big gay mercs help me sleep at night
Nov. 6th, 2005 04:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenWarning: These two are utter retards.
“Pickled things,” Gain said, gravely. “Are a crime against humanity.”
Reach looked up from the chopping board. He pointed with his knife. “Oh, wise words,” said he. “Coming from someone who never changes his own damn light bulbs.”
Gain looked up from where he was running a towel over his sword. He rested on the frame of an open door, sitting in the view of sunset over the beach. In the orange light, he was grinning. “Can’t all be giants.”
That garnered a flat expression. An expression that remained fixed even as Reach pulled another bunch of pickled roots in front of him and committed a neat, merciless decapitation. He was good at maintaining these things, after all. He was also good at sweeping the bushy heads off to the side. Only when he started to dice the shiny, wrinkled yellow bodies did he turn his attention back to the task at hand: which was reducing them to a nice, juicy pulp.
“Can’t all be in the position to poison your dinner, either,” said Reach, mildly.
“I’ll survive whatever you throw at me.”
“I have a knife?”
“…I have a sword?” …which Gain rested on its tip and spun by the hilt. The light bouncing off the naked blade flickered over the refrigerator, the counter, and Reach’s cheek. “I have a sword. I have Delphine—are you saying you’re leaving her for the kitchenware now?”
“…what.”
“You shouldn’t joke about these things. She might believe you. And then she will be heartbroken, and then I will be heartbroken, and then we’ll all be heartbroken and…” Gain’s eyes had taken on a certain gleam. “And you know…”
Reach closed his eye. “What. What do I know.”
“That knife will never be able to satisfy you.” And Gain leaned Delphine against the wall, catching the foot that inevitably came down at him a few inches above his left shoulder. He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Hel-lo.”
…and to Far Reach, it only figured that the guy would pretend not to know exactly why the next foot aimed for his head was absolutely, entirely deserved.
Dinner was late, and slightly overcooked, and they ended up spending the rest of the evening shaking sand out of their shirts.
“Pickled things,” Gain said, gravely. “Are a crime against humanity.”
Reach looked up from the chopping board. He pointed with his knife. “Oh, wise words,” said he. “Coming from someone who never changes his own damn light bulbs.”
Gain looked up from where he was running a towel over his sword. He rested on the frame of an open door, sitting in the view of sunset over the beach. In the orange light, he was grinning. “Can’t all be giants.”
That garnered a flat expression. An expression that remained fixed even as Reach pulled another bunch of pickled roots in front of him and committed a neat, merciless decapitation. He was good at maintaining these things, after all. He was also good at sweeping the bushy heads off to the side. Only when he started to dice the shiny, wrinkled yellow bodies did he turn his attention back to the task at hand: which was reducing them to a nice, juicy pulp.
“Can’t all be in the position to poison your dinner, either,” said Reach, mildly.
“I’ll survive whatever you throw at me.”
“I have a knife?”
“…I have a sword?” …which Gain rested on its tip and spun by the hilt. The light bouncing off the naked blade flickered over the refrigerator, the counter, and Reach’s cheek. “I have a sword. I have Delphine—are you saying you’re leaving her for the kitchenware now?”
“…what.”
“You shouldn’t joke about these things. She might believe you. And then she will be heartbroken, and then I will be heartbroken, and then we’ll all be heartbroken and…” Gain’s eyes had taken on a certain gleam. “And you know…”
Reach closed his eye. “What. What do I know.”
“That knife will never be able to satisfy you.” And Gain leaned Delphine against the wall, catching the foot that inevitably came down at him a few inches above his left shoulder. He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Hel-lo.”
…and to Far Reach, it only figured that the guy would pretend not to know exactly why the next foot aimed for his head was absolutely, entirely deserved.
Dinner was late, and slightly overcooked, and they ended up spending the rest of the evening shaking sand out of their shirts.
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Date: 2005-11-07 01:54 am (UTC)