goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

He'd probably laugh at any other reasons. "It's a surprising offer. One that should definitely be tabled." For now. He sits up a little higher, a little, sort of, away from York. What if it's triggered by physicality, by being close? Then what? Then he'd want to kiss York and melt into him again, and that's just not going to do anybody any good.

"Motion to table the mutual hanjobs. Motion seconded." He settles back against the pillows, sipping on his coffee. "Motion stands. Won't be talk'n bout that for awhile. Instead I make a motion of discussing who the better bond babe is."

Really now, he doesn't have to make a bloody production out of it. Malcolm frowns a little at his food. "Hm. Plenty of bad in along with the good," he says distractedly.

"Should the better question be who ages better, Moneypenny or M?" Both have their merits.

His nose wrinkles, though he still does seem particularly interested in his food. "Is that a serious question? Miss Money, of course."

"...Yeah that's not much of a contest now is it?" He kicks his feet up, crossing them at the ankle while he stares at the screen. "You need more of anything? Got the bag to your left if you do."

"I see the bag, thank you." He lets a few moments of silence tick by. "Sorry," he suddenly apologizes, "I've made this...terribly awkward now. Sorry. I didn't mean to break our little...connected...not drifting...thing, the thing we had going."

"Ghost drift." A beat. "It's okay. Seriously- it's...sort of disconcerting for people not used to it. And it can be a little intense if you've never been there before. Overwhelming. So it's awright. Probably for the better that we not fall into that. It can make coming out of an actual drift difficult."

Which is never fun. The movie night goes pretty well from there on out. Dinner, movies, more popcorn till the night rolls into the dawn and he has to face the music of actually talking to his CO. Talking to his doctor. Getting suited up for the first test and waiting for the rig they're gonna get put in. A jeager still in construction but the ConnPod is finished. The suit's a little loose on him but it's been- well. Awhile. And the plating is different from the aqua and silver he had before but the tan's not that bad and the dark blue is kinda flattering.

So he suits up. Pulls on the helmet, steps into the rig- and waits.

Malcolm is slightly overcaffeinated. In a choice between showing up for something as important like this looking like he had no sleep or looking alert, he chose alert. Alert is always the better option when doing...anything, really. He's sure there's a bit of a crowd, unless Archer ordered required personnel only.

The last time he had truly suited up was the last time he'd stepped into a simulation, so it's both familiar and nervewracking. Remember to breathe, don't chase the rabbit, he's never been able to drift with anyone before, so he can only keep all the training and advice in mind without any practical experience.

"Ready?" Malcolm tries to look at ease when he follows in York's footsteps. Offers a hand to grip. "We might very well get to go monster hunting together someday when this is over."

York looks- well. Like he usually does. Present and aware and vaguely amused at everything in general. Delta's in the other room fretting over every little detail. Possibly as a way to apologize, he doesn't care. He's too busy trying to put himself through the breathing exercises he did the last time he first ran into this with Clair.

It's only half working.

The handshake helps. He squeezes Mal's for a second, remembering the lazy warmth from the night before. "If we don't crash and burn. Just- don't follow the rabbit, alright? Or- you know. Sex thoughts. Can't help it."

"I'll try." Despite running on--not fumes, but low power, powering through, he relaxes just a hair at the touch. "I've never actually successfully drifted with anyone, so...I'll try not to muck it up too badly."

He thinks he knows what he's doing, but York actually knows what he's doing. That this is the first time it might actually work has Malcolm's nerves working on overdrive, but add to that the fact that a third person's mind is going to be hovering in there with them...it could be a risk. But it's a risk he's going to take, damn it all.

He steps into the harnessing rig, feet planted, and it's a good thing they're not connected to an entire monstrosity, else he might be tempted to take it for a spin. Locked and loaded. All they need now is for the neural link to be made and boot them into a drift.

"Sometimes I wonder if there's anything else in your head other than pornography," he playfully accuses, trying to bring the overbearing tension down some.

"If something goes wrong, Mal, I promise it's not gonna be on your end." The liklihood of him chasing one of Carolina's rabbits- just so he can feel her again after all this time- that's the bigger risk. He just has to hope that the temptation, the reality of a live mind melding with his will be enough to quiet the part of him that clings to the ghost of her.

He's pretty sure it'll work out.

Eighty percent sure.

Okay that's being kind, fifty percent's more accurate.

"Porn and pizza recipes, man. And pop culture facts." He grins, waiting for the neural gel to start pumping.

"Pizza recipes? You didn't tell me you were a pizza wizard. We could've eaten some of that instead."

"If you two are done," cuts in the voice of the Marshal over the comm, wryly, "everything's green on this end."

A breath. Two breaths. Malcolm gives a thumbs up. "Ready, sir." Though he turns his head to York nevertheless. "I'm serious, make us some pizza next time. We'll celebrate today." But okay, now he's ready. Ready and serious and battleready and ready to go and. ready.

"Yessir Marshal Dad Sir." There's snickering on the other end of the line- York is probably buying himself trouble but hey, if it breaks the tension. He gives his own thumbs up and breathes through the slow glide of the damn neural gel filling up the helmet, coating his face. Jesus.

Okay. Just. breathe. Don't chase the rabbit. Breathe.

"Initiating in-" And of COURSE Delta's announcing this shit, like that'll put him in the best mindset. Oh well, nothing for it. Breathe. "Three. Two. One-"

He's him and he's not and he's HER and he's him? it's. A mashup of images. His shit he can pack away and ignore, he's used to that. Carolina's- half of him wants to bury himself in the memory of her arms and her laugh and her smile, in jogging, fighting, breathing, LIVING as her and he manages just barely to shove himself back into alighment just in time to tip headfirst into Malcolm.

God.

It's all- sound and sensation and precise, orderly lines of thought, a logical progression based not entirely on chronological progression but of subject and sentiment and it's- overwhelming in how fucking COMPLICATED he is. Clair had been easy, a soldier like him, a soldier like him. All adrenaline and faster harder stronger stand and hold and beat them down so we get another sunrise not- tactics. Movement. Calculation and velocity and he's staggered by the depth of it, flowing along for the ride.

It feels like the first drop of a rollercoaster, but...not, like dipping into a deep, deep ocean (from a great, great height), like--like he can't describe it in any way possible. One moment, he's him, in his own head, but next he's sliding sideways into a blur of what makes him up (memories thoughts feelings and part of him wants to fight but another part knows not to), whirlwinded about.

And then there's York. He's still in there, somewhere, but York takes the centre stage, laughter and lines of code and wires and locks, the warmth of a summer stroll and the warmth of Carolina in his-York's-their arms and the warmth of family and the warmth of life. He's warm. There's warmth, and it keeps him frown drowning, but...

But she's there, too. Another presence, despite being dead. Like a part that's missing and ripped away but also clinging on and a flash of red hair and a flash of turquoise and a flash of bright green eyes and she's tempting and distracting and Not York. She's Not York and she has a new set of memories that aren't him, blonde and military fatigues and an older man with a defeated look and seeing York from her eyes and a lighter and a club the music pumping pumping pumping just like with their club but it's her and it's him and it's--it's--

He feels like dancing away with them both. He feels like he's overheating. Don't chase. Don't chase her, don't chase anything about her let her go let her go. (But she's always there. Can't let her go. She feels so real even though she's far and away and gone.)

God the lighter. The dance. The click spark and flame that had him burning, hand them burning forever. The bass pumping and the vodka sweet and he's there and she's there and MALCOLM is there and they need to not. They can't get caught here so he pushes. Shoves. Drags Carolina back away and Mal to a different club. No lighter. Different music. The night before the night before that lead to the morning of. The mats. Fighting sparring pinning.

Kissing Malcolm and feeling like he's come home. Being kissed BACK and feeling like he's whole.

Like he can see again.

Like he can breathe.

He lingers there for a moment, phantom hands of Carolina curling in his curling in Malcolm's hair. Lips on his ear murmuring encouragement that he, she, they all hear before he draws himself back to the present. In the pod.

Someone with him. Breathing. Whole. He can see.

I'm good. Warm like sunshine, like laughter, like that first shot of bourbon. You with me, Mal?

No no no don't take her away it feels like compulsion have to find her have to keep her so she doesn't get taken away again but he doesn't even know her but is her is her partner is the partner of her partner and the lines are so blurred. Sees York kissing sees him kissing hears her? Processing all the everything. Can't process it all. Too much for one mind and that's why they have three.

Two. Why they have two. He thought he'd get caught up in York, or more terribly, maybe himself, but it's their backseat driver that has him dizzy. Think of something else. Think of doing lines at school think of combat training think of wind in sails on calm waters.

Malcolm? Out of alignment. One or both or all of them (two there's only two the ghost of her doesn't count as a third pilot) both of them are just off center and he streatches. Lines in school (not like how he did them what is this shit maths math doesn't have an s it's not a plural it's arithmatic and it's awesome-

combat training drills drills so many fucking drills and there's blood in his teeth but he's got this they've got this-

sailing is new.

Sailing he's got nothing for.

Wind and canvas and he settles here, staring up, staring out. FOr all that he fights in it all the damn time he never really- enjoyed the Ocean before. Ever. You with me?

She's with you. He's calming down, remembering what breathing is like. Feels the sea breeze on his face despite the helmet, memory sense. I'm...somewhere. Here. I think I'm here. Where 'here' really means is...unclear.

Us. She's with us. He reaches out to find Mal's shoulder in and out of the memory. Squeezes it and there's some chatter over the comm that he's ignoring. They got this. They can do this. Open your eyes, man. Need you in the pod with me.

This is nicer. And it is, even if other memories and thoughts filter by, it's still a day his father let him steer the boat, feel like a little sea captain, before things went sour.

But the others need him. The Marshal needs him.

Taylor needs him. He shifts. Fades. There is a momentary sensation of falling. Lets go of the sunlight and lets York's warmth back in.

His eyes flutter open. There's a moment of near panic, maybe this is another memory, maybe he's York and when he turns his head there she'll be--

It's York.

Did we pass?

Yeah, it is. But we can't screw around. Got work to do. Even if he wants to linger. To ask more about school, about the ship, about everything. About how it feels to be on the ocean and not terrified or fighting.

To have it be something peaceful and wonderful.

It's binary. We either drift or we don't. He gives Mal a thumbs up, hand dropping away from his shoulder. Neural handshake complete. We're drifting. So. We passed. Lucky you.

He can feel York like a pleasant, welcome tingle down the right side of his body, can vaguely feel York's movements like his own but not in a way that's--

Okay, yes it's distracting, and yet it feels natural. Like he's been missing this part of himself since he was born.

You don't get to name our jaeger.

Bullshit I don't get to name it, I got seniority! He smirks and he feels it like he feels that little hook of Clair's smile- like that tiny slash of Malcolm's sarcastic grins.

You'll name it something ridiculous like Pizza Lord. You owe me pizza. You owe the base pizza. Don't think I didn't see those recipes.

Is he hyperfocusing? Maybe a little bit. Something to ground him, tether him.

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