This is going to suck. Alan knows it's going to suck. He sits down fully intent on doing it anyway -- stubbornness from Arthur's spat is one hell of a motivator, adding 'spite' to the huge list of reasons why he wants to actively graduate.
"It's not great," he says, looking down at that folder. It's thick. 13 years worth of bullshit, he assumes.
Charlie's face doesn't seem so great, either. The nervous, aching feeling of something being wrong lingers. Alan tries to ignore it. Shoot your shot, Charlie.
Dry: "Not at all, couldn't put it down. Fulla twists and turns, four stars."
Instead of shooting his shot, he puts the bottle and glasses down and pours out a measure each. Alan's gets pushed towards him on Charlie's fingertips. He isn't at ease, and doesn't think he can fake it better than this after what he read -- but he doesn't want to throw out all the rapport they had and make Alan clam up.
Charlie is giving off a bigger noir vibe than usual, which isn't helping Alan's already growing dread. Anticipation's easier to deal with when the person across from you is acting marginally shifty.
But it's not enough to get his hackles up--he knows exactly why he's here. Alan's lips press into a thin line before he speaks, reaching over to take the glass that's been nudged at him.
"I know," he says it like he's confessing, soft but determined to say it. "I know exactly how fucked up it is, believe me."
Charlie feels the question in every muscle of his body as it tries to be said. He thins his lips at his own shot glass, remembers his own accidental prophecy to John about this being a conflict of interests, and gives a quick, tight smile before looking up at Alan again.
"Then it shouldn't be too hard to get you outta here, Mr Wake," he says, easy enough.
"Tell me about, uh..." A glance at the bloated folder lying between them, which jogs his memory without his having to reach over and open it. "Cauldron Lake Lodge, the mental place."
It still feels like an interrogation, and Alan can't figure out why. Maybe its the thick folder in his view, just laying there. The entirety of his dirty laundry, right on display. He's reminded of that fact very, very viscerally. This is probably what Alex Casey felt like. Exposed.
"What about it? It's that quack Heartman's place. Guy was collecting artists like baseball cards to try to get some power."
He can't shake it. Something's up. Alan has no idea the specifics, though. "What's this about?"
A one-shouldered shrug. "I know what I'm picturin', but I also know you and your wife ain't from nineteen thirty-four. Want to make sure we're on the same page."
You know. About where Alice was trying to send him.
As if in contrast, as Alan goes more and more to the agitated end of the scale, Charlie seems perfectly relaxed. It means something that Wake got this heated, this quickly, even though he must have known they'd have to talk about the contents of his file. Could mean one or more of any number of things. Could be he thinks of Alice's actions as a betrayal that he's still sore about. Could be he just doesn't like someone knowing how he used to treat the wife he talks up so much.
Charlie wouldn't mind that shot right now. But he waits to see if Alan has more to say for himself here.
Charlie's calm, and Alan hates it. He hasn't taken the drink yet - it sits in his hand, and he tries to take a moment.
Charlie isn't trying to do anything but his. He knows that. His brows furrow, pinching together as his jaw flexes underneath clenched teeth. Charlie's trying so he has to, too.
"We had an argument about it before she was taken by the Dark Prescence. I'm sure that's in the file."
Now. He downs the shot easily, barely blinking. It tastes good. Warm.
Alan fills the silence. Some part of his brain has smoothly clicked into talk show mode, a skill he hates he has but begrudgingly thanks Barry Wheeler for. This is Charlie, though. That means what comes out of his mouth is the truth.
"I know I've got a temper. By the time I cooled myself off, she'd been taken." He parts his lips, glances over at the bottle, and when he talks again it's while he's reaching for it to pour himself some more, taking care of Charlie's if he needs it.
"Spent every single second after trying to get her out. Even when she got free and things changed, even when I traded spots with her, even though Saga's wish has undone what she's been through... I don't know. It's still there, in my head. Gotta save her. Last time we talked I was an asshole. Gotta make it right. And Alice, she's--"
The anger's gone now, replaced with someone else entirely. Love. "She's one of the most talented, smartest people I know. She figured it out. Figured me out before I was even taking a swing at it. I'm lucky she chose me."
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"It's not great," he says, looking down at that folder. It's thick. 13 years worth of bullshit, he assumes.
Charlie's face doesn't seem so great, either. The nervous, aching feeling of something being wrong lingers. Alan tries to ignore it. Shoot your shot, Charlie.
no subject
Instead of shooting his shot, he puts the bottle and glasses down and pours out a measure each. Alan's gets pushed towards him on Charlie's fingertips. He isn't at ease, and doesn't think he can fake it better than this after what he read -- but he doesn't want to throw out all the rapport they had and make Alan clam up.
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But it's not enough to get his hackles up--he knows exactly why he's here. Alan's lips press into a thin line before he speaks, reaching over to take the glass that's been nudged at him.
"I know," he says it like he's confessing, soft but determined to say it. "I know exactly how fucked up it is, believe me."
no subject
Charlie feels the question in every muscle of his body as it tries to be said. He thins his lips at his own shot glass, remembers his own accidental prophecy to John about this being a conflict of interests, and gives a quick, tight smile before looking up at Alan again.
"Then it shouldn't be too hard to get you outta here, Mr Wake," he says, easy enough.
"Tell me about, uh..." A glance at the bloated folder lying between them, which jogs his memory without his having to reach over and open it. "Cauldron Lake Lodge, the mental place."
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"What about it? It's that quack Heartman's place. Guy was collecting artists like baseball cards to try to get some power."
He can't shake it. Something's up. Alan has no idea the specifics, though. "What's this about?"
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You know. About where Alice was trying to send him.
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"She thought it was a good idea for me to try to see him in order to try to help me through writer's block," he states. His tone is flat.
"It didn't go as planned--again, what's this about? How is this relevant?" There's a loud, unsaid warning weaved between the lines.
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As if in contrast, as Alan goes more and more to the agitated end of the scale, Charlie seems perfectly relaxed. It means something that Wake got this heated, this quickly, even though he must have known they'd have to talk about the contents of his file. Could mean one or more of any number of things. Could be he thinks of Alice's actions as a betrayal that he's still sore about. Could be he just doesn't like someone knowing how he used to treat the wife he talks up so much.
Charlie wouldn't mind that shot right now. But he waits to see if Alan has more to say for himself here.
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Charlie isn't trying to do anything but his. He knows that. His brows furrow, pinching together as his jaw flexes underneath clenched teeth. Charlie's trying so he has to, too.
"We had an argument about it before she was taken by the Dark Prescence. I'm sure that's in the file."
Now. He downs the shot easily, barely blinking. It tastes good. Warm.
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"I know I've got a temper. By the time I cooled myself off, she'd been taken." He parts his lips, glances over at the bottle, and when he talks again it's while he's reaching for it to pour himself some more, taking care of Charlie's if he needs it.
"Spent every single second after trying to get her out. Even when she got free and things changed, even when I traded spots with her, even though Saga's wish has undone what she's been through... I don't know. It's still there, in my head. Gotta save her. Last time we talked I was an asshole. Gotta make it right. And Alice, she's--"
The anger's gone now, replaced with someone else entirely. Love. "She's one of the most talented, smartest people I know. She figured it out. Figured me out before I was even taking a swing at it. I'm lucky she chose me."