Instead of going back to the Fenton residence, they return to Polter Heights. The walk was made with haste, with Vlad hoping to gain the pot-valiance necessary to explain why they had to pause their outings. Vlad nudges the door open and immediately heads for the china cabinet. There, in the bottom cupboard, he pulls out a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
They move into the kitchen and he drapes his coat over the back of a chair at the table. A quick whuff of dust billows out from underneath the article, reminding Danny that it's been a while since he's been in the house. He's always known it to be here, he just hasn't given it much thought. It's only right that some memories barge their way to the front of the line. The lunches and dinners shared among them and his friends. The movies they watched echo in the background of his mind, sending Frankenstein's monster chasing after the Mummy before they fall into the Black Lagoon.
There's numerous conversations prattling on through the haze. Lessons and jokes and juvenile banter. Sob stories, scientific theories, mental somersaults in psychology trying to understand the fault of Frankenstein himself. All at once, he understands what nostalgia actually is.
As frustrating and enraging as that year had been, it could have been far worse. When he considers his fortunes in the past, he's made out like a bandit when all is said and done.
"Sit."
The command is easy to follow. He does so in silence as the alcohol is poured.
"So... Wha-"
Vlad holds up a hand to make him pause while he chugs the contents of his glass down. The burn on his throat is a lot, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He swallows until there's nothing left and sets the glass down roughly on the table. The burn in his esophagus melds into a familiar warmth. One of dubious courage and clouded judgement. He coughs to soothe his throat, pours another one and practically inhales it. His goal, to get as drunk as he can, as fast as possible.
"I paid Frostbite a visit."
Danny's curiosity perks up, but his shoulders scrunch a little and he sips at the fire-water in his glass. The burn isn't unpleasant. Just new. It's not bad, really.
"He's not mad at you. ...a few of the villagers are, given the damage, but he's gotten over it. I think he might welcome you if you ever decide to go back."
Danny hums softly and his muscles loosen up. Not by much, though. It's nice to know that he's been forgiven, but he doubts the villagers would actually want him anywhere near their island. He's certainly not inclined to try, simply by the way they reacted to him. He doesn't think he needs another hoard of spears pointed at him. He already feels singled out enough, thank-you.
"So, why did you go?"
"I needed answers only he would have."
Danny looks at him from his place at the table, "Answers about what?"
"You."
"...me?" Danny takes a small sip of his scotch.
Vlad nods and gulps his second drink, "Well, we're going to be living together and we'll most likely fucking like rabbits."
Danny's mouth gapes at the use of language. The man isn't wrong, it's definitely Danny's intent to render the deal between demon and human null and void. But while he's known Vlad to speak bluntly and honestly, he's never known him to have all the subtlety of a pool table falling out of a tree.
"You're an imp. Imps have different instincts than other ghosts. Different needs. Different behaviors and habits."
Danny feels a little uncomfortable at the statement, finding it uttered in a tone both clinical and inconvenienced. Vlad takes another swig.
"By the same token, I'm a gargoyle. My needs are different, as well. But I know what to expect with myself. I know how I function. I have my books and my own observations. Anything you ask, I can answer. There's plenty of gargoyles in the Ghost Zone. You, however, are a rarity among the dead. Rare enough that there wasn't anything available to read on you. At least not within reach."
The teen hums in response. It makes sense to him. He still feels like Vlad is sounding a little too cold about it, but again, that could just be the scotch. And the man is a scientist at heart. The distant and objective attitude is par for the course in a mind constantly seeking enlightenment in a cultural and sociological wasteland.
"невеÑта means bride. And though I've put very little thought into the concept of marriage... I don't think I'd mind. Just understand that I won't wear a dress when we go down that road."
Danny takes a bigger gulp to hide the interest on his face, the image painted for them bringing about a low purr of approval from within that he strains to stifle. Phantom gathers the thought in its talons and stashes it away for later.
"But, I wanted to be prepared. And, as I said, my questions were beyond any tome I presently own, and you're young enough that you're not going to be able to offer explanations to the questions I was asking. So, I... I had to go to a fucking yeti for answers."
"...did you get what you needed?" The younger halfa pushes his glass towards the man for a refill.
Vlad physically halts in his chair at the question. Clearly thinking it over, trying to find the right words. He eventually consumes the last of his drink and refills both of their glasses.
"...along with a handful of insults, and then some," he finally grits out.
Danny's nose twitches. That strange and sweet undertone he's been trying to pin is suddenly becoming more prevalent. It's warm. The room is warm. Or is it just him? He looks at the glass as it's pushed back to him. It feels a little stuffy. A little too much. Some sounds are starting to falter and lilt awkwardly in his ears.
'We're drunk.'
'We're drunk.'
They agree that they should nudge the glass away...after a few more nips.
"What does this have to do with you being so off-kilter?"
"I paid Frostbite a visit," the elder halfa repeats, voice dipping in warning.
"...and?"
"Frostbite is something of a researcher, himself. He likes to study other spectral oddities. He's also the village doctor, if you'll recall."
The youth gulps more of his drink down, "Yeah, I remember."
"Frostbite is the only spirit old enough, educated enough and safe enough," he pauses to growl slightly, "to help me with the things I need."
The teen grunts, "Is there a point here?"
"Frostbite is an asshole," the words roll over each-other in minor slurring.
The faint tilt of the room urges Danny to finally push his half empty glass aside, but he goes for one more swig, "What did he do?"
Vlad grips his drink in a tight fist, "...son a bitch gave me a pelvic exam."
Danny chokes on his scotch. He proceeds with sputtering and pounding his fist into his chest to clear it out. The burn spreads down into a lung and he coughs to compensate. It doesn't help. It takes him a minute to hack the fire out.
"So now I'm stuck sitting down with nothing for at least another month because I was 'tighter than a nun's chuff,' as he so eloquently put it."
"Wait, so," the teen clears his throat, "that's why you've been..."
"I didn't exactly make a habit of self-care. The appeal wore out after a while, so it's been quite a few years since the last time. I honestly didn't know it would be such an issue."
Danny blinks at him in surprise. The burning in his lungs fizzles out slowly, but the labor of clearing his passages has left him a little red in the face. It masks the sudden fluctuations in his mind as it finally clicks. The reason why the soft sweetness was so familiar. He kicks himself for not realizing it sooner because he knows that smell. He's known for a few years now. But unlike Vlad, he does make a habit of finding release. He's just never caught it all tangled up in Vlad's essence before. As if that's a reasonable excuse to not pick up on it. And it's not. Not to him.
Now that he knows, now that he's done being an idiot, well... The idea is very appealing. It always was, but it was never anything more than that. An idea. A blip of neurons. A fantasy. Maybe even a vision that's been keeping him entertained for far longer than it had any right to. Now, it's not just an idea. It's not just his neurons blinking away in his brain. It's not just a distant fantasy. Now...it's sitting right here with him. Right next to him. In potential eyesight. In arm's reach. From so far away on a world unexplored to being so...so close. Close enough that he can...
Maybe it's the booze.
Maybe it's the fact that he's an apparent lightweight.
Maybe it's the combination of time and having the hallucinogenic pornography on repeat piled onto a final recognition of the scent that's been driving him nuts all night.
Maybe it's all of the above.
Whatever the cause, whatever to blame and whatever the reason, he doesn't stop himself from leaning in his seat towards the other halfa. Who cues in to the sudden proximity a little too late.
Pleading cyan irises surround in soot to meet the ocean's gaze and the words slip out. Completely unrestrained. But the moment they break free, he decides he's fine with his inhibitions passing out at Phantom's hooves.
"Can I see?"