watching_you | OOM: Room 130

Entry tags:

indiana jones,
oom

OOM: Room 130

Veronica stands in the centre of her apartment, examining her surroundings critically.

The whole thing could never have been helped, she supposes. On one hand the entire place has been decorated with all of the style and flair of a very confident eighteen-year-old college freshman; on the other hand the place has been decorated with all of the style and flair of a very confident eighteen-year-old college freshman. There are posters on the walls for God's sake. Veronica is wincing.

It doesn't help that the whole room looks very, well, seven years ago. The carpet and the drapes and the couch with those little wooden legs... Something must be done. And Special Agent Veronica Mars, FBI, is just the one to do it.

Well, maybe she can supervise.

Those couches aren't light.

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"I think the pleasure comes from the fact that you can now come over and visit whenever in the knowledge that you won't be chillin' in some place so tacky."

She pats his feet. There there, feet.

"I dunno about that," Indy muses. "It wasn't so bad before."

He glances around at the new artwork.

"And I really kinda liked that Hokusai. I still think it's a shame you smashed it over Behrooz's head."

"Ah... yes." Her mouth twists a little. "So many happy memories. Thanks for reminding me."

She gestures at the new frames, which hold Klimt prints, a stylized map of the New York subway system (circa 2015), and one very classy black and white photo of a band which, from the perspective of the bar's other Neptuneites, hasn't yet been invented (thus illustrating just how indie Veronica is).

"Possibly I should bolt these to the wall."

Indy chuckles unsympathetically. "Maybe."

He's still looking round, now searching for something. And apparently not seeing any sign of it.

"Say, does the new un-tacky Veronica suite come with adult beverages included? 'Cause that would go some way towards making the moving my pleasure."

"I don't have a bar," she tells him, "yet, anyway. I've been weighing my options. Is it weird to have a bar when you live above a bar? Especially when I don't have a kitchen? Important questions, I think."

Pause.

"But there are some bottles of Jack Daniel's beneath the TV."

"Praise be!" Indy sighs in relief.

"Doesn't have to be a bar. Just a stash for amazing friends. Specifically, friends who bust their asses to refurnish rooms, when the same work could've been done by Bar in the blink of an eye."

At more cost, but Indy neglects to mention that. Veronica is FBI now, so she has to be financially comfortable.

He waits patiently for her to get up and prepare him a well-earned glass.

The 'getting up' part doesn't seem to be forthcoming, although this is possibly because Indy's legs still have her pinned.

"I always feel bad asking Bar to do things for me, though," Veronica says in the meanwhile, "especially when I can't really return the favour. Except with money. And I suppose I could move around furniture downstairs. But I don't really think she'd want me to, y'know?"

Frowning at Veronica's inactivity, Indy lifts his feet up to see if that changes anything.

"You could always take a few pro bono bartending shifts. If you still remember how to. That's like a big favor to her, 'cause it lets her rest."

And it would be a big favor to Indy, since voluntarily employment means less money going out, and less random inexperienced people 'tending at Bar's whim.

"I suppose that's true. I would have to bust open the Big Book of Booze 'n' Boobs again though, brush up on a few recipes." She grins. "And maybe add a few of my own."

Veronica gets the message from the lifted feet, and slides out from under Indy's legs, replacing them on a pillow once she's free. "Alright, what'll you have?" she asks, padding towards the small cabinet. "Your options are Jack or Jack, with the added twist of 'in a glass' or 'from the bottle'."

"Hmmm," Indy considers. "Tough decision."

"I think I'll take the Jack. With the civilized serving option."

"Surprise, surprise," Veronica teases, "Jones drinks like a little girl. Glass it is, tough guy."

After some searching in the cabinet, she emerges with the bottle and two tumblers, looking triumphant. When she returns to the couch, however, her seat has of course been taken by feet.

She doesn't say anything to Indy.

Just pouts.

Indy gives her an innocent look.

"Take back the little girl comments and you can have your seat back," he says, ever so sweetly.

Veronica considers this.

"I'll sit on the floor," she says eventually, and does so, crossing her legs and letting her back rest against the couch; she then goes about pouring the drinks.

"I see the FBI hasn't improved your stubbornness," Indy notes. "Which is really nice, 'cause I adore that aspect of your personality."

Not that he's trying to seem honest, but the smirk gives his lies away regardless.

"Oh, you like to joke, but I know that deep inside..."

She shakes her head, then passes him over a glass, an inch or so of whiskey sloshing around in the bottom.

"If I'd been gone for seven years your time, you would have missed me. And my stubbornness. Admit it."

Indy takes a thoughtful gulp of the bourbon before replying.

"I... dunno. Maybe a few aspects of you?"

He wrinkles his nose.

"But there's that new chick, Elle, around who looks just like you, so... not entirely."

Veronica spins in her seat, twisting to gape at Indy, one arm up on the couch.

"You met my creepy doppleclone? And you're just mentioning this now?"

Beat.

"And you think she could replace me?!"

Indy winces at her reaction.

"I'm mentioning it and instantly regretting it."

"Um. She could replace you... visually?" he suggests, quite tentative now. "From a great distance. Or up very close if I didn't have my glasses."

Veronica's gape focuses into a laser-like glare of inquisition.

"'Up very close'? Very close, he says. Just what were you doing with this girl that meant you were up so close without knowing she wasn't me?"

"I was bartending," Indy reasons. "But I knew she wasn't you right from the get go, 'cause she was zapping marshmallows with her lighting power."

"I'm just sayin', if she was up real close for some hypothetical reason, and she didn't speak, I might not be able to tell the difference without my glasses."

After a few more seconds of glaring (for good measure), Veronica turns back around and sips her drink, sullenly.

"I just... I don't like her. She's stolen my face and she's going around doing God knows what with it."

Indy relaxes somewhat, as it seems that Veronica has lost the scent.

"It happens," he points out.

He gestures at his own countenance.

"I mean, since I first arrived I've been mistaken for Han Solo more times than I can count. You get used to it."

"Well, yeah... but you and Han Solo are at least kinda similar. You know, ruggedly handsome, not exactly the most lawfully inclined, tends to shoot first... These are all things you have in common. When I met my evil twin she was all..."

She waves her hands vaguely, possibly indicating grabby hands and/or claws and/or zombie maneuvers.

"...'Oooh, look at me, I'm so cool, zap zap zap, by the way if you ever wanted to check out Veronica's cleavage you may now more or less do so, blah blah blah.' It was just wrong."

"I suppose."

Indy can't help but snicker, even though he knows it's not going sit very well with Veronica. Her description is funny! He bites back his first response of "what cleavage?" and goes with something that's hopefully less offensive.

"If you think that was wrong, you should see what she does with a helping of cream."

Oh look, the lasers are back.

"Explain."

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