[ gator glances over, gun holstered, before he takes the joint back. he takes a hit or two, inhaling, then hands it back over. he blows the smoke upward, then rolls his eyes. of course his first instinct is to shoot. that's what he's been taught. the sheriff doesn't like it when gator doesn't flex his jaws every now and then. ]
You don't know what's in there, now do you?
[ stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of the blocked-off door, gator gives it a good, swift, powerful kick. another, and it falls to pieces, the wood splintering. he moves it aside, glancing in, the smell of dust and decay entering his nostrils. he backs his head up a bit, then takes the joint back. ]
Ladies fuckin' first.
[ another puff, then another, before gator hands it back for her to kill off. ]
[ there's something about climbing into crumbling, abandoned places that makes her feel at home in a way that's waaaay more introspective than she's willing to examine now (or ever). even just the open door is an invitation into something inherently forbidden and she can't help the laugh as she accepts the joint back. she draws on it hard until the cherry singes her fingertips and chokes back a cough against the harshness as she drops it, toes it out with her boot. ]
Lemme know if you need your hand held.
[ on the exhale, coughing to clear her throat (which kinda ruins the tough guy moment but whatever).
she ducks in through the door, maybe more eager than she should be given that it's just an old building. it's an old side hall, one of the offshoots of the main trunk, dim with the bulk of the windows boarded over but just barely bright enough to see where everything is starting to sink in on itself without maintenance. she knocks a boot against a toppled store sign that had been propped against the wall once, hands shoved into her pockets. ]
How long has this place been closed, do you know? Ten years?
[ gator rolls his eyes as she stomps out the end of the joint. he's feeling fuzzy, but in a pleasant way, his shoulders dropping from their tension. he climbs in, boots to dirty floor. he glances around, holding his nose briefly before he lets out a long woop! ]
Goddamn, it's horrible in here. I ain't been to this place, hell, I don't fuckin' remember. Probably when I first started patrollin'.
[ he's much more chatty under the influence, walking down the opening of the mall and down a few stairs. he turns, offering his hand, brows raising. ]
Unless you're the fuckin' one who needs their hand held.
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You don't know what's in there, now do you?
[ stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of the blocked-off door, gator gives it a good, swift, powerful kick. another, and it falls to pieces, the wood splintering. he moves it aside, glancing in, the smell of dust and decay entering his nostrils. he backs his head up a bit, then takes the joint back. ]
Ladies fuckin' first.
[ another puff, then another, before gator hands it back for her to kill off. ]
and then ofc im slow af SORRY
Lemme know if you need your hand held.
[ on the exhale, coughing to clear her throat (which kinda ruins the tough guy moment but whatever).
she ducks in through the door, maybe more eager than she should be given that it's just an old building. it's an old side hall, one of the offshoots of the main trunk, dim with the bulk of the windows boarded over but just barely bright enough to see where everything is starting to sink in on itself without maintenance. she knocks a boot against a toppled store sign that had been propped against the wall once, hands shoved into her pockets. ]
How long has this place been closed, do you know? Ten years?
not as slow as me.
Goddamn, it's horrible in here. I ain't been to this place, hell, I don't fuckin' remember. Probably when I first started patrollin'.
[ he's much more chatty under the influence, walking down the opening of the mall and down a few stairs. he turns, offering his hand, brows raising. ]
Unless you're the fuckin' one who needs their hand held.