#clark2

Is this his best idea, or his worst? Jamie isn’t entirely sure but oddly enough, he’s feeling… optimistic? Is that crazy of him to think? Possibly, considering he’s banking on Clark to listen to him. But, he’s choosing to believe that his friend’s penchant for annoying people will finally be directed towards someone else and not him.

He parks his car on the street outside of his father’s house, taking a quick look around before figuring out he’s the first to arrive. Fine by him, it gives him a minute to mentally prepare himself for yet another dinner with his dad…. plus Clark Ingram. A knot forms in his stomach at the thought.

Fuck. Maybe this is a bad idea.

Jamie shakes his head, trying to think that everything will go terribly, but the kind of terrible that he’s hoping for. Hopefully. He pulls his phone out and fires off a couple of messages to Clark.

( sms — trashboy ) please tell me you didn’t shower

( sms — trashboy ) i’m outside of my dad’s, i’ll wait for you out here

He shoves his phone in his bag and gets out of his car, slamming his door shut with his hip. Shit, it’s cold but, luckily, he has the perfect remedy for that. Kind of. Jamie fumbles through the contents of his bag before pulling out his most recent purchase in a brown, paper sack - four mini bottles of tequila bought at Dingle’s finest liquor store. Uncapping one, he gulps down the contents in one go, scrunching up his face at the taste. Terrible, but he’s gonna need to be at least a little buzzed to deal with whatever the night will throw at him. The paper bag crinkles loudly as he sets it on the top of his car, him pulling out a cigarette and a lighter from his coat pocket.

Remy was a flagrant rulebreaker. He always had been and probably always would be. Why follow the rules when you were so charming that you could talk your way out of basically anything? None of the leaders had actually personally told him it was against the rules to smoke in the Mousehole, either, so technically he might not be breaking any rules. Neither Captain America nor Wonder Woman had laid down the law about that particular thing, it was just Superman that seemed to have a vendetta against nicotine addiction. Still, pissing off Superman wasn’t exactly on Remy’s to-do list but he wasn’t going to live somewhere and only smoke outside, especially not when outside was as hostile as Sokovia’s Thankfully, they finally seemed to be moving into warmer weather but it was slow going. So basically, Remy still smoked in the Mousehole but tried to be somewhat subtle about it or at least not throw it in Superman’s face. 

It was hard to keep from doing that, though, when he suddenly turned a corner and found himself face to face with the chiseled marble statue of a man. He was caught red handed, too, lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips since he’d just taken a drag. Merde. He thought about not exhaling, just swallowing all of the smoke which would be deeply unpleasant, but he was already caught so what the hell. Remy at least had the decency to do it quickly and over his shoulder. “Bonjour, mon ami.” He said, brightly, hoping that friendliness and charm could kind of keep him out of trouble. “Looks like yer feelin’ better.” The whole masquerade ball had gone poorly for Clark but he seemed very much back to full strength now, at least to look at him.