Diamond Divinity

dresstodevastate‌:

“You’re going to figure out how to use that or you’re gonna starve.” Droog answers without flinching. He takes a long sip of his coffee, frowning into it as he thinks.

“Well, obviously. I’ve been casing the city for weeks now, and it ain’t like there aren’t places. Just wasn’t any point in claiming them ‘til now. We can go out tomorrow and I’ll give you the grand tour on our options.”

     “I MAKE YOU COFFEE AND YOU DO THIS TO ME. GONNA FUCKING STEAL YER FRENCH PRESS, LOSE YER COFFEE PRIVILEGES.” He finishes his grounds, puts them on the table. Waste not, want not. 

     “FUCKING STUPENDOUS. ANY OF THEM GOT FURNITURE ALREADY.” Any hideout worth its salt needs tasteful decoration and furniture, of course. And he can’t fucking find the furniture store, much less buy anything.

dresstodevastate‌:

“You’re going to figure out how to use that or you’re gonna starve.” Droog answers without flinching. He takes a long sip of his coffee, frowning into it as he thinks.

“Well, obviously. I’ve been casing the city for weeks now, and it ain’t like there aren’t places. Just wasn’t any point in claiming them ‘til now. We can go out tomorrow and I’ll give you the grand tour on our options.”

     “I MAKE YOU COFFEE AND YOU DO THIS TO ME. GONNA FUCKING STEAL YER FRENCH PRESS, LOSE YER COFFEE PRIVILEGES.” He finishes his grounds, puts them on the table. Waste not, want not. 

     “FUCKING STUPENDOUS. ANY OF THEM GOT FURNITURE ALREADY.” Any hideout worth its salt needs tasteful decoration and furniture, of course. And he can’t fucking find the furniture store, much less buy anything.

A mug is deposited on the table nearby, a cigarette withdrawn. He lights it, sparing what magic he has left to make the violet flame, and hums, wiggling his fingers in a gesture of farewell.

“You’re much cuter when you’re pissed. Later, Four.”

Droog gives a look to Clover, Clover’s shoes on his fucking couch, Clover again, then Clover’s hand, and resists the urge to seethe. This motherfucker, he swears to god.

He takes Clover’s hand firmly in his, and promptly pulls him right off of his cushions with an aggravated sigh and narrowed eyes.

He gets pulled off the couch with a little yip. There’s really not a thread of hospitality under that shell, is there? Asshole. Didn’t even really shake his hand.

“…Sure.”

He shrugs, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. He doesn’t like the look on that man’s face, but he doesn’t like most looks what take up residence on Clover’s mug, so he ain’t gonna do much regarding it.

“You don’t bug me, I don’t bug you, unless one of us wants assistance regarding something which we are under no obligation to cooperate with unless we so desire. Sounds like one less problem off my plate.”

Clover’s about to ask if he’s being serious, but quickly shuts himself up. Knowing Droog - poorly as he does - he’d probably take back his offer as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Droog clicks his tongue, focused on his coffee for a few moments before he speaks again. It’s not a bad deal- he’s not so wrapped up in his dislike of Four to be unable to see that- but it is too open of one, as far as he’s considered.

“’Something’ is pretty fuckin’ vague, Clover.”

Waiting for him to answer is torture, the dramatic bastard. There’s a small, familiar voice in the forefront of his mind that wants to hop up and knock that coffee right onto his suit. Clover’s smile thins out, trying to hold back a giggle at just the thought of it.

He shrugs, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. He doesn’t like the look on that man’s face, but he doesn’t like most looks what take up residence on Clover’s mug, so he ain’t gonna do much regarding it.

Droog takes a long sip from his still-steaming mug, not so much ignoring the burn as using it to ignore Clover for a few precious, precious moments. Of course he’s going to put on the stupid ‘friendly’ act. It’s the oldest page in the book of tricks, and sometimes he’s not sure if he wrote it or Four did.

His expression settles into plain and mildly annoyed, and doesn’t shift as the leprechaun starts talking. He’d furrow his brows at the mention of Hearts, but that, he’s sure, would already be more than enough fuel to the fire.

“…Sure, but it’ll be nothing but black. I don’t keep sweets in here.”

Clover’s face scrunches up at just the mention of black coffee. Here he was, thinking dersites just had a natural sweet tooth, and Droog is, as always, contrarian. Jerk. Again. His hand waves. “Nevermind! I should just be in and out anyway.”

Droog stares at him for a few seconds- and definitely tries to slam his hand in the door, frown deepening when it doesn’t work- and considers deeply the idea of simply saying ‘no, fuck off’. Then, with a deep sigh and a shake of his head, he reaches the conclusion that he’d probably have to replace his door if he tried, and he’s not in the mood for that.

He closes the door to unlatch it and let Four in, turning to go get his now-full mug of coffee. He’s gonna need it for this.

He’s ready to start saying some terrible things about the Crew and City when the door shuts, but the sound of the latch makes his smile widen even more. The door opens, and he strolls on through, making a beeline for Droog’s couch. This is going a lot better than he thought it would!

Clover sits with his ankles crossed, hands clasped in his lap, looking like the perfect guest. Have to make a good impression when trying to negotiate a deal and everything.

His expression settles into plain and mildly annoyed, and doesn’t shift as the leprechaun starts talking. He’d furrow his brows at the mention of Hearts, but that, he’s sure, would already be more than enough fuel to the fire.

Droog hums to himself, quiet as his coffee brews and he reclines in the lazy chair he’s recently acquired. The news here- thankfully, papers still get made in this city- is always a bit hard to follow, but it’s entertaining, at the least. (He hasn’t managed to get a hold of a decent smut mag yet, but he’s working on it.)

He frowns at the strange knock on the door, reluctantly rising to his feet and heading towards it. He peers through the little peephole, but finds…nothing? And, suspicious as that is, he sets the little chain latch on the door and unlocks the other lock so that he might open it just a crack.

He furrows his brows and gives a mild scowl to the munchkin at the door.

“Clover. What ungodly force do I have to thank for this.”

Yeah, that’s about what he expected. Droog probably can’t even see the oh-so-friendly pose he’s in, like he’s ready to give him a hug. The jerk. Clover puts his arms down and hands to his hips instead, looking back up at him through the cracked door with a sunny smile.

“Luck, as usual! You’d be surprised at how useful it is when it comes to finding people.” He’s no Trace or Fin, but with enough determination and, y’know, luck, most things are possible.

One dersite down, one to go. Technically half, if he wants to look at it like that. It’s like he’s already done! That’s a good way to think about it, and a good way to ignore how nervous the idea of asking Droog to settle things down between them for a while makes him. Boxcars he could deal with - dumb brute that he is, even if he’d said no, Clover would’ve hung around for a while anyway and keep asking about it later. Droog… Is a little harder for him to predict.

That’s no reason to be scared, though. He’s still got his luck! He’s basically immortal! Droog’s just some guy with stupid magic powers and a bad nicotine habit, and Clover’ll be damned if he’s going to let some shelled asshole intimidate him into only bothering Boxcars.

Clover’s still psyching himself up outside his apartment. Patting his suit down, adjusting his hat, digging his feet into the floor. He finally steels himself, ignoring the stupid amount of anxiety in his stomach as his little green fist raises to knock “shave and a haircut” against his door.

He frowns at the strange knock on the door, reluctantly rising to his feet and heading towards it. He peers through the little peephole, but finds...nothing? And, suspicious as that is, he sets the little chain latch on the door and unlocks the other lock so that he might open it just a crack.

He furrows his brows and gives a mild scowl to the munchkin at the door.