Following their brief conversation, Neal sets himself to making sure the house is as pristine as it ever gets. Truthfully, the whole place could use a lot of work, but considering the state of Deerington as a whole, it's a much better respite than most places, especially since the walls are thankfully not bleeding.
Neal hasn't been out in days. He hasn't slept, either, meaning that he's got a bit of a manic gleam in his eye, but for the most part he seems to be bearing it better than most. Perhaps it's Cable's calming influence or maybe it's the wine and access to paints and canvas. Either way, he's not yet ready to question why he seems so much more adept to sleeplessness than the rest of the denizens in town.
When he catches a glimpse of Wes out the window, he's there to greet the man at the door. He's dressed as usual — something far too fancy for this town — but there's a level of comfort on top of it that Neal doesn't usually display when he's out in the world. He's got no jacket, no shoes, no tie, and his collar and cuffs are casually unbuttoned. Even his hair is a roguishly attractive messiness only obtained through practice, and he's done nothing to cover the more obvious of his two tattoos despite giving every sense its bothersome when he's freely out in the world.
He waves Wes in and steps aside before he gets a good look, not wanting to invite in more than he's expecting (but probably doing that anyway, let's be real).
For the way he slinks past the threshold of Neal's open door, Wes may still well be considering himself among the ranks of things that are more than one is inviting. He's done well to remember the ways he can keep his own wits about him with lack of sleep, but between the blood, the bodies raining from the sky, and the intoxicating stench of incense that hangs in the air around Deerington like a shroud, his nerves are a little frazzled.
He has the good sense to look guilty about the dive their conversation took. (And maybe he's just as guilty for the way his eyes rove over Neal before turning on the man's home instead.) Wes offers a bundle of incense like a bouquet of flowers without explanation, and looks between the man's shoeless feet and his own dirty boots. He lifts one foot and starts to untie the lace, thinks better of it, and gestures questioningly instead.
Neal takes the incense like they're flowers, pleased as punch as he mimics leaning close to take a deep breath like it's a fine bunch of roses. How thoughtful.
"Oh, no," he says, reflexively gesturing for Wes to go ahead while meaning he's welcome to do whatever. Neal's hardly that fidgety (surprisingly enough), but he does appreciate the sentiment nonetheless, like Wes has way more manners than most people Neal's had over (Cable somewhat included).
He disappears for all of three seconds to grab a vase — something incredibly favorable to the decor, yet somehow a stand-out item — and when he returns, he's dropping the incense, stems down, into an attractive "arrangement" that's placed carefully on a side table. He's nothing if not a gracious host, and anyone that brings Neal is gift is automatically forgiven for most grievances, let's be real.
"Oh!" Neal holds up a finger, slaps his hands together as he recalls what he's forgotten, and reaches for his sketchbook where he's prepared a list of yes or no questions in anticipation of getting through the initial stages of settling together and picking the communication method that works best for whatever this has turned out to be.
DID YOU HAVE ANY TROUBLE FINDING THE PLACE?
He's nodding towards the kitchen, then, beckoning Wes towards the alcohol. The whole place is softly lit by candles and the smell of incense lingers here like everywhere else in town. It's cozy. Almost romantic if not for the... rest of everything going on.
There are still several sleepers who have been around a lot longer than he has, but Wes has witnessed more than his fair share of comings and goings from this place. He knows a few who adjusted relatively easily and some who still haven't, and it isn't always easy to pinpoint the cause of people's resilience. Something about Neal, though, surprises him. He wouldn't admit it to the other man, but somehow Wes would have expected him to have more trouble fitting into this environment. October especially carries a certain harshness to it that seems to roll off the other man's shoulders with fascinating ease. It makes him curious to know more of what the man has seen and experienced in his lifetime.
Upon reconsideration, he does stoop to untie his laces and kick out of his boots. Wes leaves them in a heap by the door, glad that his socks aren't mismatched or full of holes. It's still strange to have the kind of salary that allows him to replace anything with ease, worn out or not. It might be apparent from the way he carries himself, though, that he doesn't take much advantage of it.
He follows Neal toward the kitchen, reaching for his Fluid, but holding it idle in his hand when the handwritten question only demands a shake of his head by way of explanation. Once he's given it, Wes sets his gaze to looking around his surroundings.
There's an array of alcohol Neal's managed to gather for himself — booze and wine of varying sorts — and Wes has the run of it, as per Neal's open gesture. He even goes to the cupboard containing all the appropriate drinkware and leaves it open in case Wes is as pedantic about choosing the right glass as he is.
MAY I GET YOU A DRINK? But he flips the page quickly, to another note: YOU'RE WELCOME TO HELP YOURSELF IF YOU'D RATHER. Some people preferred to pour their own drinks, he's found, especially if they're the kind of people that worry what might be slipped into said drink when they're not paying close attention.
Neal, while waiting for an answer, goes about pouring himself a glass of wine — red, in this case — which he sips idly, like it's his job. He looks so relaxed here in this space, probably because he perceives it as relatively safe by comparison to his surroundings.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For Wes—
Neal hasn't been out in days. He hasn't slept, either, meaning that he's got a bit of a manic gleam in his eye, but for the most part he seems to be bearing it better than most. Perhaps it's Cable's calming influence or maybe it's the wine and access to paints and canvas. Either way, he's not yet ready to question why he seems so much more adept to sleeplessness than the rest of the denizens in town.
When he catches a glimpse of Wes out the window, he's there to greet the man at the door. He's dressed as usual — something far too fancy for this town — but there's a level of comfort on top of it that Neal doesn't usually display when he's out in the world. He's got no jacket, no shoes, no tie, and his collar and cuffs are casually unbuttoned. Even his hair is a roguishly attractive messiness only obtained through practice, and he's done nothing to cover the more obvious of his two tattoos despite giving every sense its bothersome when he's freely out in the world.
He waves Wes in and steps aside before he gets a good look, not wanting to invite in more than he's expecting (but probably doing that anyway, let's be real).
no subject
He has the good sense to look guilty about the dive their conversation took. (And maybe he's just as guilty for the way his eyes rove over Neal before turning on the man's home instead.) Wes offers a bundle of incense like a bouquet of flowers without explanation, and looks between the man's shoeless feet and his own dirty boots. He lifts one foot and starts to untie the lace, thinks better of it, and gestures questioningly instead.
no subject
"Oh, no," he says, reflexively gesturing for Wes to go ahead while meaning he's welcome to do whatever. Neal's hardly that fidgety (surprisingly enough), but he does appreciate the sentiment nonetheless, like Wes has way more manners than most people Neal's had over (Cable somewhat included).
He disappears for all of three seconds to grab a vase — something incredibly favorable to the decor, yet somehow a stand-out item — and when he returns, he's dropping the incense, stems down, into an attractive "arrangement" that's placed carefully on a side table. He's nothing if not a gracious host, and anyone that brings Neal is gift is automatically forgiven for most grievances, let's be real.
"Oh!" Neal holds up a finger, slaps his hands together as he recalls what he's forgotten, and reaches for his sketchbook where he's prepared a list of yes or no questions in anticipation of getting through the initial stages of settling together and picking the communication method that works best for whatever this has turned out to be.
DID YOU HAVE ANY TROUBLE FINDING THE PLACE?
He's nodding towards the kitchen, then, beckoning Wes towards the alcohol. The whole place is softly lit by candles and the smell of incense lingers here like everywhere else in town. It's cozy. Almost romantic if not for the... rest of everything going on.
no subject
Upon reconsideration, he does stoop to untie his laces and kick out of his boots. Wes leaves them in a heap by the door, glad that his socks aren't mismatched or full of holes. It's still strange to have the kind of salary that allows him to replace anything with ease, worn out or not. It might be apparent from the way he carries himself, though, that he doesn't take much advantage of it.
He follows Neal toward the kitchen, reaching for his Fluid, but holding it idle in his hand when the handwritten question only demands a shake of his head by way of explanation. Once he's given it, Wes sets his gaze to looking around his surroundings.
no subject
MAY I GET YOU A DRINK? But he flips the page quickly, to another note: YOU'RE WELCOME TO HELP YOURSELF IF YOU'D RATHER. Some people preferred to pour their own drinks, he's found, especially if they're the kind of people that worry what might be slipped into said drink when they're not paying close attention.
Neal, while waiting for an answer, goes about pouring himself a glass of wine — red, in this case — which he sips idly, like it's his job. He looks so relaxed here in this space, probably because he perceives it as relatively safe by comparison to his surroundings.
Text; UN R.BECKET