Limelight IC Inbox

[themightybosstone]

Hey, drop me a line.

[Text] [Action] [Voice] [Video]

Comments

Re: 214, late afternoon

[themightybosstone]

[Pulls it off and - yeah the pants go too when he sees the stains.]

Re: 214, late afternoon

[demonicdomestic]

[Takes the shirt. And the pants. And just gives the

elephant

in the room the most deadpan, hard-done-by stare, before looking back up to Brocade's face.]

Shower first, or I'll be cleaning bloodstains twice.

Re: 214, late afternoon

[themightybosstone]

Yeah yeah. I was headin' there.

[Tromps on by, offending weapon removed from the area. You have some peaceful time alone while the shower turns on.]

Re: 214, late afternoon

[demonicdomestic]

[He's getting far too much practice with tears and bloodstains. Even clothing the size of Brocade's doesn't take that long anymore.

Restored and neatly folded, he leaves the garments and gets up to collect some things from the kitchen.]

Re: 214, late afternoon

[themightybosstone]

[Cade comes back a ways later, towel around his neck, ears scraggly from the water. Different pair of clothes, at least.]

Hey, thanks for that.

Re: 214, late afternoon

[demonicdomestic]

[He nods, acknowledging that without any of their typical banter.]

How are you feeling?

Re: 214, late afternoon

[themightybosstone]

Better. Feeling-

I dunno. More stable now, I guess.

[He flops onto the couch.]

Re: 214, late afternoon

[demonicdomestic]

I'm glad to hear it.

[There's the soft clinks of glassware and liquid from the kitchen, and he comes back with a glass filled with a single finger of clear liquid.]

Here. It will take the edge off.

Re: 214, late afternoon

[themightybosstone]

Ah, SHIT YEAH.

[THAT'S WHAT HE NEEDS. JUST FUCKING DOWNS THAT]

Re: 214, late afternoon

[demonicdomestic]

[Instead of the burn of alcohol, or even the crisp nothing of water, the liquid in the glass tastes like Sentucky Fried Chicken, flavoured lightly with explanations that both do and do not make any sense at all.

Satin, meanwhile, takes a seat.]

[themightybosstone]

...



.........

Satin.

Satin, that wasn't vodka.

[demonicdomestic]

No.

[themightybosstone]

Satin. That wasn't vodka.

[demonicdomestic]

No, it wasn't.

[themightybosstone]

[Tries again.]

It wasn't vodka.

[demonicdomestic]

It was not.

[themightybosstone]

It wasn't vodka.

[demonicdomestic]

It was not vodka.

[themightybosstone]

IT WASN'T VODKA!!!

[demonicdomestic]

Not at all.

[themightybosstone]

[WHIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS]

[demonicdomestic]

Would you like some vodka?

[themightybosstone]

YES!!

[demonicdomestic]

I'll get you some vodka.

[Gets up again, returning to the kitchen. There's another shuffle of things in cupboards (as he retrieves the bottle stashed down with the cleaning supplies), and the relieving sharp tang of alcohol in the air.

The glass he brings back and puts down has another finger of crystal-clear liquid in it.]

[themightybosstone]

[He just KNOCKS THAT BACK, please AND thank you.]

ooohhhkay. Yep. Perfect.

Good.

That's better.