goddamngrenades | Voicemail

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what kind of friend?

He moves away enough to grab the bread of the counter, muttering a little "okay?" as he watches to make sure York's well-balanced, before going to the fridge to get the ham as well.

"The occasion?" He works on assembling the sandwich on a plate as he answers. "Well... Victor told me I ought to visit Wrath in the hospital. I'm going to be promoted to her rank soon so we'll be peers. It wasn't really an order but..." He inclines his head with a half-shrug. "Anyway, she's bored and sick of hospital food and likes pie." After this he glances at York with something that might be a faintly sheepish smile.

he's a newer immune addition here. you're gonna have to be more specific if you want friendship deets.

[Deets she may or may not give right now.]

He anyone you can take if you get the jump on him?

A few moments are taken to stabilize himself without the warm solid anchor that North provides and after a little swaying, he manages. Ten points to York, zero points to gravity. Suck it, gravity.

"...You're baking the woman that ran you over with her hovercycle pie. The woman that yelled "aroo motherfuckers" and "toot toot here comes the pain train" and cut off Malcolm's leg. The one that destroyed my kidney and part of my liver. You are making her pie." Just. He's trying to wrap his head around that.

That and the way North is holding himself. And the way he's smiling. He leans in a little closer, eyes narrowed. "...you think she's cute, don't you?"

if i need to, maybe. i'll let you know if anything starts getting weird. i've hidden a gun in the kitchen and a knife in the bathroom just in case.

"She's..." He kind of struggles for words for a moment, which is strange, for him. "Well, she's a lot different than that when she's not working." He finishes putting York's sandwich together and slides the plate over. "You want a pickle or something with that?"

"You think she's super cute." A beat. "North you're fucking adorable. Go with god, my friend, and tap that crazy."

Don't forget the tazer under the coffee table.

He shakes his head, a slow grin breaking out on his face despite himself. "That's where you go," he says. "I just met her yesterday."

"So? You don't grin like that over 'oh she seems pretty nice'." He knows that smile. He's SMILED that smile.

"We'll see how things go," he says, putting away the bread and the ham. "She's kind of bedridden right now, you know, and in traction, and all."

"Yeeeeeeah. Clair kinda kicked her out the window while you were out cold." It was kind of epic except for the part where he got stabbed.

"Yeah, I heard about it at some point." He leans back against the counter. "The last week is kind of a blur now."

"And now you're gonna blur her week. month. However long. Way to go!"

He laughs. "Man, I don't even know what that was supposed to mean."

That was my basic understanding of it, yeah.

[Maybe not Jack's basic understanding of the ground between them, that his role would be closer to 'client' than anything in this proposed exchange. But it's fine, just flirty nonsense, and he leaves the spoon in his mouth to dig out his tablet and set it up on their lap.]

"It means make with the pelvic sorcery!" He makes a vaguely obscene hip thrust. "You know. Rock her world?"

...I think I'd remember dancing for you.

[ He tucks his chin over Jack's shoulder, nosing up against his jaw. No real intent, just cozy and warm and idly affectionate. ]

"York." He goes and lays a hand on York's shoulder, bumping up beside him. "Calm yourself. You know I take my time."

Well, it's a pretty theoretical understanding.

[Jack gives an abashed laugh, pulling up his complete series recording of Ghost Wolves. Ah, animated childhood nostalgia.]

Always was more of a club kid. I get jealous if I don't get to do some dancing too.

Let's hit a club up, you and me when I'm better. Dance and give some people a show.

[ oh sweet cartoons, cuddles, and ice cream. Best sit in date ever. ]

"You enjoy the journey." He's gotta appreciate that. "Woo her proper."

"If it goes that way." He's not one to count his chickens.

Of course, he is about to go to her room and feed her pie. Bite by bite. That kind of treads the line between friendly and sexy.

The oven beeps and he pats York's shoulder before turning to get the potholders.

"I think it might. Am I gonna have to rework the soundproofing on your room?" Cuz he will. In a heartbeat.

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