goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"It is the weirdest not quite friendzone conversation I've ever had with someone. He's- protective and possessive. Dr. Church's program kinda fucked everyone in the Dome up and he's sorta made it his mission to fix me." He shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows to look over at Malcolm, brows raised.

"What. You're too good to sit? Seriously. Door's closed. No one's gonna see. I promise I don't have designs on your virtue."

"And what does the doctor have to say about that?" Because that doesn't sound...helpful.

He glowers some at the mocking. "I prefer to stand at the moment, thank you."

"That he should have his own appointments with his own therapist but- part of what fucked us all up is that there was a psychologist kind of cracking us all open to see how we worked over there. Kinda not a good idea to mention it." Oh good, glowering. Some kind of reaction.

"Right. Cuz keeping a professional distance is really gonna help us with this."

Malcolm just 'hm's at that. He's not a doctor of any kind, and he doesn't like seeing therapists for anything other than standard psych evals, so no judgement there.

"Right now it's helping me. Obviously I wouldn't choose to be like this if we tried to drift."

"Superior-subordinate dynamic. Awright, I can work with that." Pegging down how they'll work is more important than getting caught up in feeling whole again.

They're soldiers. There's a war that they need to win.

Anything else is kinda superfluous.

"Permission to get wasted, sir?" There's another flask around here somewhere.

"I'm not going to get drawn into another argument, Taylor, and so help me if you're hungover in the morning," he snaps crisply. This isn't...where he thought all this would be going, but then again, he has no idea where it's supposed to go. "I am not your superior. Knock it off."

"You outrank me." Till he's back in the pilot rig, he doesn't really HAVE a rank. And he's been fine with that, fell back into the familiarity of it with a comforting ease and it shouldn't bother him. He has to roll over and feel around under the bed to find his next flask, shirt hiking up on his ribs from how he's hanging, the edges of his scars a sharp reminder of how this all goes so wrong so quick.

"Then what are you, Mal? An instructor? A friend? I know exactly dick about you other than you're good at your job, like fruity drinks, and are a pretty sorry dancer without coaching."

"You know that isn't the point." They both know it. But fine, if York wants him to sit so badly, he'll bloody well sit. There. Happy now?

"Aren't we just going to find out the answers to all of our questions once we get in the drift? Assuming we can get in the drift. We'll know everything about each other inside and out."

"Flying blind sucks, no matter what's happening. Sigurd and Maine didn't know jack shit about each other before they drifted and they both seized hardcore for the first drift. Carolina and I have known each other for years-" he catches the elusive flask and rolls back over, staring at the ceiling.

"...had. Had known each other for years. Didn't get so much as a migraine."

"So you want this to be a bonding moment. Evening. A bonding evening. Put in a few years of getting to know each other in a few hours? Because if so, you'd better be sharing that flask."

"Or you can walk out now and tell the Marshall I'm unfit. Either way." He shrugs and salutes with the Flask, handing it over.

"It's not my call to make. That's between you and the doctor." He unscrews the flask and takes a swig from it, coughing briefly. Definitely the strong stuff. "Did you put bloody petrol in this thing?"

"What, you've never had jeager blood before?" He swings his legs over and props his elbows on his knees, brows lifted. "Last flask from Lockdown, right there."

"Then I'm extra glad I'm sharing this, because another one of these would knock you flat on your arse." He supposes there's no one else to share it with. Obviously. "There's plenty to Ranger culture I've only ever heard about."

"Have a few more, I"m ahead of the game." It twists something close to a smile out of him, that. "Well. What do you wanna know?"

Might as well indulge. He gets chattier and friendlier if he gets drunk, this much he knows. "Oh, am I to ask questions?" He wasn't the one bothered by how much or how little is known. "How does one even prepare to drift and literally give themselves over to someone?" There, that's an appropriate question.

"About Ranger Culture, but sure that's legit." SOmewhere to start- that's his problem most of the time. Talking about anything of real consequence needs him to have a springing off point but this'll work. "Well. Most people that aren't related have sex the day before. Make it literal. Some swap stories and just spill their guts to each other so there aren't any surprises. Carolina and I? We went dancing. Like- in ten different clubs. We danced till we were exhausted then drag ourselves to the next one, do a few shots, wait for a song we liked to come on, and dance all over again."

He blinks. "You're pulling my leg. Just go off and sleep with each other practically out of the blue?"

"You felt it, same as I did. Even kissed me back because it felt right. because we fit. Why's that so hard to imagine?"

"I suppose not..." It's not something he's ever considered before. He shakes his head. "I don't know where to start asking with anything about the culture. I live around Rangers, after all."

"ANything you've seen them do or hear them talk about that's particularly baffling?" He knows there's plenty, really, that he didn't get till he'd actually done a few drops.

"I always thought the communicating without actually communicating thing was strange, but that's just a side-effect of the drift."

"You learn to read postures. After you've been in someone's head a look is just about the same as saying something. The twins would have whole conversations with their eyebrows."

"Also growing up together as twins has its advantages," he points out. "Uh...okay, fine, tell me about jaeger blood."

"Unique to each Jaeger. Mechanics know about it but keep quiet since it's kind of a tradition now. There's a bit of piping that's just there as insulation between the fuel lines and the coolant system and the neural gel. You install a cache there and make a mash with- well whatever you and your partner like. You a bourbon man or a gin man? ANyway. You put that in the still and don't touch it till you've been through three drops. Take it out and sure a little of the coolant's probably gotten piped in and a little of the neural gel but it's good." He taps the empty flask already on the bed. "Kinda helps the ghost drifting along, probably. Some people even bleed into the canister before they install it."

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