But he'll be waiting in his mansion, which seems a lot bigger than it used to now that he's alienated his most frequent houseguests by saying goodbye to all the lessons he learned in therapy and hello to going feral over karate tournaments again. ]
( in what's probably a sort of pay it forward theft, when ethan turns up he has an excellent bottle of red tucked under his arm that he could, perhaps, have acquired through perfectly legitimate means. or at least adjacent to legitimate.
he probably didn't, but he could have. he is, as usual, all louche elegance, black silk shirt and slacks, snakeskin shoes, a cross around his neck that can't be for religious reasons — he carries himself a bit like a man taller than he actually is, which is probably less noticeable when the next man along isn't seven inches higher. he raps his knuckles against the doorframe of the door he has just opened: )
[ Terry's dressed in what he would consider 'business casual' and what everyone else would consider 'an outfit worth more than some people's entire closets': a navy blue shirt, some khaki dress pants, and some polished black shoes. Fairly plain - until you got a look at the luxury brand names sewn on. ]
Yes, fancy that.
[ Deadpan, though his expression lights up when he sees the bottle of wine.
Terry's got a wine cellar big enough to reenact the Cast of Amontillado in and yet he's still gleeful any time someone shows up with something to drink. A cellar full of wine is a collection, a part of the house you need good reason to use. A guest with a bottle in hand is an invitation to indulge, if only because it would be rude not to. ]
Ah, come in, come in, I'll get us some glasses. [ He doesn't entirely remember what happened the night before aside from the fact that his house was a mess in the morning, but his staff already cleaned it up and bygones are bygones.
Besides, Ethan's one of the only people he knows that isn't judgmental about a guy wanting to let loose every now and then. ]
( oh, far from it. ethan thinks the height of adult responsibility is that now he has epipens in the first aid kit that he keeps, typically, under the passenger seat of his car (a well-loved '60s oldsmobile cutlass parked out front, which he probably got by means about as legitimate as the wine bottle but far less recently).
ethan worships chaos in its purest form—amoral, not immoral—but his patron, janus, is the god of doorways, not chaos. people standing in doorways are always interesting. you never know quite where they're going to go, and that appeals to absolutely everything he holds most dear. )
You don't want to pass the bottle between us like old times?
( he casts a glance around his fine surroundings, clicks his tongue against his teeth: ) I suppose we might have had different old times, at that.
Sure, why not. I'll even promise not to down it all before you get a sip.
[ He's only half joking; he's a big guy and can handle his alcohol like a champ (though he's a bit of a nightmare if he does get drunk).
He smiles to himself as Ethan looks at his surroundings, genuine but with a hint of smug self-satisfaction. As cocky as Terry can be sometimes, he's not the type of guy who stands on his own. He needs attention from other people to keep going. ]
Please, mi casa es su casa. There's a gym, a music room, a pool...take your pick.
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no subject
[ Sarcasm.
But he'll be waiting in his mansion, which seems a lot bigger than it used to now that he's alienated his most frequent houseguests by saying goodbye to all the lessons he learned in therapy and hello to going feral over karate tournaments again. ]
The door's unlocked. Let yourself in.
no subject
he probably didn't, but he could have. he is, as usual, all louche elegance, black silk shirt and slacks, snakeskin shoes, a cross around his neck that can't be for religious reasons — he carries himself a bit like a man taller than he actually is, which is probably less noticeable when the next man along isn't seven inches higher. he raps his knuckles against the doorframe of the door he has just opened: )
Fancy meeting you here.
( you know, in his house. )
no subject
Yes, fancy that.
[ Deadpan, though his expression lights up when he sees the bottle of wine.
Terry's got a wine cellar big enough to reenact the Cast of Amontillado in and yet he's still gleeful any time someone shows up with something to drink. A cellar full of wine is a collection, a part of the house you need good reason to use. A guest with a bottle in hand is an invitation to indulge, if only because it would be rude not to. ]
Ah, come in, come in, I'll get us some glasses. [ He doesn't entirely remember what happened the night before aside from the fact that his house was a mess in the morning, but his staff already cleaned it up and bygones are bygones.
Besides, Ethan's one of the only people he knows that isn't judgmental about a guy wanting to let loose every now and then. ]
no subject
ethan worships chaos in its purest form—amoral, not immoral—but his patron, janus, is the god of doorways, not chaos. people standing in doorways are always interesting. you never know quite where they're going to go, and that appeals to absolutely everything he holds most dear. )
You don't want to pass the bottle between us like old times?
( he casts a glance around his fine surroundings, clicks his tongue against his teeth: ) I suppose we might have had different old times, at that.
no subject
[ He's only half joking; he's a big guy and can handle his alcohol like a champ (though he's a bit of a nightmare if he does get drunk).
He smiles to himself as Ethan looks at his surroundings, genuine but with a hint of smug self-satisfaction. As cocky as Terry can be sometimes, he's not the type of guy who stands on his own. He needs attention from other people to keep going. ]
Please, mi casa es su casa. There's a gym, a music room, a pool...take your pick.