bakerstreet | get your rng on.

get your rng on.

THE RANDOM SCENARIO MEME 3.0

- Post your character, name, and series in the subject. Include any preferences as well.
- Go to RNG and enter 1-6 for a scene type, and 1-20 for a scene to play out.

TYPE OF SCENE.
① Action → Gun fights, bar brawls, fights to the death are all possible scenarios.
② Angst → Characters suffer emotionally or physically from relationships breaking up, death, injury, etc. Hurt and comfort themes are included.
③ Crack → Genderswaps, super powers, sudden compulsions are all possible outcomes.
④ Fluff → Something that is devoid of angst. It's light-hearted and might have the overtone of romance.
⑤ Gen → General fun, things that didn't fit in the other categories.
⑥ Sex → First times, kinks, even dubcon are all possible themes of sex related scenarios.
⑦ Your choice → Think of your own scenario, choose one of the above or make a combo even!

ACTION.
① Zombies → It's the zombie apocalypse, lock and load!
② Bar brawl → You had one too many drinks, said something wrong, and now you're being asked to take it outside.
③ Chase → You're caught in a high speed chase.
④ Gun fight → You're caught in a big shoot-out.
⑤ Fight with a friend → You're fighting with a friend, all out.
⑥ Interrogation → You're being interrogated for some offense you've done.
⑦ Aliens → Aliens are attacking and you're not going to take your probe laying down!
⑧ Final battle → This is it. The battle that will end all the fighting for you. Will you win? Will you get that peace you want?
⑨ Training → You're not actually fighting, just training for the inevitable.
⑩ No hope → You know this fight has no hope. It's not going to end well for anyone involved, but you can't turn away.
⑪ Sneaking in → You're stealing a diamond or sneaking in to kick some bad guy butt, but whatever it is, you have to practice stealth.
⑫ Blue wire → You're faced with a bomb that needs to be disarmed.
⑬ Fight for honor → You've been disgraced or someone you care about has, so it's time to fight for honour.
⑭ Showdown → Time for a cowboy-style showdown. Whoever draws the fastest wins.
⑮ War → You're caught in the middle of a war here. Remember to keep your chin up and keeping fighting.
⑯ Apocalypse → The apocalypse finally happened and now you're left to scavenge and fight for whatever is left.
⑰ Sabotage → It's time to sabotage someone's plan! How is entirely up to you. Do you set up a bomb in their toilet? Do you double cross them at the last minute?
⑱ Big damn hero → You know you have to handle this one alone, so that means disarming or knocking unconscious the person who wants to join you.
⑲ Fight club → You know the rules... you're in an underground fighting ring and you're fighting with all you've got.
⑳ Threaten → You've just been sent here to rough them up a little, threaten them into behaving.

ANGST.
① Injury / illness → Your character has become injured or ill! To what extent is the mun's choice.
② Last moments → You character has been gravely injured and this is their last chance to say their last words.
③ Depression → Your character is depressed, what actions they take is up to the mun.
④ Betrayed → You character has been betrayed by the other. How do they react?
⑤ Tortured → Your character is being tortured and needs rescuing or at least a sympathetic ear to help him through it.
⑥ Jealousy → Your character is feeling jealous and must deal with it, how will they do it?
⑦ Breakup! → This relationship has gone as far as it can, it's time to breakup.
⑧ Broken → For whatever reason, the character is broken, mentally or or physically.
⑨ Fight → You can't even be in the same room as your friend or lover without arguing anymore.
⑩ Lost → You lost the biggest fight of your life and now all you can do is try to pick up the pieces.
⑪ Worst nightmare → Whatever you fear the most is now real or maybe you're just trapped in a dream together, but whatever it is, it feels too real.
⑫ Addicted → You're addicted to something, alcohol, drugs, sex, whatever. It's destroying your life and you can't do anything to stop it.
⑬ Hurt you → You're being forced to hurt someone you love either by betraying them or even being forced to shout things you don't mean. It's for their own good in the end though.
⑭ Separation → You were forced to leave this person for their own safety and while you've been miserable without them, you really didn't mean to run into them again... maybe it was by accident or you were watching them from afar this whole time.
⑮ Becoming a monster → You are slowly changing, becoming a monster: vampire, zombie, demon, something you can't recover from and no-one can help you.
⑯ Frozen → You are entirely helpless, frozen, to stop some kind of disaster.
⑰ Prison → You were very bad and now it's time to pay the price by turning yourself in or maybe the law just finally caught up to you.
⑱ Fear → You're not sure why, but you are suddenly terrified and you can't deal with it. You need help.
⑲ Hated → You are now hated by the person you loved the most.
⑳ Down and out → You're living on the streets, you've hit rock bottom, and you don't know what to do.

CRACK.
① Sexswap → Uh-oh, you're suddenly the opposite sex!
② Forced confessions → No matter what it is and no matter how hard you resist, you're going to be compelled to spill some deep dark secret!
③ Mind-reading → You've suddenly got the ability to read minds!
④ Animal → You're suddenly part animal or transformed into an animal!
⑤ Awkward pick-up lines → You're compelled to use bad pickup lines on whoever is closest!
⑥ Back in School / Graduated → You're suddenly back in school! Or if you were already in it, you've aged and long since graduated!
⑦ Vampires, werewolves, and zombies, oh my! → You're suddenly a vampire, werewolf, or zombie! Maybe even a demon or a devil, whatever creepy crawly you can think of. What do you do now?
⑧ Ghost → You're suddenly a ghost or at least invisible. What are you going to do with this new ability?
⑨ Awkward conversations → So did you just fart or what? Any conversation goes, as long as it's embarrassing and awkward.
⑩ Crossdressing → For whatever reason, you're suddenly dressed in clothes of the opposite sex.
⑪ Suddenly naked → Oops! Your clothes are suddenly gone.
⑫ Suddenly a kid → You're a kid again! Have fun with that second childhood.
⑬ Fortune cookie → You've suddenly received a note with something that will happen in the future, either precise or vague.
⑭ Super power → And suddenly you're like Superman! Any power goes.
⑮ Bodyswap → Somehow you've changed bodies with the other person.
⑯ Back in time → Somehow, you wound up in the past again. Do you try to correct something or just sit and wait for time to jump? Maybe it jumps to various points in your life or maybe you actually think you're back in the day. Have fun, run wild with the idea!
⑰ To the future → Is it everything you've dreamed? Is it horrible? Whatever happens, you're here to witness what happens to you in the future. Either you take the place of your future self or you're just there to watch. Might cause some confusion if people start seeing double though...
⑱ Angels, mermaids, and fairies! → You're not necessary something dark or evil. You're just something different. How do you deal?
⑲ Locked in a closet → For some reason, you're locked up in a closet with someone else. Do you make nice and try to figure your way out or what?
⑳ Finger trap → You're caught in a Chinese finger trap... with somebody else! You can't figure out how to get loose either... have fun with that.

FLUFF.
① Cuddling → For whatever reason, characters feel like being close and cuddling.
② Pillow talk → After the main event, characters are up for some pillow talk.
③ Celebration → Anniversary or some other big event is taking place and characters want to celebrate!
④ Love confession → Someone has finally decided to confess their love and today is the day!
⑤ Appreciation → You feel the need to show appreciation for that person closest to you, even if it's just a pat on the back.
⑥ Apologies → You made a mistake and now it's time to make it up in some way you know the other can't refuse!
⑦ Get back together → Why did you break up again exactly? Whatever the reason, it was a huge mistake and you both know you can work through it.
⑧ Date night → You've planned for a wonderful night together and you can't wait to get it started.
⑨ Family → You've either found out you're pregnant or you've already got that addition to your family.
⑩ Marriage → You're just about to get hitched or maybe you're enjoying your honeymoon. Maybe you've been together for years now! Whatever the case, it's time for that next big step.
⑪ Meeting again → It's time for that happy reunion finally!
⑫ Love at first sight → For whatever reason, you are now insanely in love with the first person you set eyes on.
⑬ Flirtation → You can't resist to do a little bit of harmless flirtation all of a sudden.
⑭ In the snow → Look outside! It's a winter wonderland, so why not go out and play in it?
⑮ Engagement → You've planned it all out and now it's time to finally pop the question.
⑯ Friendly games → You've set up the game station or board games for a friendly competition!
⑰ Gift → Time to give that special someone a gift just because.
⑱ Recovery → You're taking care of someone who's just recovered from some illness or injury.
⑲ Healing → Time to help mend that someone who's been through hell and back.
⑳ Better than ever → You've finally got everything you've ever wanted here. What is your ideal life and who does it include?

GEN.
① Nice meeting you → It's your first time meeting this person! You bumped into each other on the street, in a bar, at work... whatever!
② Drinks → You're out for drinks! Or just chilling at home with some beers. Wherever!
③ Lost → You're lost and you kind of need help finding your way to where you're going. A little help with directions?
④ Costume party → You're at a costume party, both of you are wearing masks. Do you keep the anonymity or take it off and see whose company you've been enjoying?
⑤ Wrong number → Oops, actually you didn't mean to call that person...
⑥ Drunk → You're already drunk! Drunk dialing, stumbling into someone, showing up unexpected... what type of drunk are you anyway? Aggressive, loving, happy? How does the other react?
⑦ Old friends → you haven't seen this person in a long time!
⑧ Rivals → you're suddenly rivals! Or maybe you have been all along...
⑨ Problems → you've got a problem with each other, just got in a huge fight, whatever. Try to work it out!
⑩ What are your intentions... → This person? They're dating a close friend, family member, etc. You need to find out if they're going to hurt them! Or you need to discuss your friend/family's dating choice.
⑪ I saw you → you saw the other person doing something bad and you need to confront them about it.
⑫ Sorry but no → the other person has feelings that you just don't share. They don't necessarily have to be romantic... maybe you just don't agree with their sudden desire to quit their job and start a business making tiny, fuzzy teddy bears.
⑬ My hero → you need to tell this person how much they mean to you. They've been your best friend or your role model your whole life and they need to know.
⑭ Enabler → you're enabling the other (or each other) to do something bad, really bad. Addiction, stealing, killing, or just any other self-destructive behavior.
⑮ Cooking → Time for an impromptu cooking lesson!
⑯ Oh, sure, I remember you... → It's that awkward moment when someone comes up and seems to know you, but you have no idea who they even are!
⑰ Rescue! → One of you was in trouble, but you came to the rescue!
⑱ Boss → One of you works under the other. Is your relationship good? Are you scheming things? Or do you hate each other?
⑲ Perfect crime → You and the other person have just pulled off the perfect crime... or you're planning to! What are you doing? The heist of the century, an assassination?
⑳ Movies → movie night! Maybe it's a sleepover. Whichever the case, it's time to eat a lot and have fun.

SEX.
① First time → it's your first time together or your first time ever! Enjoy the awkward times!
② Bondage → You and your partner decide to experiment a little with ropes or handcuffs or whatever you'd like to tie your partner up with.
③ Rough / Aggressive → Your characters want it rough.
④ Romantic → Slow and gentle, meaningful, that's how characters want it.
⑤ Dubcon → Character A wants Character B and it doesn't really matter if Character B wants it as bad or not.
⑥ In public → Characters feel like taking a risk and doing it in a public place.
⑦ Roleplay → Naughty nurse fetish? Pirate kink? You and your partner decide to try it out now!
⑧ Healing → You've both fought hard or gone through a rough time and it's time to get some R&R in.
⑨ Last time → This is the last time you're going to this because you're breaking up or maybe your lover is running off to sacrifice their lives in some heroic way. The possibilities are endless, but you better make this one count.
⑩ No strings attached → You're just friends with benefits. Nothing wrong with that, right?
⑪ Anonymous → You met in a restroom or bar, any location of your choosing, but you don't even know each other's names.
⑫ Toys → You're eager to try something new, so why not toys?
⑬ Aphrodisiacs → You've been slipped a strong aphrodisiac somehow and now you absolutely cannot control yourself.
⑭ Show → You're putting on a show by either doing it right in the club or filming it for a bunch of people.
⑮ Ménage à trois → It's time for that threesome you've always dreamed of.
⑯ Non-penetrative → Frottage, handjobs, whatever you want to try out.
⑰ Controlled → You are under mind control and must do whatever your lover asks of you.
⑱ Hate sex → It's not just rough or aggressive, you absolutely cannot stand each other.
⑲ Extreme → Fisting, knife play, whatever you can think of so long as it tests the boundaries.
⑳ Fantasy → This is just a fantasy, a dream, and you know it, but what is your ideal fantasy and how willing is your partner?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( no smut please. otherwise ota. )

[hey there! i rolled 2/11 ('worst nightmare'), unsure if you're open to cross-canon with this sweaty detective? i'm completely fine with rerolling if another option is more appealing, also.]

[ Hello! I'm good with pretty much anything honestly. If you like to write a starter for that, that works for me, too. I'm canonblind on your character but that doesn't honestly bother me as long as you give me enough to work with. C: Let's do it? ]

[Of course, not a problem! I threw together a quick permissions post with some basic info, and I'll try to provide as many other things as you'll need in Will's narration. Feel free to PM with specific questions if you'd like! (Will has been suffering from hallucinations, intense nightmares, and sleepwalking due to an (undiagnosed) encephalitis infection. I'll leave it entirely up to you whether or not brain inflammation is something that Xavier can sense.)

Also clearly this took me a while; I'm finishing up my semester but that doesn't mean my general thirst for RP has diminished, so I come bearing a belated starter:]

The sleep walking isn't the worst of it. It only makes everything else even less convenient.

This time he wasn't at home in Georgia, either. Will was at a motel, the kind with doors open immediately to the outside that lock with actual keys instead of cards. For him, that's not a threat about getting robbed - it just makes it easier for him to wander out of bed and out into the road.

Which is, evidently, exactly what he'd done. Possibly he drove? When Will jerks awake, aware for the first time in what feels like hours but already standing upright, he's in the middle of a lawn. Well-kept grass stretches in every direction around him, a tall and sprawling mansion several hundred yards to his left. There's a pond dipped down to his right, making him momentarily thankful he avoided waking up in it.

His feet are bare and wet on the grass, frost melting away in his footprints. He can trace his route back to a line of hedges behind him, but he has no recollection of what might be beyond his line of sight. His car, hopefully. In one piece, preferably.

His hands are already grabbing his upper arms, huddling forward, his t-shirt like wearing nothing at all in the black chill of a November night. Feverish and freezing, Will grits his teeth and turns back in the direction of his footprints, the last cobwebs of his nightmare still catching at his skin and hair as he moves.

[ Thank you! I might do that later. C: I'll also be dreadfully slow until Christmas. I hope you don't mind slow tags. So much to do. D: ]

Charles is aware of the minds of his students. He's aware of his teachers. He's even aware of the usual people hanging around on his lot. They're a familiar backdrop to his everyday routines, their murmuring thoughts a harmony that is both familiar and comforting. He notices when a new voice joins the chorus because the harmony is broken instantly. It doesn't mean the mind is necessarily troubled or out of place, just that it's a new one.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to this sensation of unfamiliar consciousness, even if a blurry one, and once he focuses on this new voice, he understands why the man sounds, in the lack of a better description, unfocused. He's sleeping. Sleepwalking to be exact.

The night is chilly and Charles doesn't feel like waking up Hank to do his bidding; he draws on a cardigan, a blanket over his feet and wheels himself out of his room quietly, down the stairs on a lift Hank installed and then out and down a ramp that is quite steep. Hank would frown at him for being out here alone, especially in places where he could trip and hit his head. Charles thinks it's nonsense.

The garden paths aren't the best for wheelchairs and definitely not when they're covered in snow, but he'll manage. He comes to a halt a little ways from the man who is already walking away.

"Please, do come inside. We can get you warm and call you a cab. The road back is going to be long in your current state."

Edited 2016-12-07 18:32 (UTC)

[ Any preferences on something or just go with RNG? ]

[ i'm not really feeling any of the sex options right now (unless you don't mind ftb but i think that kind of defeats the purpose haha), but other than that, i'm up for anything! ]

Edited 2016-11-24 00:30 (UTC)

[ I don't mind skipping sex options if you're not feeling it. We could do something fluffy if you still want to do ship stuff or we could try action-y? ]

[ thanks for understanding! i am 100% down for fluff or action, i do ship them. :) so just go with whichever you're in the mood for. if you want me to roll/start, i can do that too, just lmk! ]

Edited 2016-11-24 00:49 (UTC)

[ If you've got something you want to do, let's go for it. I'm not picky at all. ]

[ okay! i just rolled, it's 4 - 18. let me know if you need me to tweak anything! ]

So maybe what he'd told Derek had been an exaggeration-- that coming back from the grave took something out of him, that he wasn't entirely back at full strength yet-- but it didn't mean it was entirely false. There was a reason why Peter preferred the sidelines whenever possible nowadays, rather than taking the lead. Less chance of injury, for one. Besides, he was practically doing everyone a favour. Peter knew few of them trusted him at their backs, and the feeling was mostly mutual.

It also left him in the position to move around unrestricted while everyone else was off licking their wounds. But rather than let live today, he had a very specific target in mind. A very much human, very much brittle target, still recovering from getting caught up in the affairs of the supernatural by the name of Christopher Argent.

He showed up when they wouldn't be interrupted at Chris's front door, going through the motions of polite society-- knocking, and then promptly picking his lock and letting himself in. Chris ought to be taking it easy, anyway. (Not that Peter expected that to actually be happening.) Heading towards where the sound of Argent's heartbeat was the loudest, Peter called out, "Should I say I've come in peace before you shoot me for breaking and entering?"

The .45 was in his hand the second Chris heard the door open. He wasn't expecting anyone. Everyone had someone else to go home to. He did not. He sat in his office working out the details of another case while drinking scotch and taking it somewhat easy on his bruised ribs. Bruised whole body was more like it. That's what the scotch helped with.

When he heard Peter's voice for a second he contemplated keeping the gun but he put it down on the desk so the wolf would know if he wanted to try anything it would be a fight.

"What do you want?" he asked, getting up with a slight wince in his voice. He wasn't expecting Peter to show up. If he wanted sex Chris was going to disappoint him because there was no way his body could take that on top of the fight earlier in the evening.

Peter strolled into the office, more at home than anyone who faced a very real possibility of being shot (and likely with a wolfsbane bullet) ought to be. He was holding a fruit basket, which he set on the desk. Right next to the gun, the wicker nudging the barrel of it with a faint scratching noise. The sharpness of the citrus almost hid the scent of pain and alcohol, but not entirely.

"I'm performing a welfare check," Peter said, leaning on the edge of the desk opposite from Chris. "Making sure you haven't succumbed to your injuries and whatnot."

A welfare check no one asked him to make, but here was Peter nonetheless. Maybe he just liked making Chris uncomfortable-- emphasising how vulnerable he was while injured. Either way, a tryst wasn't exactly on his mind, not with Chris's condition. There was no greater blow to the ego than having someone pass out on you from pain mid coitus.

There was something about Peter checking on him that was more disconcerting than if the wolf flat out admitted he was here to kill him. It was... kind which was something Chris didn't expect from Peter. Ever.

He laid his hand on the gun and moved it away from the basket, somewhat annoyed at the sight of the overside ridiculous bundle of fruits. There were things he actually liked in there like grapefruit and pears. He had those in his kitchen right now. They weren't quite the size of these ones but still. Had Peter noticed that the last time he was over? Was this deliberate?

"I'm fine," he said stubbornly. "Melissa said it's only bruised ribs and minor sprains."

Along with numerous cuts, scrapes and more bruises. He really was too old to get thrown around by the supernatural but what else was he to do? Hunting was all he knew, all that gave him purpose. He wasn't going to give it up.

Peter noticed a lot of things.

Either way, a gift ought to be accepted with good grace, particularly a get well gift. Chris should eat more fruit either way. Vitamin C's supposed to be an excellent immune system booster, and, well. He wasn't getting any younger. Shouldn't he be watching his health?

Closing his eyes, Peter tipped his head, the faint flare of his nostrils the only other giveaway to what he was doing. “Regardless,” he said, rounding the desk to come to a halt beside Chris, a little too close to follow the concept of personal space, “You seem to be in pain. Always pushing yourself, aren't you? What are you trying to prove?”

Was he trying to atone for what Kate had done? What Gerard had done?

Fingers trailing over the smooth oak, Peter lifted it with deliberate slowness, nails blunt and harmless. With an uncanny precision, it shot forward a second later, Peter pressing his hand to Chris's side, hard enough to hurt even without prior bruising. “You should take it easy.”

There was nothing that could atone for the crimes his sister and father had committed.

"Fuck, Peter, what are you doing?" He grabbed Peter's wrist even as he curved his body away from the sudden rush of pain that radiated out from his side through the rest of his body. "If you're do damned worried about my pain why the hell are you causing more?"

He couldn't understand him. They had sex, they fought, and sometimes their interests were the same but they weren't friends. Concern like this couldn't actually be concern. Peter was playing with him like some sort of cat with a mouse.

Chris studied him closely, trying to figure out what he was hiding. He couldn't read anything in his expression. Peter was a master at hiding his emotions. Chris almost wished he had the heightened sense of smell just to figure out what Peter was feeling. It would've give him his thoughts but it would be a start.

"I'm demonstrating my point," Peter said coolly, hand now lax and harmless in Chris's grasp.

Of course he was playing with him, but to what end? Certainly to say that he cared about Chris would be stretching the point. However, there was no denying that he wanted something from him, and it was best given when Chris was in peak condition rather than fatigued and downtrodden.

Turning his wrist but not yanking it away, Peter ran his fingertips along the underside of Chris's wrist, tracing his pulse. "Look at you. You're worn down right to the bone. I could kill you so easily right now, if I wanted to."

His control was a fine edge, the razor sharp prick of a single claw popped out against tender human skin. He was smiling, a terribly benign thing that belied his words. "But fortunately for you, it's to my best interests to keep you alive." For now, for however long. "Go lie down."

'Before I make you', implied.

Chris had a feeling in the back of his mind that Peter did eventually want to kill him. Peter probably wanted to kill all the Argents that still remained alive. The only reason Chris got to live was because he was useful for whatever Peter's purposes were right now. He was familiar enough with how the wolf operated to know that much.

"I'm working on something," he said calmly, as if Peter's actions and words didn't unsettle him just a little bit. He clearly heard the threat behind the words but it really rankled his pride to give in so easily. There was no way for him to fight back against Peter if he got physical, well, no way for him to do so without hurting himself more.

Still, he could play this game. "I'm going to take it with me." Chris let go of his wrist and began to collect his files and research notes. He could work and lie down at the same time. Maybe that would appease whatever was going on in Peter's mind right now.

Whatever Peter's plans were, he kept them close to his chest. Two can keep a secret, but only if one of them is dead, and all.

But he shouldn't be so down on his own abilities. Chris had a fair shot of him were he to take advantage of the element of surprise. Those rare moments when Peter's guard dropped, however briefly. He might not have teeth and claws, but Chris should know that physical strength was nothing when improperly applied. Tactics were important too.

Enough of that. Wrist returned, Peter grabbed one of the fruit from the arrangement, watching Chris gather his things. He peeled the skin neatly, no claws necessary. The blood orange's insides were tender as he popped a slice into his mouth, juice bursting on his tongue. It wasn't until after he was done with it that he said, "Shall I help you?"

He was tired and in pain. His thinking wasn't perfectly clear. That was probably why he let Peter push him around so easily. He gave the wolf too much power over him too often. Chris would have to change that when he felt better.

"You want to help me?" Chris asked the question with some serious skepticism. There was no point in time that he could remember Peter actually offering to help him without anything to gain even if it was just sex. The hunt wasn't for a werewolf but a wendigo in Minnesota. The local hunter hadn't seen one in the area in years and had sent everything to Chris for his opinion on what brought one out. "Why?"

He tucked the files and notes under his arm, his ribs protesting slightly. He ignored it and picked up the glass of scotch instead. It all came with him as he walked out of the office and went to the living room instead. He was not lying down in his bedroom where it would be impossible to get anything done.

"I meant," Peter said clearly and carefully, "help you carry your files. But I see you have them in hand."

The hunting business was of no interest to him whatsoever. And besides, he might have an arrangement with Chris, but to work with him would be another monster entirely. Well, if Chris wanted to pick his brain as to what he knew of wendigos, it couldn't possibly be worse than the inane hunts for information Derek's frequently sent him on before. At least the creature was already identified in this case.

Peter was a step behind him, paused to consider the fruit basket and the remaining bottle of scotch. He scooped a grapefruit up, and took the scotch by the neck before following Chris into the living room. He should steer him towards the bedroom instead, but Peter knew perfectly well how far he could push his luck.

"Did you know that research shows lying or sleeping on your couch is dreadful for your back?"

"Only if you have the wrong type of couch." Chris sat down on the couch in question and sunk a little into the cushions. It was definitely too big for one man but it was perfect for him to settle on and stretch his legs out. His bed was just as comfortable but there was no coffee table for him to spread his work out on. "If it'll put you at ease I won't sleep on it tonight."

There, a compromise. That was something they could manage when they wanted to fuck each other. Chris was willing to try it outside the bedroom when it wasn't something important. He was resting on the couch and not still sitting up in his office. Some of that had to appease Peter.

"While I don't have your ability to heal I'm not a complete imvilid after one rough night." He watched Peter as he took a sip of his scotch. Chris might save money with cheaper clothes and good investments but he didn't skimp on alcohol. What he had was rich and went down smoothly, spreading warmth through all his aches. "We're raised to take pain and suffering as something to overcome."

This wasn't even the worst thing he had ever been through in recent years. He was damaged but he wasn't broken, not yet. It would take more than tonight to manage that.

"You're an adult." The bottle of scotch and the grapefruit joined the paperwork on the coffee table. Meanwhile, Peter examined the couch, but rather than taking a seat on it, chose to drag the armchair over instead, close enough to the couch that he might as well have sat on it instead. He settled into his chair with an aura of satisfaction nonetheless, crossing his legs at the ankles. "All I'm doing is providing you with the information to make an informed decision."

He should've grabbed a glass for himself. Now he'll have to steal Chris's when he's not looking instead. Raising his eyebrows at Chris, Peter painted a perfect picture of polite incredulity. "I never suggested anything of the sort. But even I know that Melissa McCall would have something to say regarding your seeing 'pain and suffering as something to overcome'. Something about the limits of the human body, probably. And the benefits of rest."

The same applied for most species. Just because you had superhuman healing or stamina didn't mean energy was endless. It was basic biology. However in shape and energetic Chris Argent happened to be for a man of his age and occupation, it didn't mean he was infallible. Far from it. Peter, watching Chris watch him, smiled.

A good part of the orange he'd peeled earlier remained, and he offered a slice to Chris. "But seeing as I'm not your mother, far be it for me to nag any further."

There was a reason he hadn't explained what being a hunter truly meant to the sheriff or to Melissa. They wouldn't understand that it required more sacrifice than what most people were willing to give. Chris didn't want to sit there and listen to lectures about how it didn't have to be that way. He especially didn't want to hear it from a werewolf.

"I'm pretty sure you are nagging." He picked the slice from Peter's fingers. "Just in your very sophisticated way."

It was odd but Chris found himself smiling a little in return. He didn't know if Peter was concerned or fucking with him but it was interesting to see this side of him. It wasn't a way he had seen Peter behave before. Whatever was going on he found this a better distraction from the tightness in his chest and the lingering pain through all of him.

The fruit was that perfect blend of sweet and tang, bursting across his tongue. That basket had to be expensive just like everything else Peter bought. He had probably never bought anything cheap in his life.

"There are glasses in the glass front cabinet over there," he said, jerking his chin towards the liquor and good china. "If you want to pour yourself something."

"My very sophisticated way," Peter repeated, clearly amused. "Is that what you think of me?"

He watched Chris eat the orange slice, leaving the remainder of it on the table as he got up to retrieve a glass, pouring himself a couple fingers of scotch. Peter appreciated the finer things in life; what of it? (But forget about that quality over quantity nonsense-- why not have the best of both worlds?) The liquor might not have any effects on him, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the taste of it.

And appreciate it he does, the scotch going down his throat like golden fire, leaving a brief flare of warmth in his stomach. Smooth. He set his drink directly on the coffee table after a second of failing to find a coaster, and letting ennui seize him. It wasn't his table.

"Well, at least you have some taste when it comes to a good drink, even if it's lacking in other areas." See: his terrible Target shirt.

What did he think of Peter? Well, he was a psychopath obviously. He was the very definition of that word. Dangerous, violent, and the exact sort of wolf that should've been put down years ago. Here he was sharing a drink and sometimes a bed with him. His father would kill him for this. Peter, was, however very smart and sophisticated. That didn't redeem him though.

"I think you don't want me to answer that question," he said dryly.

He watched Peter move around his place like he owned it. His approval of his alcohol amused him considering just about everything else annoyed Peter. Chris found it really entertaining to rile him up and piss him off even though it was dangerous. Their little games of back and forth were too amusing to give up.

"Good guns, good alcohol, and clean living, it's another one of those hunter mottos." Just to annoy Peter even more he put his feet up on the coffee table and crossed his legs. "It's how we live so long."

Times were a changing, and so on. Nothing stayed the same-- not werewolves nor humans. But that's precisely what made them survivors, wasn't it? The ability to adapt. Peter was dangerous, certainly. But he's nothing if not excellent at adapting, at using violence with surgical precision. Chris, on the other hand, who still stuck to his family's little code of honour with an unyielding rigidity, wasn't showing the same adaptability. And it was incredibly easy to snap something inflexible right in half.

(At the same time, Chris has shown enough bend to work with werewolves, to participate in this give-and-take dance with Peter, so. Maybe not as rigid as one might think.)

Peter cracked a smile, leaning back in his seat. "Good answer."

He's sure he already knew, anyway.

"Is that so?" he said, forehead creasing at the thump of boots on the table. They were practical boots, from the looks of it. Bought for function rather than form. After a moment, he flicked his gaze back up to Chris, counting off with his fingers. "One: your sister, Kate. How old was she when I killed her? Around my age? Living to your thirties is hardly impressive in this day and age. Two: your wife. It's rude to assume a woman's age, but," Victoria Argent was exactly the type of rod that bent when too much pressure was applied, "I'll wager she was near you in years, give or take a few. And last of all, your father."

He held Chris's eyes. "Not a massive sample size to judge by, but I think the facts speak for themselves."

Since his statement was meant sarcastically Chris hadn't expected Peter to answer. Well, to lecture really. When he brought up Kate, Chris' fingers twitched on his glass. His sister was a very complicated issue. She was clearly insane, completely lost like a rabid dog but even then he hadn't been able to kill her.

When he brought up Victoria Chris felt an old pain rise up in his chest. He had loved his wife, loved her deeply, and while it had been her wish to be killed these days he regretted not fighting for her life. She could've lived. Chris took a drink and stared at his glass, looking away from Peter. If he brought up Allison next he might just throw the glass at him and kick him out.

Instead it was his father and well, Chris hated him these days so he let out a breath and tried to relax again. Peter might be deliberately trying to rile him up. He wasn't going to get into it. "That's your opinion, Peter, just like your whole thing against practical, affordable clothes."

Steering the conversation away from hunting was the safest option.

Actually, Peter was almost surprised that Chris wasn't already moving to kick him out after that outburst. But he could see him struggling to keep his composure, treating the scotch like if he drank enough of it, he wouldn't have the breath to get angry with Peter. Or, in a classic move, forget his woes. Forget that his wife would rather die for her prejudice than live for her family.

(Once upon a time, Peter thought, for that smile, to hear that laugh again, he would've--)

Peter curled his mouth up in a lazy smirk at him like he knew exactly what Chris was doing, and raised his glass up before polishing it off. He refilled it after, and topped off Chris's to boot. Given how civil the evening's been so far, could he really blame Peter for wanting to throw it for a loop or two?

"I can afford my clothing just fine," he said, lounging bonelessly in the armchair, hands folded over his stomach. "You should eat the grapefruit."

A quiet evening was the whole point. Peter had shown up claiming that he wanted Chris to rest and heal. That must have gotten boring judging by the way he dragged him through painful memories. Couldn't they not touch on the demons of their past? At least Peter was willing to refill the alcohol.

"What? Like an orange?" He looked at the grapefruit and then looked at Peter like he was a little crazy. "You don't eat grapefruit like that."

At least, Chris had never eaten grapefruit that way and it sounded like a mad idea to do that.

"Your shirt is on my dresser," he said and jerked his chin in the direction of the bedroom. Peter should remember the way. It hadn't been that long. He might even be able to pick up the scent of it. Chris hadn't worn it, actually, it was still completely covered in Peter's scent. It was pretty easy to lie to a werewolf through text message.

Debatable, whether the rest of the evening would be civil or not. After all, their particular demons were albatrosses hung around their necks.

Peter's smile remained fixed on his face, unendingly pleasant. He stood, winding his way through Chris's apartment without a second word. Not towards the bedroom, but to the kitchen. When he returned, it was with a fruit knife in hand, Peter flipping it in the air a couple of times before he sat down again.

But rather than occupy the armchair again, he dropped down beside Chris, the sofa cushions sinking beneath his weight. Reaching for the grapefruit, Peter started to quarter it, the blade flashing in the light as it sliced through the fruit. "I'll pick it up before I leave."

It wasn't going anywhere. His eyes drift back to Chris. "Would you prefer a spoon, or should I remove the rind?"

With anyone else Chris would find Peter's actions amusing and affectionate. With Peter, though, he didn't know what to make of it. They weren't affectionate. They weren't caring and tender. They fucked and fought. That was how it worked between them.

Worked in the vaguest sense.

"Just take the rind off." Chris wasn't going to make him continue the game of getting up and down just to wait on him. That felt really awkward this doting on him. Peter wasn't like that as far as Chris knew. Seeing this side of him was really almost too strange to Chris.

He sat forward enough to put his drink down and watched Peter with the knife. He had considerable skill. Chris shouldn't enjoy watching him with it as much as he did. Maybe he had too much to drink.

Humans liked routine. When there was a perceived standard, a mindset of expectations, of how things should be, a recipe to be followed, it was comforting. Safe in its predictability. But having that broken was equivalent to tugging out a rug from underneath their feet. It left them off balance and stumbling, looking for something to cling to to regain that balance.

Sometimes what they took in hand only sent them crashing down.

Werewolves had claws, but they were primarily meant for killing. Tearing, rending. And while they might be wolves, they were human too. A boning or hunting knife would trump a set of claws in terms of meat preparation, of procuring that perfect cut under most circumstances. Choosing the correct tool to use was common sense. And Peter was a hunter too, at the end of the day.

Grapefruit now neatly disassembled, left in a perfect sphere, Peter handed it to Chris. "Did you know that until recently, the grapefruit was called the forbidden fruit?"

"I'm not really an expert on fruit," he said dryly as he took the fruit from Peter. He had never eaten it this way but he had never thought about it. It was just a citrus like an orange. It worked but it was still strange. He got a little juice on his hands as he broke it apart and took the first bite. "I can tell you the history of most guns and the specifics of hunting various things but fruit? Not really."

He licked the trail of juice from his hand down to his wrist to clean it up though a part of him seriously considered wiping it on his jeans just to annoy Peter. Instead, he was polite and offered some to him instead.

"Why do you know about it?" he asked, mildly surprised to find he was actually curious. Where did Peter get all his knowledge? Was it from some sort of schooling? Or did he just read and learn a lot?

"I would've never guessed," Peter said. "A hunter from a hunting family well versed on the specifics of hunting?"

Mind boggling.

Peter's eyes lingered on the line of Chris's wrist, at the trickle of juice running in a rivulet down it. When Chris offered part of the fruit to him, he leaned in, sucking off whatever remained of the mess before eating the grapefruit straight from Chris's hand.

If his teeth grazed his fingertips, well. Entirely unintentional and accidental.

Well-mannered as anything, Peter chewed and swallowed before replying. "I read it in a passing." It was one of those trivial facts that just happened to stick. But he enjoyed reading, yes. "What, did you think I studied horticulture?"

The attraction he felt to Peter still troubled him. He should not get close to the man who had run him through with a piece of rebar and yet here he was. He let Peter eat out of his hand and flirt with him. He slept with him and let him tend to him in his own way. It was insane.

Though, by this point of his life it made sense that Chris would be a little insane.

"I was wondering. You have to have some hobbies outside fashion and scheming." Peter reading wasn't a big surprise. He was intelligent and in Chris' experience intelligent people read a lot. "For all I know you could run a community garden on the weekends."

Now that would be a real surprise, Peter doing something without any gain for himself. Chris almost scoffed out loud at the idea. Hell would freeze over before he saw altruism from Peter Hale. "Are you going to tell me why grapefruit was forbidden?"

Nothing personal, that whole rebar incident down in the underground network of tunnels. He just needed Chris to stay put for a while, and he wasn't an easy man to keep down. Besides, look at him now. The hole in his stomach healed up fine.

And Peter brought him a fruit basket.

"Of course I do, I'm not a caricature of a cartoon villain, despite what some would think." Namely the ragtag bunch of teenager supernaturals running around Beacon Hills, constantly getting into trouble. "But no, no community garden. Not much of a community presence at all. Comes with the territory of being a missing coma patient."

And of living downtown, where there wasn't much in the way of gardens, unless window planters counted. "I'm sure you're aware that grapefruit is a hybrid-- a mix of two varieties of fruit. The story goes that because of this, the reverend who first discovered it considered it to be something unnatural and not of God."

Didn't that sound familiar?

"There's a lot of that in the Old Testament." Chris wasn't a religious man but he was knowledgable. "Can't wear mixed fabrics either."

Not that he bought into that. There was a difference between knowing that supernatural things existed and having faith in a higher power. The world was a little too cruel for Chris to have any sort of faith left in him. He hadn't lost some last shred of optimism but he didn't have the energy for faith.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, resting for just a moment. Sitting down like this, not thinking about a hunt or work made it harder to ignore how damn tired he was. He still wasn't ready to give in and opened his eyes after a moment.

"So, what do you do?" he asked without looking at Peter. He didn't expect an answer but he was curious. Any information might prove useful later. He might need to know this when he finally had to put Peter down.

"The funny thing about the Bible is that it tends to be paradoxical," Peter said. He wasn't religious either, but given the influence Christianity had on history, picking up knowledge of it was inevitable. It was intrinsically tied in with history.

The scent of pain and exhaustion mingled, overlaid by the tang of fruit. Of course, the pain's been a constant since he arrived, so much so that Peter had all but dismissed it by now. He could take Chris's pain. Lay his hand on his ankle or his forearm, and draw it away.

He doesn't.

"What do I do," he repeated. "Well, I seem to have become a supernatural consultant to a group of irritating teenagers. But aside from that, I enjoy long walks on the beach. Getting caught in the rain. I'm not much for yoga."

"If you say pina coladas I might go get my gun and shoot you." Or he could stab him with the knife. Either one would be satisfying. It was the sarcastic sort of answer he expected and tells him nothing about Peter.

They had all sort of become consultants to the kids. There wasn't a great way to keep them out of things anymore. In a lot of cases they have proved to be helpful and right. He didn't like seeing them in danger but there was no stopping them.

"You can just say you don't want to answer instead." He looked over at Peter trying to read him again. It was usually fruitless but he was right there and Chris couldn't let a mystery go. "Or is it physically impossible for you to not be sarcastic?"

He was fairly certain that hadn't heard a genuine word out of Peter once in the long time he had known him.

"And we were doing so well, too." Maybe Peter just didn't do anything of particular note today, aside from idly scheming and planning and reading. And fucking Chris six ways to Sunday.

Peter's... relationship with the youth of Beacon Hills was strained, to say the least. They didn't trust him, but they came to him for information every so often. For help. The contradiction of it was something of a delight, but. These days, Peter's reasons for remaining in this town were dwindling one by one.

A smile that didn't reach his eyes played on his face, Peter having picked up his scotch at some point again, the glass hanging loosely from his hand. "I don't have the answers you're looking for. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that you don't need them."

His voice was level, conversational, even, eyes on Chris when he said, "I've experienced firsthand the results of what happens when a hunter starts asking after a werewolf's personal life."

Chris' irritation rose quickly but he pushed it back down. Peter liked to get under his skin and nothing got him riled up quicker than mentioning what the Argents did to the Hales. What Kate did to Derek. Then again that much blood couldn't be washed away easily. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I'll make you deal, Peter," he said calmly. "If I ever try to kill you it won't be by stabbing you in the back. I'll shoot you in the face. Hunter's honor."

He wasn't Kate. He wasn't sleeping with Peter to get at his remaining family. Hell, he got along better with Derek than he did with Peter. "I'm using you for sex. Not some murderous plot."

He tried to be less blood thirsty these days. It had only brought his entire family ruin.

The memory of Kate's throat tearing like tissue paper beneath his hand happened to be one of Peter's favourites. It never failed to raise a bloom of satisfaction within him.

He arched an eyebrow at Chris. "A deal implies an exchange." So what was Chris hoping for from Peter? A similar vow in exchange? Would he even believe it, coming from Peter?

"I'm not so sure about this. I'd say my face is one of my better qualities." Oh, sure, he didn't expect Chris to be so naive to think that a trick like the one Kate pulled on Derek to work on him, but Chris followed the code, unlike some of his family. And Peter had certainly done enough to warrant being hunted down, according to it.

After a moment of silence, Peter blinked and took a sip of his drink. "Do what you will."

"Fine, how's the word promise sound?"

Christ, Peter was difficult. He sat forward and picked up his glass again. At this point he should know better than to try and talk to Peter. Everything always turned into a circular conversation or a game of wits. When he was perfectly healthy he didn't mind. Right now, it was a pain in the ass.

After a drink he shot Peter a look. "I think when it comes to be time to put you down I'll be mad enough not to care about how good looking you are." He would shoot him and be done with it. There would be the usual hunter safeguards like making sure the body was completely burned and Peter was actually dead but he'd put him down quick.

"Acceptable."

But Chris could promise all he liked, and Peter would still be inclined to only half believe it. Still, he made a point of nodding and spreading his arms out in a placating gesture.

Perhaps a hand span or so of space divided them on the couch, the gap disappearing when Peter leaned forward to set his glass down. Right on a stack of papers. His thigh pressed up against Chris's, he ducked in and draped one warm hand over the nape of his neck. Brought his face in close and bumped their foreheads together, like that night in the sewers.

"Always so hard working," he murmured. "But thank you for the compliment." He squeezed, gentle as you please. "But what makes you think I'll put a single toe out of line? Maybe I've learned my lesson."

Oh, he remembered that night in the sewers. He remembered wanting to die and the immense pain of it. It gave him a violent sense of deja vu to once against be just like this with Peter and in pain. At least this time there was no rebar running him through.

"What's for you to gain right now by acting up?" he countered as he shifted slightly to face Peter at a more direct angle. He felt oddly exposed and at a disadvantage. "You would definitely lose your regular fuck. Those kids might try to kill you again. The Sheriff might get involved. Now's not a great time."

There wasn't anything going on in Beacon Hills at the moment. No huge evil plot that would destroy the town or threaten lives. It just didn't seem like there was any move for Peter to make in whatever his long term plans were.

"Seems better to just wait. Knowing you, you'll see your opportunity." While he didn't agree with Peter's plans and reasons, he could admire his skill in executing them. He was good at what he did. Brutal but good.

"Please," Peter snorted. "Don't make me sound so predictable. It's insulting."

Which didn't mean Chris was wrong, by any means. Tactically speaking, he's exactly on point. It was much easier to execute a plan amidst chaos, when everyone was torn in six different directions all at once and had so much on their plate they could barely think straight.

Besides, Peter's been thinking. Considering his options-- and he had them. The question was one of which way to go. Still, like Chris said, he wasn't in any particular rush. Werewolves stayed in their prime longer than humans, and Peter had time.

He remained close, lashes lowered and heavy, nose brushing briefly against Chris's in an almost affectionate gesture. "Why don't you ask me to take your pain away?"

Christ, he was thinking about kissing him. Peter that close, being really oddly sweet, was just a lot of temptation and his mind was still a little soft with alcohol. It would be a bad idea to kiss him and give Peter the idea Chris was willing to start something tonight.

"I didn't think about it," he answered honestly. Not once since Peter had walked in had Chris thought to ask for that sort of relief. He wasn't used to asking for help, wasn't used to asking a werewolf to make him feel better, and so it didn't cross his mind. Besides, pain was something Chris was used to. Most of his life was spent in pain whether training or hunting or living.

"I can live with pain. If you want to take it, go ahead but don't feel obligated." Although why Peter would feel obligated was beyond Chris. They didn't have that sort of relationship. That was caring and they weren't that.

Peter didn't, for a single second, feel an ounce of obligation to do so.

But maybe it was because of that that he kept his hand where it was, heavy on Chris's neck, veins slowly running black up his arm. It's been some time since he's done this-- for a while, he hadn't been sure it was still possible either, what with the whole coming back from the dead deal. But pragmatic as he was, he'd gone out and made a full inventory of what had changed and what hadn't.

This hadn't.

"I can be generous," he said slowly. There was a sweetness to Chris's scent, barely there, but noticeable at this proximity. But given his current state... well, better not try their luck.

Gradually, Peter moved until he was merely sitting beside Chris again, albeit closer than appropriate. Sometimes the effects of pain being drawn was as good as a shot of morphine. He wouldn't be surprised if Chris began to nod off.

Edited 2016-11-26 05:49 (UTC)

It was morphine, valium, and vicodin all at once. Chris' pain began to fade away as his body was flooded with relief. He swayed unconsciously towards Peter, chasing that incredible feeling. It was the first time he had ever experienced a werewolf drawing his pain away and it was almost like an orgasm.

Instead of nodding off he closed the last few inches between him and Peter and kissed him. This was probably the only way he could express his gratitude that Peter would accept. A 'thank you' would seem hollow when it looked like Peter was taking the pain away by experiencing it himself. Those black veins couldn't be a good sign.

He drew back after the kiss, the pain gone for now but exhaustion quickly replaced it. "You did that on purpose so I'd get some rest."

It was hard to keep his eyes open right now and Peter had been nagging him to rest since he showed up with his fruit basket.

Who would've thought that a moment like this one would ever come to pass? A hunter and a werewolf in close quarters, something willingly given, something willingly taken. Peter's always thought it ironic, in a way, that werewolves should have this ability to take pain, yet all some ever saw were monsters in them. (Then again, he also understood that the capacity for both good and evil within humans and werewolves was unbounded.)

The relief showed visibly on Chris's face, Peter's eyes half-closed but not quite even as he kissed him back in an almost chaste meeting of the lips. He watched the pained lines smooth themselves out, his hand lingering before he withdrew it.

"You weren't getting anything done anyway." Which was partly due to Chris seeming more interested in talking with Peter than focusing on his files. Admittedly, Peter hadn't given him much window for it either, but if Chris had really wanted to work, he would've done it.

Peter threw a glance towards the direction of the bedroom.

"That's your fault."

If he was alone he would be working. He could keep focused. Instead, he had this werewolf trying to feed him fruit and talk to him about it. He invaded his space and drank his alcohol, all for a chance to draw out his pain. Peter wanted something from him, he had to, but Chris hadn't yet figured out what. His goal might be to get Chris into bed but that wouldn't work because even with his pain gone he was too exhausted for anything more than that kiss.

"You're a pain in my ass, Peter," Chris groaned, too tried to try and solve the mystery of Peter Hale right now. He pushed himself up from the couch, grabbed his glass and drank the rest of it down. There was no point in wasting good alcohol. "Clean up after yourself when you leave."

He figured the wolf wouldn't come with him as he started walking towards the bedroom. There was no sex waiting for him. It would just be Chris passing out in bed. No fun. If he was going to search his apartment he wouldn't find anything more interesting than a small arsenal of weapons. Everything important was somewhere else. He hadn't lost any of his paranoia.

What Chris got in return was a small shrug, an almost rueful concession to his accusation. His very valid, not incorrect accusation.

He took his glass with him as he stood, held it loosely by his side as he strolled down the hallway with Chris. On the outside, Peter looked the part of an amiable, polite houseguest, making sure Chris wouldn't fall down and hit his head before getting to his room. Certainly no one who didn't know him would accuse him of behaving strangely.

But the facts as they were was that Peter seldom did anything without reason. Whatever game he's playing, he's keeping it close to his chest, tight under wraps.

“Not tonight, I think,” he said, the purr more than audible in his voice. Hadn't he said so already earlier? Chris needed rest.

In the bedroom, he located his shirt and held it up. “But I'll be taking this. Thank you for holding onto it for me.” Peter polished off the last of his scotch, and set the glass down on the dresser with a gentle clink. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

With that final phrase, Peter turned around and showed himself out.

Chris sat on the edge of the bed and watched Peter as he unlaced his boots and toed them off. He wouldn't say he knows Peter well but he knows enough that this was unusual behavior for him.

"Yeah, you're welcome." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it towards the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. He was mildly annoyed at how Peter just left everything and walked out. The glass was there. There was fruit left behind. Signs Peter had been there that he would see in the morning and remember.

Definite pain in his ass. Chris waited until he heard the door close behind the werewolf before he actually climbed into bed and went to sleep.

[ Hello! How would you feel about something with a Poe? ]

[[I would be delighted for something with a Poe. Do you have a preference or shall we allow RNG to decide for us?]]

His mission had been to go with Obi-Wan and take Torrent Company to investigate a strange signal emanating from a supposed Separatist base.

What they'd found were a lot of battle droids that appeared to have all been deactivated at once. Like some kind of electromagnetic pulse had hit them all at the same time. A big pulse. All of their vehicles appeared to have been affected too and there was no sign of their overseers.

That should have been their first sign to turn back but they still had to find out where the signal was coming from. And more to the point, what could possibly have taken out that many droids. They found it in the center of what the Seps had obviously made their command base, a large building that both Obi-Wan and Anakin felt was crawling with the Dark Side. And there in the center was a large stone, the ancient sigils carved into it glowing faintly red. It was definitely what was giving off the signal that had brought them there.

A signal that abruptly cut off as soon as the Jedi got within ten feet of the thing. Anakin had had just enough time to exchange glances with Obi-Wan and mutter, "a kriffing trap," before the world seemed to lurch sideways and he found himself in heap on the ground and trying not to lose the contents of his stomach.

And wondering why he felt sand under his fingers. Slowly, he got himself under control and stood, stepping out of the alleyway he'd ended up in to look out on the busy street beyond. More importantly, to look upward, shading his eyes, to see two very familiar twin suns.

He had absolutely no idea how he'd suddenly found himself on Tatooine of all places, but he was devoutly hoping he'd knocked himself unconscious when he fell and was going to wake up soon back where he belonged.

"But first," he muttered to himself, "I should get inside." Or the suns would bake him inside his heavy Jedi clothes. Ducking into the first open doorway through which he could hear music, Anakin found himself in a cantina filled with what were likely some of the worst sorts of scum he wanted to encounter while he was here. Ordering an ale so he could at least attempt to look like he belonged, Anakin leaned against the bar and scanned the rest of the cantina.

He didn't known exactly what he was looking for but the Force was telling him, he realized, that he was going to find it here.

Why was he on Tatooine? Because his humble business as a transporter of goods often brought him to the wretched hive of scum and villainy that was the Cantina here. He preferred Maz's place, if he was being honest, but he got more work here than he did there.

Still... something felt odd that day. Like there was ... someone new. Someone old. Someone familiar. Ugh. He hated Force senses.

Eventually, Anakin's gaze landed on Ben.

There was definitely a strange ping of recognition though Anakin was quite certain he'd never laid eyes on the other man in his life. Still, he wasn't going to get any answers just standing by the bar so he pushed off of it and carried his drink over to Ben's table.

"This is going to sound like the worst pick-up line ever, but I really don't have time to waste beating around the bush. Have we met before?"

Whether Ben had ever seen a holo of his grandfather before he Fell or not, both Leia and Luke picked up enough of his features that the resemblance is fairly uncanny, especially when it comes to Luke's resemblance to his father.

And Anakin's cloak has flared open enough as he walked that Ben can see his lightsaber.

The man reminded him a lot of his Mother, and that was a sentence that shouldn't belong to anyone but his Uncle Luke, Ben was fully aware. There was no denying it though, there was a strong resemblance to his Mother, and to Uncle Luke too now that he came to think on it.

Memories - old and forgotten - are dragged from the back of his mind. A holo his Uncle had found, once, in the few possessions his namesake had left behind. It should this man, standing tall and laughing. Ben frowned.

The lightsaber helped as well

"...Anakin Skywalker?"

Anakin took the seat across from Ben and raised his eyebrows, leaning on his elbows. "So you've heard of me. That's a start. Who are you?"

And why he thought, do you seem familiar?

"Ben Solo," the words fall out of his mouth before he's had time to process them. Grandfa -- Anakin should not be here. Apart from the fact he's been dead nearly 30 years, this is him when he was younger than Ben. This shouldn't be happening. The smallest frown crosses his face.

"I don't think you're meant to be here."

Absolutely no recognition crosses Anakin's face at the name. Instead, he sits back in his chair and folds his arms, frowning back at Ben.

"No kidding. I'm supposed to be just about on the other side of the galaxy right now."

Couldn't the whatever-it-was have sent him to a planet that wasn't Tatooine? Any other planet?

"Everyone ends up on Tatooine at some point," Ben said steadily. "At least it's not Jakku, they don't have any good cantinas." He didn't really notice he was replying to a thought - it happened more often than he would like. Apparently having someone whisper in your ear - metaphorically - since you were a youngling did stuff.

Anakin didn't appear to notice since what Ben commented could have almost as easily applied to what Anakin had said aloud.

"I've been on Tatooine," he said dismissively, "a lot more than I'd have liked. So," he added, looking more intently at Ben again. "Brought up in the Temple?"

He didn't have the feel of a fully fledged Jedi, not to mention there was a war on and no Jedi Knight would've been sitting in a cantina on Tatooine if there was work to be done. Which, Anakin reminded himself, he was still supposed to be getting back to as well. But while Ben didn't feel like a Knight, he could tell that the Force was with him as easily as he could see it in himself. Plus maybe that would explain the nagging familiarity and not everyone who was brought up in the Temple made it through the training.

"...Sort of," Ben replied, his grip on his drink tightening just a little. Sort of really was the only way to put it. The Academy - the new Temple - was Uncle Luke's home. Even before he officially started training, he spent a lot of time there.

"Left the training," he added, realising that his Grandfather was probably wondering why he wasn't a full Jedi. He had gotten to Knight - at a rough guess - before leaving. He had to leave though.

Anakin smiled slightly. "Guess that explains why I feel like I ought to know you, then."

No, it still didn't.

However...

"Have you got a ship, Ben? I really do have somewhere else to be."

Obviously he hasn't yet realized he has somewhen else to be, too.

He needs to tell him. But just... not here.

"Yeah. It'll cost you."

Anakin's expression turned wry. "Somehow, I'm not surprised. What's the price?"

Ben names his price - less than what he usually charges but, of course, Anakin has no way of knowing that. He should feel ashamed at trying to fleece his Grandfather but... he does need the credits

Snorting, Anakin shook his head. "Guess I can't appeal to your sense of service to the Republic, huh?"

It was sort of a rhetorical question.

"Fine. You'll have your price. When we get there."

Ben couldn't help the snort at the mention of the Republic. His Mother's pet project always did cause some bitterness.

"I can deal with that."

Of course, Ben will be disappointed to find out that the reason Anakin said that was because he doesn't actually have much in the way of credits available to him out here so he has to wait until they join up with Obi-Wan and the others. But hey, he'll be good for it when they get there! ~~If they get there.~~

"Good," Anakin said, judiciously ignoring the snort. Easy enough to figure that if he's one of those who left the Jedi Order before finishing training that he might be disillusioned with the Republic too. As long as he didn't also have Separatist sympathies, Anakin really didn't care. Standing, he gestured in the direction of the cantina entrance, "let's get going."

Ben stood from the table, giving a quick glance around the room. The person he was supposed to be meeting with didn't turn up, and it's not like they'd show up now. He'd need to try to get something soon, though, he did need the credits. He really didn't think he was magically going to get them from his somehow-alive-and-young-again Grandfather.

"My ship's this way."

It wasn't the Falcon, but it did him justice

When they got to the ship, Anakin paused and cocked his head as he looked at it, gaze running over its lines and brow furrowed in thought.

He knew ships and while he guessed this one was of Corellian manufacture, he'd never seen a profile quite like this one before. But there was enough wear on it he doubted Ben had just got it off the assembly line.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked, turning his gaze to Ben and raising his eyebrows.

"Corellia," was Ben's glib answer. In all honestly, he couldn't quite remember where he'd pick up his ship. There had been going from one dealer to another, credits passing hands and being stolen back, drinks flowing... It was probably an epic for the ages. If he could remember.

Anakin rolled his eyes. "No kidding. I meant I've never seen one quite like it before."

Then he was raising his eyebrows, inviting Ben to provide more details.

( since rng kept giving me sex (idk) or crack (nope), i have decided to eff that and cheat so it's either fluff recovery / in the snow or gen movie night or any prompt you will rather prefer...? )

[ Sorry I'm late! I'm good with either of those! Sounds good. C: ]

[This was not good. Arden was sure he should have taken a right down the last road instead of a left. Or maybe it was take the second to the left fork when he came to four roads. Oh hell. Anyway he looked at it, the Reaper was lost, somewhere along a road that seemed to stretch on endlessly. This wouldn't have been so bad, but he had an appointment to keep. His death sense was telling him that he had to find the person he was meant to and fast. It wouldn't do to keep someone suffering when the afterlife was waiting.

When he saw Mal, he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, this was someone who was a bit more knowledgeable about the area than he was.]

Excuse me. I'm a little turned around. Can you help me?

[no crack]

(no smut or crack please)

(nada on the smut)

( ask before ships/smut. info in journal. )

[RNG says Costume Party. Festival of some kind maybe? Something with masks and kimonos and food and things idk we could make it up as we go.]

( aaaah, a matsuri can work!! Minami can easily drag Yuuri from one thing to another and try to show off only to drop his food or something lame like that )

[Excellent, showing off cranked up to 11~]

So, he doesn't know how he's been roped into this, going to one of the regional matsuri with some of the other skaters in his division, but here he is, in a blue, floral yukata. He has a rather plain-looking mask settled on the top of his head as he stares around at the crowd. He loves festival food, and within minutes of arriving, he's already bought a few skewers, which he's munching on now as he follows a little ways behind some of the others that are running from stand to stand. He steps up beside Kenjirou as soon as he spots the shock of dyed red in his hair, peeking at what he's doing.

"Minami-kun?"

There he was, standing on his tiptoes as he craned his neck to see past the few people that were ahead of him. Not that it worked too much. He wasn't able to tell how quickly things were moving along but he had to accept his fate of waiting in something of a line so that he could make an attempt at goldfish scooping. He normally sucked at it but today was going to be the day where he'd take home something!! Or set it free. Kenjirou hadn't made up his mind on that whole scenario, yet, it was a work in process.

Not that it took much to distract him from his goal, unfortunately. He frozen in place when he was pretty absolutely super sure that his name was said. Of course, there could be a few other Minamis but those were details he wasn't concerned with. He did an one eighty, remaining on his tip toes, as he squinted to locate the source of the voice. He soon extended a hand as he settled flat on his feet to physically point out the new interest. Not that it was necessary as they were, like, pretty much right next to each other but. Again. Details.

"Yuuri-kun!" He had to think to remember to do that whole breathing thing. He wasn't quite used to existing in the same space as his idol. "How didn't I spot you before?! Had I known you were here..." Kenjirou only began to break out into excited babbling with that.

Yuuri startled slightly as soon as things got slightly louder in his general vicinity, but that seemed to be par for course when Minami was involved, so his hands just came up as a finger went right into his face at the idea of his general existence. He was a lot less tense, out here in the real world, a lot more...normal, and honestly he did like Minami. So he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, hoping it might help calm him down a little.

"It's not like I stick out, out here. So what's happening here?" he asked as he stood up on his toes just as Minami had, trying to see what the line was for. Goldfish? He laughed a little; yeah, that seemed about right. He wondered if his mom would like one...

How did Yuuri not think of himself as someone who stuck out?!

"What?!"

He was getting ready to spin on one foot but was only left to stand in place with Yuuri's hand on his shoulder. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back any quivering. His idol was smiling at him and happy to see him. Kenjirou had been blessed by the skating gods. His mouth hung open slightly as he continued to watch Yuuri. It was hard to believe that superstar Yuuri was a human being but it made him even more likable, somehow.

But. Focus, focus!

"Goldfish scooping, Yuuri-kun! I'm so awful at it but... This is the year where I'll get my vengeance!" He paused. "Are you any good at that kind of thing?"

Well, at least he hadn't made Minami squeak that frankly distressing squeak when he was on the brink of tears. This was not the time for that, after all, this was supposed to be all in good fun! The excitement over the goldfish made him chuckle quietly.

"Not really, but maybe I'll get lucky this year."

He moved forward with the line, nibbling the chicken off of one of his last skewers as he lifted up higher onto his toes. They were getting closer now at least. He holds out the last of his food for Minami, figuring he should at least have his hands free by the time they got their chance to conquer the goldfish scoop.

People could cry when happy, Yuuri! But if Kenjirou wasn't on the verge of tears as of yet he was getting close. He was holding the skewer with a little of uncertainty before he straightened and his chest swelled. Kenjirou was totally helping out his idol. Yeah, he had to fight off the water works as he inched behind Yuuri.

"Ah, you can do it, Yuuri-kun! Use your Eros on the fish!" And he definitely wasn't even trying to keep his voice down.

That doesn't make it any less alarming when it happens!

He would just start turning a little bit pink when Kenjirou said that out loud, hoping that either the others nearby would write it off as something they'd misheard, or they'd just let it go. Thankfully they didn't look at him for long, and by the time he was able to approach the game, he was already certain that he'd get one, at least, and give it to Kenjirou in the good faith that it wouldn't die before he got it home.

[ canon mates only for smut. ]

( cross-canon (modern AU on my side) good with you? c: was thinking action & gun fight + sneaking in, because well, R6. :') I'll start, just checking if that's ok with you! )

( it sounds perfect to me! I'm about to hit the hay but I definitely don't mind at all! )

( excellent, thank you! & sleep well ♥ )

Another week, another mission. Another sticky situation with terrorists, with bombs and hostages, this time in the city hall itself. An exceptionally daring move, but so it went that each new situation they managed to extinguish, the next one was worse in one way or another, as the world slowly descended into a war with no other but itself. When there was no common enemy for the humans, they turned on each other. A saddening realisation this was, but one that was best accepted rather than denied. Among all else, for his own safety, and the safety of those close to him. This was why Legolas was here, too, wasn't it? Perched on top of a roof across from the large building, with his long hair braided and tucked around his neck and into his uniform, and otherwise covered with a hood, so he did not sit here a shining beacon, a sniper begging to be made another sniper's target. Like this, in the slowly dimming light of the day, he was scarcely visible at all.

Dusk be a friend, but it could just as well and just as easily be an enemy. Visibility changed the same for everyone, after all, and as much as he was less visible now, so could others be, so could their enemies be. All colours slowly changed their hues, into yellows and reds, as the Sun set, then into greys. At the very least, it wasn't raining.

Legolas scanned the roof first, then the windows, from top to bottom, left to right. They still had no lead on where the hostages were held, or where the bomb was; too little intel all around, but they just had to move in and do their job, and do it well even on breadcrumbs. So he kept an eye out, still, for anything at all, the eyes and the cover fire for the ground team currently making their way to the tall walls and darkened windows. No movement, other than the team—

At least until a certain point in time.

"Do not be so impatient, Buck, there is someone awaiting your arrival," he murmured on the comms, observing that exact window where he saw a shadow move quick and vanish and not surface again. What he saw now was an inch or two of a shoulder — or so he assumed — was sticking out, not quite enough for a good shot that would do much else but graze and make a known situation into something uncomfortably chaotic. "I would wager they know you are coming. The bottom window to your right, they are hiding on the left."

Polite, a touch formal with his speech still, there were just some things that he did not manage (or, really, want to) weed out. Elves might not be incapable of change, but they changed slowly. It raised eyebrows at first, but he had learned to divert attention and before long, people grew used to the way he was speaking and after a while they stopped asking.

At least up here, there was none who could see that the sights were off on his rifle, and he was using nothing more but the iron sights.

( I can switch to brackets easily, if you prefer, just lmk! and feel free to PM if anything needs changing or explaining. )

Patience was a virtue, and one that Buck often lacked. If operations went the way he preferred, they'd be quick affairs, precise, methodical, and with just enough bloodshed to end things before they got truly hot. In a perfectly timed call, Legolas stopped him just before he smashed through a window in what would have been a particularly loud entrance. He took his hands with the magazine and trigger with slight remorse, slowly backing up to move against a wall instead of exposed against the blockaded window.

"With you watching my back, I don't need to be careful." He mused as he adjusted his rappel line, unshouldering his rifle to aim where he'd been instructed. He couldn't see the target from where he hanged, but if there was anything he learned from over the last dozen or so missions, Legolas was rarely wrong. No point in shooting, not when there was a chance to whiff, and that meant getting close and personal.

He hadn't always been so sure of his teammate in the past, regarding the stranger with typical Quebecois aloofness for the first few flashpoints until he'd grown accustomed to his uncannily good calls. Legolas spoke formally, but so did Buck, perhaps both by virtue of English being their less preferred language. In a way they worked as an efficient team, Buck on the ground, up close and personal, and Legolas as overwatch, always watchful.

He gave a hand signal to the recruits to hold and await further command; there was no time to watch and judge their performance when the proverbial adults had to take care of business first. He descended slowly on his line, mind-numblingly slow, until he was inches above the window Legolas had pointed out. Ah, and there was the telltale shadow, a figure hunched behind the safety of brick and mortar, waiting for an unsuspecting operator to burst through. The thanks go unsaid, and with little fanfare he drops through the window, meeting the terrorist with a boot to the face and quick slash of his knife. The stranger crumples and he catches the body before it drops, placing it gingerly against the wall to stop further noise.

The window breach was loud, certainly loud enough to alert anyone else on the floor, but what could one truly do in this situation? Ignore them, the rational voice in his head reasoned, but 'ignore' went against JTF2 and personal policy. Operators strike swift and leave no chance for retaliation, and the policy had never failed him in the past. Still, he wasn't stupid enough to stand around and wait to see if he'd roused any attention on the floor.

"Ah, quel dommage. You'll have to tell me if his friends overheard his unfortunate accident." Buck's tone rarely went further than dry or sardonic, but the request was a legitimate one wrapped in the cool facade of uncaring. Sight lines were terrible in the hallway, blocked by makeshift cover and barbed wire, and times like this he was glad to have overwatch. He motioned for their recruits to hit the ground and breach through the front door. Logically, it was easier for them to go for a pincher move and meet half way.

"Tell the children we're still watching their every move, even if I'm not there." Humor creeps into his voice, letting out a small in-joke about how Rainbow operated. No other alphabet agency would send its recruits through an operation before actual training, but Rainbow was anything but ordinary. He'd learned to trust Legolas, and it was time to learn if he could trust the rest of the team.

( lmk as well if you need clarification/changes! apologies for the slowness I got caught up in thanksgiving *_* )

( no worries at all! I hope you had good time c: I'm in the Euro timezone, so slow is the name of the game, unfortunately. )

Legolas watched the scene only long enough to confirm that everything went smoothly, not because he didn’t trust Buck to be able to take out a sole terrorist in close quarters, but because while he was up here, it was his job. It went as expected. The take down quiet, even it the entrance was not. Though there seemed to be no immediate reaction, as far as Legolas could see, scanning again all the windows—

Nothing, as if the building was abandoned, which they knew perfectly well was not the case at all. Either they were preparing an ambush, or the roamers had to yet reveal themselves.

Still, for a while Legolas said nothing, and his only response to the quip was a chuckle offered to the comms. The children, and they were the parents. Two agents with experience and a litter of green faced recruits. At least, though, they were well trained in theory and as far as he could see right now, they were proving themselves.

One on watch for their flank, as just around the corner was the door to the basement, while the other two moved in as ordered. He addressed them briefly, that wordless confirmation that, indeed, they are still watching, still gauging their ability. No movements in that area, but do not let your guard down, check your corners and check for cameras. — and when one rookie decided to take it out with a shotgun, Legolas bit back a sigh. Reports and criticisms would come later, for now he had to make sure that none of the recruits would die. At least as much as he could. Keep watching that flank, the rest: move in, and please do it quietly.

Switching to a private channel briefly, Legolas just couldn’t help to comment, though, "That one takes after you, I think." That shotgun kid, and no doubt Buck heard it just as well. "Efficient, indeed, but with too little finesse."

But he was smiling and the mirth carried easily in his voice, at least until a point. A point in which he spotted a roamer, and this time he had a clear shot. Which Legolas took without hesitation. One bullet, one body, even with his rifle silenced. It took away some power, sure enough, but the comfort of being undetectable was worth it, and besides that, he knew how to find the weak spots in any armour.

"One roamer down, third floor, southern staircase—," he said to everyone, "Keep your eyes and ears open.

"I think it is safe to say they did hear, both of you."

Progress down the hall was slow as he checked each corner and opened door, but it was all abandoned, an eerie sign when he could tell that they'd set up for a long holdout. The rest of the squad confirmed the same situation downstairs, all abandoned and empty. Legolas comment made him chuckle wryly, and he changed over to a private channel after giving them a quick word of encouragement. "Too little finesse? You wound me." He feigned hurt as he examined the personal items the terrorists had left behind. "You mean just enough, non? If if works, there's no room to complain. We can't all have been woodland nymphs in our past lives."

But even he would admit the shotgun was unnecessarily loud, loud enough that he'd glanced back and over his shoulder the moment he heard the it go off. He'd have choice words for the recruit later, but for now, he'd have to let it slide.

"Empty, they abandoned this floor in a hurry." He frowned as dug through the leftovers: sensationalist reading, blueprints, and random, hand scribbled notes in a language he couldn't decipher. Little of it was use. The one thing he could discern was that the bomb had been set up with a failsafe, and that there were two scattered through the building. Two bombs were an issue. They were exposed when defusing, and the enemy would expect them there, putting them at a major disadvantage.

"Colice de marde, ah shit." The expletives came out in a low hiss over comms, just around the same time he heard Legolas' warning that their presence was now compromised. He stood up and sped up, no longer worrying about keeping his noise level low, not when he could hear the footsteps that weren't his own below, and the echo of voices that didn't belong to his team. He gave the quick order for them to stay put, that he'd be meeting up with them through the southern staircase, and that if any of them shot at him, he'd have them scrubbing toilets for a year.

"I hope you aren't too comfortable." The next few words were cut short as Buck fired two quick shots into a runner in the stairway, catching the stranger right before he could phone his friends about the dead body Legolas had left. "The situation has... as they say, taken a turn for the worse. Two bombs, in separate locations, and I'd bet they're willing to die if it means taking us out with them. I may need your help down here."

To the teams credit none of them shot when he emerged from the stairwell, CAMRs drawn and at the ready, but there was visible shakeup, and the poor shotgun recruit was red in the face, almost as if the entire team had given him shit for his actions. "Is there a word stronger than shit?" He asked privately to Legolas, after instructing the team on how to spread and search the floor. "I think it'd be appropriate now, if you've got one to share."

There was no need to tell him twice. Chances of that happening was exactly why he kept his rappel line attached and he was always ready to leap down and get into the thick of things. Which he did, shouldering his sniper rifle, and sliding down the several floors outside of the building across. Faster than most, with less regard for a careful landing. He could have simply jump down without the use of the rappel and the effect would be the same. Elegant landing, not a single noise made or... a bone broken.

"Very well— I am already moving, and taking the path the children took," for the moment, Legolas dropped the banter, his focus on making sure he did not get picked off when he was at his most vulnerable. The microphone did pick up the sound of the line zipping as he slid down, but it did not pick up the landing, or the steps that followed, "I will meet you there to regroup."

And he could not move as freely, only creep along carefully, now. He had been the all seeing eyes for the team, while he had no one offering cover fire and overwatch for him. But nobody looked out, nobody saw or noticed him. A shadow darting silently across the emptied street, across the pavement and lawns towards the open front door. He paused only a few times on the way, to scan the building for enemies looking his way.

"You only wish to hear me swear nastily," he remarked during one such pit stop, turning the conversation back to some light teasing to ease the atmosphere a little. They were in worse, in their time, and they were good enough to get out of even this without losing a single teammate or a single hostage. His answer was not a no, though, it was not exactly a yes either, mind, but mostly because he was not in the habit of swearing — at least not in a language anyone around him understood — and so he didn't know too many to share. "I think calling it hell could be fitting," at least how humans understood hell and what happened there, "But I would compare it to sitting in the crater of awakening volcano just as well."

Finally, though, he was at the front entrance and he switched to the open channel to address everyone with a warning.

"I am coming in, check your targets before you shoot," and just to make sure he was easy to recognise, he pulled down his hood for those moments, revealing a head of pale golden hair. Easy enough to spot, even in the dim evening.

"Is that so wrong?" He asked mildly, not even bothering to hide his intentions. Curse words were the shared tongue at Hereford base, and even the slowest of learners picked up how to curse like a native in every available language. It was a stupid thing to be proud of, but the prevalence of Quebecois sacres over continental French was something he'd always remember as a small victory. That, and there may or may not have been an ongoing bet to see who could get Legolas to say something particularly rude.

Buck waited with his rifle laid across his chest, waiting with poorly disguised impatience. The recruits had set up formation, with two already on another floor as part of a short recon. "Just in time to join the action." He said with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the action happening around him. They'd already confirmed the ground floor was empty, and according to the pointman, so was the top floor. "Basement's our best bet, and you know how much I adore floor breaches without a proper enemy count." He jabbed a finger in the direction he'd set up his charge, a small panel of flooring he judged to be thinner than the rest. "It will be a louder entrance than planned, but so was the rest of this op. I'll be leaving the team to watch our backs, and we'll be the ones at ground zero."

With the plan explained, he paused, pursing his lips into a thin line before shaking his head, letting out a rare show of annoyance while on mission. "This isn't a volcano as much as it is a minefield. Too much unknown, and too few of us to make sure everything goes properly to plan." It's a complaint, and he knows fully well how useless it was to gripe, but they were both professionals. Letting off a little frustration wouldn't hurt morale.

He passed the detonator to Legolas with a shrug of his shoulders. "But that's life. We're together for defusal, unless you think I'd only slow you down." Ayyyy. Before waiting for an answer, he gave a curt command over comms, telling them to set up for defense their mothers would be proud of.

"You are always more than welcome to prove me wrong, in all the matters, you know that," he shot back with a grin. A little humour to ease the nerves never hurt anyone, and they both needed to relax. Legolas did share the same misgivings about the operation, the same thoughts haunted him from the very beginning and having them now voiced out loud had the tension he felt spiking again. Buck's plan was as solid as it could be, in their circumstance, and they just needed to do their best. Legolas took a steadying breath, reached out to put a hand on Buck's shoulder and squeezed in a gesture of comfort. As much for his teammate was it was for himself, though rare it was that Legolas actually sought out any sort of physical contact. "As I am planning on proving the world that there are no amount of odds stacked against us that we cannot overcome."

His smile lost the playful edge, but it stayed sharp with determination and encouragement. They needed to trust themselves and each other, with split second decisions, with their aim, and skills. This easy confidence — well deserved, in Legolas's opinion — had to return and overshadow the doubts.

"Ready?"

With the last pat, Legolas made sure the defuser was secured on his person, before taking position on one side of the panel about to be breached. He took cover behind a desk, a spot that would give him a good view of the bottom floor on the opposite side, should any terrorists hide just beneath them. Unlikely, but always better safe than sorry.

In position, he nodded to Buck and lifted his hood again, hiding his face in an even darker shadow.

"J'suis prêt, as I'll ever be." As prepared as one could be for the off-chance of dying in the next few seconds, really. Some things you could never fully prepare for, and a majority of those were just everyday work for Rainbow. He drew in a deep breath before the breaching charge went off, his ears ringing even through two layers of ear protection. The smoke hadn't fully cleared by the time he jumped down, landing in a full squat before going prone. One poor bastard who was unfortunate enough to be in the blast radius was already dead, and another was still reeling in pain from the explosion. A single shot was enough to bring him down, and Buck finally stood once he confirmed the rest of the hall was clear.

The way to go forward was clearly marked, wall fortifications and barbed wire being a clear sign of where to go. He gave a hand signal for direction, slowly making his way towards the barricaded door with rifle ready. The team followed slowly behind, their footsteps the only other noise he heard besides the hissing of broken pipes and dripping water. Years on the job had taught him to keep his cool, but even he had to work to keep his heart rate and scope steady as he continually scanned the hall.

He readied the skeleton key at the barricade before turning to signal the team he was about to enter. The attachment shotgun would blow a decent sized hole, and he'd have to improvise the rest. He opened fire, blowing a hole into the barricade before knocking the rest of the wood down with a well placed kick. The response was immediate, a volley of shots from every direction, and Buck ducked out, cursing a storm as he blindly fire back. "Three, perhaps four shooters." He guessed, falling into a crouch as the rest of the team scrambled to cover. "They're willing to die to protect their fucking bomb," He said with a snarl over comms, running over a list of options they had to continue. No fragmentation grenades, not unless they wanted to risk detonating the bomb. It came down to entrance with a ballistic shield, or a stun grenade.

"You'll have to shoot them before they shoot me," He said plainly to Legolas as he readied a stun, in hopes that it'd be enough to cover the few seconds where he'd be fully exposed. "I'll take the left, and then pray you'll handle the rest." He took in a deep breath, holding it for second before tossing the grenade out, and readying himself to go.

Every explosion came with ringing in his ears and dulled his hearing for the seconds to come, but not his sight. As Buck jumped down and took out the terrorist that remained on his feet, Legolas had a clear shot at another, peeking out from a room ways away behind Buck — readying for a shot at his very much exposed teammate — and just into Legolas's line of sight. He shot, reloaded a full magazine, and followed down when the confirmation came, his own landing quiet as if he weighed nothing at all.

There was one clear advantage of not using a sniper scope, or really, any other scope but the iron sights. It made the weapon as effective in close quarters as it was in long distance.

Nothing could be done about the sounds the humans made as they moved, but the bright side was their enemies were humans just as well, their senses not so sensitive at all. They knew they were coming, though, so it was a bit moot, but not from where and that was important.

Four potential targets, five bullets in his magazine. More than enough. And with the extra ten in his pistol, they should be fine if he was fast enough. But this was neither time nor place to sass Buck about that remark, and instead he simply nodded, before looking away when the stun grenade was tossed inside. He waited only a second after, to turn back and get inside— no fancy combat rolls that took too long, nothing of the sort, a brisk walk with his rifle ready and picking the targets.

One, two— in a quick succession, and nothing. He did not turn to look behind him, to see how Buck was faring, but instead quickly ran up to check behind a stack of boxes. Third. One who managed to avoid the worst of the stun and hoped to surprise them. Which he did, and he almost took out Legolas's ear. A second shot, however, he was never meant to take.

"Right clear," he called out dully, feeling the icy cold chill give way to heat again. The man's poor shooting and his own quick reflexes were the only things that saved him.

Not even waiting for confirmation, Legolas moved to unstrap the defuser and get to work. His motions felt sluggish and awkward to him, though not so much for the onlookers. The strange thing, however, was the silence.

Four shots, two for each body that hit the floor. They managed to only get a shot off in return, which hit low, hitting him squarely in the ceramic plate he wore in his ballistic vest. It stung, almost to the point he wanted to drop down to a knee, but the adrenaline kep him focused, scanning the room for any further threats.

When the shots finally stopped he sighed, dropping his rifle down to a side, and running a hand back through his hair as he surveyed the aftermath. Legolas had already gotten a start on the first bomb, and he took the time to breathe, relax for a moment, change mags and count the supplies he had left he had left. A deep breath in, and then he returned back to alert, rifle at the ready in case stragglers came in to try and stop them.

"I need a drink after this, once we've dropped the children off and left them the paperwork." It was his usual dry tone, with almost no inflection or waver that would indicate he'd just been through a firefight. The ceramic had stopped the bullet, but the impact would still leave a bruise as the ache spread through his ribs and down his chest. "One down, and then another to go. You trust a FNG to handle it, or shall I take the lead?"

The rookies provided ample backup, placing down a deployable riot shield and watching the hallways. He had little complaints, nothing that couldn't be fixed with a few weeks of training and a few operations under each of their belts. "They're doing well, somme toute. We may have to start thinking up appropriate nicknames at this rate."

Seconds passed as they holed up and waited for the defuser to finish, Legolas glanced up at Buck from where he crouched watching the progress. The comment brought a smile to his face, a small one, but a smile nonetheless, and he spoke softly, with a sing-song quality to his voice. A front to cover the tension that stole into his entire body. "That makes it two of us, I may even change my choice of poison tonight." Perhaps something stronger than wine, so at the end of it he could feel at least a little tipsy. Wine could never do the trick, and it wasn't like Legolas ever really wanted to get drunk, but perhaps whisky or something similar would. "Especially if it is your treat."

There was no mention of that whatsoever, Legolas knew, but he shot Buck an impish grin all the same.

Finally, the defusing finished, the bomb neutralised for the time being. After the premises have been secured by them, another team would come to take it apart once and for all, so it would not pose a threat anymore. That would be later, after they secured the second bomb and exfiled the hostages.

Standing again, Legolas brought out a tablet and found the blueprints of the building that have been shared with them in debriefing. He found the basement, and swiped his fingers on the screen so the entire floor fit on the small screen. "We are here," he pointed to one room, "The next room over is clear, else we would have heard them by now," with the other floors clear as well, that left it with one room that would be large enough to hold not only a bomb, but a bunch of people inside. "I think this is the place. It is large enough and it is defensible.

"There is no better test than a situation as sticky as this, and if you trust them, so do I. Let them show what they learned."

There was a bit of a selfish motivation behind it all, though. Legolas was not too keen on testing if his luck had already ran out for the night.

"No complaints in choice of drink then." Compared to the other demands the rest of Rainbow often made: only top shelf, only tequila, only drinks poured out by big, busty women... picking up the tab was incredibly tame in comparison. It'd be a low key night of drinking, hopefully one not ending in the usual fistfight picked by their more rambunctious American counterparts.

When it came to letting the recruits show their mettle, he was more than okay with the idea. His own test had been a bank heist gone wrong, broadcast on live television in case the team's anxiety wasn't already high enough. A simple secondary defusal and HVT rescue was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing but Rainbow's bread and butter. "We'll leave it to them," he said after a moment, rolling his shoulders back to release the built up tension. "It's a team effort, and we can't carry them all the way." The team chuckled at his remark, enjoying the levity of the moment until Buck cut it short with a quick call to attention.

He made it clear that like Selection, he'd be watching to see how each recruit lead and how they functioned as a unit without direction from superiors. He and Legolas would be around in case of a true fuck up, but he made it perfectly clear that if either of them had to intervene, certain careers would be cut extremely short. As far as motivational speeches came, it was harsher than necessary, but far less coarse than anything the SEALs could have spat out. If Frost met the stereotype for polite Canadian, Buck only ruined it. The downside of being Quebecois, apparently.

"Good job back there." He muttered privately to Legolas when the recruits huddled to plan, watching them cautiously out of the corner of his eye. His sardonic quips, often about his skill or the teams, were often just throwaway remarks, given as a reminder that no one was infallible. "I suppose a drink is the cheapest way of saying thanks." He fell silent for a few minutes, waiting for the newly appointed Romeo-Actual told them to move.

"Tout est bien qui finit bien," he muttered as he acknowledged at the order to move, giving a hand signal back to let the recruits know they'd bring up the rear. Playing as back up was a rare occurrence, but he wasn't complaining.

The recruits moved out as a team — more than likely, spurred into doing their absolute best by Buck's little speech —, each second seeming a little less like kids at play, and a little more like actual professionals. It still made Legolas a little nervous, even if it was his own decision, to let someone else than Buck or himself take charge, but it was not the first nor the last time, and these recruits needed the experience to be able to save a lot more lives in the future. All's well that ends well— indeed, the words were no balm to take away all the worries, but they soothed them considerably.

Little by little, Legolas relaxed into the familiar motions. Reload, get ready. They came out last, the rear, the back-up, making sure that no one would sneak up on them from behind. Legolas kept his ears open, for any door opening or for steps. Though he couldn't help shooting back in a murmur, with a smile — genuine this time, warmer — scarcely visible from beneath the shadow cast by his hood. "I knew you had my back, so I could focus on my own task," he always gave credit where it was due, and this was most certainly one of such cases.

Then, the rest was said over the comms, their private channel, as they separated a little farther apart. Certainly farther than murmuring would reach. "But you will not hear me denying you that show of gratitude, or truly, any other," — was it even five minutes that he managed to go without teasing? — "And I promise not to complain."

He looked towards the recruits, gestured that the back was clear and quiet, and watched just long enough to see the next orders from the lead.

The cries and yelling were inevitable, and shots were fired, but only two— Legolas stayed put where he was, with a view of both the corridors down here, and the staircase leading up into the main building. He heard steps too, just before the hell broke loose momentarily, above them and beside them. The terrorists had the time to prepare, and now they were trying to flank them. Legolas glanced to Buck and motioned for him to watch the stairs, while he took position at the corridor.

It took him a while longer to notice, trying to differentiate the sounds of their own boots echoing through the hall, and the footsteps that belonged to someone else. He gave signal that he copied, and dropped to a knee, sliding behind a conveniently located column to keep from being fully exposed.

The change in position didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team, and they moved into place to guard the defuser and dragged the HVTs into a safer place, hidden behind reenforced walls. Not bad, he thought, silently approving of their efficiency. The team lead was still working on the bomb without distraction, and the rest made sure it stayed that way.

The seconds felt like an eternity as he waited for the terrorists to move first. No need to give any indication the team had caught on to their plan, and he kept his rifle at eye level, one eye in ACOG and the other open in case of telltale movement. He didn't expect them to open with a smoke grenade, hearing the tell-tale sound of two metallic clinks as it tumbled down the stairs and started to hiss, filling the corridor with an near instantaneous smoke. It didn't stop Buck from hearing the sound of heavy boots and commands being exchanged, and even through the smoke he took his shots, aiming for anything that resembled a standing silhouette. The correct targets became obvious as they began to fire back, muzzle flash tearing through the smoke to at least give them a good indication of where to aim. and he took his shots haphazardly, continuing to cover until the magazine hit empty.

He switched to his sidearm, waiting for opportune moments before firing, face drawn into a hard line as he waited for the return fire to stop, or the smoke to clear. The rookies had cleverly fallen back into the room the moment they lost clear vision, leaving only the two of them in a precarious position.

On his side of the matters, Legolas seemed to only have one target. Neither too quiet nor particularly crafty, and were it not for the smoke that reached him as well, he would have been all too easy to pick off. On the bright side, the smoke offered Legolas ample cover as well. At least that. And so the approaching man saw nothing coming, not until a bullet hit him squarely in the forehead. At that point, it was already too late.

However that one single shot was enough to draw some fire to him as well. Their targets realising that there was two of them lying in wait.

Silently, he ducked behind cover which put him right beside the dead body. Still warm, still bleeding profusely, and some of that blood got on his uniform, but Legolas paid it no mind. It was shitty cover, he realised as the smoke cleared and the firing stopped, especially against someone with even slightly higher vantage point than his own. There was nothing for it now but to make himself as small as possible and as close to the stack of crates as he only could.

A single, small attempt to glance over the cover earned him a few more shots fired his way. That just wouldn't do.

He glanced at the body, and it didn't take much thought to move its leg into full view— predictably, it did draw fire again, the men thinking it was his own. Legolas used that momentary distraction to peek from above the crates instead. He had not known their positions, but this one single second was all he needed to find his target, aim and shoot, before he ducked down again.

On the brightside, difficult jobs meant they'd always have a paycheque, but that was little solace when shots came so close he could hear them zip inches from his head. He'd guessed they'd managed to eliminate more than half the targets so far, and that the rest were either faltering, and reconsidering how much this particular mission meant to them.

The team provided adequate suppression, making their job that much easier, and he waited for was the signal that the bomb was defused so they could concentrate on one job, not two. His skeleton key was perfectly capable of taking out any straggler who got too close, but it was a risk he didn't want to take, especially considering he had no idea how the team would react. He peeked his head out, nearly lost an ear for his trouble, before ducking back and blind firing from a shoulder.

The shout that the bomb had finished defusing finally came through, and he nodded to himself, knowing that at the very least, they'd finished the bulk of their mission. The smoke had cleared by now, revealing that there were still two left, looking more concerned about about escaping with their lives than defending their dud of a bomb any further.

"Shall we let them go?" He asked grimly over comms, knowing that soon the stragglers would either start a tactical retreat, or attempt to take down the rest of their team in one explosive final stand. As impractical as it was to chase down runners, it was tactically expedient, if old hearted. Being blacker than black meant the Geneva Convention was of an afterthought, and not a strict policy on rules of engagement.

Still, he doubted this particular terrorist cell would have any success in any further recruiting or takeovers, not when 90% of their members were dead in one single attempt. The team had gotten the hostages gathered and hard formed a barrier around them, in case any stray bullets went flying their way. A clean mission, even if things had gone completely awry. A few final shots went their way, each shot receiving twenty in reponse. He told the team to wait, to hold their position until they knew what the response would be.

Legolas knew his own answer right away, but he withheld saying it out loud for a few moments to hear what the rest of the team wished. Once upon a time he, and those like him, had hunted down each and every creature spawned by the old evils. They did not question it, in those days, certain in their assessment it was for the good of all. Was it not the same right now, though? These Men might not be vile, evil to the very marrow of their bones, but they were still a threat, and allowed to walk freely, they would remain a threat. They could not recruit, but they could be recruited, and now they knew their faces, they knew some of their tactics. Were they worth their salt, they could become a great problem one day...

The recruits proved themselves to be softhearted. Unsurprisingly, it was their first. One that did not go as smoothly as it truly should, but no one of the team or the hostages died, no one was even injured. As far as first operations went, this was an easy one. A walk in the park, as they said.

"The majority has spoken," he said, finally. "I am uneasy with this decision, but so be it."

His was not a jaded outlook, mind. Had any single one of them surrendered without a fight, they would see mercy. They hadn't, and retreat did not necessarily mean a change of heart on any matter.

"They linger still, right above us, and so it is a waiting game now and their fate is in their hands."

"I could blow out the ceiling," he said conversationally, looking upward with his rifle, and wondering how much of a shitstorm it would cause. "They wouldn't be expecting that." Plenty of falling debris, plenty of ammunition spent and always the possibility of biting off more than they could chew. The groan from the team made it clear they disliked that idea, and he chuckled, making it clear it was just a thought.

"Don't be surprised when they ambush us during exfil, then." He said with a shrug, waiting for them to move. It seemed their opponent was doing the same, falling silent as they plotted and talked amongst themselves. He kept his eye out for any who were curious enough to poke out their heads, taking a shot whenever he had opportunity. Turns out, mercy didn't mean ignoring prudence.

A few shots continued to be exchanged, with neither side feeling like they had much worth dying for. The echoes from upstairs grew louder as they ran over them, and Buck waited at the ready, but they didn't stop, as the enemy chose to run, to maybe fight another day. He wasn't too concerned; their follow up mission would be almost guaranteed to be a terrorist hunt, to find and eliminate the rest of the threat.

They waited for retaliation, but even the stragglers on their floor seemed to up and vanish, covering their retreat with a tactically placed claymore to deter any following. Buck sighed, loosening his ACUs by a button and letting the built up tension leave him. "You sound rather upset." He said privately to Legolas as he counted up his remaining mags, in an attempt to suss out how the team felt.

Among all the groans there too was Legolas's laughter, as he found the idea — or perhaps just Buck mentioning it and his tone — plenty amusing. The recruits' reaction was just as funny, though. Put upon and tired sounding about the thought of more shooting. For all their good work today, that was a mark against them, Legolas thought to himself. He could understand wishing to get out of a tense situation as soon as possible, but it should never be at the cost of their own safety and always with a healthy dose of wariness.

Nothing happened for a good several minutes, and before long Legolas couldn't hear anything anymore. Last it was steps heading away from their position, the whispered voices unfortunately too distorted by the distance and layers of concrete and wood that he couldn't make out the words. So they were in the dark about whether they retreated for good, or only to prepare an ambush outside.

"In a firefight mirth and amusement are easily spooked beasts, my dear friend. There is a hole in my hood, I have been sitting in a pool of blood for the past several minutes—," he responded simply to Buck's non-question. Two things that should speak for themselves. One, a near miss straight to his face — how lucky for him that it was one of the few who did not pick a shotgun as his weapon of choice —, the other a simple discomfort and an annoyance. "Not my own, that is."

He sighed and pushed himself up to stand, now that it was safe to do so. His clothing, grey in any normal circumstance, was now stained pitch black along the outer thigh and knee. Neither was the fabric thick enough, nor did he wear enough layers, to not allow the dampness to seep through and make it stick to his leg unpleasantly.

"And I do not fancy walking out into a welcoming committee out there," he said, no longer over the comms, approaching his teammates, "But there is absolutely no certainty."

A few of the recruits close enough took it as a chiding remark, though they did not grumble openly, their expressions soured. Whether it was one or not, it was difficult to tell. Legolas spoke softly, as he always did, with some dry humour laced through the words. He took in the sight of his teammates, Buck and the recruits, and the hostages as well, but could see no visible injuries, nor did anyone seem to be in pain. A good sign.

"I will scout the area, hunker down here in the meantime and await my signal." No more parents and kids, only a team.

"Better theirs than ours," he repeated a tried and true, if morbid, mantra. It was unsanitary, probably smelled even worse, but they couldn't ask for more than a clean mission, with no injured or KIA.

He didn't like the idea of Legolas going ahead alone, even if he knew what Legolas could handle himself. Still, there was no argument from him, just a short grunt of acknowledgement and nod, before turning to the rest of the team and telling them to get a move on. They didn't need a second warning. The team gathered and took the time to look after each other, doing quick armor checks and triage for the hostages.

Everyone looked liked they'd just gone through hell and back. They were all covered in a grimy layer of dirt and gunpowder, and there was a tear where a bullet had gone through the fabric and caught on the ceramic plate. Fortunately the hostages looked none the worse for wear. They shivered and cried, but the more empathetic of the team was already busy comforting them, telling them that they were safe and in good hands.

For Buck, 'hunkering down' was never easy. He preferred to be on the move: either in the action, or scouting it out. Still, he couldn't just ignore a request (technically a command) just because he wanted to, so instead he busied himself with a quick report back to base, giving them the quick summary on a mission completed and requesting exfil. When asked where, and if immediately, he paused, turning on comms to ask.

"We clear to leave this trash can?" Some phrases were just lost in translation. Valkyrie would have given him pure shit for it, and he would have sighed and explained how you couldn't call something just trash in French. Linguistic faux pas aside, it was a legitimate question.

Only Legolas needed was that acknowledgement. He knew Buck would carry it out to a T, so he didn't waste any time. Instead of stairs, he went back to the hole they blew in the ceiling of this level and floor of the one above. If anyone was lingering, they wouldn't expect this, and for Legolas it was a no issue at all to leap onto the wall and higher to grab the ragged edge of the floor. Blessedly, the leather gloves protected his hands from any possible splinters. And from that point onward, it was easy enough. He moved without sound through the floor, heard and saw nothing, and got to the second then third before looking outside.

The street was as abandoned as before, if not even more so now with the darkness falling fully. Everything was quiet and empty, though Legolas still changed his positions a few times to get a good look from different angles. He had to be absolutely sure there was no ambush awaiting them.

"Most certainly! Take the stairs and the main entrance to exit," he let the strange wording slide for now, focusing on the business side of things. "Request exfil on red smoke, parking lot on north-east side."

Soon they would be out of here, and they would be able to relax properly. A nice shower, a change of clothes, drinks and the inevitable teasing. Perhaps, too, he should ask Buck to teach him that funny dialect of his. French itself had no secrets from him, Québécois on the other hand could be quite amusing at times and not always very clear to him.

Legolas waited only long enough to get a confirmation, before he attached the rappel and slid down to the lawn beneath. He jogged to the parking lot, cracking a flare as he went to toss it smack dab in the middle. It was large and it was empty, about the only place where it was possible for a chopper to land in the vicinity.

The team got the message, and moved without a reminder from Buck that time was a-wasting. In a matter of seconds they managed to assemble, all gear packed and accounted for so cleanly that it was like they hadn't ever been there. Buck idly picked up a spent 5-7 casing out of the folds of his clothing and tossed it, following after the team to make sure no one fell behind or idled.

Extraction was swift, the chinook landing in a matter of minutes once the pilot spotted the signal. Buck gave the pilot his usual cursory greeting, and nodded blandly when asked about how the mission had gone. All bodies were present and accounted for, with several picked up along the way. A job well done, evident by the smiling faces, even if Buck's was permanently locked in a gruff look.

He liked his job, enjoyed the action and being around like minded people, but the usual post celebratory parties were something he always tried to avoid. It took time for him to warm up to the team, and while he could stand drinking with some, he couldn't shake his standoffish attitude towards newer members. It was a rite of passage in the special operations community; newcomers had to earn their place. So far, the recruits had earned a spot on the team, but not his friendship.

He said little on the ride back, busying himself with rifle maintenance, and texting the rest of Rainbow back at home, sending dry quips to Frost and inquiring if the GIGN felt they could have done better. All he received in return was a rude snapchat, captioned N'importe quoi!. The words were kinder than the image he got back from the Americans who'd send a quick video of a middle finger, telling him they could have done it in half the time.

"Looks like it's just us drinking tonight," he said conversationally, leaning over to show Legolas the slew of messages he'd gotten from the rest of the team back at home. There were enough swears to make even a sailor blush, but none of it contained any real venom— insults were how the team congratulated each other, and kept their egos grounded. "Reports aren't due until tomorrow morning, plenty of hours to drink until we regret our decisions."

The lull in all conversation — except for their HVTs who chatted animatedly among themselves — was appreciated. It wasn't silence, mind, but it was still enough to let his mind wander, when he didn't have to focus on anything in particular. He sat still and quiet himself, eyes at half-mast, staring off into space, memories less violent at the forefront of his mind.

At least until Buck spoke up and leaned closer. Without a hitch or pause, Legolas shifted his gaze to him and pulled himself back to the here and now. It was his face and his voice that got all the attention first, and Legolas just shrugged in response, the playfulness and teasing returning full force to his voice and bearing, "Am I supposed to complain about having your charming presence all to myself tonight? I could, but to make me lie is one of the greatest cruelties."

Finally, his gaze dropped to the phone and the messages from their teammates back at the base. Halfway through, though, he leaned back suddenly, unable to keep looking at the sheer ugliness of the swears. He laughed, though, rolling his eyes theatrically.

"I think I will have to start carrying soap around, to offer you all to wash your mouth," he shot back with a sideways look at Buck, smiling and shaking his head both. Eyebrow arched, he questioned further, "Assuming your message to them was no better than what you got in return." Though he knew perfectly well that Buck was capable of exactly the same — and none of it serious, none of it with hatred or dislike or true malice, in the case of all of them.

Still.

"I will need plenty of drinks to clear my mind of what I just read."

"Nothing cruder," he said with a shrug, scrolling up to verify just in case, before tucking his phone away. "I only mentioned we may have done a better job than all of the continentals combined, with half the team, n'oubliez pas." No one would admit to it, but there was a sort of running contest between North America and the entirety of Europe to who produced the better teams. Nothing too serious of course, but what was life without a little competition?

He chuckled as he settled back into his seat, resting his eyes as he reclined back, thinking about how nice it'd feel to be back on base, changed and preferably with a fifth of liquor. "Sacres are how we communicate best. Someone gives you shit, and you ah— tell them ferme ta gueule. To shut up." He fell silent for a moment, rolling his neck before continuing. "We'll make an operator out of you one day, in one language or another. Drinking's only half the requirements."

He lost track of the time on the ride, drifting between being half alert and falling asleep every few minutes. By the time they touched down, he was more than ready to change and sleep, but promises were promises. "I need thirty minutes. If you haven't fallen asleep by then, I'll show you the worst bar in Herefordshire."

He gave Legolas a lazy salute, before turning to the remaining recruits and telling them they moved as fast as his grandmother fucked. It might have been partially for Legolas' sake, maybe to elicit a swear from him, in case a clever insult was all that was needed to get him in the mood. The team hustled, and he trudged off, dismissing them with a wave of his hand and scowl.

Thirty minutes was overkill, but enough time to get showered, changed, and almost looking presentable. He and the majority of Rainbow would never be able to shake the look of being pure military. The neighbors might have hated them for the mess they made of the neighborhood, but the bars certainly approved of the spike in customers. "Shall we?" He asked mildly, crossing his hands over his chest and looking far more refreshed than he'd been all day.

Legolas left the area with the tips of his ears tinged pink. Blessedly they were covered by layers, of hair, of cloth, and he had his back to Buck and he was leaving, so it would remain a secret from all. Elves had their swears, mind you, but they were never quite that crude, and never sexual.

Either way, he wasted no time to strip off the gear, and more importantly, the filthy clothing the very moment he could, from the second the door closed behind him. All equipment put aside, to be cleaned later, clothing already beginning to soak in icy cold water to get the blood out, and he took a quick but thorough shower, skipping washing his hair. Half an hour was not nearly enough to give it the proper attention it demanded, after all.

However he did pull off the tie from the braid, once dry and dressed again, and let it fall loosely over his shoulders and back. Long, smooth and, from having been kept in a braid, wavy, his pride and joy, contrasting starkly with the deep navy of the blazer he picked to wear. Over a simple white dress shirt, and a pair of graphite jeans. Simple, and yet still likely overdressed. But the point of a matter was, Legolas tended to always be overdressed, for just about everything. So it was with someone who enjoyed beauty, and enjoyed looking well.

"Lead the way!" He gestured with his hand in a wide sweep of some of the surrounding, open, area, "I do believe I am at your mercy tonight."

When it came to fashion, the majority of Rainbow lacked it. Buck wore a shirt he'd gotten from the last JTF2 field day, a faded grey shirt with nothing more than facta non verba silkprinted on the front. "Rangers lead the way." He corrected while walking, "we merely follow them to the valley of death."

The walk was a short one, a short two kilometers from base to a quiet side street hidden behind a falafel stand. It wasn't the diviest of bars, but it certainly wasn't the fanciest either. The only other customers were two older men sitting in a corner and Montaigne, who gave them a cursory look and nod. He chose a seat by the bar, waving over the barkeep for two beers. "We'll need something stronger, but a beer is customary, at least where I come from." If there's one thing Quebecois never shut up about, it's Quebec. Buck wasn't any different, and he took pride in codeswitching often enough to irritate even the most patient members of the team. "Beer, tourtiere, and we'd have a proper celebration. Once we've put ourselves out of a job, I'll have to show you the culture that we're missing."

He fell silent to take a few sips, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before reconsidering, and picking up a napkin. The promise was part hyperbole; they'd always have a job, as long as people had causes they felt were worth dying for. Still, going back to Montreal was a nice idea, even if a pipe dream.

"Is that the shirt you're going to wear when you meet my parents?" He raised an eyebrow as he drank again, making it clear he was teasing. "Ne t'inquiètes pas, they'll be thrilled that at least one of us has manners."

It was a lucky thing that Legolas had some degree of self control, else that question would have had him choking on his own beer. Buck's timing was impeccable, asking the question while Legolas was swallowing a mouthful. Thankfully nothing went flying, nothing was snorted up the nose, Legolas managed to calmly put down the glass before licking his lips, smiling with eyebrows arched and a sideways glance to his companion. This sort of teasing he didn't exactly expect, but he met it head on all the same, giving as good as he got. Or at the very least, trying to.

"I suppose those manners of mine would not only thrill them, they would also make them hopeful! That they would rub off on you. But ah! I would have expected a romantic dinner first, fine food and drink by the candlelight, some heartfelt confessions that reveal what I already know...," but it was all a double edged sword. He felt a little too flushed saying it all, himself, and for this reason, the dim light in the bar was a godsend. Still, he continued smoothly and evenly, allowing mirth to lace every word. "Before you asked me to meet your parents."

He paused to take a sip, wet that dry mouth of his, and continued a bit more seriously — he would truly like to explore Montreal again, and with such a proud guide! — but not without continuing with that line of teasing.

"A tour of Montreal with you as my guide? I think that would prepare me well for it, but you could begin by teaching me that français québécois of yours."

The dialects held enough similarities that Legolas could understand it well enough, the European French and the Québécois French, but they also had enough differences that it was far too easy to commit some sort of faux pas at any time.

"A lost cause, I'm afraid." He sighed as if it were a great shame, giving his beer a sad swirl, before continuing in the same somber tone. "A good dinner is one we've killed, preferably earlier in the morning. I doubt the romance would survive even the cleanest field dressing. Your shirt certainly wouldn't." He didn't take Legolas to be vain, but even the most extreme of survivalists found gutting a caribou to be a messy task. Decades later, and the smell bothered even him.

He couldn't help but chuckle at Legolas' reaction, knowing that his ribbing would be perfectly returned in kind. Some things he could always count on, and easy banter was one of those rare things. It was a new skill for him and he could never meet it with the same fluidity, but it was nice to flex the skill every now and then, just to see how far he could push.

At the mention of Quebecois, he made a noise as he drank, wondering how to describe how it differed from plain continental French. "It's not so different," He said finally, finishing his drink. "We understand French perfectly, it's the French who struggle with our language." He motioned for a second drink, and told the bartender to bring him another beer, along with a bottle of whiskey. "We care far less for manners, unless we're speaking to our grand-mère. Your grasp on French is good, all you've truly left to learn is our colloquialisms. Lâche pas la patate, you're a quick study. Worst case, you can always ask us to speak English."

Asking for English, the ultimate sign of giving up. It was self deprecating in a way; he'd given up ages ago trying to pick up whatever form of Sindarin Legolas knew.

Maybe the picture Buck painted wasn't the standard most would consider as romantic, but ironically enough — and funnily too —, it was something right up Legolas's alley, as they say. It reminded him of the old days, of the good times in the past. Hunting and feasting on the game they caught and fruit they gathered, only wine something traded that the forest could not provide with. True enough, the gutting and cleaning was hardly pleasant, but it was the sad necessity to have something better later.

"Star lit dinners in the wild are just as romantic, although in a different manner," he shrugged, smiling a little softer — as if he was about to suggest they should actually do it — but still with that edge of teasing to it, "And the hunt, the preparation, they are precious in their own right. Do not think me so squeamish that I would be bothered! Or be unwilling to stand a stain or two on my shirt. It is hardly pleasant, indeed, but for a good cause!"

It helped he had enough money to buy a new one, of course, but even so! For an elf of Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen as it was called after the war, to be squeamish of the hunt and the field dressing, it was unheard of.

"Lâche pas la patate," he parroted next with a laugh, his accent smooth but in the very continental French kind of way, but his tone was confused, as he tried to make sense of the phrase, "I think that one you will have to explain, unless I should always keep a potato on my person to not let it drop!"

Beer was one of those drinks that was deceptively easy to down quickly. Granted, not for him, but he had witnessed many a time that those who drank the quickest, wound up napping their intoxication away under the tables the soonest. Granted, again, most, if not all, of Rainbow were quite seasoned drinkers, so that happened rarely. All the same, Legolas arched a brow a notch, at Buck's pace, but matched it anyway, least someone got it in their head he could not keep up.

"Very few things we say should be taken at face value." He explained offhandedly, while wiping off his beard for any residual beer foam. "It means to not give up— the true meaning behind the potato has been lost to time." When you're a tiny contingent of fur trappers and prostitutes stuck in a providence while the rest of the continent is English, you tend to come up with your own funny sayings.

There were three things operators enjoyed more than anything else, and they were the three Bs: brawls, bullets, and booze. Two beers and a fifth of whiskey was just the start of the night for Buck, and it usually wasn't until the third shot before he started to feel the familiar buzz. Two beers were just enough to get him a little more conversational than usual. Drinks made conversation easier, and those good natured jokes easier to respond to and think of.

"It's a plan then. When you feel the need to experience the true terror of the Canadian outdoors, let me know. We've earned a few vacation days after today's debacle." He poured himself a shot, not bothering to measure but filling the glass to his own satisfaction. He gestured for Legolas to slide his own shot glass over, holding the bottle up to indicate his intention.

What kind of friend would he be, if he did not use this opportunity to its fullest! Without digging too deep, or too personally, of course, but he did enjoy it when those less chatty ones opened up a little. Even if only in teasing. It was nice, a lightness contrasting the tension and stress of all that their job came with. No casualties this time, but they were not always this lucky, especially when taking this many newbies into the field.

Chasing away the darker thoughts, Legolas slid his own glass obediently, quirking a brow. "In this case—," oh, not taking Buck at a face value at all, as instructed, "Is the 'true terror of the Canadian outdoors' harmless rabbits and cosy walks in the park?" That was the one option, the other had to wait a sip and the burn of the whiskey to pass. "Or perhaps is it the ease to mistake you for a bear in the dark forest? Having one on your face, I can see how it could happen."

All the same, if it was a serious offer, Legolas wouldn't think twice about taking it, regardless of the context of it. There was no better way of taking mind off of Things than to go and stay out in the wild for a little while. The climate didn't bother him, the wildlife was no worse than what he knew too well. And if the company was good, that was all he needed.

"Regardless, I will be sure to dress appropriately for it."

"Hah," Buck chuckled as he downed his shot glass, taking extra care this time around to make sure no liquid got stuck in his beard. "When I've let it gone as unkempt as Blackbeard I'll accept that criticism. Until then, all I can think is you're giving me shit for the hell of it."

The curses dropped more liberally after a few beers, when normally he was cautious to rein them in when in public or with Legolas. The normal frown he wore was replaced with something easier and more relaxed as he finally let the stresses of the day fall away. It was the company too— drinking with the rest of the team tended to be more chaotic, with drinks and punches thrown as often as insults.

"Quebec is a good place to be." He finished, sounding as if he added a sudden afterthought. "I would have been content to finish serving at home if I hadn't been called away. Hazards of the job, j'pense." At the very least home was just a flight away in his case. He'd never been interested in asking his coworker for personal details, and even now he wouldn't change his habit. Still, he was always curious as to where Legolas' home, something that sounded like one of the hundreds of books he'd read as a child. One didn't grow up on Call of the Wild and other nature books without dreaming of a world outside of modern civilization, after all.

True enough. Blackbeard, as his nickname implied very much, was more akin to a dwarf than Buck could ever dream to be. Still, beard was beard, especially when one let their drinks and food get stuck in it— which Legolas was glad, Buck was trying to be mindful about. He grinned in response, broad and cheeky, betraying just how true Buck's words were. Teasing just to tease! For one, it was really none of his business, and even if it were, he found Buck's beard, at least, suited him perfectly well.

The alcohol burned going down, almost painful in the first second, before it settled into pleasant warmth that just spread throughout his body from the belly. Relaxing and soothing. Though it was his companion's words that softened his expression into simple, warm amusement.

"Your love and pride of your home is admirable," he remarked, "Few in this day and age admit openly to such sentiments."

Then again, maybe it was a quality often found in those who would risk their lives for the fellow citizens, and more than that, for the fellow humans.

"I think you should go and visit, at least," take it from one who no longer can, but there was no need for such guilt. Legolas kept those words at bay, and continued easily with something else, something equally genuine. "We will hold the fort in your absence— unless the invitation stands, and you would take me with you. Then, I suppose they will still manage, if barely!"

"One day. Our memories of a place are far better than the actuality." Typical Quebecois pride aside, he knew the truth of how rememberance worked. He'd remember the good times, the perfect hunts and wilderness, but conveniently gloss over how overbearing and urban Montreal was. Combined with explaining to his parents exactly what he was doing now that he'd left the police, well. It'd be an awkward homecoming no matter what, especially when explaining to parents who'd hoped their son would have taken up a more academic career.

The bottle was only a quarter finished, an affront in his mind when they'd been talking for a good while now. It was better than fighting for the bottle with Frost, but drinking was a social activity; finishing a bottle alone was only the sign of an alcoholic. He gave the bottle a littlet shake, tilting it in Legolas' direction to see if he'd like another before filling his own.

"They managed a few months without us. They'd survive, if we settled for the bare minimum." Buck raised an eyebrow as he imagined what would happen if they went on extended vacation. "They'd turn our rooms into weight rooms, divvy up our equipment, and spam us with texts asking if we've died. In short, nothing different than usual." Constant harassment was how Rainbow showed their love, after all. But he couldn't complain, not when he knew that criticism only meant they'd trusted each other enough to actually listen. The haranguing he'd given the recruits came from a place of trust, in hopes they'd take it to heart and improve.

"And who would look after our recruits if we did?"

There was nothing for Legolas to do but laugh at the litany of explanations, the very likely scenario that would come to pass at the base. Unless they took precautions, unless they prepared. He slid his glass forward, nowhere near done drinking just yet himself. Almost, almost he wanted to express some offence that Buck even felt he needed to ask. True, they did not see him drinking anything stronger than wine often, but he was hardly a light weight. The wine was a choice, not a necessity.

But the laughter distracted, and then his mind was busy considering which of their colleagues he could trust to take over their kids—

All of them, was the very obvious answer. But then there was also the matter of exactly what each and every one of them would teach them. The two of them with Buck made for a balanced duo. Long range and short range, care and finesse, and sheer effective force. He downed the next shot in one go, before finally finding his answer.

"I suppose it all depends on what we wish them learn," he tapped the now empty glass on his lower lip, "Carefully planned approach with an artistic flair and yet enough self control to remain patient when necessary? Then Glaz would be the best for the job, with Montagne not far behind. If we wish to teach them the more roguish approach, then I do believe Bandit is our man."

And he could go on, and on. Each and every member of Rainbow was valuable, each brought something of their own to the table. But in all those thoughtful considerations, Legolas couldn't help a small tease at Buck's expense. "What a fine father you make, however, always the responsible one."

"I haven't sent them out to sea on an ice floe yet, or even threatened it." He fired back at the jab of being a good father, which he'd have argued he halfway was. A blunt, if inattentive father, but one who cared in his own way. He hadn't made a recruit totally cry yet, and had learned to temper his anger a few classes back after causing one class to go fully black.

It was an interesting thought experiment to consider how the other members of Rainbow would bring up their recruits. He paused in his drinking as he considered the other operators, and if they would have even passed their current class. Valkyrie would have been far more critical, telling them they had no business in counterterrorism if they couldn't handle a simple OP without the veterans giving out orders. He poured out two more shots as he tilted his head to one side, shrugging. "Perhaps I should have. My father did, and here I am."

He had a good relationship with his parents, despite that, perhaps a little more distance than they'd preferred, but they spoke when he had the time to call home, and approved of his profession, if only after realizing he wasn't retiring anytime soon. "I may ask Valkyrie to take care of them next mission," he confessed, giving his shot glass a swirl before downing it. "They need a lesson in sight lines, considering their performance. It wouldn't have passed selection, not in JTF, nor BUD/s." It was a harsh critique, but drinking led to honesty, and if he were fully truthful, the recruits needed more work than he had time to put in. "She's far more creative in the insults than I am, sacres be damned."

Legolas only stared for a couple of moments, and then stared some more, his next glass sitting untouched on the bar top. His eyebrows drew together in a confused frown, his lips a thin line that almost twitched into a smile, as he tried to figure out whether Buck was actually serious or not about that story of the ice floe trip. Then again, could he truly judge anyone's parents, when his own father would rather have him live hidden away like some sort of great treasure rather than living among humans? No, he couldn't. Still, it sounded quite drastic, and his curiosity was piqued.

And sympathy, but mostly curiosity. Buck was fine, and from what Legolas managed to pick up from his bearing and what all he managed to get out of him about himself, he did not loathe his parents. It must have been a trip that ended well, if... perhaps somewhat frightening for a child. Then again, so were spiders the size of a small car, and he turned out fine as well.

"Well, this is a tale I must hear," he finally said, after an extended — and for Legolas, very much unusual — moment of silence. He finally picked up his glass to down the shot as well. "The bear cub and the ice floe, the perfect bedtime story for the kids."

For the rest, he only nodded. Figuring that perhaps he could suggest rotating the instructors now and again, for a more well rounded training and experience before they choose whatever they wished to specialise in. It would be good for everyone. Well... it would be good, minus the insult training, but that was a battle lost a long, long time ago already. At the very least, for whatever reason really, he rarely found himself on the receiving end of the worst of them. Somehow, he commanded politeness out of the other operators, at least some of them.

"The ice floe?" He raised an eyebrow, smiling despite the perceived seriousness of the story. It wasn't a true threat, more of a boogeyman story that was passed from the First Nations onto gullible Canadian children. He obliged anyway, telling what he could remember, which unfortunately, wasn't much.

Buck had a bad memory for anything that wasn't a grudge, combined with a belief that there was little need to remember the past. "N'importe, one day as a child I nearly shot the neighbor's dog. Nothing serious," He quickly added, in case the story made him sound like a serial killer, "Merely a lack of knowledge in safety, and poor timing." He'd ignored the 2nd law of gun safety, to never point the barrel at anything he wasn't prepared to shot.

"My father was ah, être en mosus. He threatened to drop me on an ice floe and send me out to sea, like the folk tales I'd read in êcole maternelle. He thought it'd scare me, or frighten me enough into apologizing." He chuckled, thinking about how frustrating it must have been to have a bullheaded child, and how much trouble he must have given his parents. He didn't appreciate them enough, he supposed, the alcohol making him feel more appreciative than usual. "When he learned it didn't work, he made me clean mow their lawn instead, for an entire year."

He scratched behind his ear as he finished, knowing full well his story had a rather lame ending. "Here, I've given you plenty of stories of mine, it's only fair for you to share." He raised his glass, pointing the neck to Legolas to indicate it was his turn.

Ah! So it did not come to pass at all! Legolas wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not, all the same, he was grinning when Buck was done retelling his story. He was glad for the nearly there, about that poor dog, and had to shake his head too, in spite of his amusement. At least now Buck learned to handle the weapons better, he was a professional now, and no such accident would happen ever again. Very much a good thing. How much of where Buck was now came from his upbringing? That was an interesting thought for Legolas, the ever curious one about all the people in his life.

"Ah, stories of my childhood?" It was so, so long ago, he wanted to say, but that would invite questions just how long, and truth was, Legolas had lost count a long while ago already. Yet all his memories from that time were still crystal clear in his head, when he thought back to them. Like he did now, thinking which would be interesting to share. Certainly not the stories of his streaking across the halls of the Woodland Realm, certainly not the stories of his falling out of trees, or being sat on, or the myriad other embarrassing ones that... his father would be more than delighted to share.

"There was a time, once, that I had found a fawn, its mother the game our hunters have slain. On its own, it was bound to die, but I convinced my father to allow me to take it in. We ate together, we bathed together, we rested together, much to my father's displeasure...," his eyes twinkled with mirth, "And yet every time he tried to enforce his rules, he could not uphold them even for a minute."

Big grey-blue eyes, a mane of golden hair, Legolas learned early how to use his looks to wrap people around his pinky finger.

"Fawn, a bird and then another, a fox and hedgehog siblings, a litter of squirrels," he began listing on his fingers, grinning broader as he recalled Thranduil's frustration, "I think it was at that point that he found it in him to call a stop to my animal hoarding tendencies."

But the animals stayed until they all passed of old age. His grief was great, every time, and he better understood the reasoning of the ban on that.

The first thing that sprung to mind was Bambi, and then Disney, and then that perhaps Snow White had been based off Legolas. The idea was enough to make Buck snort, but he kept the mental image to himself, not feeling up to the challenge of describing the image of Legolas having his hair braided by a menagerie of woodland animals. No words could describe what he saw, with animals chirping and singing around Legolas as he sat in a verdant meadow in a similarly colored dress.

"No cats? Quel dommage." A corner of his mouth turned up in a grin, before turning his attention back to the bottle. "And I'd have guessed you were always a smooth talker." Smooth was an understatement. Legolas could have talked his way through an enemy garrison without trouble, and Buck had fallen for Legolas' ruse enough to know exactly how it went. A useful skill, certainly one he admired, but dangerous to those unaware. "Silver-tongued, and patron saint of the innocent and downtrod. No wonder you take to recruits so easily."

It was nothing more than good natured teasing, but it was how Buck saw things. The others spent a good deal of time smoking the recruits like they were back at selection, yelling at them at all hours of the day with an almost sadistic glee. At the complete opposite end of the spectrum, Buck tended to ignore them until he was forced to acknowledge them. "Will you adopt ours as well? They may object to bathing together, but with enough convincing..." He shrugged, as if actually considering it.

It was unsurprising that Buck found the whole thing funny, that was the desired effect after all. Laughter, amusement, even if it was at his own expense. That was just what it was, he did have a grand collection of stories from his past that could put to doubt the common reputation of elves as graceful, beautiful and wise. Then again, the Silvan elves were always more on the wild side, and it was them he grew up around. Plenty of what and how they were rubbed off on him.

Playful ribbing met playful ribbing, however, and Legolas could only shake his head in well feigned disappointment.

"I fear I have my hands full with you, already," on the counter, he slid his glass over for another shot, "No time for more little ones to look after."

He matched that near seriousness, that genuine contemplation of the suggestion and the saddened rejection for his fate was sealed already. And yet, also, he did not seem to mind this fate. He did not complain, he did not seem put upon.

"Drôle de couple," Buck mused as he poured out another shot, holding back a yawn as he thought about their current predicament. Special Operations was a small world, and at first, Buck hadn't known how well Legolas would have fit in. Tribal knowledge, slang and abrasive personalities were all part of the package, and Legolas was a stranger to them all. Teams prided themselves in being close enough that they called each other brother, and often it was their first team that they stayed with for life. Rainbow was in the unique situation that they'd been reassigned, upending all those relationships that had been built on blood, sweat and tears.

Turned out his worry was pointless, with Legolas fitting in with relative ease. "I'm a simple man," he finally said over a sip of liquor. "Front towards enemy. Very little maintenance beyond someone to watch my 6, which you do very well." From afar as well, which was also a positive to Buck, who'd often stumbled over the man behind him when they had to back up. IF no praise was praise for Buck, then offhand praise like this was basically a glowing review.

"But since you did mention dining, the next dinner's on you." In actuality Legolas only mentioned dining with his woodland friends, but semantics. The point was dinner was mentioned, and no man in his right mind turned down any opportunity for a free meal.

The odd couple? Indeed, they were. Even now, as they sat here by the bar, the contrast could sear the eyes of any person, and the few new patrons who entered since they began drinking sure did pause and stare for a second or two. Something Legolas only noted to remain aware of their surroundings, and did not pay much more attention to. If it bothered him that people stared, he would have never had any peace of mind, after all. Because they did stare, a lot, no matter where he went, no matter what he wore— unless it was a hoodie and trackpants, and the hood was up.

In Rainbow, nobody stared anymore, nobody questioned or doubted him anymore. Only the very new recruits, especially those who thought him to be an easy target due to his appearance and a lot gentler attitude than the rest of operators. In spite of the differences he wound up fitting well enough, and more than that, he was accepted among them.

But the fact was, they were each of them different. Different in the way puzzle pieces were different, yet still fit and work together to make a whole.

Legolas grinned, both at the praise — which genuinely tickled him pink to hear —, and the demand. It eased into warm laughter, "With such praise preceding, I could not argue that at all. Home cooked?"

When dinner usually consisted of reheating whatever was leftover in chow, all other options sounded good. He shrugged and waved a hand noncommittally, signalling that where and what the dinner was up to Legolas. "I leave the choice to you." It was like the analogy that driver chose the music; the one on the hook for the bill or meal was the one who got the choice.

He wasn't picky— well, as long as it wasn't pizza. Hereford had pizza often enough to the point Buck had started choosing MREs over take out, all while grumbling up a small storm that he was forced to pay a portion of a meal he was beyond sick of eating. "I'd like to see what you ate at home," he said as an afterthought, leaning back in his chair and looking up as if asking the ceiling. "British food is shit— ce n'est pas ma faute! It's the fucking truth." The latter part was directed toward the barkeep, who'd let out a loud hmph at the statement. He made a dismissive gesture, before thinking twice, and gesturing for the barkeep to return, this time with the bill.

"But, I have no preference. I'll leave the decision in your hands." He nodded, with more vigor than usual. It was a good sign that they'd drunk enough to hit the point of tipsy when his actions became more expressive, and a good sign that anymore would lead to a far more exciting night than either of them had planned for.

The signs were there, indeed, and blessedly Legolas was not so far gone himself to insist on continuing. He was warmed, he felt lighter, but neither his speech nor his walk, or most importantly his thoughts, have been weighed down by the alcohol. He still observed Buck with some amusement at his expense, finding his tipsy antics endearing in their own right. Even with the whinging, even with the swearing.

(For one, he had a point, and Legolas got used to the swearing a long while ago already.)

"I will certainly enjoy this freedom you give me," and make sure Buck enjoyed his choices just as well, of course, but he trailed off on that exclamation instead. Whatever Buck thought of it, so be it!

But with the bill paid, it was time to head back, and though there was a distinct spring to Legolas's step, he at least managed to keep himself from skipping along even an inch. The stars were out in full force and the air was crisp. Tomorrow would be a fine day, for some to perhaps nurse a nice hangover, for others to practise outside.

( ask before ships/smut. info in journal. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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get your rng on.

Harry Osborn › Spider-Man

Charles Xavier | X-men movies

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peter hale | teen wolf | ota

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Ben Solo [AU] | Star Wars

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a little bit crack a little bit gen...(time travel and lost? something like that)

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i'm rolling with it being a "newer than clone wars" ship, though it still might be old in ben's time

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