Wonderful Caricature (Ryden)

III

i'm sorry, they just look gorgeous in this picture. (i'm so debating whether or not i want z's hair to be long or short.. hm.)

~

Remember when Jack said he needed to get me out of the house more often?

I guess that means walking around in the bitter cold and passing a pack of cigarettes between the two of us.

Which I don't mind, it's just too damn cold out and I have no idea where the hell we're even going. If I don't know, Jack surely doesn't, either, but I guess it's fine. I can choke down my distaste for this for a little while.

"Jack, where the hell are we going?"

"Do we have to have a specific destination?" Jack's on his second cigarette, I'm finishing on my third.

I'll keep complaining about the weather until it fucking changes. I know I've already made it pretty clear that it's almost too cold for human functioning outside, but I really should've considered wearing more than a leather jacket out here. At least some kind of gloves, but I don't have thin enough ones that wouldn't look awkward with this jacket and my oh, so terrible habit of smoking. Well, I do have some, they're just.. They're my opera gloves, alright? Plus, the jacket's brown and the gloves are black, it would never work. For several reasons. The number one reason being they raise way more questions than they answer for wandering eyes and I'll never really be in the mood to talk to anyone about any of my personal shit. Only exception being my mother, but come on. She's my mom. Of course she gets a pass.

Anyway.

"Not necessarily.." I trail off and pause my walking  to flick the butt of my cig onto the ground to stomp it out. I'll be responsible for my own death, not the death of the planet by burning it alive, thank you very much.

"You have such a stick up your ass," Jack pauses with me to playfully nudge my arm while chuckling, "Trust me, kid. I'm doing you a favour by dragging your stick figure self out here. You'll thank me later, guaranteed."

Bullshit.

"So," After a brief eye roll in Jack's direction, I keep walking at a steady pace while he trails slightly behind me, "Any particular reason why you showed up at my house today or was it just to try to talk me into a date?" I could pray to any deity that comes to mind that the former is actually true, but even I know that it's not and I'm not exactly being worshipped on the daily here.

"This," The word seems to come out of his mouth like an exhale just as the smoke swirls and makes friends with the bitter winter air surrounding us. Jack somehow makes smoking on a cloudy as hell Vegas day in January look like some kind of art form and the man knows nothing about anything of the sort. "Just to try and get you outside. We live in Las Vegas, for shit's sake! And this close to The Strip? I mean, come on! Even you can't hate being here."

I don't hate Vegas. If I did, I'd fuck off to some other place. Probably Canada. Actually, no.. I need the excitement to keep the blood flowing through my body and, from what I've heard, Canada's about as exciting as the maple trees they're known for. Although.. I've never seen a moose in person.

That's stereotypical. I'm gonna cut that out.

"You're not wrong," I shrug a little as he passes the pack back to me and I mull over the thought of starting a fourth cigarette before Jack abruptly stops.

"Well!" A grin spreads across his face and he whistles to catch some girl's attention. That pushes me over the edge and I slip a cig from the pack, quickly lighting it. Jack, women are people, too. You can't keep wondering why you never see them again after the first date when you keep pulling this shit. Plus, she seems busy enough with that guitar case money of hers to even give you the satisfaction of batting an eyelash in your direction, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"