parker doesn't do places like the nimbus. hell, her most frequented bar is KING WAYLAND 's, where she can knock out all her vices in one fell swoop: getting fucked up, fucking someone up, and just straight fucking. hell, the swankiest place she's probably been to is dav's and it's a godsdamned gentleman's club. 

and even though she still sticks out like a sore thumb, she tried. her fingers hook against her suspenders, mostly so she resists the urge to fiddle with her absolutely-not-straight tie any longer. 

blue eyes peer up from under a swath of pink hair as she scans the bar for her...not-date. when she finds her, she saunters up and slides suavely into place. at yumi's mention, she glances down at her hands - copper still stains her knuckles. 

"thanks. so what the fuck do you do?"

Yumi Hasegawa
outfit

☉

a cursory (generous) glance at yumi and it dawns on parker why it had been so difficult to spot her in the first place. unlike herself, yumi does not stand out. she's a pretty part of the place's fixture, all dolled up like the business professional she is. idly, parker wonders how many other people would drolly answer finance if she asked the cursory 'so what do you do?'

her thoughts are broken because yumi is leaning across the table and parker's eyes can't help but flicker down to the dress shirt as it folds and reveals a bit of skin. she lifts her chin, tilts it to the side, and offers a wry smile, waggling brow, as yumi fixes her up. 

"sounds fun?" she offers. 'doing' social media means nothing to her. parker will sometimes watch funny video compilations on her phone. or porn.

she makes a face at the offer of gin and then, with much bravado, informs yumi, "i like 'em sweet so hard pass on the gin. and hard pass on whatever you're drinking too." red wine, unless it's a port, is no bueno for parker jones.

Yumi Hasegawa

☉

"fuck me the fuck up then," parker says, mischievous grin lighting up her eyes. she doesn't care to comb through the fancy-ass bar's cocktail list. she doesn't care about sugar glass or egg foam or whatever weird shit they want to put in her drinks. she wants to drink it. she wants to get drunk.

that's as easy as it should be. 

she puffs out her chest. "it'll take a helluva lot o' drinkin' to get me on the floor, sweetheart, and by then i'd be draggin' ya down with me." 

she winks. 

Yumi Hasegawa

☉

that wicked smile gives parker heart-eyes and she matches it with her own, but hers is wolfish in nature - toothy, rugged, and scrappy. she watches the bartender grab bottle after bottle of liquor from the well and parker says, "oh, i usually just call that a one of everythin'." 

she raises her glass, delighted that yumi is joining her on this downward spiral. before the drink reaches her lips, though, she pinches the lemon off and tosses it onto the table.

in a foolhardy inflation of ego, she sucks it half dry. it's a sweet burn going down and it makes her laugh just a little bit lighter. 

"s'you got a long list, huh? c'mon, at that point one more can't hurt."

Yumi Hasegawa

☉

she doesn't think with her head, her pa used to tell her. no, she thinks with her fists, always lettin' 'em fly two steps ahead of her brain. doesn't get her in trouble most days, 'cause she's always the one swinging harder and faster. but her guard's fucked and her tolerance is shit and the future is ruinous.

she belches and feels the hot sting of bile in the back of her throat, but she swallows that fast with a tucking of her chin and a rumbling laugh that shakes her shoulders. 

"someone tried tellin' you what to do?" parker says, brows arching with exaggerated incredulousness.

she licks her lips, shakes her head no, and tucks the straw back into her mouth. liquid courage - not that she needs it, really - helps keep her steady when she raises a hand to ghost it over yumi's own, fingertips tap-tapping on her naked skin where no ring sits. 

"i see it didn't work out that well, eh? he a jackass or d'you just, y'know, prefer a woman's touch." 

Yumi Hasegawa

☉

yums? just goin' along like a wooloo?

"fuck naw!" she crows, tongue thick. finding the straw. the bartender steals a glance at them and parker waggles two fingers with her free hand. immediately gets distracted - enraptured - by yumi when she laps up the bait. 

"fuck 'em. yer dad." oh, oh, her head's feeling pretty spinny right now. rolling muscles, flexing forearms - they're meant to kick up her tolerance. but she's always been a little bitch when it comes to holding a liquor and the one, two, blam-o of an LIT does not help with her vertical alignment.

fire flashes behind her eyes at the question and she grows oddly silent for a couple of flashes, brows furrowing as she punches the feelings away. 

the toothy grin emerges again and she bats her lashes. "wish i hadn't fucked m' waitress at m'favorite burger joint. knew she was a clingy m'fucker." it stretches wider, dangerous: "'s a good four hours though."

Yumi Hasegawa

☉

the tinkering laughter is music to parker's ears, s'long as it's attached to that pretty mouth. her own head's spinning, but her gaze is strong and steadied by that buoy, hypnotized by her pursed/parted/malleable lips. she imagines - no, not imagines. thinks she's imagining drawing her finger over them. 

hand half-halted in the air, thought unfinished (thankfully), and yumi says she likes her. and that she's funny.

"'m funny?" then she scrunches her nose.

"pfffffffffbbbbt, em fine." she belches, turns her head and blows it away, a sheepish blush crawling to her cheeks because that's no way to behave in front of the fox. 

"aw, best girl?" she says, shame evaporated. yumi's arm around her shoulder, she takes it as an invitation and leans in sideways, hand gliding from her own lap and onto the woman's bare knee. fingers toy with the hem of her skirt.

"'m glad yer not married."

Yumi Hasegawa

☉