goddamngrenades | Voicemail

Voicemail

You have reached the voice mail system of FOXTROT 12.

When you are finished recording, just hang up or press pound for more options.

To request a locksmith, press one.

To hear these options in Spanish, press dos.

To send a verbal confirmation of a written command, press three.

To send a written confirmation of a verbal command, press four.

For delivery options, press five.

To page this person, press six.

To locate your nearest operator, press seven.

To leave a call back number, press eight. 

To repeat this message, press nine.

Press zero for other options.

To mark this message as urgent, press eleven.

Thank you for calling, have a nice day.

BEEP

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Christmas hasn't been very much important in a long time, but it's...very nice that you're making it so. Figures someone like you would hold onto the details." The the Starfleet emblem on the arm.

As for family...it's true. He has to make a new one here, and the Freelancers and then some (well, a good many of them, at least) are just that. A new, extended family. He tries out the word. "Family." Yeah. That feels good. But there's still almost an anxious hesitation that comes from the fact that he'd still like to get home where he belongs, so much having happened in the past many months, and it shouldn't be so easy to just replace them.

It's not a replacement. He has to remember that. "A family Christmas together. Sounds too good to be true."

"We deserve something nice, you know?" For everything they're being put through. For everything they lived through back home. The Freelancers never had a chance before but this is...important. He keeps coming back to that. Because it'll always be relevant.

"Lockpicking is a detail oriented position. Kinda sticks with me in most of what I do." He tries to shrug it off, even if he's not so secretly pleased that Mal notices, that he's pleased by it. That he's agreeing to be part of their fucked up little family.

Then comes that phrase and oh no no- York's hand snaps out to cover Mal's mouth, muffling the last word. "Don't say that! If you say that SOMETHING will happen and now you've said it. Jesus."

He bats at York's hand, away from his mouth. "Oh, like it wasn't already cursed for being so nice in a place like this." But no, he probably shouldn't have said it. Oh well, it's out there now. "We'll have something nice if it--no, I shouldn't finish that phrase, either. How about I just keep my mouth shut entirely then?"

"We're doomed. If something happens it's your fault. You said the thing." He groans and scrubs his hands over his face. "Okay. Maybe we'll burn the roast and it'll be something small like that. Not. Big and weird and awful."

"York. Shut up. You're making it worse. How about we just go back to the moment where everything's wonderful and touching and a little bit floaty?"

"I hope you know how to cook a christmas pudding because I have no idea. The guy gave me the sack and told me to hang it and I thought he was fucking with me."

Malcolm shakes his head. "As far as I know, it's extremely English. Thankfully you have me around. Just leave it there for now, it'll be perfect until we get around to it." Pat pat on the shoulder, you poor sweet ~~summer~~ American child.

"Mal. It's a sack of food. How is that even- not even REGGIE did th-" He stops for a moment, eyes going wide as though a sudden revelation has passed. "....oh shit that's why he was pissed."

"Did you mess with someone's pudding? You don't mess with an Englishman's pudding, York. That's almost as bad as insulting the Queen."

"...I stole the bag he had hanging in his room and all of his tea and hid it." That's what you DID to get back at an asshole on the MOI. Ruin his day.

"And you made it out of that situation alive? I am shocked," he says with a laugh. "You're a piece of work sometimes."

"He STOLE my lockpicks and baked them into a loaf of bread! AND THEN SERVED THEM TO ME. You don't DO that."

"All right, correction: all of you are pieces of work."

"It was kind of part of the requirements." He snorts.

Malcolm waves it aside. "I'll teach you the ways of the pudding, and we'll manage to have an enormous meal fit for a house full of physically active guys. Might even have enough food to satisfy Carolina," he jibes.

"You say that like it's a joke, but with her metabolism jacked up by using the speed unit for so long? She eats more than me and North when she sits down and lets herself really go at it." Which isn't as often as she should, in his opinion. "I think I got the last of the ornaments and shit boxed up. I figure Christmas eve we set everything up, have dinner, sing a few carols, alls' good?"

"Believe me, I'm aware of how she can eat." He did get a ton of food the night before just for that reason. "I think that is the perfect eve we could have here. We'll teach Theta and Delta what to do for the holiday."

"Decorate the tree, watch christmas specials, stockings, dinner, do we explain santa to them or not?" They don't really need to but it feels like an important part of the traditions.

"I'm sure Delta's going to research everything he can. They might not need it."

"Good. I look terrible with a beard." Manly stubble is the limit of what he can handle.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Voicemail

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action

Day 131 - evening - action