As expected, Neal is quick to the bar, showing up in a fine suit and looking every bit like he's worth thirteen billion dollars. The pinball smile remains as he chats with the bartender, drink in hand, but the moment he sees Wes, he excuses himself and gestures his friend over, waving.
The prospect of a friendly face is almost enough to sweep away Neal's recent angst and stands with his drink ready to get Wes his own and move their way to the kitchen.
How are you? he asks, using the few skills he's learned in the other man's class.
Despite knowing there was a strong chance he'd end up stranded at the hotel when he'd set off looking for Kurt, Wes hasn't come particularly equipped. He's prioritized weaponry over clothing, but all of that seems like a distant memory he can't quite hold onto anymore. When he arrives in the bar, he doesn't just look like he belongs in a different place than Neal; Wes seems to belong to a different world entirely.
His outfit isn't much different than what he's been wearing on the beach. In fact, the fringed top is entirely the same. He's replaced his swim trunks with a pair of thin white linen harem pants, and though he doesn't wear any of the accessories he'd accumulated on the beach, he still carries himself like a man adorned with something. It's a far cry from the Wes who sits at the front of the classroom.
I'm good, he signs, less because it's what he wants to say and more because it reinforces what he's taught Neal. It's good to see you. Wes points quizzically at the other man's glass.
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The prospect of a friendly face is almost enough to sweep away Neal's recent angst and stands with his drink ready to get Wes his own and move their way to the kitchen.
How are you? he asks, using the few skills he's learned in the other man's class.
Re: action;
His outfit isn't much different than what he's been wearing on the beach. In fact, the fringed top is entirely the same. He's replaced his swim trunks with a pair of thin white linen harem pants, and though he doesn't wear any of the accessories he'd accumulated on the beach, he still carries himself like a man adorned with something. It's a far cry from the Wes who sits at the front of the classroom.
I'm good, he signs, less because it's what he wants to say and more because it reinforces what he's taught Neal. It's good to see you. Wes points quizzically at the other man's glass.