[ Michael looks at Tate appraisingly for a second, like he's trying to determine if he's got fast enough reflexes to catch what's thrown to him. There's a small, smarmy part of him that knows Ben never would have offered to play fucking catch with Tate. He tosses his last rock Tate's way, fishing open his bag again now that his hands are free and tugging at the edge of his delivery. ]
Take what you want.
[ He peels back the paper, grabs a few cases from inside vaguely reminiscent of the stash he swiped from Kavinsky the last time they met up, then pops open the lid with his thumb. Nobody's around, so. He's not exactly trying to be discrete. ]
I've, um. Never done this kind of thing before, so. I don't know what to offer.
no subject
Take what you want.
[ He peels back the paper, grabs a few cases from inside vaguely reminiscent of the stash he swiped from Kavinsky the last time they met up, then pops open the lid with his thumb. Nobody's around, so. He's not exactly trying to be discrete. ]
I've, um. Never done this kind of thing before, so. I don't know what to offer.