not exactly, but something in his relaxes, just a little, all the same.]

I guess I should, huh. Now that I'm in the wandering-the-ship-with-champagne stage. Unless you can think of something that works better than talking?

[A guy can dream.]

.06 you give love a bad name

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