2019-09-18 - Vodka + Pool = Fun

There was a rumble of thunder earlier in the day, but the thunder has passed leaving the night clear and bright. The moon is high in the sky, and it's still pretty warm outside.

Mae sent Love a text about an hour ago, giving her an address and instructions to bring something fun and easy to drink. Specifically, there was a mention of, "Find me behind the second blooming rhododendron." That is where Mae sits, phone out as she taps out a text message, keeping quiet as she can, despite nobody being home. One never knows when a police officer might drive past.

She's wearing a long and loose t-shirt that covers up the black string bikini underneath. She has a towel resting on her lap, and a pair of flip flops on her feet. Her long hair has been pulled back into a long braid, a few bows bound in them. She looks a little bit like a teenager.

Love's double-checking her phone when she walks up to the address in question, illumination flaring across her fair skin. She snorts a chuckle and says, "Second blooming rhododendron," and slinks down the street. Insofar as a five-foot eleven woman can slink. Really, from the look of her, pretty well. She tucks her phone into her pocket and adjusts the plain black backpack on her shoulders, tightening them in case she has to jump a fence.

She's in her street clothes, skinny jeans (black) and a halter (black), along with her usual Chucks. Her hair is up, of course, messy up-do wrapped in a dark bandana. This is p. much her only visible nod to stealth, and it's not very effective. She casually glances left, then right, and walks right up to the house, keeping to the thickest shadows before she ducks into the verge. "Psst. I brought vodka martinis in thermal water bottles."

Mae can't help but laugh at the greeting, it's very Love. "Man, a martini really sounds good." She gestures to the short fence without any locks. "I've been keeping an eye on this place for four days. No lock on this fence, no cameras around. The neighbor came over a few times to put chemicals in, but even he's out tonight. Figured it'd be perfect." She gets to her feet, grabbing her purse before she walks over to open the gate. "Maybe if he comes home, we can convince him to come swimming with us instead of calling the police." She rolls her eyes, setting her purse and towel down on a lawn chair.

"I mean, we could swim in the lake if we don't want to get in trouble but I can't swim great and I have a feeling there are fish in there, and I bet they nibble toes." She peels her t-shirt off and eyes Love. "So how you been doing? Still enjoying the job at the Cabaret?"

Love is eco-conscious, except for her car, which is a classic and thus the farthest from fuel efficient you can probably get. "Moscow mule, Appletini, and two screwdrivers." Her backpack is entirely stuffed with a towel wrapped around four aluminum tumbler-style water bottles filled to the tippy top with cocktails. There might be some snacks wedged in there too, just to soak up some alcohol.

"That's some next level pool surveillance. I like it." She speaks quietly, but not quite a whisper. "Yeah, I don't think anyone's going to call the police on us, but if you hear a pump shotgun, just run." She says that like it's happened before. "Most people suck with those, especially with a moving target." She grins at that, making her way over behind Mae, right behind her at the gate.

"I saw the lake, and yeah, they restocked it like two weeks ago, some fisherdude said. He didn't catch anything, though..." She doesn't mention the dead body in the lake rumors, reaching down to undo the fasteners of her jeans, and loosen the straps of her pack after. "Cabaret's been great. Tony's a good boss. He fucks off out of my way and compliments my drinks and doesn't bitch when I fuck with the menu. He talk you into managing yet?"

The mention of a pump shotgun makes her eyebrows quirk as a wry smile tilts her lips. "Buck shot in a pump? I don't want anyone digging that out of my ass, so you better believe I'm taking off if I hear any shit like that." Mae grins and her eyes sparkle with mischief as she pulls on the ties of her swimsuit top. "I mean, this sounds horrible, but I only have to be faster than you if someone is chasing after us, gun or no gun."

"Fuck no he hasn't talked me into shit. He couldn't match what I make in tips, and that's after cashing out the wait, bar and DJ staff." She shimmies out of her bottoms instead of untying them. She pads over to the pack, peeking in to see the bounty of drinks inside. "Christ, remind me to invite you to any other shenanigans that we get up to." She makes a needy noise as she pokes at what looks like it might be an appletini. "You keep doing a good job behind the bar and you'll be managing something, then I can make faces at you when I'm still living the .. not bothered by having to tell bitches what to do life."

She walks over to the clear water, dips a toe in and makes a pleased noise. "Warm. Perfect."

Love strips off her pack, putting it down carefully, unzipping to set out an array of bottles. There's a purple one, a black one, and two orange ones, the metal coated with a lightly textured paint. The tops are wide-mouth screw tops so they're easy to operate while toasted. She looks up and laughs at the only have to be faster than you comment. "Right, basic zombie movie survival. I have long legs, though you probably have me on conditioning. I don't surf every day, but you do dance."

Love drops her shirt first, after peeling it off. She also wore a bikini, though hers is gold. Her skinny jeans drop and she leaves them there, stepping out and kicking a little at one ankle. Damn things like to tangle. "I only like bossing people around when I'm drunk and angry, which is hard to get, because I'm so damn mellow. So if you ever see me Jägermeister, do not cross me. That shit is nasty and makes me cross."

Love speaks softly, per usual, making quick work of her bikini to leave it beside the pool. She says, "I think the purple is the appletini, but.. I'm not sure." She arrays them at the pool's edge as well, then stares down at the water, her hands on her hips. Her skin is covered in ink jaw to toes, body toned enough to show she's at least a casual athlete these days. From her right upper hip to mid-thigh a series of indented scars mar her skin, clearly something traumatic and it has left its mark. The area is also heavily tattooed, not super obvious on a shadowy light, but not subtle either. That probably took several hundred sutures. She steps to the edge of the pool, toes curling over the edge, and considers the water for a beat before she leaps off the edge and dives in.

Mae is still considering the pool when Love dives in. She actually kneels down slightly, picking up a bottle with a purple top. She unscrews it, takes a sip and nods as a big smile forms on her lips. "Appletini." She agrees, screwing the top back on and setting it carefully down. She shifts to sit on the edge of the pool and then drops herself in slowly. "Don't mind me, I don't swim very well unless you count doggy paddling."

Doggy paddle she does, moving to the shallower end of the pool where her toes touch the bottom. She swirls her arms around the water, gazing down at the ink on her body through the clear. "I didn't realize how much of you was inked, Love. How long did all of that take?" She asks, pushing off of the floor to float a bit in the cool water. Her eyes shift up to take in the moon, watching it bathe its light down on the city.

Zoiya says, "Love, do you mind if a boy comes to skinny dip with us? As far as I know, he's friendly."

Love's body skims under the water where she swims to the opposite end of the pool, spins under and kicks off the wall, gliding to the halfway mark before she surfaces in the shallow end, and reaches up to push loose strands of hair out of her eyes. She sighs. "That's so good." She seems to be a fan of the water, even if it's chlorinated. "It you'd like to learn to swim better, I can help you with that. I've been a water baby since before I could talk."

She swims over to the edge, near where Mae swims, to reach for one of the bottles. "So many hours. I got into it when I was flat on my back for a while, you know... needed something to do while I couldn't surf. I was friends with a really fantastic artist, and then we were collaborating on designs." She folds her arms on the edge of the pool, looking over. "I couldn't even begin to say how long it took. I just know hurting for a while to make art is better than hurting just to heal." She unscrews a bottle and takes a sip. It's tangy orange she's chosen. So that's one screwdriver found.

"Mm. No, I don't mind boys. Nonbinary, trans, whatever. I'd be naked all the time if they wouldn't arrest you for it." She grins and takes another sip. "When did you decide to go from tattooed to heavily tattooed?" She tips back in the water, screwing the top onto her bottle and leaving it to float nearby.

Mae stands in the water, hazel eyes alight on Love as she moves towards the drinks. She moves in the same direction, nodding as Love explains about her ink. "Did.. something happen where you couldn't surf, were on your back and in pain?" She asks carefully, reaching out for the purple again. She's an appletini slut. She unscrews it, taking a drink, almost losing what's in her mouth when Love mentions that she'd be naked all the time. "Same, and that's not even why I became a stripper. Being naked is nice. It's comfortable, and I still don't always get why people get uppity about it."

"I was twenty when I got my first tattoo. I think somewhere in my head I thought I was being a bad ass, right?" Mae smirks, drinking again before she watches the screwdriver bottle floating along. She caps the appletini and lets it float as well. "Then after my first three tattoos, they started to mean something. I got things that spoke to me, or told a story about specific parts of my life. Before I knew it, most of my body was covered, and even now I have to slap my hand to keep myself from getting more." She paddles a bit more, eyes closing as she turns to float in the clear water. "We're not listening very well for the neighbor." She's kept her voice low and quiet, attempting not to announce their presence, at least.

"Yes, ma'am," Love replies, a little Georgia in her accept with that phrase. She usually trends more Cali/Hawaii with her intonation, but it's a muddle. "So, turns out I'm just another surf statistic. Was surfing Durban in South Africa and had an unfortunate meeting with a bull shark. I was on my ass for almost a year. It wasn't the bite so much as the infections that followed." She takes a a long breath. "Lucky I didn't lose my leg." The scars aren't that bad, but they're bad enough that it probably explains why she's always in skinny jeans.

"I was in the hospital foreverrrr. I made friends with the entire staff, all the kids in oncology, read a ridiculous number of books, learned sleight of hand from a kid's magician, and developed a taste for hospital food." Tragic.

"Who doesn't when they bust out that first large piece of ink?" Love grins at that. "I know. I know what you mean. My first one was some lame kinda transformation thing and then it really became important to me. I suffered through some shit, and marking it in my skin in a way of my choosing was so important." She falls silent for a moment, then asks, "Why stop yourself getting more if that's what you want? Maybe get a tiny one." Enabler. Love is an enabler. She reaches for her floating bottle to undo the top and take another sip. "Neighbor probably won't care as long as we're not obviously super loud kids disturbing his viewing of Forensic Files." She just assumes people in houses like this spend their evenings watching television.

Mae gazes at Love with wide eyes. She hasn't seen Jaws, mostly because of a deprived childhood. Had she seen that movie and heard Love's story, good luck getting her in an ocean. "Wow, so you're a survivor." She paddles toward the orange topped bottle. "I had respect for you before, but I have a lot more now. I'm glad you didn't lose your leg, but I still think you'd be the badass that you are now if you had. You have that aura about you."

"Yes, we all have scars, some internal and some on the outside, and having ink there to remind you of the bad times makes the good times better, at least in my opinion." Mae unscrews the orange top and gives the screwdriver a try. Mmmm. A second sip is had and then she screws it closed. "I probably will get more if I find a reason to get something else, I save most of my tiny tattoos for my fingers, and I constantly have to have my palm touched up." She glances toward the neighboring house, the lights still out there. "Even if he does care, he'll probably just take some pictures or stare. We're not exactly hard on the eyes, you know? Give him some spank bank material and he doesn't even have to tip."

Yes, both women are naked in the pool.

There is a noise that comes after a few minutes, but it is soon revealed not to be a neighbor who has gotten it into his mind that he, too, can be like all of those CSI techs on his forensic shows to snoop around and see what crimes are going on in his neighbors pool. The small rustle of noise soon turns out to be one Rink, wearing a pair of faded green cargo shorts, and a white t-shirt that is sporting a few red splatter marks of paint.

He also has his messenger bag with him, which surely isn't a surprise, save to show he was likely out and about rather than at home when he got the text. And speaking of scars? One would surely notice the stitches on his forehead and scalp, and the mostly faded but still present bruises on that forehead. He hasn't heard any of that particular story, only except to hear the very last sentence from Zoiya. Blink. Blink blink goes those big blue eyes as he slows his approach to the pool, before up one hand lifts, giving a waggle of fingers towards the pair of naked, swimming women.

Most people have some kind of fuck no ocean forever reaction after hearing the more detailed version of Love’s story, but she’s not drunk enough for that and Mae doesn’t seem the type to ask after it. The aluminum bottle tips back once more as Love takes a healthy swing of the screwdriver. Sips come later. You need a slug after sharing some things. "Yeah, I survived a shitty ass bull shark’s attitude." No hard feelings, right? "Fucking sharks, man." Maybe some.

"I surfed professionally. That kicked my butt back to the beach for a long time. I’ll probs get over it and be one of those chill ocean-creature zen people, but I’m not gonna lie. I have to pep talk myself back into the water to this day." She smiles. "You’re sweet, Mae. I knew you were a survivor the first time I met you." She doesn’t know of what, but that’s something she might ask one day. "Not the first time I paid that way for something." She laughs.

Love drops a little lower in the water when she hears the approach of someone. She takes hold of the edge, fully prepared to pull herself out and run if it’s the cops, just to make them chase her. She relaxes a little when she sees Dylan. "He’s not the neighbor, right?" Awkward. "Uh. Hey, Dylan. Fancy meeting you here. The fuck happened to your face, babe?" Tactful? Noooo. Maybe she’s burning a tiny adrenal surge in her system. Fight or flight!

Mae turns to gaze toward Dylan when he approaches. "He's the guy I invited. You know him too?" She asks, not moving to climb out of the pool and prepare to run. If the cops show up, she's gonna be slow to start, water feels too good. "I saw shark week once, on television, and it was kind of .. crazy. I watched for a few hours with my housemates at the time, and then decided that I was pretty happy that I couldn't swim." She gives Love a contemplative look, and the swims to the side to try the third drink, unscrewing it slowly. "Get naked, Dylan. Come on in and swim with us. We won't have to worry around you talking too much or too loud."

She takes a sip, she's still sipping yet. Screws the cap back on and sets it back out to float. "I think there are a lot of us out there who are survivors, life comes at you hard. You either overcome the shit, or you get buried in it." She winces when Love brings up the stitches, and doesn't answer for him. She'll eventually get to see the insanity. Boy howdy.

Dylan comes right up to the edge of the pool, and he doesn't take a single ounce of offense to that question Love so tactifully leads with. He's far too busy scanning the water as if it might already have sharks in it, or crabs. "Uhhh..." He starts, flashing an almost paniced look to Mae while his brain churns to try and figure out how to answer the fellow painters question, before he finally concludes with, "Bad seafood." Go figure out how that fucked up his face!

His head bobs up and down as the strippers question if they know each other, and he explains, "Coffee shop!" As if that might trigger a conversation they've had in the past about it. His fingers are still clinging to his messenge bag as if it holds all the promised answers around what happened to him, rather than some reluctance to get naked. Finally its put down, and he starts with his shirt, tugging it up and over his head after a momentary struggle to let it drop down. Plop he goes to his ass to sit, unlacing shoes, "I'll be..." Quiet. A beaming, playful smile is cast towards the pair of them at that, no worries of him interrupting any conversations they might want to have!

Love mhms, "We met in the coffee shop one day. Talked art. Watched a huge biker order what looked suspiciously like a skinny vanilla latte." Her answer is far less succinct than Dylan's, but no less accurate. "I was hoping to run into you. Thank you for the drawings you sent. They're great, and I have them hanging in my shitty motel room. Honestly, that place is depressing. I mean, doubly so since the whole... uh. Murder situation." There were two bodies found, but she's really not sure it was a murder. Tight-lipped cops.

"I haven't worked my way back up to watching Shark Week, but I can get my ass out on a board. It's a balance." Between her intense desire to surf and her deeply rooted fear of sharks, which is hard to shake, particularly in the dark blue Washington coastal waters. You can't really see what's coming for you here. Love looks from Mae to Dylan and considers him for a long moment. "Bad seafood." That is the dubious face of dubiousness she's making right there. Her eyes narrow slightly. "If you need us to kick someone's ass, we fully will."

Mae grins as Love includes her in the ass kicking squad, the two women are firmly on the same page. She slides her hazel eyes toward Love, her lips quirking in to a grin. "He literally got beat up by seafood, wait until you see the pictures. If you're anything like me.." And she is, in some ways. "..you'll see the picture and wonder if it is real or if Dylan was snorting some crazy shit." She huffs out a breath, leaning against the wall of the pool. "I decided to believe him, he doesn't seem to be the type to lie."

She splashes around, trying to paddle one of the bottles closer to her. "Dylan, Love is going to teach me how to swim." She manages to get a hold of the appletini and this time she takes a healthy swig from the bottle. She closes her eyes for a few moments, caps the bottle and sends it back off to float. She's starting to feel the drinks now. "Maybe one day if you decide to give it a try, I can come watch you surf. I've always wanted to see it, because when I see it on television? It looks fake."

She watches Dylan get undressed and then shoves the appletini toward him. "She made drinks, try this one, it's pretty amazing." She glances toward the neighbor's house again. Still dark.

The gamit of emotions that run through Dylan's expressive features is quite the sight to behold as Love talks, from a serious nod at her recounting of that day, to sheer delight for the thanks of the drawings, to a grimace of bewilderment and concern at the whole 'murder situation'. "That sucks," He sums up about the shitty murder-hotel, deciding that's the best angle to tackle it all at before he delves into something that rekindles that excitement. "Making comic,"

A hand lifts to point to Love, hoping she catches the jist of it as he asks, "Have permission?" For that likeness that she inspired. That singular finger shifts over to point towards Mae, explaining, "Firefly!" Which really only has context to everyone except the person he's trying to explain things to. His mouth immediately slackens when Mae just dives on into the explination of seafood, a slow gulp given as he starts to pluck at the cargo pants, shedding them off to leave only his boxers on. Reluctantly he reaches to his messenger bag, tugging it open. Pages are flipped and put near the pools edge but not on it, where one could see if they stand up, but not drip water on them. "Toooold you," He coos at Mae when she mentions learning to swim, a beaming smile of approval flashed her way.

Off those undergarments come, and into the water Rink goes, fingers reaching out to grab the drink shoved his way, clearly needing it while he waits to see if Love errs on the side of 'Crazy crab cakes' when it comes to Dylan. The picture he has flipped open? It shows an army arrayed upon hills, and a figure stands proudly dressed like Napoleon... except instead of a hand shoved into the jacket, it's a claw. Because it's a crab. It's a whole army of crabs. With shrimp manning cannons. And the lobster cavalry in the background.

Love's expression goes back to a less ready to kick someone's ass casual when Mae elaborates for her. "Oh," the grey-eyed woman looks to Dylan. "So, okay. Fellow survivor of the unforgiving sea." Sure, his may have been three inch crabs and hers was a mouth full of teeth with too much testosterone and only eating on its mind, but the sea is the sea, and the ocean will fuck you up.

She smiles when Mae compliments her drinks. Two more of the aluminum, wide-mouth water bottles rest on the edge of the pool. One contains a screwdriver, fresh-squeezes OJ and vodka, chilled with ice, and the other is a spicy Moscow Mule, all sharp ginger beer, lime, and vodka garnished with some crushed mint that was strained out. There's enough in each bottle to get at least one person buzzed, since these are usually served in small cocktail glasses, not 20oz tumblers.

"What, to use my likeness in a comic? Absolutely." The cocktails must be kicking in. While Dylan strips down to slip into the water, she pulls over to the side to have a look at the open page. There's a lengthy silence from the woman. "I am one hundred percent not high enough for the shit that goes on in this town. It wasn't fucked up like this when I was a kid. It really wasn't." It probably was, but she just didn't notice. "Are you saying a crab did that to your face?" It's hard to tell from her tone or her eyes if she's like call the white coats or not. Her pale eyes fix on Dylan.

Mae chuckles quietly, crossing herself slowly as she murmurs. "I'm not going into the unforgiving sea. Nope." She eyes the bottle with the Moscow Mule, giving it some consideration before she goes for the Screwdriver instead. She dips herself underwater briefly, comes up spluttering and then unscrews the bottle to drink from it. She takes two swigs and then caps it again. "I really like orange juice, I should order the Screwdrivers at work along with the pale pink thing." She walks around the shallow end of the pool, splashing her hands this way and that, they're still unmolested and unwatched, the houses dark around them.

"Every time I think that this place can't get any stranger, it gets stranger. People keep telling me that this is the normal, but .." Mae wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. "I'd much rather think that it's only this crazy when people are sniffing something in a group." She slants a look at Love, smirking lightly. "I mean, I'm sure there's something in my purse that rhymes with mead, if we really want to get high enough for the shit that goes on in this town."

It's probably easy to get rather buzzed when you are taking a big huge drink of appletini, swallow it down like he's just run a marathon and it's a cold glass of water. One might even question if he had a chance to truly taste it when he stops, offering up a raspy, "Is goood." He almost misses the permission, but he latches onto this little bit of sanity, a low breath of relief coming as he chimes out, "Thank you!" Only to have each and every bit of his features slump when Love asks if the crab beat him up. The truth is far worse than that.

He glances to Mae, a small voice of complaint, "My way..." Is easier, is the implied meaning, a huff of breath let out as he wades a bit deeper into the water, sinking in as if it might offer some protection. And hopefully no misbehaving pool vacuums just waiting to attack him. "Shrimpapult. Prawns." It's rather meepish, the way it squeaks out the words as to what clobbered him. His container is recapped so he doesn't accidentally spill it, or more likely to help resist the temptation of just draining it all down right then and there. "Got my," Dylan lifts a hand out of the water to motion to his face, which clearly they both can already see, and then there is a pregnant pause as he looks towards the stripper, momentarily distracted by the prospect of things that rhyme with mead. It's a questioning look he gives her, before finally he figures to hell with it all, also telling Love, "Dislocated shoulder." Not that either of his arms seems to be any worse for the wear. At all.

Love takes a sip of the second screwdriver. Four bottles in all, three different drinks to be shared. She sinks a little lower in the water, just up to where the water laps at her jawline when either of her fellow skinny dippers moves around enough to throw a little wake. "Screwdrivers are pretty great since the vodka hides under the citrus, but if you like a little bubble, a mimosa is pretty damn good too, especially on the boardwalk on a warm day with some brunch." Love glances up at the moon. This little pool, surrounded by that wall and all these dark houses, really does feel like a private grotto. The temperature is pretty great, too.

Love has the misfortune of taking another drink right about the time a sheepish Dylan says shrimpapult out fucking loud. She full on chokes on her drink, snorks a funny little sound, then hacks out a laugh and shortly submerges, everything but her hand holding that bottle up and out of the water. Bubbles filter upward as she laughs below the surface. Or chokes. Six of one, you know?

Give her a minute, then come to the rescue if she actually spills her drink. She probably heard everything he said before she went under, but. Man.

Mae has heard and seen these things a day or two ago, so she's seasoned enough not to choke on her drink. Love nearly spitting out her drink almost draws out a laugh, but she manages to stay quiet. She lets Dylan have his say, about things being easier or better, she won't argue with him. She just doesn't want to argue period. She's that simmering warmth between sober and nearly shitfaced. She stands there in the shallow end, everything above her hips out of the water. She continues to splash around, turning to watch both of her skinny dip mates. "I wonder if the people who live here are ever coming back."

Then, out of the blue. "I think I'm going to take a stage name for the first time in the almost seven years of me dancing." She gazes down into the pool, wiggling her toes. "How are you feeling today, Dylan? Finish the leftovers?"

"It's my roommates, they keep weed in the house all the time, and since I'm paying almost all of the bills, I get to have one of their vapes or joints every now and again." She gestures toward her purse, shrugging a shoulder. "I have a joint in there. I was saving it for the weekend, but I feel like tonight is a good night to have it."

The moment the swimmer begins to hack and cough in laughter or death, one can see the look that crosses Dylan's experssive features, a look that would be exactly like a grumpy, sulky cat if he had ears that could fold back on his head. He starts wading towards the shallow end where the drinks are, clearly needing something else alcoholic to make it through. Love will be fine! Probably, right? "Broke her," He mutters to Mae when he gets a bit closer.

Spicy Moscow Mule! That's the one that Dylan grabs, though he doesn't realize it, and at this point he'd probably drink moonshine. He'll get around to worrying about Love if she doesn't come back up sooner than later, but surely she's fine, right? "What name?" Yes. This is far more grounded, and a beaming smile is flashed towards the dancer as she mentions the leftovers. He's up to about his chest now, mostly because he's also crouched down a bit, and one can see the hand beneath the water pat against his stomach. "All gone." It's a thankful thing for that meal.

"I'm goooood," And this might have everything to do with the alcohol he's now drinking from that moscow mule, and this one? Oh, yes. This one he starts to slow down on, clearly enjoying it. "You?" He inquiries in that followup way of his, head tipping to the side to peer over at that mass of bubbles coming up around Love's upstretched hand that's saving her drink.

Love does come back up, probably about the time both are seriously considering a rescue. Thank god she was in the shallow end. She stands, sputtering a bit of water, but she's a surfer, right? No way she's going out like that. Probably. She coughs a few more times and then walks to the side of the pool, leaning against it for a moment to get the rest of that out of her system. "I wasn't prepared for shrimpapult." You know she got a visual. Angry, flailing tiny prawns doing a battle cry and all. In her head forever now. She has no idea how close that really is to the truth of it.

Love coughs one last time, puts the bottle down with a thunk, and reaches up to undo her upswept hair. It's heavy with pool water, and it takes her a minute to get a handle on it with those long nails. "Sorry, babe. If it makes you feel any better, pretty sure I inhaled some screwdriver." Her back is tattooed with a lot of fine-line grey foliage, but quite unfinished.

"If these folks don't come back, we have a regular meet-up spot." She drops a few bobby pins and hair ties on the side of the pool. If the cops show up now, there's going to be a lot of evidence left behind. She pulls out perhaps eight pins, then untwists and finger-combs her hair loose, tipping back to dip her head in the water and to let that pull it out of her face for her.

Mae nods solemnly at Dylan when he mentions that he broke Love. "Happens sometimes, but she's pretty resilient, so she'll probably bounce back and kick your ass later." She keeps an eye on where Love went under, but she can't swim so when it comes to rescuing it's going to be on Dylan to make that happen. She could try, but then they'll both sink to the bottom. Then Love resurfaces. Joy! She is saved! She watches Dylan take a very healthy couple of swigs of Moscow Mule, eyebrows raised slowly. "I was thinking of using Firefly. I really like that name, do you think it would make a good stage name?" She flashes a grin, glad that the leftovers went to a good place. "I'm doing good tonight, looking forward to making some good money during the weekend."

"From what I hear lately, people leaving, returning.. getting murdered. I didn't check too deeply into who's house this is.." She shrugs, moving over to the side of the pool to reach for the bag the drinks were in. There was talk of snacks, and for some reason, she's hungry. What will she find during her foraging, will she share? These are the questions of the ages.

There is a rather concerned look that Dylan casts towards Mae, his brow furrowing, "I could..." A hand lifts to tap his head for some reason as he inquiries, but it all becomes a moot point moments later when the surfer breaks beyond the surface, a small breath of relief coming from him. "No," He says when Love asks if it'll make him feel better, his features contorting into a sorrowful look of loss for the alcohol. "Wasted." The screwdriver. Not him. Yet.

It's all the talk of the people and the neighbors that finally has Dylan pausing, his head swiveling about to take in the sight of the house. And the ones next to it. His head quirks quizically to the side, listening while Mae posits that maybe they just died. Or were murdered. "Toilet goldfish," Is Dylan's contribution to the betting pool of what hypothetically took the home owners, before a pleased look creases his features when that name is mentioned. "Firefly. Alluring." Up and down his head bobs, clearly agreeing that it's a stage name that would work wonders.

Love presses a hand to her chest, dark nails glistening like tiny beetle shells. She does love black nail varnish. From the look of her makeup, which is still pristine, she also favors waterproof everything. Black lips, mascara, liner, all intact. The eyeshadow is probably going to suffer if she goes under a few more times, though. "You're too pure, Dylan. Too pure for this world." His mournful look over wasted cocktails. Bless.

"I've always like fireflies. Little lights luminescing in the darkness." Love's drained about half of her bottle of screwdriver, so it's time to ease off until she sees how hard it hits her. She did a generous pour with those, and one of the bottles is stronger than the other. "How many roommates do you have in your uh... house." She doesn't say murder house, but only just.

She glances over as Dylan says toilet goldfish, clearly mistaking that for an alternate stage name, but a joking one. "Uh. That sounds like a classic Friendzone handle." @toiletgoldfish. Finally, she gets around to something she's been wondering about, "How did you two meet? At the Platinum?"

There is a look paid toward Dylan when Love says he's too pure for this world, giggling softly as she reaches out for some Screwdriver. "I think it's a nice name, I never thought I'd want one, but I can see the appeal. Last thing I need is someone looking me up to try to find me, stage name.. nobody finds me." She glances toward Love, smirking. "Three on a normal day, four on a bad day, five on a crazy day. Still considering moving. You still looking for a place, because I'm honestly to the point where I'm just gonna go a little bit insane. Sometimes it's a good insane, and sometimes.." She trails off, wrinkling her nose as she uncaps the bottle, taking a decent swing of the citrus drink.

Mae, on the other hand, didn't take toilet goldfish as a alternative. She just figures that people are getting flushed around town, and it's probably why she has the knife in her purse. "He was actually at the shot night, and then the day after...there was an explosion in my house, so I took a hike to get away from the insanity, and nearly ran bodily into him in the forest sketching."

Up Dylan's hand lifts when Love states he's too pure for the world, looking as if he's prepared to utter something completely profound. Instead, he just stares at her for a few moments, before concluding with a succinct, "Yup." Wisdom at it's height! He follows it up with another drink of that mule, a rumble of delight coming from him as he busies himself peering into it rather than really listening to the immediate conversation about roommates to let them chat, as if this might somehow let him piece together how it was made.

Unsuccessful, he caps it back off to let it float once more, and back he leans into the water, his upper half floating while his legs trail down into the water. "Too loud," Dylan mentions when Love speaks of the Cabaret, as if he's the sort that prefers conversation. So quiet! "Explosion?" News to him, and there is a touch of concern in his voice, but it's far more muted given they've already covered shrimpapults, after all. "What she," Up a hand lifts, giving a vague wave in the direction of the dancer to agree with her assessment of how they met. "Forest sunset."

"That's a lot of people in one place, but not as many as I thought. I used to live like that on tour, just five to twelve of us crashing in a house meant for four at the most. Crazy way to live, but a good one. Always somebody to talk to, always somebody to help apply your sunscreen. After a couple weeks, it does start to weigh, especially if you like your privacy. Ever." Love flashes a smile to Mae. "Town this small, putting some buffer between you and the crowd might be a good idea. I wasn't too worried about people knowing I love at the motel until some bodies dropped there. Now I don't mention it so much." Except she just did. "I mean, not that it's hard to miss me walking in an out of there fourteen times a day." And going to the beach, and ordering up horchatas from Fried Fish on the boardwalk. It wouldn't be hard to follow her around town. And now she's thinking about that, and what it must be like for Mae at the club after hours. "Joey over at the gym on Elm offered to come out to the club to give all the girls some self defense lessons, one day before we open... think that's something the girls would go for?"

"Yeah, I am still looking. There's some little A-frame cabins going up out on Sycamore. I might go ahead and take one of those. You should see the plans. I'm told the first one or two should be ready by Halloween. Limited floor plan, loft bedrooms, wood-burning stoves, hardwood, locally sourced lumber, lots of light."

Love laughs softly when Dylan just agrees with her assessment of him. She dips below the water again, back against the wall, her hands grasping the edge of the pool. She lifts her legs and floats, her toes breaking the surface of the water. Her feet are tattooed too, nails painted a glossy black. She listens to both on how they met, different takes refreshing, and together illuminating. "Art bringing people together again and again." Her brows go up, though. "Explosion?"

"It's complicated to explain, explosion in terms of an explosive argument. It wasn't pretty." Mae tries to look innocent, as if to say, wasn't me -- just was in the midst of it. She grins over at Love, nodding as she leans against the side of the pool. "I need privacy every once in a while, and I'm starting to slip into the pattern where I range away from home, sleeping somewhere else for a night or two. Why am I paying all these bills if I'm gonna just start doing that?" She takes another drink of the Screwdriver and sets it free. "I think it's something that the girls should go for, I know how to take care of myself, but a lot of people don't. You can't depend on someone to keep you straight when someone is walking toward you down a dark alley. Gotta be prepared to kick someone in the balls, right hook them and then take off, you know?"

She watches Love as she describes the A-frame cabins, a light smile on her lips. "Well if you're ever open for a sleepover, let me know. I'm not sure that the situation is going to improve itself unless I divorce from it." She glances at Dylan, grins and then shrugs at Love. "I'm extremely laid back, but when people push me, there comes a time when I need to push back.. or I hike. In the woods. Heard some shit about the woods too."

It's as if he just caught on to the whole conversation, tossing in his two cents about it all, which is to say he points at himself, "No roommates." He's managed to float over towards the edge near the shallow end, his arms hooking to either side of the lip of the pool so he can float, and up his head lifts to flash a smile towards Love when she mentions art bringing people together. "Always sketching," His mouth hangs open, clearly having wanted to say more, but at that two word cap? He's stymied, and one can see the proverbial, 'Fuck!' of frustration at himself that flashes on his face momentarily.

It's the bobbing toes of the painter that has him watching fascinated for a moment, looking at the painted nails. And the feet tattoo. His head swivels over to Mae, trying to look at the same thing in Mae, as if comparing all of the different ink. In a pool with naked women, it's feet that has his attention captured, rather than... other parts. Too much alcohol for him!

"Laid back," He agrees with the dancer, as if trying to sell Love on the high points of allowing the stripper over for a potential sleepover. "Things trapped!" His mind jumps back to his thought about why he sketches, one hand lifting up to tap against his temple as he peers over to Love, as if that should make complete, perfect sense in the disjointed world of words Dylan currently finds himself in.

Love is still looking at Mae when the other tattooed woman in the pool elaborates a little. She nods. "I get it, I really do. I was in a multiple roommate situation for a while, and you at least need your own space some of the time. Matching two personalities into a dynamic, long term, is difficult, let alone up to five." And then she agrees regarding the self sufficiency. "Yeah, I think so too. I have a flyer to put up in the back room." If she had her way, all the girls would join the gym, which is a fighter's gym, just to learn to take on opponents twice their size.

"You're welcome anytime. I'd invite you to my motel room, but it's... well. You're still welcome, but it's kinda depressing. There's a bar and a pool, though, the drinks are shit and the pool's over-chlorinated. I think Roxy's there too, but we don't cross paths much." Or at all. "Did run into that cop at the bar, though." There's a slight frown, but she doesn't elaborate, and by the time she glances over to Dylan, it's gone like it never was.

Feet and hands are the hardest to draw. Love gets this fascination. Though she's surely checked out everything on display in this pool, she does it subtly, with an artist's appreciation for forms well-rendered. "You have an interesting way of putting things, D." She thinks for a moment, then asks, because he seems to be talking about it, "Is it aphasia?" The question's asked lightly, with the implied option to utterly skip it if he doesn't want to discuss it.

Mae catches Dylan looking at toes, and feet tattoos. She glances down at her foot, holding a leg up above the water to show off her pedicure. Blood red painted toenails, the ink is a basic mandala, no color to it. "Do you have a foot fetish that I haven't figured out yet?" She feels like she's asked this question though, and she's tipsy enough to be confused, her eyes narrowing. She splashes her leg back into the water, giggling softly as she hauls herself out to sit on the side of the pool. She finds some pretzels, pulls them out and opens them, fishing one out to chomp on it. She crosses her legs primly and continues to much, the water rolling down her inked skin.

She is almost tipsy enough to spill as to how he could get away from things being trapped, but her mouth is full of pretzels.

"I want to join the gym. Poe took me there the other day, it seems nice and clean and had good people there." Mae makes a face about the cop, smirking slightly. "De La Vega?" She picks out another pretzel, nips into it and shifts her gaze to Dylan to see what he has to say to that question. She's well used to his lack of speech by now. Fills it in for both of them, most days.

Dylan's head lulls back to look up at the stars as the convesration continues to revolve around the talk of places to stay, though he does flash a vague thumbs up in the dancers direction when she gets that offer from Love. Mission accomplished! "Probably not," Comes his enigmatic response to Mae about foot fetishes, the mischief in his voice making it hard if one should take that as a serious probably not, or 'I'm just gunna tell you that cause I already talked about killer crabs today'.

His head tips back up, swaying back and fourth for a moment to first admire Mae's shown off leg, and then to look to love. "Childhood trauma," Comes his super serious Medical Voice, and he finds his feet to stand up. "Premature Complications," Now his eyes roll upwards, a huff of breath let out as he concludes, "Doctors clueless." There is a missing 'fucking' he wanted to put in there, but what can one do? "Not aphasia."

Alcohol wins out, and he takes a few steps through the water, which does make it up barely to his hips, mostly leaving the water to contort certain sensitive bits. "Ever..." He begins, looking over to Mae to see if she Gets It, thinking she will, because the bulk of his attention is focused on the surfer. "/Feel/ emotions?" That hand lifts to point at her and then to him, and then it is repeated from Mae to him. "Not /yours/?" It's a touch of slurred words to it all, which would make the dubious easily write it all off as just too much alcohol. "Gets stuck." Once more that hand lifts, tapping against his temple... of course, this time? He isn't sharp enough to recall the stitches, his features immediately wincing as he taps against one of those recovering wounds. "Ow."

Love chuckles when Mae asks about the foot fetish, and pulls down the screwdriver to sip again. She lost the cap somewhere in the water earlier, but she'll notice eventually and go fetch it, since it floats. She watches Mae get out of the pool, and she starts that-a-way as soon as snacks appear. "Joey seems like good people. We talked a little." She holds out a hand for some pretzels, making the please, share eyes at the woman. "Yeah, de la Vega." She very nearly pronounces his last name like it begins with a soft 'b' rather than a 'v', but that's just her accent coming out when she hits those Spanish words.

"Hm. Doctors are frequently clueless, in my experience." Love dips into the water again to wet her hair, then lets go of the wall and floats out from it. "No." She says to Dylan about the emotions. "I mean I am sometimes highly empathetic, but unlike some rude fuckers in this town," she drops below the water almost to her nose, perhaps taking the opportunity to calm down before she finishes that sentence, "... I don't touch the minds of other people without permission. I mean I can't. I wouldn't if I could."

There's a pause for a moment then she says, "Maybe I'm just drunk." She's not. "Babe, don't poke your face."

Mae holds out the pretzel bag, an easy smile on her face as she shares with Love. "I know him from Seattle. He's..something." She purses her lips, thinking about how to describe that. "He saved me from getting dragged off by an over eager patron." She chuckles lowly as talk turns to doctors. She doesn't see much of them, and she doesn't like hospitals.

She kicks her feet back and forth, holding the pretzels out until Love are done with them, gazing between them as they talk about empty and rude fuckers. When talk turns to touching minds, she glances back at Dylan, it's like a verbal medley.

"I think that I'm drunk." She says, and then she nods her agreement. "What she says, don't poke your fucking face." She waggles a finger toward Dylan before she adds. "Or someone will kiss it and make it better.

Of all the things Dylan was expecting as a reaction, her words of recognition and understanding was not a probability he'd calculated. That accounts for the long moments of staring that comes cast towards Love, and the inarticulate, "Oh." Not that he disagrees with her sentiments, his head bobbing up and down with a touch of too tipsy eagerness before he manages to steady himself. "Fuckers." He turns to start to walk back towards his side, at least offering up a touch of context. "Sometimes can't..." Those hands lift to his head, making the little explosion gesture. With a slump he goes back into the water to lean against the side of the pool, "Getting better."

When they both chide him for touching his face, out his tongue sticks first towards Love, and then to Mae, including the both of them into that ever so mature riposte. It's the dancer's warning that has one eyebrow lifting, and up a finger lifts, hovering right over one of those fading bruises... until his eyes narrow, suspicion etched into ever bit of him as he tries to suss out which way she means. "Wiccan magic?" That's his question, yes.

Love looks at Mae for a while as she speaks, her pale gaze skimming the other woman's prominent tattoos, across her chest and shoulder. She reaches for a handful of pretzels as they're offered, then goes about searching the lowly choppy water for that black plastic cap, crunching away at pretzels. She leave the bottle behind, because she only has so many hands. "I'll try not to scowl next time I see him, even if he's unduly nosy."

Apparently this woman has met with at least one rude mentalist. "If it's an accident, shit happens, but when it's pointed and... I just think a person has a right to their privacy." She doesn't fully understand the abilities, or how they work, but she knows glimmer when she feels it. Love's reactions to things like this are more physical.

"The only reason I'm not dead right now is I broke my surfboard over a shark's face and he didn't like it." That may seem completely unrelated to the conversation about sensing emotions until she says, "You know, hands-free. I was too busy flailing and panicking about how fast your blood blows out of your body when you're in the water."

"I don't know Wiccan magic." Mae says lowly to Dylan, smirking when he sticks his tongue out at her. She turns back to Love and shrugs. "Javier is different here, everyone seems different here. He's part of my past, not a bad part of it, though." She shifts a bit, picking out another pretzel to nibble on it. "Privacy is important." She feels the need to speak that out loud, her eyes on Love. "See, you're a survivor." It's murmured quietly, her eyes settled on the pale woman.

She clears her throat, glancing back toward Dylan. The explosion gesture isn't missed, but what he's trying to convey is largely lost on her. When someone is nearing drunk, she becomes less better at communicating with people. This is why she doesn't drink at work.

Dylan falls oddly silent, even for himself. Not a peep from him as his eyes lower to the water, watching the way it rises and falls in the middle of the pool, near no one in particular. One can see his brow scrunch up, still listening, but even his expression is more muted. It's only when Love is done speaking that the singular word comes rolling from the tip of his tongue, making it impossible to know which part of it all he's apologizing for. "Sorry."

Even the playful gesture of that hovering hand just drops down with a splosh into the water, and it is Mae's thoughts on privacy that has his head nodding in agreement with the dancer. "Good." Comes his final conclusion about her not knowing Wiccan magic, for whatever reason.

Love is also alive right now because she's a very strong swimmer, she had ready access to blood products, and someone made a tourniquet as soon as she hit the beach. That's really a lot of information, though, so she keeps it to herself. "I find men who behave as if they're owed information to be..." What's the word. What is the word. "Troublesome." That's not the word, but she's 2/3 down the screwdriver supply in her bottle.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't apologize to me. I'm just cranky about the bodies at the motel and in the dumpster and seeing your face fucked up." The conversation about wiccan magic brings her head around and she says, "Wiccans are the polite witches. I'd really worry about the other ones out there." She doesn't elaborate, and Mae might catch the little smile she hides before she turns to snatch up the chunky, floating plastic cap. "Gotcha." She gives it a shake and then swims over to the edge of the pool to cap her bottle. She finishes the last two pretzels in her hand, reaches for a grip on the ledge, and pulls her body out. She turns, hops up, and sits with her legs dangling in the pool, water streaming from waist-length, thick grey hair.

Mae just looks at Love, there is agreement all in her features, she obviously agrees but she's not going to say as much out loud. "Love, you need to get out of the motel. Consider my place an escape route if you ever need a night away. I have a big king sized bed, and it's rarely occupied by other bodies and you're welcome to come sleep there or eat pop tarts, whatever." She leans against the other woman, bumping her with her shoulder. "I was a little..startled when I got the text the other night telling me about the murders. I walk home from work a lot. Fuck, I hitch from work a lot. I don't like riding my motorcycle in all of this fucking rain. I'm going to have to do something about this."

She wrinkles her nose and gestures for Dylan to come closer. "Come have some pretzels, you might as well soak up some of the vodka with us, hmm?"

"Entitled." Comes Dylan's instinctive addition to Love's comments about men who feel they are owed, well, anything, and it is enough to cause him to blink a few times out of that reverie, his head drawn sharply up to peer around just in time to see the painter settle down upon that ledge. It's a moment of appreciation and admiration, and bit by bit the man seems to get back to his normal self. His hand lifts, pointing to his face, and he promises, "Handsome soon!", his way of reassuring everything there will be back to normal.

He slowly begins to skirt around the edge of the pool, going around closer and closer to where the two are at once that invitation from Mae is extended. "Spare room," He first comments about places to escape towards, an open invitation, and he seems full of semi-helpful suggestions. The next one probably borders more on the jestful than the serious as he coos out towards the dancer, "Smart car." And his fingers squeeze together to be just an inch apart, indicating one of those teeny, tiny things... that would be dry in the rain, at least. He sticks in the water while they stay out, with one hand lifting up to try and steal into the pretzels and snag a few. "Lotsa vodka," He murmurs, wearily eyeing those floating cannisters with an expression that is clearly torn. Part of him wants more of that moscow mule, while the other part of him doesn't want to end up drowning in the shallow end of the pool.

Love pulls her hair over her shoulder to wring it out, and that takes a while given the length. She looks to Mae when the offer's made, and she nods. "It's really pretty likely I'm gonna take you up on that." The motel is getting weird. It used to be she just joked about the janky hot tub, but these days, and corpses? Naw. Just... naw.

"I got a ride from a stranger the other day on a hot ass vintage motorcycle. I'm glad I did before the bodies dropped, because I really would have missed out." Never mind that she hitched a ride with him from the very place body parts were discovered like a day later or so. Or was it two days? It was close. Pretty close. "My car's forever in the shop."

She nods to Dylan's addition. "Yeah, entitled dudes. Not my jam." She laughs and nods, "Yeah, you'll be handsome again, even if you have a little bit of scarring. Scars fade." She sweeps her hands down the length of her hair, then begins to pull it into a long braid. "Spare room? You have one?"

"Most men are entitled, I mean we work at a strip club, we see that shit a lot." She leans back on one hand, aiming a smile at Love, nodding slowly. "Anytime you feel the need to escape, just text me. We can watch movies, eat popcorn, and it's only slightly likely that Boyfriend would drift up from the basement to join us. Sometimes he's very social, sometimes he hears people and turns into Gollum in the basement." She grins over at Dylan, pointing a finger at him. "His house is pretty nice too, and I bring food over, so both options have high points, or at least I think so."

She quirks a brow at the mention of a hot ass vintage motorcycle. "Oh yeah? Now I need to hunt up this stranger. I'm not great with bikes, but I like seeing some interesting ones. Vintage you say?"

The talk of scars makes her giggle a little bit. "Chicks dig scars." She taps a thumb against her collarbone. "Well I do, you both have them, and you're both beautiful to me."

His head bobs into a solemn, serious nod about men being entitled, as if he'd even put himself in that particular bucket as he pops in a few pretzels, chewing away before he gives a big swallow to peer over at Mae when she says his house is pretty nice. "Inflatable chairs." Is his dubious comment about his interior decorating style of necessity, given the fact he is a poor college student.

"Good food," And this gets a rather fond smile cast towards the dancer in appreciation and approval, a low rumble of noise coming from him that is stymied by another pretzel stuffed in and chomped on. "Yes." He replies to Love when she asks if he has one, and there is a long beat of a pause as he collects his thoughts. "Has lock." He says about it, getting that some people like to have a few reassurances, even with the quiet people in the house.

"War story," As if Dylan would ever actually be able to tell it when Love and Mae both talk of scars, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and first comes the appreciative glance towards the painter in agreement with Mae's words about her, before he looks to the dancer to return the compliment, "Your," There is just a touch of heitation, something remembered, and the choice of word seems purposeful rather than using 'beautiful'. "cute."

Love leans over to pull the towel free of her backpack, to towel off briefly before she uses it to wrap up her hair. She nods to Mae, "Yeah, I think that's why it gets under my skin so much when it happens outside of work. Seeing it in sex work is one thing. Unless I'm getting paid, I'm not willing to tolerate it even a little bit." She smirks then. "Boyfriend in the basement." The way Mae says it, it sounds like a nickname, but still. It's a pretty funny phrase.

"Vik, this dude who works at the hospital, drives a Vincent Black Shadow. It's a bone-rattler, but in the right way. If you know what I mean." She picks up the bottle she was working on to take one last sip, the secure the lid. If she finishes it, she might have trouble walking. It's funny, all the talk about murders around town and here they are in a stranger's pool, in the dead of night, drinking.

"Inflatable couches are all fun and good until they pop while you're on them." Love doesn't elaborate, but it's not that easy to pop an inflatable couch. Is she smirking again? Well, maaaaybe a little. She can't help but smile more when Dylan notes the spare room has a lock. "You're sweet." She looks to Mae. "He's sweet, right?"

When Mae says something about them both being beautiful to her, her hand unconsciously sweeps over her thigh where that puckered flesh is currently in shadow. It's a long, large scar, a curve from her hip to mid-thigh, though it's been partially hidden in the ink she had applied after it healed. It must still be painful sometimes. The surgeons did a good job maintaining tissue, and she was lucky in that the shark didn't take a huge chunk of her with him before he got the surfboard to the face. "You're sweet too, Mae." She's said this more than once, but this time there's some emotion behind it. Damn you vodka. Damn you. She reaches up to wipe her eyes. Must be the chlorine.

Mae gets to her feet, glancing at the remaining bottles in the pool. "Dylan could you grab the ones floating in the deep end?" She pads toward the lawn chair, picking up her own towel to wrap around her. "I don't know if you'd like Blake, he's kind of distrusting until he knows someone. He trusts me so he's nice to me, buys me cereal and doesn't complain when I need someone to cuddle with at night." She shrugs and gazes at Love when she speaks of the motorcycle. "Never heard of those, will likely have to look it up on my phone, but a bone rattler? Gave you the shimmies in all the right ways, did he?" She giggles at that, she's absolutely not sober now.

"Dylan is sweet, he actually sneaks up on you." She says this while looking right at him, a slight frown forming on her lips. He called her cute, she knew what he was about to say. "He'd be a decent temporary roomie option until you can get your cabin." She murmurs, peeling the towel away so she can pull her bikini and her t-shirt back on.

She watches Love, the fingers on her scar, the words and the wiping of her eyes. She doesn't say anything, she just approaches with her arms out. Love could side step her, slap her, or poke her in the chest to get her to stop. If she doesn't do any of those things she's going to get a very gentle, squeezing hug. Hugs are magic.

Up Dylan's arms come to cross over his chest when he's called sweet, eyes narrowed in a critical assessment of Love for a long moment. Those fingers tap on his upper arms in a pattern, and he's clearly /thinking hard/. "Use studio," He finally offers up as an invitation. It's one thing to let someone crash in your spare bedroom, but to use the place you do ART at? Well, thats srsbizness. He casts a look towards Mae, as if hopeful she'll explain a touch more about that space so it's clear what he means.

"Appealing! Alluring!" Those two words come chiming out at that frown Mae casts his way, and those eyes go all big and wide and hopeful, as if concerned she might be soon to throw something hard and painful his way, though it's all in good nature. It's then his hands reach out, seeking to give the barest of squeezes to each of their knees, one to Mae and one to Love, just the lightest of reassurances and appreciation.

With that done, or avoided as they see fit if they don't want the touchies, he turns, wading out into the deeper end to let the two embrace in a hug... or for a brawl to start. Either way, he won't be watching it happen at first as he sets about Operation Appletini Rescue.

Naked hugs are naked magic.

Love slides her arms around the other woman and gives her a return hug without hesitation. "Thanks." That's muffled against Mae's shoulder. "I mean I get it. Cereal partners are nice too." She straightens up and smiles, this one a warm, lazy little smile between friends who've just had a moment. "His bike definitely did. I played it cool. I don't think he noticed." He totally noticed, but we're all lying to ourselves today. "He has the bluest eyes I've ever seen. I don't trust a man with eyes that blue."

She looks over at Dylan when Mae says he might make a good temporary roomie. She takes that on board and thinks it over. Once they release each other, she scoops up her little gold bikini and steps into it, bottoms first, and then she takes a moment to tie the top around her ribs, pulling it up to secure it in place last. She's tattooed all the way down. She's sorting out her other clothing when Dylan says something about his studio. She looks over. That is srs bsnss. She doesn't even need translation on that one. "I'll stay in the text loop. Thank you both for being so generous with your offers."

Oh, she didn't pull away from that touch to her knee.

After the hug, Mae is clothed and she's about to open her mouth to respond to the text loop when the light comes on next door. Curtains shift and the stripper goes still, looking to see if something might happen. The appearance of a shotgun maybe? She listens for that noise even as she's moving to gather her purse and towel. She's preparing to run. "Dylan." She hisses, her eyes still on the light. "Get out, get something on. If we have to run, you need to not be bareassed naked." She holds out the towel toward him, generous. Nobody wants to wear damp boxers for a run or walk home.

With no lobster cavalry or french crabs riding seals, Dylan becomes victorious in his claim. "Ok." It's all that needs to be said to Love when she says she'll stay in the text loop, leaving the proverbial ball in her court. He doesn't need much coaxing to not get shot or caught, thankfully, and out of the water he springs, tossing that towel around him while he crams on his shoes at least. The one allowance he makes is oh so gingerly place that sketchpad into his messengers bag, tugging on his t-shirt and stuffing the rest of his clothing into that bag.

Wait. One other thing. The appletini is shoved into Mae's hands, and he? He takes the one that has the Moscow Mule. Priorities, you know, before he's ready to Not Be Here anymore.

Love is already giggling by the time Mae warns Dylan. She's trying to drag on a pair of skinny jeans while her legs are still damp. It's not as easy as it sounds. She hops, tugging them up her legs, and nearly falls right back into the pool. Bending over while you're half in the bottle and trying to pull on clothes—never a great idea. She finally straightens and gets her jeans up. She leaves them unbuttoned, not even bothering with her top. The bikini top is coverage enough. She stuffs everything she can reach into her backpack, pulling the damp towel from her head to jam it in there, then she goes to stuff in the bottles she can reach. She giggles again when Mae says bareassed naked.

In the pool: good. On dry land: druuunk. "Oh," is the only warning before she actually does fall over a stationary chair. "Fuck me." She giggles louder, and the neighbor had to have heard that. The tall woman struggles to right herself, though she's clearly incapable of putting her shoes on herself. She sweeps them up, one in either hand, and makes for the gate.

Mae is giggling running behind Love, turning to make sure Dylan is following. "C'mon!" She hisses, laughing as the curtain twitches again. "Oh shit." She mutters, patting herself to find her phone. There it is. The neighbors door slams open, and for some reason, Mae laughs louder. "Oh shit!" She says in her normal voice and she takes off toward Elm Street, turning briefly to call out. "Text me! Both of you bitches!" She calls out.

Dylan is behind them. He even gets to the gate. He gets through the gate! His towel... does not. He goes careening into the side of it, and it gets snagged on the little latch. "OW." To his credit, the man doesn't even slow down, flapping everything as he runs for a few moments before he at least has the presence of mind to tug his bag in front of him in case car lights appear and get a face full of full frontal D. For Dylan, you pervs. "OOOPS," He says out a little too loudly, and then he's heading off to split up.

"Fuck don't leave meeee." Love's laughter is out of control now. She runs down the walk in that loose-limbed, slightly out of control gait that means she's more than likely going to, at some point, fall up a curb and/or go the wrong way at least twice between here and the motel. At least, and thank the gods for small favors, she isn't wearing heels. She's almost down the drive when she hears Dylan's forlorn towel loss and turns, which puts her in a path with a tree. She just barely misses it, and half falls, half slides across the hood of the neighbor's car parked on the road.

One: She doesn't hurt herself.
Two: The car alarm goes off.

"Fuck. RUN!" Did she see everything Dylan has to offer the world? Probably she did. She's giggling her way down the street again.

"Dylan, you owe me a towel!" Is all that's heard from Mae as she rounds a corner. That might have been her favorite towel. Now it's lost forever.