The back office isn't much, and Dee's clearly already ripped through the cabinets looking for anything useful. She's pinned a map of the town to the wall and circled their current location, and other than that has left bundles of paperwork for keg orders and other crap in neat piles on the floor. There's a moldy couch where she's clumped the ripped vinyl from a booth as a disappointing makeshift blanket.
She climbs up on the desk and pops one of the pressboard tiles from the ceiling up. She tucks the gin bottle up there and then moves the tile back into place. "If you need to hide anything useful, the ceilings here are pretty legit. You just have to promise me you won't start hitting my stash."
It's not a gesture of trust, because Dee doesn't really do trust. She doesn't even realize that she doesn't do trust, it just doesn't happen. It's a gesture of showing that she is willing to put some cards on the table in good faith to maintain the partnership.
"Most boys are. Except the gay ones, but even they seem to have a weird kind of misogyny thing about fatties." She flops down on the couch. "How do you want to do this, three hours on, three hours off?"
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She climbs up on the desk and pops one of the pressboard tiles from the ceiling up. She tucks the gin bottle up there and then moves the tile back into place. "If you need to hide anything useful, the ceilings here are pretty legit. You just have to promise me you won't start hitting my stash."
It's not a gesture of trust, because Dee doesn't really do trust. She doesn't even realize that she doesn't do trust, it just doesn't happen. It's a gesture of showing that she is willing to put some cards on the table in good faith to maintain the partnership.
"Most boys are. Except the gay ones, but even they seem to have a weird kind of misogyny thing about fatties." She flops down on the couch. "How do you want to do this, three hours on, three hours off?"