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!

Comments

[tactical_alert]

Nope. Not yet. He's half thinking of just pouring it out, because why would you do this, but he'll just take a very cautious other sip before handing it over. Reluctantly."

[goddamngrenades]

York's fingers curl and brush against Malcolm's in a semi drunken fumble before he holds the flask. Lifts it up with a mumbled toast to Claire before taking a sip and wincing. "Ugh. Motoroil and gravel."

[tactical_alert]

"I suppose I'm lucky to just taste no memories yet." He frowns some, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. "And I suppose we're not going to drift tomorrow at this rate, are we. The next day suits me just as fine as any other day."

[goddamngrenades]

"If you really wanna hop in, I'm down." He shrugs and offers the flask back. "You are look'n at a heaping pile of 'nothing left to lose' here, Mal."

[tactical_alert]

"Of course we're going to do it. The problem is going to be you hungover as hell." Because he's already drunk now, and then he's going to drink more now. And god knows how much more he'll drink before the day is through. So Malcolm will take more. Because it's less for York.

[goddamngrenades]

"Pff. I am not gonna be hungover." he's drunk. Comfortably drunk. Not enough to be numb but just enough to not be so damn angry. It's a nice, fuzzy place to be. "This is the last flask. When that's done I'm gonna make coffee."

[tactical_alert]

"Uh-huh." Look who believes you. It's not him. "Maybe get some food in your system instead." When Malcolm next takes a sip, he spits it out in surprise, hopping to his feet. "What the hell--here, take it back; I'll start the damn coffee."

[goddamngrenades]

"What?" He fumbles a little trying to get the Flask back. "Wait- Mal what did you taste?"

[tactical_alert]

"I don't need to unexpectedly taste hotdogs while I'm drinking alcohol unless I'm eating a hotdog, thank you."

[goddamngrenades]

"Hotdo- oh. Post drop cookout." He snorts a laugh and leans back, taking a sip. "Mmm- yeah there it is. Hauled a grill out from fuck knows where while we waited for the helicopters to come get us after our first kill. Cooked up hotdogs right on the head of the jeager."

[tactical_alert]

"We're not putting a still in our jaeger. Or at least, I'm not drinking whatever comes out of it. That's...creepy."

[goddamngrenades]

"Killjoy." He takes another swig. "It's tradition. It's a taste of both of us in the non sexy way."

[tactical_alert]

"I can taste my own memories just fine, and I'm sure I'll be tasting yours soon enough."

[goddamngrenades]

"This is gonna be a blast, I can already tell." He mutters, wry and dry and just on this edge of bitter.

[tactical_alert]

"I'm sorry, but is there any particular reason why I would want to celebrate with the taste of motor oil and gravel and blood in my mouth? Does that sound like celebration to you?"

[goddamngrenades]

"Because you get past that and hit champagne, hotdogs, mint and lime and seasalt. Cuz you get through the shit stuff to the good stuff. Like life. Because it's not always gonna be sunshine and rainbows or have you missed the apocalypse kind of looming in our oceans?"

[tactical_alert]

"Didn't you say it ended on the taste of lube?"

[goddamngrenades]

"That's in the middle. Before the motor oil and after the chilis and chocolate. I was...sixteen? Seventeen. THat one's me."

[tactical_alert]

"I see. Well, this will all end in coffee, at any rate."

[goddamngrenades]

"You drink a lot of coffee? Woulda thought you to be a tea man."

[tactical_alert]

"I do drink coffee. And we're going to have coffee afterward. That's why it's ending in coffee." He says it slowly. Do you understand?

[goddamngrenades]

"Mal." He screws the top onto the flask- still half full and honestly, he doesn't need more. "I'm drunk. Use small words and steps of logic. Mkay?"

[tactical_alert]

"But not drunk enough to not be able to have a coherent conversation about memory-flavoured still booze. Okay then."

[goddamngrenades]

"s'a conversation I've had a lot with Delta. He didn't get it either." He shrugs and flops over onto his side, peering at Malcolm. "Not a lotta people do till they've done a drop or three. Till they drift and it takes."

[tactical_alert]

"Then I'll understand when we drift." A shrug of his shoulders while the pot is brewing. "Because then you won't need to say anything with words, because I'll have all of your thoughts and memories."