brushoff | tlv ic contact

New blonde. She.

"Wait, are you talking about Petronilla? The one who's even more ye olde timey than the sailor boys."

He nods once. "That's the one." Sweeney shrugs in a moment of consideration, remember trying to gauge what she'd been hiding under all those layers.

"Ain't sure 'bout where she is on fuckin', but she seems fine 'nough with murder."

And for all his impulses, even Sweeney knows he should weigh that amount of crazy before he sticks his dick in her. May not stop him, but he should at least think about it first.

"A lot of people here seem fine enough with murder," Dorian points out. But the small little frown on his face tells Sweeney that he's thinking the same thing. There's fine enough with murder. And then there's whatever the hell is up with Petronilla.

"She seems...intense in some regards."

A diplomatic way of saying 'fucking crazy'.

Sweeney tips his head in acceptance of the assessment.

"Only really know 'bout her secondhand. Think she does shit on the network, but I'm shit at keepin' up with all that bollocks."

And the secondhand assessments all agree--absolutely fucking crazy.

"I'll keep you up to date if anything interesting happens," Dorian shrugs. "After all, I spend too much time on the network listening to gossip."

With a brief chuckle, Sweeney's tongue slides along his teeth.

"Man's gotta have a pastime 'tween all his bad habits. Can't 'magine ya tolerate bein' bored when ya don't gotta."

"Urgh, I loathe boredom," Dorian dramatically sighs. "I'll do anything to keep myself entertained."

"An' if all else fails, seems like the Network's a good place fer shit stirrin'."

Sweeney doesn't find much appeal in it, but bear baiting seems like a sport Dorian would enjoy. And excel in.

"I'll just toss the apple of discord everybody's way with an innocuous question like fuck, marry, kill."

Bear baiting is a sport Dorian would enjoy. And the shitty little grin on his face makes that obvious as hell.

"Mhm." Sweeney's tongue slides along his teeth as he appraises Dorian for a touch longer than it actually takes.

"Ne'er understood that one. But if it gets folk fussin'...s'ppose that's what counts."

"It gets folk fussin' and it makes folk more ready to start a fight that I can just watch," he grins. And that's what matters most: his own entertainment.

His grin blossoms, a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

"Sometimes the watchin's the best part." Normally, orgasming is the best part, but the watching is still enjoyable either way. And there is something to be said for spectating folk lose their shit over things that don't matter.

Dorian lets out a short little laugh, giving Sweeney a shit-eating grin as he shakes his head. "You would think that, wouldn't you."

It's said with fondness, though.

Sweeney admits the point with a helpless shrug, his smirk remaining undeterred.

"I am what I am," he notes, unnecessarily pensive on the matter. "Can't imagine that'll be changin' 'til I do." Into whatever he's believed to be next.

"And I doubt any of us would want you to change that much in the first place," he grins. "At least, I don't. I like certain aspects of you."

"Aye." He rolls his eyes playfully. "An' the rest is utter bollocks."

Apparently he still needs to change something. Something to make the Admiral feel like he's earned Not Being Dead.

"I'll drink to that," Dorian laughs. And he plans to, thank you very much!

Sweeney gives a quick lift of his glass in perfunctory sentiment, then kills his drink in favor of a fresh one.

"Hopefully I can sort out the chaff in there at some point. Get a bathroom of my very own." He pulls down a cigarette in a moment of clarity that maybe he should slow the fuck down.

"A bathroom and a place with more than one room," Dorian grins. "Moving on up!"

Maybe. His nose holds a passing scrunch.

"Not really sure how ya start puttin' extra rooms in a motel room."

The tub would be a fancy addition, but realistically, he can't imagine it being anything out of place. Nothing excessive; probably some plastic prefab piece of shit. A symbol more than anything.

"You can always ask the Admiral to change the room entirely," Dorian shrugs. "Replace the motel room with...I don't know, the room of an actual house or something."

It's something Sweeney knows, but never thinks about. He doesn't need much, and is so rarely in there that it just really doesn't matter. He just needs the symbol, a confirmation that he earned enough to not be dead.

"Fuck. Been so long since I've been stayed in any place with more than one room--" As a residence. "--I ain't e'en sure what I'd ask for." The castle was the last one he recalls. That's fucking depressing if he thinks too hard on it.

Dorian frowns, thinking things over for a moment before he answers. "A kitchen. Your own bathroom. Maybe a living room area? Definitely a kitchen though, you don't want your entire bedroom to smell like whatever you cook."

The chuckle that threatens ends up a short, sharp laugh.

"Instead of it smellin' like a fuckin' ashtray?" He has so few folk over to his place, he forgets they don't know how bad it is. At least he finally washed the linens. Two years was too long, even for him.

"To be fair, my room also smells ashtray adjacent," Dorian shrugs. Not as bad as Sweeney's—after all, he believes in doing laundry on a regular basis. But bad enough that you can tell he's a bit of a smoker.

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam