goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

[ It's been awhile since he'd last shared a bed with the intent to sleep. Passed out with? Sure. Actually meaning to sleep? Not so much. But it's Carolina. He knows the pattern of her breath, the scent of her hair- gun oil and ozone and warmth. It's almost easy to unwind enough to sleep, to turn to shelter her and drape his arm around her while they slept. Waking happens slow and as much as he probably wants to start breakfast...

This is nice. Dozing with her curled against him, no immanent threat. No mission. Just. Warmth and an idle dozing. ]

[ At some point she sighs, shifting closer, head moving to rest where the curve of his throat meets his clavicle and her free arm shifting so she rests on it more comfortably. There's no alarm, no flinch, no concern that at some point he's draped an arm over her, it's all very comfortable.

Like a dream, one she's so rarely allowed herself. One that she tucked away and looked back at no more once he'd died. Or she'd thought he had. They'd all believed he had.

And now, instead, a new dream. One that she stirs from slowly, breathing changing and shifting as her body moves back into a more aware state. Nature's call may also be playing a part in rousing her. Then a pause, as she realises where she is, who she's with, exactly what kind of position they are in. Someone might think, might get the wrong impression...

...Or, someone might just get the right one. Her breathing resumes, a slow and steady pace, and she rolls onto her side a little more - all the better to shift herself partially upwards, to look down at him sleeping. (Is he still sleeping?) ]

Edited (unfortunate typo correction lol) 2015-09-13 18:16 (UTC)

[ By the time she starts moving to look he's blinking himself awake, all crooked, lazy smiles and warm skin. Like he'd always dreamed of, like he's just enough out of it to actually do, he reaches up to slide his hand along her cheek and curl in her hair, smoothing her bangs out of her face. ]

Morn'n beautiful.

[ And she is. She's always been. ]

[ 'Beautiful'. It's been a long time since anyone told her that, sincerely, and she leans a little into the hand cupping her cheek, reaching with her own to lightly comb his hair back. The longer look could take come getting used to -- but she thinks she could. ]

Good morning, Taylor. [her voice is deeper, a little heavy with sleep, and finger trails from hair to lightly trace a path along his cheek, down to his jaw.] Didn't mean to wake you.

Didn't. [ His crooked grin widens a little, turning his cheek into her hand is almost easy. Brushing his lips against her palm? Kind of an accident but not one he's gonna complain about anytime soon. ] Could get used to this...

[ Her palm tingles, and she resists the urge to run her fingers against his lips. It is a very near thing, however.]

Hmm. Well, you enjoy bed a little longer, all right?

[ Not quite an order, even as she slowly, reluctantly, frees herself from the sheets and releases his hand. She doesn't stagger when she stands, managing a rather elegant rise, all dark shadows in her under suit and half-bound hair. Fortunately, she can snag one of his clean shirts on her way over to the bathroom. She pauses in the door to smile at him. ]

I won't be long. Though if you're not willing to wait... [a shrug, feigning casualness, before she ducks in. A shower shouldn't take long at alL.]

If you insist. [ God he's tempted to follow. So. So tempted. It's hard with how she's smooth and fluid as ever, all the dreams he'd ever had poured into one perfect moment. She even grabs one of his shirts. The only difference is the undersuit- that's usually not a thing. Or if it is he helps peel her out of it. ]

...Wanna conserve water?

[ Of course he only manages that after she's closed the door.

Probably for the best.

Laze or- waffles. He said waffles. Better get up and make them. He levers himself out of the bed and wanders to the kitchen, whipping up the batter. ]

[ if he'd knocked on the door, asked a little louder, he might have been very pleasantly surprised by her response. Perhaps if she'd made her own invitation more blatent..

It doesn't take her long to strip out of the suit, to peel it away from her skin. It is practically a second skin, leaving room for nothing else beneath it, and she takes the time to rinse it thoroughly in the shower, before stepping in to clean herself up. Stealing a little of his shampoo, thoroughly drenching herself until she's feeling more alert, muscles relaxing. She already feels more like herself again after that night's sleep.

Meanwhile, York isn't quite alone in the kitchen. At least Epsilon waits a bit before appearing, sounding...smug? He seems pleased, anyway.]

"You two slept well. You were out for like 10 hours." [ 10hrs 43mins 42secons, but most humans prefer a less precise answer.] "I don't think she's slept that long since...ever, actually."

She needed it.

[ Honestly, he did too after days spent awake, planning the next leg of his job. But it's easier to say that Clair needed it, that it was for her than it was to admit he might've slept better than he had in years because she was there. Not that they ever really got around to sleeping in the same bed all that much before.

It was different. It was good.

He could use more of both. ]

What can I say? My bed is magical. Also you. [ He lifts the whisk from where he's stirring the waffle batter, gesturing in the blue dude's direction. ] Okay, am I correct in remembering that Clair called you Epsilon?

[ He can't speak for Carolina (well, he could, but even Epsilon isn't about to risk it), but York looks well. Better than he had the night before, and all cleaned up like that? Definitely looks more like the someone his partner used to rely on back in the day.

Nothing else happened, of course, but if Epsilon were a betting AI, he's pretty sure he needs to schedule an extra day here.. ]

"Yeah, she did. Normally, she wouldn't get it."

[ And here come the question he was half expecting last night. He flickers a moment, before coming to hover at the end of the whisk; the suit's projectors have pretty decent range in the kitchen. ]

"That would be me. And before you ask, no, I'm not crazy. [just a taaaad defensive] "any more. Been a long time since that happened, wasn't exactly my fault either. As it is, I don't hang out in her head, since you probably haven't noticed."

Wouldn't LET herself get it. Some things never change.

[ It helped to have a partner that could talk her out of it or at least physically drag her away. York gets the feeling Epsilon does what he can but- he's only one dude. It's hard when someone's pretty stubborn. ]

Wasn't gonna say. If you were? She wouldn't be working with you. And you're damn right it wasn't your fault. None of it was any of your fault. [ An old man, his grief, and his poisonous ambition. ]

So you're the last one, huh? [ The others got wiped out. He'd heard that much. ] ...How is Wash doing?

"Yeah, that too. She has her reasons though."

[ He seems to relax a bit as he watches York whip the batter into shape, prepping it for waffle creation. Stubborn was most definitely a family trait. ]

"..Yeah, well, she's changed too. And that's a good thing. Moving on's a bitch, but here we are.

Something like that, can thank an EMP for that. And Caboose. Reds and Blues got my storage unit out of range of the Meta. Wash is doing great! You know. Looking after our box canyon idiots. He..and I don't really talk much, I leave that to Carolina."

Leave what to me?

[ Asks the barefoot woman stepping into the kitchen, toweling off her hair. She's not wearing a grifball shirt - the long sleeves of the plaid flannel shirt have been rolled up to her elbows, and while it fits her frame otherwise, the body is long enough to reach to past mid-thigh. Which is good, because she wasn't going to wear his undergarments and the spare drawstring pants she could find? Were a tent on her.

It's not remotely revealing, and oddly comfortable, and yet Epsilon is DEFINITELY grinning. For someone who has a helmet and visor for a face. ]

"Conversation. Like this one. Morning C, later C."

[ And off he logs, leaving the two humans to each other. ]

Edited 2015-09-14 20:12 (UTC)

[ Epsilon's got some kind of ulterior motive- but honestly? It's working out in their favor. So York lets the hasty retreat slide in favor of...admiring Carolina. SHe looks good. She looks rested, clean and for half a second he can pretend there's no civil war. That there wasn't a long stretch of time he thought she was dead and she thought him dead- that they'd run off together like he'd always wanted.

Flew through space for a new life. Maybe a couple of kids with green eyes.

God he's still got it bad if he's thinking like that. ]

Waffles are on.

[ The iron's sizzling away while he sets the batter aside, grabbing butter and syrup from the fridge. ]

And coffee's in the pot. You look good, Clair.

Coward. [muttered softly at the retreating digital back, before she offers York a smile] So I can see. And here I thought you were teasing me about them.

[Her hair is given one last toweling before she folds said towel up, draping over the back of one of the chairs. Her lips quirk at the corner to see he's paying a little more attention to her than strictly necessary, which is. Well. It's very flattering, actually. That he'd still look at her like that, like he tried to on the sly back during their Project days.

Makes a girl wonder. Makes a girl hope. Just a little.

Feet pad quietly along the floor until she's over by the coffee pot, sidelong glances watching him handle the waffles. ]

Older and greyer, perhaps. [beautiful, he'd said this morning. Does he remember that?] ..Not looking so bad yourself, though.

[Slightly rumpled always did suit him.]

I am a man of my word, you know that.

[ One set out of the iron and onto a plate- the first of many. Which he hands off to her without missing a beat, already pouring another set into the sizzling mold. Guests eat first. Also, waffles are the way to a woman's heart, right? right. THey totally are.

God Epsilon is probably laughing at him. ]

Like a fine wine. Better with age.

[ That's a line, right? Please say that's a line. That it works. He grins, crooked and easy, reaching up to ruffle his own hair. ]

Hobo chic. Can't really get my hair cut, people too close to the implant makes me twitchy.

[ Plate of waffle is accepted, mug of refilled coffee left in exchange. If she remembers nothing else, she remembers how he liked his coffee back in the day, from during the downtime between early PT and the first day's reports.

(There's not so much as a snicker from the suit of armor.) (But he probably is, yeah.)

There's something like a laugh that bubbles up at the mention of fine wine, and a playful swat - not at his arm, no, a little lower than that, before she steps away, moving to set her plate on the table. It may not be a very big one, but as last night showed, room enough for two. And plenty of syrup besides.

She'll at least wait for him to have some to eat too. She has some manners. ]

Mmm. Well, it suits you. Though I can imagine it's a bit troublesome in some weather. [that she manages with hair as long as hers under her helmet is due to practice - and being practical, when your hair grows back as fast as hers does.]

A fine red wine- hey! [ Did she just?

SHe did.

Oh. Wow. Maybe all those dreams weren't out of reach? Maybe it'd all work out? Hope is a dangerous thing, he's learned, but...it's Carolina. They've both learned to let go and that life is too damn short to not reach for something. Suddenly nervous he licks his lips, waffles almost burning while he makes up his mind.

Okay.

He's- he's gonna go for it. Be cool, York. Be smooth. Be suave. ]

If it gets to be a handfull I shave it off. Grows back quick enough. [ He shrugs and slides across from her, hooking his foot around her ankle all over again. ] Maybe you can braid it for me after breakfast.

You've not tried me yet.

[ Stated smartly, before Carolina quickly gulps down some coffee. York isn't the only one capable of reeling out a line, she'd been the one to open with one when they'd met back at Errera after all, but with her back to him, she can't see him work himself up past nervousness.

She looks up as he sits himself down finally, brows twitching upwards slightly - though whether at his foot, or at his request, is unclear. Or would be, if the hint of interest from the earlier slap didn't still linger in her eyes.

She'd almost been uncertain of his reception of that when he'd yelped. But that he's started with the foot teasing again? That. That's a good sign, she thinks. She waits a little before carefully turning her foot, running it against his ankle in kind. ]

Maybe I can. Pass me the syrup?

Not for lack of want'n to.

[ Cards on the table. All of them, really. And it seems like she's down. Like she's okay with this, like it's something that can happen. He doesn't want to spend the next ten years wondering what if.

He'd rather know. ]

Sure.

[ He slides it over and leans with it, leaning against her side for a moment. All this causal contact he never got to enjoy. And she's reciprocating. It's not so hopless a thing as he'd thought a few days ago. ]

..I know.

[ Her answer is a little husky, from memory, from regret. She holds his gaze a moment, before letting it follow his movement, letting him lean into her space, stay there as long as he wants. A week ago, he was dead and she was alive and on a mission. Days ago, she was still reeling from the shock of his survival, and now, here they are, flirting in the kitchen, and there's such promise in the way he's looking at her.

And York is most certainly a man of his word.

She murmurs 'thank you' for the bottle, popping the cap and pouring the syrup over her waffle, perhaps a little too much by normal standards, but there's more than one reason for that. Once she's done, she swipes over the nozzle to clear any excess dribble away, before setting the bottle back between them.

And licks her fingers clean absently. ]

[ Oh good. She's on the same page.

Wait. She's on the same PAGE. It's an OPTION. They're both DOWN.

Why are they still eating breakfast again? He blinks at her for a long moment, trying to gauge when it would be appropriate to lean in and finally, finally kiss her when she does that thing.

That thing with the syrup.

And her fingers.

And her mouth.

And his mind flatlines for a second. ]

...you're trying to kill me.

I'd rather not. I only just found you again.

[ Said sincerely, and entirely deadpan - how can someone stay so straight faced at a time like this? Knife and fork are lifted, because there are waffles to eat, and her foot is lightly grazing his ankle, dragging up under his pants leg a little.

Sugar and waffles are energy. Even after a good night's sleep, it doesn't hurt to refuel before engaging in other long overdue activities. Fortunately, it really doesn't take her that long to eat anyway.

She waggles her fork at his plate. ]

It's getting cold.

[ No fair. It's supposed to be HIS turn to be all smooth and shit.

Well fine.

If she's gonna be like that, the next time she takes a bite full of waffle he catches her wrist and leans in, taking it off her fork with an exaggerated play of lips and tongue along the tines. ]

Not from where I'm sitting.

[ Now who's being unfair?

And eating her own food, too. Isn't your own breakfast good enough for you? Never mind that her eyes follow exactly the path that teeth, lips and tongue take to eat her slice of waffle. Never mind the tingling in her skin at the grasp of his hand on her wrist. ]

If you wanted to share, all you had to do was ask first.

[But no. He had to go cross the line. She waits until he sits back, relaxes his grip on her wrist a little, and resumes as she did before. Making a point to flick a little dribble of syrup along his wrist. She's quite adamant about not losing about bite, however. ]

Maybe this is me asking.

[ He licks the syrup from his lip and loosens his grip on her wrist, settling back to cut himself a bite one handed and then, syrup. On him. Well that's not fair. He crackles a soft laugh and lets go, tipping his head to the side and drawing his tongue up in a long line to catch the entire drizzle of syrup that ended up on his skin.

Maybe lingers a little longer than he should. ]

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