2019-06-29 - No Strings Attached

The doctors for Dahlia’s mother had requested she stay overnight for a couple days for a new treatment they wanted to try. Which meant Dahlia had the trailer to herself. Which meant that it was a perfect time to try the weed infused bath bomb that Genevieve had given her to try out. She was silently stressing about her mother and she was tired of stressing. She just wanted to relax.

It worked too well.

After her bath is when the phone came out. Texting Ruiz. Because that was a smart idea. I’m doing fine. Great really.. So great. Fantastic. Nothing to complain about in her current state except that she was running low on these gummy things that Genevieve had given her along with the brownies and cookies. But she did need a taste tester that wasn’t herself. Because let’s be honest there was no way she was going to be a good judge for herself. Dahlia knew Ruiz wouldn’t bullshit her either on if the drinks were good or not. If there was anything she liked about him other than the sex it was his bluntness.

Dahlia wasn’t even feeling self conscious about him coming to the trailer and seeing the place she grew up in. That’s how relaxed and feeling good she was. Who gave a fuck what he thought about the trailer. She just wanted to practice her drink mixing and chill out and...see what happened. And eat. Damn she was hungry. Dahlia was probably half way through ordering from three different places by the time he would show up.

She was also not trying to impress anyone. Her hair was down, damp from the bath. And she was in a pair of denim short shorts that had frayed edges and a black tank top that looked well worn. When Ruiz would be let into the house he would see the little counter that divided the living room from the kitchen had a plate with brownies and cookies on it and bottles in various stages of filled with alcohol lined up neatly.

He's mentioned, probably, what he grew up in and around, and there's likely very little that Dahlia's trailer park home could throw at him that he hasn't already seen. After spending a childhood on the streets of Tijuana and East LA, a good deal else tends to fade in comparison.

Dahlia might hear the rumble of a truck's engine outside before it's killed. Then the sound of a door slamming some moments later, and footsteps coming up the walk. He'll knock politely enough and wait to be let in, and the door opens to reveal him dressed in similar fashion: a dark tee shirt, jeans, ratty looking ballcap to keep what's left of the day's sun out of his eyes. He curves a brief smile to the younger woman, though it's tinged with curiosity at the mood she seems to be in. He's been around enough MJ to know when he sees someone riding a gentle buzz.

"You look good," he offers after a pause, nudging the door shut and glancing to the food and drink laid out. "Did you make those?"

Dahlia offers Ruiz a momentarily bright smile when she opens the door and he also gets a once over as she lets him inside. "Thanks, so do you. Don't mind the mess." There really wasn't one. Aside from the bottles and such on the kitchen counter and the table that was just a holding area and not actually a place you sat down to eat at anymore. "I'm glad you came over." Moving over to the counter and picking up her little 'dummies guide for drink mixing' to flip through it. "Hm?" Looking to the plate and then shook her head with a laugh. "Do you ever remember me lifting a finger to try and cook or bake something?" The answer would be no. Dahlia avoided cooking like it was a plague. "They're good though if you want one." Then handed the book over to him. "Pick something from here. And I'll put it together. And you can tell me if it's good or not. Real simple. Also I ordered food, so you get free food and alcohol. Lucky you."

Ruiz lingers in the entryway for a moment, dark eyes lingering on her face when she gives him that bright smile. He makes a noise that sounds like amusement as his gaze roves back to the table, stocked with tasty looking treats. Eventually his cap is tugged off, and set atop the table as he roves in closer, and plucks one of the cookies off the plate. A sniff and then a bite. "You're right," he murmurs once he's chewed and swallowed, "I do remember that you were severely.. allergic to cooking." The word 'allergic' takes him a moment to translate, perhaps. The rest of the cookie is popped into his mouth then, and the book accepted for his perusal. He settles half against the edge of the table as he flips through it, then suggests after a minute, "Moscow mule?"

The cookies are a mix of snickerdoodle and ginger snap because Dahlia had eaten the few chocolate chip ones already. And they all had one half dipped in chocolate. She rummaged around for a moment while he browsed, finding a hair tie so she could toss her hair up in a ponytail. Turning to watch him biting into the cookie. There was a micro second of a pause before -"Cooking is the devil. So other people can do it." SSpoken matter-of-factly. She didn't drive, she didn't cook, what did she do? Mix drinks! Dahlia peeked over at the page he was looking at. "Moscow mule." Skimming the ingredients. "...Sounds like it might be decent. How do you like the cookie?" Dahlia had decided just not to mention they were weed cookies. Maybe he wouldn't feel anything off just the one. "Alright...let's see. Vodka and ginger beer...and lime. I don't have any mint leaves so-" She shrugged, pulling the necessary bottles closer. "So. How are you liking Gray Harbor?"

Ruiz doesn't seem to notice anything off. Not immediately, anyway. The cookie is finished off, and another one reached for; he chuckles low at her assertion of cooking being 'the devil'. He, of course, did most of the cooking when they got together and weren't eating out. And certainly most of the driving, too. Which, control freak that he is, seemed to suit him just fine. "It's small. And people gossip, because they seem to have nothing better to do. It's very different from the big city." Which doesn't address how he's liking it, particularly. He watches Dahlia move about, collecting bottles and running through ingredients. "You grew up here?"

Dahlia nodded along as she listened. Referencing the book as she tried to guestimate proper amounts in the glass she was using. "Gossip is just about the only exciting thing that happens here." Dahlia mused. If only she had any idea. "It's a lot different than LA. I...kind of missed it. Now that I'm back but," She looked around the trailer a moment with a wrinkle of her nose and then back to her task at hand. "I think I'd still like to move back to LA some time." She fell silent for a few minutes after he asked about her growing up and nodded again. "Yep. Right here with my brothers and mom. And briefly my dad before he high tailed it." She offered up, setting the drink down in front of him. "Here. How's it taste?" The fact that he was about the drink alcohol after eating some cookies was not going to help this drink (that was way too heavy on the ginger beer) taste any better.

Ruiz might be starting to get the feeling that those cookies are a little more than standard fare. His brows are furrowed as he finishes the second one, and his muddled gaze roves back to Dahlia when she mentions her childhood here. Like he's trying to picture a girl like her growing up in a backwoods little PNW town like Gray Harbour. After brushing some cookie crumbs off the corner of his mouth and beard, he reaches for the drink she's set down and takes a sip. And pauses to think on it a moment. "Too much ginger beer. Did you put any vodka in?" He tries another sip, which seems to corroborate the first, and the drink is nudged away gently with a slight smile to soften the blow.

Dahlia has absolutely no plans to say anything about the cookies or the brownies. Nope. As she reaches over to break off a little piece of one of the other brownies. She probably shouldn't go near them with the way she was already feeling but, they were good! She watched him intently as he sipped the drink and then looked crestfallen. "Damn. I did! I think. Didn't I?" Looking down and staring at the bottle of vodka for a long moment. Then she took the glass, sipping from the other side and visibly cringing. "...shit. I forgot the vodka." Starting to laugh, pouring the drink out in the sink. "Pick something else. Or should I try this one again?"

Another chuckle in the wake of Dahlia's self-recrimination. The sound is warm, rather than chastising. Perhaps a little warmer than he usually is, but that might be on account of two pot cookies. Which is soon to be three, as he snags another one with his fingertips. "No fue muy bueno," he murmurs with some amusement, dark eyes returning to her profile as she sips and confirms his judgement. "How about an old fashioned?" Crunch goes the cookie, crumbs flicked off his thigh, bulky frame relaxing a fraction in his lean against the table.

"Muy no bien." Dahlia agreed as she rinsed out the glass. Ginger beer also was gross by itself anyway. Really she just didn't like ginger. "Hmm old fashioned. That I can do." If she didn't forget the whiskey. She eyed him for a moment. A couple stray crumbs had found their way into his beard again. She started to reach over to brush them aside but there was a knock at the door! Saved by the bell. Knock. Whatever. "Food!" Dahlia looks far too excited about the prospect of food being on the other side of the door as she goes to answer. And it is indeed food. From three different places. Thank you Door Dash-esque services.

"There's chicken wings. Chinese food. And..."peeking back in the bag. "Hamburgers! And fries" She makes a space on the table by pushing some papers aside and putting on his ball cap so she could set the bags up there. Stealing a french fry from one and turning back to him. "Help yourself!...Old Fashioned. I'll make one." Grinning a bit.

Saved by the door indeed. The dark-eyed cop studies Dahlia appraisingly when she starts to lean in to brush cookie crumbs out of his beard, his own hand lifting in the wake of it to flick them away absently. He lets her handle the delivery as he bites into a cookie. Normally he'd probably offer to pay, but this evening he seems a little.. distracted. The THC must be hitting him. "Are these pot cookies?" he finally thinks to ask, flashing her a quick grin when she pulls his cap on.

He does eventually push off the edge of the table and help arrange some of the food; containers are cracked open, plates are hunted down. "So you're bartending now. That's new. Still getting paid for being fucked?" Hey, she doesn't keep him around for his tact.

"Yes, they are." Dahlia giggled a bit when he asked, taking his hat off and setting in on the table again. "Genevieve gave them to me. Samples from her shop. A bath bomb too. I loved it. Everything is good." She tightened her ponytail a bit and moved back to the counter. While he arranges the food, she attempts to put together the Old Fashioned. She's moving a little slow, like she's extra concentrating on what she's doing. She seems satisfied with the end result, presenting him the drink. "I wish." To if she was still getting paid to get fucked. "It was a whole lot easier. And a whole lot more fun." Giggling again as she moved to grab a few more fries. "But, yaknow, Gray Harbor's not got a big foothold in the porn industry." Leaning against the table, emerald eyes trailing over him a momet before settling on his face. Mostly trying to gauge how he liked the drink.

The hat, of course, smells like him. Smoke, faintly, and whatever he uses to wash his hair, which is vaguely citrusy. He ducks his gaze again when she slips it off, and resumes fetching plates and forks, eschewing the chopsticks that came with the chinese food. He's never learned how to use them, in all this time. "So, bartending. Where did you say you were working again?" He dodges any further discussion of her sex work, though she knows full well what he thinks of it. Considering it was nearly single-handedly the cause of them breaking up not all that long ago. He pauses to take a sip of the drink that's handed over. It's rolled over his tongue slowly, swallowed, and the glass tipped back for another taste. "Not bad," he proffers after sip number three. The corners of his eyes crinkle up slightly when he smiles at her, and resettles in his original half-recline against the edge of the table, glass in hand. "Here. Try it." The drink is lifted slightly, but she's going to have to come and get it.

Dahlia does, indeed, know what he thinks of the sex work and she's in too good of a mood to try and get into with him right now. "Firefly club." She offers instead, watching as he sips the drink and brightened up some when he said it was good. "My friend Graham put in a good word for me. The owner is scary as hell though." She mused. When he offered the glass she waited a beat or two before closing the distance between them to take the glass. "...I'm glad you're in town." She takes a sip of the Old Fashioned, looking a little surprised. "Hey! It does taste pretty good." Offering him the glass back and then reaching around him for an egg roll. "See, I told you this wasn't a bad gig for a little bit of your time." She lingered close a beat longer before taking a step back.

Ruiz doesn't really look like he's angling for a fight this evening, either. Though that could be partly on account of the wringer he's been put through these last few days; not that he's breathed a word of it beyond that earlier, vague mention of having taken some unplanned leave.

"Graham. Graham Stewart? Pretty boy, tall?" He reaches for a fry and pops it into his mouth, making a little noise in his throat at the greasy saltiness. That definitely hits the spot. The glass is accepted, and he doesn't bother moving when she reaches around him for the egg roll. There's a brief inhale of her scent, and a moment where it looked like he might touch her. But instead, he accepts the glass back and takes another pull. "It isn't a bad gig at all." The word 'gig' is repeated in the same inflection she gave it. "I am wondering what the catch is, in fact." Green eyes are pinned with dark, tonguetip run along his upper teeth absently.

The scent he catches is a whiff of strawberry and citrus. Likely from the bathbomb she used earlier. "Tall pretty boy. Yeah that sounds accurate." Dahlia agreed. "You know him?" Taking a bite of her eggroll and quirking a brow. Part of her wants to touch him, or for him to touch her but touching in any form or fashion would probably lead to things they'd just regret later. There a little shrug of her shoulders when he asks about a catch. "Why's there gotta be catch Javier?" A very rare use of his first name as her gaze lingered on his. "Why can't we just...hang out?" Tearing her gaze from his and turning back to the alcohol bottles so she could try making one of the Old Fashioned things for herself.