Don't Touch Me

timothy_icon.png zan_icon.png

Where: A club

When: September 30, 2012; Afternoon

What: Brotherly chatting is interrupted, leaving the two Caldecott sons feeling a little out of sorts.

There are a few places in Las Vegas that cater to both the over and under 21's. A wrist band granted to those too young to partake in something a little more hefty than Coke or Root Beer, or those who drew the short straw for the evening and have to play driver. And drinks for those old enough and able to leave the responsibilities of sense to a wingman.

It's a comfortable atmosphere, a mix of patronage that seems to mostly be late 20's and 30's with a sprinkling of older and younger mixed in. Neither too loud nor too intimate, it falls into a category suitable for meeting up before hitting up a show or gathering after a movie. Or generally just catching up. Probably why Zan suggested it when he asked Tim to drag his head out of the books and meet him for drinks.

Of course, Zan isn't yet old enough to enjoy something with a little kick, but he seems content with a glass of Coke. As always in a t-shirt and jeans, seated at a table that looks down on a floor for dancing and mingling, it looks like the get together with his older brother is going well enough. "…And the story boards are coming along. Hoping to put out an ad or something for auditions in a couple of weeks."

Timothy leans one elbow on the table, free hand turning around the mostly empty glass of draft beer that he's worked his way through as his little brother talked. "Good, it sounds like you've got things going pretty straight then," Tim says, sounding pleased. The lawyer has his messenger bag draped over the back of the chair but where it's within sight and safe from anyone who would think to work the club as a pickpocket, and has loosened his tie, undone the top button of the shirt he wore to work. Pink, like Tim always does if he finds himself having to go into the office on a Sunday. "Anything more on what we talked about before, progress on that?"

"Pretty much all my stuff is out of your place," Zan says, one shoulder pressing upward. "It's all at Mom and Dad's. Next time we're over there at the same time I'll show you my set up in the basement. I finally spent some of the grant money from Mrs. Crain to get some equipment." Yes, more talk of filming, whether or not that was the other thing Tim is referring to.

The younger Caldecott sits back in his chair as he takes a drink from his glass. "And Rylie's pretty much got sound covered," he goes on with a grin. "She's doing awesome tying it all together with her music. And keeping the writer sane."

That gets a wry quirk of eyebrow from Timothy, and something that might even resemble a grin. Of course that might just be the alcohol talking. "Sane? Really," Tim comments. "Suppose that's good. I think you still have a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom at my place though. But I can drop that off at Mom and Dad's for you if that's easier."

"Sane," Zan confirms, still grinning. A little. "A professional I am not, and they make it look a hundred times easier than it really is." He sets his glass down on the table and shakes his head. "Shampoo? Really, you're worried about shampoo? If you want to drop it off, sure. I'd be more worried about any materials I left over there. Books or whatever."

"I'll make sure to bring it all by. Probably Tuesday," Timothy says easily, then glances over the dance floor, falling quiet for a long moment. Then he adds, "Never said I was worried."

"Sure, whatever works for you." Zan smirks at the addendum, brows ticking upward. "Oh yeah, forgot. Not worried, just preferential to not having it look like anyone else lives there. So when you bring your work home on the weekends…" He trails off, letting the brotherly jest hang while he finishes off his glass of Coke.

"Don't touch me. God you're a fucking ass. You slept with her? You slept with her and you seriously stand here and expect me to be okay with it? She was my best friend" Comes the high volume near screech of the female of the species as she fights with her maybe soon to be ex-boyfriend adjacent to where Tim and Zan sit. The guy, well, he looks annoyed. unreasonable. That he would cheat on her and she would be totally okay with it. "Come on baby, don't be like that" He brushes off. "It didn't mean anything" Which just seems to incense her further.

Timothy actually flushes a slight bit at that. However, he doesn't return comment, just listens at the outburst of argument, and comments more quietly to his brother, "Was." In the manner of someone pointing out something that should be entirely obvious. He keeps a wary eye on the couple, but Tim's attention returns to Zan after that. Eventually, the older Caldecott says, "Does make it easier. Not that there's anything."

He might have been grinning some younger brother cruelness if not for the interruption. As it is, the smirk remains, however Zan's attention shifts toward the sudden outburst. "I'm sure it does," he responds a beat later. He shakes his head at the outburst and, like so many others who looked toward the sudden vehemence, looks away. His brother gets a look of disbelief from the neighboring argument, and a shrug. "No fun at Tim's place? Not surprising, though, maybe if you didn't work so much, loosened up a bit."

Other words are exchanged, but they are lost in the music and the noise from other people who are talking louder to compensate for the feuding couple. But what isn't hard to hear or at least see is the shove that she gives the guy, and the subsequent shove back from him with more power that sends the woman sprawling against Tim & Zan's table, hands out to try and prevent contact. Hands scrabble at Tim's shoulder and Zan's arm, drinks threatening to careen over the table top.

Timothy frowns as his beer spills over onto the table (though not on the floor) and then frowns at the drink. Not even all the way done, and then he shoots a halfway polite glance at the woman. "You alright, ma'am?" the lawyer asks.

Opposite Tim, Zan actually pushes away from the table, his nearly empty glass spilling across the surface and onto the floor. He takes a second or two to stare at the sprawling woman as he stands, a little unsteady though it could just be from surprise. Then his gaze ticks up to look at the guy that pushed her. One hand still grips the back of his chair, letting his brother check on the girl while it's the man he calls after. "Hey, buddy! Little much to go pushing a lady around, why don't you go take a walk?"

"I'm okay" She mutters, leaning on Tim to actually get her feet under herself then smooth the short skirt, run fingers through blonde hair. For a moment it looks like the guy might challenge Zan, shifting his weight forward before he slams a fist on the table and starts to do just as Zan said. Take a walk. Helps to that there's bouncers and security coming this way. "I'm sorry guys" She apologizes, watching him walk away. "Just I'm sorry" And she too is walking away, attempting to go the other way from her ex.

Tim slides to his feet, such that there's one more person between the woman and her ex that is walking away, while looking to see the man that his little brother's telling to take a walk. The woman gets reassurance. "It's fine, ma'am. These things happen."

Eyebrows start to rise as Zan watches the man, nearly daring him to continue down that path. "Good choice, pal," he calls when the guy turns away. He claps his hands together as if he'd just witness a superb golf putt, quiet and polite. "Good choice." He looks at the lady when she starts the other way, echoing his brother's sentiments. "Don't worry about it."

Timothy watches the woman depart and then looks to his brother, and the spilled drinks. "Lemme see if I can get a cloth to clean this up. And another soda for you, and another beer for myself," the older brother decides, stepping around the mess to clap his younger brother on the shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," Zan says. He shakes his head, and gives himself a shake to rid the wobbly feeling. He settles into his chair and casts a final glance toward the guy who'd started the whole scene, though he's probably beyond the doors and out of sight. After a moment or two, he lets out a breath and collects the toppled glasses, setting them aside to be collected later.

Tim returns several minutes later, walking carefully, but nonetheless carrying another beer, another soda, and a collection of bar rags with which to wipe up the mess, and another couple of slightly careful glances to reassure the barkeep that he can clean it himself, no need to waste someone else's time on the matter right now. "Every time I go into work on a Sunday I end up with a headache," Timothy complains. "Though it's not quite a headache. Just. Not feeling right, and I only had one drink and not even, so can't be that."

Zan's brows have furrowed by the time Tim returns, troubled in a way that has little to do with the spilled drinks. "You're not the only one that's not feeling right," he says, though it's more to himself than his brother. "And I didn't have anything to drink. Think I'm going to call myself a ride and go home. I've got some pages to go through again, need Rylie's eyes to look it over with me."

Timothy shrugs his shoulders. "You go home and get some rest then," he instructs his little brother. "I'm going to hang out here a bit longer and go home. Like I said, I have court in the morning, so that's…" again, he shrugs. "Kinda important."

Zan gives Tim a look, like he's not fully grasping the elder Caldecott's idea. "Staying here, when you feel strange, and have court in the morning." But he doesn't wait around for an answer, likely the concept is too far fetched to be bothered with this afternoon. "I'll see you around, Tim," he says instead, as he stands. Cash enough for his drinks is left on the table before he walks away. And as he weaves through the crowd and toward the door, his phone is freed to acquire a ride.

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