"Nooo, no, it’s gonna get creepy, I promise," he grins and takes her hand to lead her through a squeeze further down the row of stacked cold rust buckets. "The ghosts will visit, you ready for that shit? Not gonna hold your hand, just so you know." He still is, though, till they hit a gas lantern and all the noise. A van’s open, a makeshift kitchen with a compact camp stove, boxes and rows of cans and a few bottles and ashtrays, and he temporarily lets go of her to get her a drink. "Ta-daaah! With the energy of a refused wank, I went to build myself a kitchen car. There’s even a BAR, SYLVIA MAIN!" Once he’s found the right bottle, he’s got his arm back around her, silly and intoxicated, but he’s got her, forehead almost hitting hers. "This shit’s disgusting, but you got no choice."
"Hell’ll freeze over before you start bossing me around." With every word that spills out of her mouth becoming a contradiction her fingers wrap around the bottle and she tugs it out of his hand before half of it can get on her shirt. As soon as the first swig hits her throat she’s scrunching her face in disgust- "Ugh- you really weren’t kidding! Now I remember why I hate zone parties: your liquor sucks." Setting the bottle down far from reach, she pulls him down on the floor with her, ready to see what sort of naughty secrets they can share. The boom box is blasting out songs from her past and she unintentionally hums along with the tune while she grins at his funny patterned jacket. "Two ain’t much of a party," she hints with a poke at his side.