Night's Omen

The instant he was finished setting Josh's desk up, he was gone, and he went straight down to their training and work-out area.  There were other people down there, which wasn't all that surprising, but he was pleased to see that Josh wasn't down there.  Yet.  He figured the guy wouldn't be too long, which meant that Drew only had a little while to get sweaty and start looking tired, otherwise Josh would know that he hadn't been there long, and pin him for the desk stunt.

He hit the punching bag straight off the bat, not seeing LeCroix anywhere for a decent bout of boxing, and settled into a rougher, faster pace than he usually used. 

Wes had better get the job done.

He kept that up, succeeding in his attempts, and finally saw Josh wandering in. 

"What's up mothafucka?" Josh asked in his characteristic sassy black woman voice he reserved just for occasions when he was in a good enough mood to use it. He walked casually around the back of the punching bag, and when Drew went to swing, he rushed it, aiming to plow him over with it, a loud laugh escaping his throat. "Ah-HAH!"

"So how'd things go with Melisande? Is she as nice sober as she is when I'm drunk?" he inquired. "I told Wes about her." He wasn't sure if Drew had already seen Wes, but it wouldn't surprise him if he had. "We still on for tomorrow, anyways? Don't want you getting your head all wrapped around your ladyfriend. We still need beer time."

He had no idea.

Drew glanced Josh's way when the man did some funky impersonation of a black woman, the kind of thing that Drew would have gotten his ass kicked for doing by any of the black women he'd known back home, and kept up on the punching bag at a more normal pace.  No sense in letting Josh realize that he'd only been there for a little while. 

He was completely unprepared for Josh rushing the bag, and it impacted his body with a sharp 'OOF!' out of him before he hit the ground on his ass and bounced like a rock being skipped.  Just...less extreme.  He shot the other man an irritated look, but ended up breaking that up with a grin and a roll of his eyes.  It hadn't really hurt, and once he was over being startled, it wasn't so horrible.  Actually, kind of funny.  Besides, Josh had his coming.

"You ass.  That almos' hurt," he complained, pulling himself up off the floor and halting the bag in its swinging.  Ah, again with the questions about Melisande.  "She invited me to her place after I called, then beat my ass at Mario Kart an' Super Smash Brothers cause I ain't never touched a Wii before an' I suck at it.  Definitely on for beer time tomorrow, don' choo worry 'bout that."

Beer time was 'guy time', even if girls showed up over the course of the night.  Wes had been sleeping the night before, which was why they had to actually PLAN it this time, so Wes knew not to go to sleep.  What a girl, taking naps like that.

Josh lightly punched the bag with his bare fist while he listened to Drew talk, and then stopped when he took a hold of it. He didn't want to be tempted to start wailing on it again like he had been a few hours prior. Josh didn't have built up anger, but when he saw a punching bag, he was all about beating the crap out of it. It was a man thing.

"Okay, that's funny. You got beat up on the Wii by a girl. She definitely sounds like she's the right one for you," he said with a loud laugh, stepping away from the bag entirely. He reached down and picked up his own personal bag, stuffed full of gym clothes that needed to be washed badly and other various things he'd forgotten to take home. He hated cleaning his locker.

"I gotta run by my desk and pick up some paperwork. I honestly am thinking about putting in a request for a secretary. Wes should, too, with the way his shit is kept. I don't know how he finds anything," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "What time tomorrow? I think I might be cooking some steaks, so if you can manage to bring drinks that don't suck, I can rely on Wes to bring other food; then you can put your alcoholism aside and commence to be our DD. It's sort of funny you get to be the DD when Wes can drink both of us out and still not really appear to lose his coordination. Actually, it's downright bullshit," he muttered.

"Dude, shut up.  You're missin' the point, an' that's that I got invited over already.  Who cares if I got my ass kicked at a game?" he asked, and that was exactly how he felt about it.  His pride had been prepared for the blow, and so he'd taken it without too much pain.  He was just pleased to have been invited over. 

He collected his own things up while Josh mentioned his plans for the following night, and he shrugged when he was asked about a time.  He deliberately didn't make any external reaction about Josh's desk.  "I'll be DD.  I'm finished tryin' to out-drink that bastard.  My las' hangover had me thankin' I was dyin', an' he didn't even have a headache.  I can' believe how much he drinks," Drew complained along with Josh, shaking his head.  Wes had an unnatural tolerance for alcohol.  That, or he was secretly ridding himself of his drinks when they weren't looking, but that would be such a waste.

"I don' care what time.  Jus' gimme a call an' I'll be there."

"Alrighty man," he said. He did the little fist-pound thing that he'd been doing with Drew for the last few years, and slung his bag from one shoulder to the other. The contents in it stank so bad that it made his eyes water, which... said a lot about his housekeeping. He was still thinking about the bag of nasty when he spotted his desk - or, actually, the legs of if, which were about level with his legs somewhere, which should really have been on the ground.

STCHUNK.

The bag hit the floor with a noisy, fabric sound.

"What. The. FUCK!" he yelled.

Credit must be given where it's due.

It was due here.

Drew smacked Josh's fist with his own, focusing on his own bag as they walked into the office, and looked up suddenly when he heard his friend's bag drop.  He feigned surprise well enough that one had to wonder exactly how many times he'd been in on stunts like this throughout his life (and with the number of older brothers he had, it was quite the number), and he just stood there. 

"Oh.  Shit."

He didn't yell, but it wasn't his desk.  It wasn't his place to yell.  It was his place to stand there and look suitably shocked, which he did.  Then, he couldn't help himself, and this would have at least been true even if he hadn't known what they were walking in on.  It was funny, and he laughed.  "Oh, shit!  That sucks!"

He was ready to jump out of arm's reach if he had to.

Josh turned and gave Drew a hard shove when he started to laugh. "Whatever, bitch!" he yelled, though he wasn't nearly as pissed off as anyone else would have been. "You probably did this yourself! Oh my GOD, this is going to take fucking foreverrrrr to clean up," he groaned, crouching down to survey the damage.

"How... in the fuck..." he trailed off, staring in amazement at his computer. "I don't even want to know what sort of disorder all my paperwork is in. It probably looks like Wesley's now," he muttered. Speaking of which -- "And where is Wes, anyways Eh? Did he do this? I know you couldn't have flipped this bitch by yourself, not without help, and that motherfucker's the biggest one here. I should kick both of your asses. Pens, and now this?"

He rubbed his face and made an exasperated groaning sound. "I hate you both."

Really, he was flattered that Josh thought he did it himself, but they both knew better.  Those desks were heavy, especially when the drawers were full, so there was no way that Drew could have flipped it himself.  The memory required to put every article from the top of the desk back on the bottom right where it had been before was all Drew, though.  Memory was his thing, and always had been.  Photographic, auditory, whatever you wanted to call it, he had it.  It was why he was as good with languages as he was, which made him crazy-useful on their team in the sandbox.  For as Southern as he sounded usually, he could imitate accents and languages from memory without hesitation, and he remembered dialects like some piano players could learn a song from hearing it once.  If he'd ever decided to play an instrument, he probably could have done that as well, but he didn't bother.  Language was good enough for him. 

That, and pranks like this.

He also had a hell of a way of memorizing maps and layouts, as well as codes, phone numbers and generally any random bit of information that would likely prove useful.  Even bleeding and thinking he was going to die, he'd been able to give Josh solid directions whenever they found themselves unsure where to go.

"Come on, I was downstairs, remember?" he asked, still grinning at Josh's reaction.  "I didn' do shit, an' how'm I supposed ta know where Wes is?  I ain't his mama or anythang!"

He'd almost felt defensive for a second there, and then Josh mentioned the pens.  That was going to be good for getting a snicker fit out of Drew for awhile, and he proved it by laughing all over again.  That had been the funniest shit he'd seen in a hell of a long time. 

"Hate me if ya want, but when you're done, I'll help ya put your desk back," he offered.  What were friends for?

"Yeah, you were downstairs, but for how long?" he asked. He stared at him when he offered to put the desk back together, and frowned. He wouldn't offer to put it back together if he'd taken it apart - or at least, Josh didn't think so. He didn't think he and Wesley were up to something quite as big as they were, but he felt like Drew had a hand in something.

"Okay," he said finally. He started moving things out from underneath it, and when that was done, he grunted. "Now we have to pick this bitch up and flip it back over," he said. Boy, if he had been a leopard then, it would have been a piece of cake. Josh and Drew weren't small guys, either, but Wesley could basically pick the desk up with one hand of he really felt the need. Stupid lions.

Once they'd gotten it righted, Josh sluggishly began to put things back into place. "I don't even know why I have a desk, anyways. Not like I'm ever here to enjoy it. I guess this is where they'll put me if I ever get shot or something," he snorted.