haolehothead | March 7th

Danny feels ridiculous. Genuinely and truly, he doesn't know that he's ever felt like more of a schmuck in his entire life, feeling as nervous as he does. He's in the main room of the hut, watching sports like something might actually change in the outcome of his Best Of DVDs if he just watches hard enough. Nothing does change.

Still, he stays nervous and he feels like he's about to do something that could simultaneously be the best and the worst thing that he's ever done in his entire life -- and it's tomorrow. He's getting hitched with Steve tomorrow. He's got his clothes hung up over the doorway, he's got a speech in mind for the reception, and he's even doing fairly okay with not having Grace there. He just can't shake the goddamn nerves.

"Shit," he mutters, getting up to get some air, leaving the door open before he returns to the best of the NHL, circa 2008. He's supposed to be calm about this. It's Steve. It's his best friend, it's the guy he's been with for over a year -- almost to the day, even -- and friends with for over a year before that.

Maybe the solution here is some booze, but Danny doesn't want to be that tragic kind of guy who does it all alone.

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"Hullo, what's all this, then?" Dodger shuts the door behind him, and comes in close to the screen, peering curiously, the unusual light and sound making him wince a little.

Danny's pretty much brightened by Dodger's presence in the first moment he enters, which is handy because he needs the companionship tonight. "I'm watching old hockey games. You feel like hanging out for a while?" It'd give no pressure for tomorrow and it'd help Danny to get his mind off of it all.

"Like bandy-ball," Dodger said, consideringly. Knocking a ball around with sticks he got, but the rest of it was pretty foreign to him. "Only, is that ice? And 'ows it indoors?" He squinted, and then had to back up a bit as his head started to ache. He moved around to sit next to Danny, taking this for the recommended distance.

He was worldy enough to know that a man wasn't the best of sorts the night before his nuptials, even if in his experience future-husbands were to be found at the pub. He'd intended to keep Danny company, so he settled in well enough to watch the game.

"It is ice and it's indoors," Danny agrees, a pleased smile on his face when Jack sits down to join him. "Welcome to the wonders of the future." Really, he can't complain about all the advances that technology has given them. If nothing else, having hockey is pretty incredible. "So, you coming tomorrow?"

"'Ow come it doesn't melt?" Dodger asked, watching the lights and crowds of the tape, wondrous at this sort of futuristic display. "'Spose they make make it indoors as cold as it is out somehow." He'd seen Luna's computer, and the television itself was pretty unbelievable, but it was things that this that got him wondering. The more advanced stuff was beyond his ability to even wonder about - they just were, like the Island.

"Oh, aye, wouldn't miss it!" Dodger said brightly. "I'm bringin' Karen on me arm, too, on the count of 'er sayin' that gentlemen bring dates and such to these sort of o-cca-sions."

"Because we've got all kinds of climate control going on," Danny says, leaning forward to grab his beer, taking a long drink of it as he settles back into the couch. "It's hockey, it's a sport of kings." Well, no, that's horse-racing, but Danny never liked it unless there's betting involved.

"You got a date, huh? Are you bringing her flowers?" The whole damn concept is adorable and Danny can't help his broad grin.

Dodger's eyes go to the bottle, and he frowned a little. "Can I have one, then?" He didn't know where he stood, on things like this - he wasn't allowed to smoke his pipe, that was for certain, and he knew Danny got upset when he had something alcoholic, but it wasn't entirely off the table, either. He'd lost some of his affection for booze, after realizing how Fagin had used it to keep them like sheep in the fold, but he'd had good English beer his whole life whenever he could afford it, and it was hard to see something as every-day as beer evil.

"Ought I to?" Dodger asked, tilting his head as he thought about it. "Do gentl'men do that 'ere?" He wasn't quite sure if they did it back there - flowers were pennies better spent on other sundries, and they wouldn't grown on their own in Spitalfields.

Danny shoots Jack a wary look, but they did have something of a deal. He gets up, heading to the cupboard and taking out a glass, filling it halfway with beer. It's not enough to get him drunk and is more of a treat for him. "Take it slow, it's all you're getting," he warns, sitting down again. "And yes, you should get her flowers. Gentleman always give their ladies flowers."

Something loosened a bit in Dodger's chest when Danny brought back a glass for him, something he hadn't even known had wound tight in that moment between his asking and Danny rising. He'd grown up around desperate people, thieves and liars and criminals, so he took a man's word with a large and wary grain of salt. For all he'd warmed to the man, little things like Danny keeping his word still mattered immensely, even more than Dodger himself could really understand.

"Cor, if it ain't watered down, I'm 'appy as a king." He was used to his drinks being muddled with, by the barman or by Fagin, to make it cheaper and last longer, or carefully rationed so it could be spread about all the boys. "Do you get Steven flowers, then? Or 'im you?"

"Nah, he brought me some flowers once, but it's not like I really need or want 'em. Girls, though, girls love flowers," Danny insists, waving with his hand to mock-gesture about all the wonderful things girls will do with said flowers. "And it's not watered down, but like I said, only one," he warns. "Last thing I need is you having gas and a hangover for your date."

"From beer?" Dodger said, incredulous. He considered beer barely alcoholic - the sort of drink workplaces gave out rather than tepid water, the kind of thing you drank with your meal if you could afford anything.

"And what do the girls do with the flowers, then?" He asked, endlessly curious.

"Yes, from beer," Danny lectures, shooting Jack a strained look as he makes sure he understands that he's not to take any of this drinking lightly. "And girls just put the flowers out for show. Sometimes, they like to brag about them."

Dodger raised his eyebrows and hands in feigned innocence - a much practiced look, even if this was done with a give-away smile to his lips - when Danny shot him a look. "They mean all sorts of things, don't they, flowers? Bet said that once - that real ladies knew what meant what."

"They can be a way into a girl's heart, or other places," Danny says, not sure how much he wants to be Jack's advisor on this particular topic. After all, it's not like it's something that he wants to say he bonded over with him. "Look, just be nice and get her one for a corsage."

"Aye?" He didn't really have need of that, but if well-established folk used them to go a-courting then they had to be a very nice gesture. "For a what?"

He took a sip of his beer, and wished again he could've smoked his pipe along with it. "It feel different any to mary a covey rather than a lady?"

"I don't know. I have a type," Danny admits with a hapless shrug. The more he really thinks about it, the more he has to realize that Rachel and Steve shared a lot in terms of physicality, but also in terms of their personality. "She wore the pants of our marriage, I'm not stupid enough to believe otherwise. This time around, I get a bit more control, it's nice," he says with a pleased smirk.

March 7th

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