RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

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[goddamngrenades]

"I'm not that sore." He mutters, taking the hand to haul himself up. Without thinking cuz, hell, why would he think anything of it he peels his tanktop off and uses it to wipe his face, scars in geometric patterns all down his left side where the suit burned into him. He's lost some muscle in the months since the fight, lost more fat since you dont' eat much when you drink too damn often leaving him lean and tightly defined muscle all right there.

Also leaves the ink on his back there for anyone that's looking. Two wings, one eastern bluebird, one cardinal red. State birds. Carolina had them too. "Kinda hungry though. You do'n anything after this? I'd like to go over what we did. What I need to work on, that stuff."

[tactical_alert]

He considers this--he considers all of this--for a few moments before stomping his foot and standing as tall and stern as a drill instructor. Which, essentially, he is. "The show is over; you are dismissed."

The kids--some are nearly his age, but he has their respect and occasionally their fear, and he is their superior, therefore he feels free to think of them collectively as kids--start and gather up their things and file out.

It's hard to say that Malcolm relaxes when he pulls himself out of instructor mode, padding over to his own things, but he does seem to ease up. Towel. Water bottle. These things first. "Quick shower first or straight to food and a dressing down?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Well since you are gett'n me dinner I guess I can let you dress me down." It feels a little odd, flirting, even if he doesn't mean a word. He doesn't. He can't. It's- expected. Delta's watching from a distance, he knows he's watching, waiting for any sign of derivative behaviour and the flirting is expected, somewhat warranted, and probably enough to earn him a little free space.

[tactical_alert]

He slows, not initially sure if he heard right, and glances curiously over at the former ranger. (Once a ranger always a ranger.) Blinks, a surprised and confused crease in his brows.

That--he was not expecting that, certainly, and he doesn't know what to do with it. So he finishes mopping the worst of the sweat off and eases his shoes back on. Barrels ahead. "Food it is, then." Let him just. make a few notes here on the notepad. "Shall I show you the way?"

[goddamngrenades]

He takes the time to finish mopping his face and walking back to where he'd shucked his shoes, pulling them on while ignoring the kids still sort of milling about. Let them talk. he's heard it all before. "Please. I'm new to the Dome and haven't really gotten around much. Last time I tried to find the mess I ended up on a catwalk above a mark 2."

[tactical_alert]

"I have a feeling that was something more subconscious than you might be comfortable admitting." He motions for York to follow with a nod of his head. "Drawn to our great metal beasts. And who could resist, really."

[goddamngrenades]

"They're beautiful." Engineering at it's finest- every last one of them works of art. He misses Lockdown Delta more than he can say, but there wasn't any salvaging what was left- or so he was told. He wasn't in a good place to pay attention.

[tactical_alert]

"Lockdown, was he a Mark 2?" He glances back at York, frowning more at himself than anyone else. "I probably shouldn't ask, should I. Bad enough I've got a quick shakedown of your profile."

[goddamngrenades]

"She." It depended on the pilot and sure, the engineer always called Lockdown he, but Carolina, Delta, and york knew better. She was a lady. A valkyrie. An avenging angel. "Yeah. She was a Mark 2. One of the fastest, you know?"

[tactical_alert]

"And then along comes something better. But never the same." He won't ask what it felt like. He never does.

"I apologize for the way they stare. Hard not to notice someone like yourself around. I could put a little fear of god into them if it bothers you."

[goddamngrenades]

"They're less vocal about it than the last Shatterdome." All the recruits that knew him. knew THEM. It's- easier here. sure there are rumors but most of it is new. "It's alright. I'm just too pretty not to look at."

[tactical_alert]

A light scoff. But no comment otherwise. "I hope you're keeping track of where we are so you don't wander off and get lost again, Mr. Murray."

[goddamngrenades]

"If I get lost I'll just call you." He shrugs, light and easy and almost feeling it. Every day it's a little easier.

[tactical_alert]

"I'm hardly going to be your personal butler. Or GPS system." He makes a motion to the bustling room ahead of them. "Mess. Usually this busy, but god help you if you keep regular hours for this time zone; it's a madhouse."

[goddamngrenades]

"I haven't really kept regular hours since I signed on." Almost all of their drops had been at ass o clock in the morning. They got good at low vis high impact. "Do I smell bacon?"

[tactical_alert]

"Or something like it," he chuckles. "The food is edible. Sometimes it even passes for food."

[goddamngrenades]

"If you have actual cheese I might kiss you. Or the cook. Whoever's closer." How long since he had some that didn't come from a can? Jesus.

[tactical_alert]

"Go, fill your tray and your play to your stomach's content. I'll grab us a seat. Don't go overboard now."

[goddamngrenades]

"Thanks Mal." He pats Malcolm on the shoulder, a tentative, barely there thing before he settles in line. As much as the scars marked him for the recruits, the other pilots didn't give him trouble. In fact they pointed out what was good, what was awful. He returns to Mal's table with a glass of juice, an actual for real cheeseburger, and a salad.

[tactical_alert]

It's been some time since anyone's called him that. The more formal types just go with Reed, the students Mr. Reed. The few friends he has, Malcolm. Mal? Not for a while.

He nods approval at the choices made. "I'm sure you'll be melting into bliss in no time, hm?"

[goddamngrenades]

"You have no idea. I was lucky to get bread back in the other Shatterdome. Better food's reserved for recruits and actual pilots." Not ex pilots trying to recover. Or at least not ones that spent their nights at the bottom of the bottle.

[tactical_alert]

"Well, we aren't in Alaska of all places. Shipping food is easier. Stays fresher." A shrug. "A luck of location, really. We'll fatten you up in no time."

[goddamngrenades]

"You call'n me skinny?" He smirks around his burger before taking a bite and- oh god damn that is so good. His moan is nothing short of obscene.

[tactical_alert]

ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore the glancing eyes just cover your face and look at your notes

"Medical records indicate some weight loss. But if you'd rather keep that off, then we can work those calories and more off."

[goddamngrenades]

"I need the cushion. I'm gonna have bruises like you wouldn't believe from those hits to my ribs. Used to be able to shrug 'em off but I'm already feeling them." He manages once he's calmed down from the first bite. Though the moan isn't much more decent after the next bite.