Who: Faith Lehane / Jane Foster / Bonnie Bennet / Ray Palmer Where: Various When: Dec-Jan Rating: Up to PG-13 Summary: Catch-all for surprise arranged threads. (Please shoot me a PM if you'd like something! <3) The Story:
Sure, Leonard could have also used the communicator, but instead he throws a tiny marshmallow at Ray's tiny door and waits for him to come out. He is on the bed, leaning against the wall, working on getting the bottle in his hand closer to being half-empty, because he isn't feeling the optimism today.
When he flies out of the room, tiny Ray lands at the foot of Len's bed, barely sinking cross-legged into the covers. He's seen Len drink casually before, and he's seen him closed down plenty more. He's slowly learning Snart's script -- and maybe that's why he can see they might not be on it right now.
For once, he considers how a rogue might handle a situation like this.
"What for?" Leonard asks the question and already takes another sip, his eyes on Ray the entire time. He would hand him the bottle, but given he's small enough to drown in it, he holds off. "Bottle's fine. I'll share."
He frowns and gestures with his free hand. "Though you gotta be yea high first."
A double invitation -- maybe he is reading this situation correctly.
"I was yea high when I turned fourteen," Ray replies as he lifts back into the air and in a practiced motion, stands his full six-feet before the bed. It's only a few moments before he's down to the liner suit, and Ray keeps talking as per usual while dwarf-star metal piles up in a corner.
"Not that I was drinking at fourteen. I was too busy pulling apart radios and my uncle's Atari to see how they worked."
Nothing he hasn't seen before, so Leonard simply watches, leaning his head back against the wall and taking another sip. "I'll believe that. I wasn't. Didn't start growing until later. But I pulled things apart too."
Mostly to get inside of places, but the general principle still applied. Ah, to be fourteen again, flunking high school, stealing stuff and raising his baby sister. Good times. "When did you start drinking, boy scout?"
His weight more considerable now, Ray returns to the foot of the bed. It's unsurprisingly easy to imagine a small Leonard Snart dismantling machines and people. More difficult for Ray to imagine is any motivation other than pure curiosity. The intent to weaponize the knowledge for gain-- no, he knows better than that, now. He can even relate.
"When I had to take out business partners and convince board members to like me," he admits. Ray's smirk is humorless, and he holds out his hand for the bottle.
"What about you?"
Edited (SORRy i should probably not drive all of ray's tags to a halt oops) 2016-12-11 20:53 (UTC)
"See, I never had to convince anyone to like me. Seems like I'd suck at it." He hands the bottle over and thinks about it. It's been a while, but rather ironically, Leonard has never been one to lose track of time. "I was young. Thought drinking was part of what makes you a man. Probably true, men tend to be idiots."
He lifts a shoulder and watches the bottle rather than Ray. "Didn't take to it. I like to know what I'm doing." He wants to be in control of himself. "Next was my first joint with Mick. Fourteen."
One sip, and then Ray nods-- he's got plenty to add to those first two comments, but he's learning to let some things go these days. A second sip that's more of a gulp, and he tries not to splutter. Had Leonard just said his first drink was younger than fourteen?
"Joint?" Ray's not sure if they're talking incarceration or drugs, now, but he doesn't hide the surprise in his voice. Should he be surprised on either account? Probably not-- but he watches Snart, curious all the same.
Since Ray seems confused, Leonard leads two fingers to his mouth to mimic what kind of joint he means. "Mick got me high." Now there really couldn't be any mistakes, with Ray it was better to be careful about these things. "Fun night."
He pulls one leg up to lean forward, holding a hand out for the bottle, fingers gesturing for it. "You ever done that, boy scout?"
The clarification smooths out the lines in Ray's forehead, and seem to calm him for a moment. He answers the request swiftly, pressing the bottle back into Len's hand while he processes the information.
"Oh-- yeah, of course." It's Ray's turn to shrug, and he actually doesn't feel the need to be defensive about it for once. "But it wasn't until I was in my first graduate program, and I realized I just hadn't experienced this thing that seemed like I should have. I knew another student who I trusted -- she made really good edibles."
And Ray's always had a supreme sweet tooth when stressed. "I think I actually found it preferable to alcohol. But I don't generally seek out either. I like being in control of my faculties."
"I like that too." Maybe like was the wrong word. Need would be more appropriate, but he saw no reason to put that much out there. He could just take a sip from the bottle and shrug a little. "I got high tolerance. Just a bit, slows the mind down. Less focus."
He glances over at Ray and lifts one corner of his mouth a little, some amusement coming through. "Though I doubt that's an issue for you." The focus, that is. Given he's more like an excitable puppy than someone overly aware of their surrounding. Leonard's mind doesn't shut down. Never stops planning.
Ray smiles and shrugs. He can't deny that he tends to bounce from one thing to another. He reaches out for the bottle again.
"It took me awhile to figure out how to make my version of focus work for me. My brain likes a lot of stimulation, so I have to make sure it has more than one thing to process while I'm working. Otherwise, I start to feel the creeping inevitability of not getting as much done as I could be." As if remembering his own mind's rules, Ray's foot starts to jostle softly where it crosses his knee.
"I used to wish my attention span was more like yours. But-- that's why it's good to work with a team, I guess."
"I guess." After everything, Leonard isn't sure how sold he is on the team concept. He certainly embraced it fully, but for the best? He doesn't know. One way or another, he's lost his partner and, more importantly, his partner has lost him. He's seen it coming. Always planning, but not enough to prevent or avoid any of this.
Accidents happen. But if they happen on his watch, it's his responsibility. He hands the bottle back over to Ray and watches him, although his eyes aren't that focused. Maybe he's not really looking at him. "Why do you do it, Raymond? Do you want to be a hero or be seen as one?"
He's about to finish drinking when Snart comes out with probably the most direct question he's ever asked Ray. The one thing that cuts straight down into Ray's marrow, that he struggles with on a daily basis -- especially here in hero-laden Wonderland.
The bottle tips down and Ray pulls it away from his mouth, head tilting this way and that while his eyebrows try to greet his hairline. He shakes his head more forcefully before pressing the bottle back to his lips.
Congratulations, mark it in a calendar. Ray Palmer is entirely speechless.
Leonard's lips quirk as he watches him from the side, not surprised by the lack of reply. It's hard to surprise Leonard Snart and he can still see the reaction and he doesn't reach for the bottle. Seems like someone needs it right now.
"It's a con. Heroism. You were gonna do what I did. Not sure why. Are you? Because it's fate or because you thought it had to be done? Never sure when consequences occur to you." With someone like Ray, it is hard to tell. "Mick took your spot. Now, he doesn't care about heroics. But he figures you're worth more than him. Never liked himself much."
"Everything is a con to you." It's louder than Ray means it to be, and at first, he looks a little startled but heck. He's at eleven now and he's feeling confident and insulted and gosh darn it frankly he's a little bit angry thank you very much. He stands, pointing the neck of the bottle at Len and giving it a few shakes, jostling the vodka inside.
"I understand consequences perfectly. Back home? I'm already dead. There's a gravestone with my name on it next to another gravestone of a fiance I couldn't protect in a city I can't save," he spews. Ray's chest heaves too hard, and he knows this is far more than should be coming out right now -- or ever. But this is older grief than the freshly-laid wound left by a woman he knows he should never have fallen for, and so it's easier to wield as evidence. Maybe someday he can talk about Anna like a person, and not just a hero's origin crutch.
After letting a bit of the bluster out of his sails, Ray deflates a little. He exhales in a rush, letting his arms fall to his sides limply.
"We can either have a disingenuous conversation about my idealism all night, or you can come out and tell your teammate whatever it is you really want to say." He steps toward Len, close enough to offer the bottle back to him. He's angry and he wants to storm out, and he knows that's exactly the wrong thing to do right now.
Touchy. Leonard's eyebrows go up, which might mean that he's surprised or not, it's always difficult to really read him. At least it's a reaction. Genuine emotion, hell, rage out of Raymond Palmer, who'd have thought. All he does is reach for the bottle, watching the clear liquid as he holds it by the neck and swirls it around.
"You never react like that when I'm actually trying to insult you." He doesn't feel like arguing about what he said or didn't say. Nothing about Ray not understanding consequences, for one thing. But it's pointless and doesn't matter. Ray often hears what he wants to hear, just like everyone else, and it's not as if he's surprised his words are seen as an attack. That he brings on himself. "Why did you go after Mick? Once Savage was dealt with."
Ray just shrugs at Snart's first comment, unable and unwilling to think up any kind of defense. It's an accurate assessment that feeds Ray's frustration, but lets his head take back the wheel from his heart. And that means as much as he wants to lean back into the angry idealist, he knows he can't.
Breath rushes from his nose, because Ray's lips are still pressed together against the internal struggle he doesn't want to face. (It's easier to point fingers at the shortcomings of a crook than admit you're just a wannabe hero.) Easier to let Leonard take the reins back and drive the conversation again, instead of continuing what feels like a pointless fight. Waves against a break wall eventually recede.
"I don't know. We were both alone? Sara had family, Stein and Jax have that and each other," he says. Ray breathes to continue, but despite how they left it, her name doesn't reach Ray's tongue. His answer is wildly practical, and not the full truth, but he's not sure of the full answer yet. "Plus he saved my life. It just seemed like the right move."
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make your own friends when the world's gone cold
no subject
Sure, Leonard could have also used the communicator, but instead he throws a tiny marshmallow at Ray's tiny door and waits for him to come out. He is on the bed, leaning against the wall, working on getting the bottle in his hand closer to being half-empty, because he isn't feeling the optimism today.
no subject
For once, he considers how a rogue might handle a situation like this.
"Guess I should've brought a glass out, huh?"
no subject
He frowns and gestures with his free hand. "Though you gotta be yea high first."
If not, he'll just drink alone, but with company.
no subject
"I was yea high when I turned fourteen," Ray replies as he lifts back into the air and in a practiced motion, stands his full six-feet before the bed. It's only a few moments before he's down to the liner suit, and Ray keeps talking as per usual while dwarf-star metal piles up in a corner.
"Not that I was drinking at fourteen. I was too busy pulling apart radios and my uncle's Atari to see how they worked."
no subject
Mostly to get inside of places, but the general principle still applied. Ah, to be fourteen again, flunking high school, stealing stuff and raising his baby sister. Good times. "When did you start drinking, boy scout?"
no subject
"When I had to take out business partners and convince board members to like me," he admits. Ray's smirk is humorless, and he holds out his hand for the bottle.
"What about you?"
no subject
He lifts a shoulder and watches the bottle rather than Ray. "Didn't take to it. I like to know what I'm doing." He wants to be in control of himself. "Next was my first joint with Mick. Fourteen."
no subject
"Joint?" Ray's not sure if they're talking incarceration or drugs, now, but he doesn't hide the surprise in his voice. Should he be surprised on either account? Probably not-- but he watches Snart, curious all the same.
no subject
He pulls one leg up to lean forward, holding a hand out for the bottle, fingers gesturing for it. "You ever done that, boy scout?"
no subject
"Oh-- yeah, of course." It's Ray's turn to shrug, and he actually doesn't feel the need to be defensive about it for once. "But it wasn't until I was in my first graduate program, and I realized I just hadn't experienced this thing that seemed like I should have. I knew another student who I trusted -- she made really good edibles."
And Ray's always had a supreme sweet tooth when stressed. "I think I actually found it preferable to alcohol. But I don't generally seek out either. I like being in control of my faculties."
no subject
He glances over at Ray and lifts one corner of his mouth a little, some amusement coming through. "Though I doubt that's an issue for you." The focus, that is. Given he's more like an excitable puppy than someone overly aware of their surrounding. Leonard's mind doesn't shut down. Never stops planning.
no subject
"It took me awhile to figure out how to make my version of focus work for me. My brain likes a lot of stimulation, so I have to make sure it has more than one thing to process while I'm working. Otherwise, I start to feel the creeping inevitability of not getting as much done as I could be." As if remembering his own mind's rules, Ray's foot starts to jostle softly where it crosses his knee.
"I used to wish my attention span was more like yours. But-- that's why it's good to work with a team, I guess."
no subject
Accidents happen. But if they happen on his watch, it's his responsibility. He hands the bottle back over to Ray and watches him, although his eyes aren't that focused. Maybe he's not really looking at him. "Why do you do it, Raymond? Do you want to be a hero or be seen as one?"
no subject
The bottle tips down and Ray pulls it away from his mouth, head tilting this way and that while his eyebrows try to greet his hairline. He shakes his head more forcefully before pressing the bottle back to his lips.
Congratulations, mark it in a calendar. Ray Palmer is entirely speechless.
no subject
"It's a con. Heroism. You were gonna do what I did. Not sure why. Are you? Because it's fate or because you thought it had to be done? Never sure when consequences occur to you." With someone like Ray, it is hard to tell. "Mick took your spot. Now, he doesn't care about heroics. But he figures you're worth more than him. Never liked himself much."
no subject
"Everything is a con to you." It's louder than Ray means it to be, and at first, he looks a little startled but heck. He's at eleven now and he's feeling confident and insulted and gosh darn it frankly he's a little bit angry thank you very much. He stands, pointing the neck of the bottle at Len and giving it a few shakes, jostling the vodka inside.
"I understand consequences perfectly. Back home? I'm already dead. There's a gravestone with my name on it next to another gravestone of a fiance I couldn't protect in a city I can't save," he spews. Ray's chest heaves too hard, and he knows this is far more than should be coming out right now -- or ever. But this is older grief than the freshly-laid wound left by a woman he knows he should never have fallen for, and so it's easier to wield as evidence. Maybe someday he can talk about Anna like a person, and not just a hero's origin crutch.
After letting a bit of the bluster out of his sails, Ray deflates a little. He exhales in a rush, letting his arms fall to his sides limply.
"We can either have a disingenuous conversation about my idealism all night, or you can come out and tell your teammate whatever it is you really want to say." He steps toward Len, close enough to offer the bottle back to him. He's angry and he wants to storm out, and he knows that's exactly the wrong thing to do right now.
no subject
"You never react like that when I'm actually trying to insult you." He doesn't feel like arguing about what he said or didn't say. Nothing about Ray not understanding consequences, for one thing. But it's pointless and doesn't matter. Ray often hears what he wants to hear, just like everyone else, and it's not as if he's surprised his words are seen as an attack. That he brings on himself. "Why did you go after Mick? Once Savage was dealt with."
no subject
Breath rushes from his nose, because Ray's lips are still pressed together against the internal struggle he doesn't want to face. (It's easier to point fingers at the shortcomings of a crook than admit you're just a wannabe hero.) Easier to let Leonard take the reins back and drive the conversation again, instead of continuing what feels like a pointless fight. Waves against a break wall eventually recede.
"I don't know. We were both alone? Sara had family, Stein and Jax have that and each other," he says. Ray breathes to continue, but despite how they left it, her name doesn't reach Ray's tongue. His answer is wildly practical, and not the full truth, but he's not sure of the full answer yet. "Plus he saved my life. It just seemed like the right move."