"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.
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.
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.
"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.
"Yeah, one that sits next ta a bottle of fancy perfume an' a thoroughly fucked ponce," he teases.
Sweeney sighs, his mind wandering back to what he might choose, if he had the ability to define his housing. It seems strange that he doesn't have any real idea of what he would want. The tub had been (and still is) the goal.
"Not sure I should be trusted with a kitchen." Levity lingers in his voice.
"If you burn the boat down, maybe the Admiral could get a new one," Dorian grins. "How long has he had this stupid thing anyway? Absolutely due for an upgrade."
Sweeney shrugs. "No fuckin' clue." Silence lingers while he takes a slow drag.
"Only reason I came back was I kept fuckin' dyin'. Didn't wanna stay that way." He taps his ash. "Put in what repair work I needed to ta earn the right ta be alive." Something clicks, and he makes an amendment.
"Alive enough." Because he knows what he is here isn't the same thing.
Dorian can't help but let out a low chuckle. Alive enough indeed.
"I know I was one of the few people who were fine going back to the Barge. There were a decent amount of you lot who wanted to stay. And honestly? I don't blame you."
"Ya mean would I rather be my own man, earnin' easy coin an' spendin' it on e'ery debaucherous thing that strikes me, whene'er I want, instead of bein' trapped in a place that's constantly torturin' me by shovin' me full'a new lives while holdin' me under the threat of unmakin' me at any moment?" A beat follows.
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Sweeney doesn't find much appeal in it, but bear baiting seems like a sport Dorian would enjoy. And excel in.
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Bear baiting is a sport Dorian would enjoy. And the shitty little grin on his face makes that obvious as hell.
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"Ne'er understood that one. But if it gets folk fussin'...s'ppose that's what counts."
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"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.
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It's said with fondness, though.
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"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.
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Apparently he still needs to change something. Something to make the Admiral feel like he's earned Not Being Dead.
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"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.
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"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.
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"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.
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"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.
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Sweeney sighs, his mind wandering back to what he might choose, if he had the ability to define his housing. It seems strange that he doesn't have any real idea of what he would want. The tub had been (and still is) the goal.
"Not sure I should be trusted with a kitchen." Levity lingers in his voice.
"Might burn the fuckin' boat down."
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"Kinda surprised more didn't change when shit was gettin' fixed up in Flotilla." It seemed the perfect opportunity.
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Dorian shrugs before continuing. "I wonder how fixed the ship truly is."
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"Only reason I came back was I kept fuckin' dyin'. Didn't wanna stay that way." He taps his ash. "Put in what repair work I needed to ta earn the right ta be alive." Something clicks, and he makes an amendment.
"Alive enough." Because he knows what he is here isn't the same thing.
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"I know I was one of the few people who were fine going back to the Barge. There were a decent amount of you lot who wanted to stay. And honestly? I don't blame you."
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"Ya mean would I rather be my own man, earnin' easy coin an' spendin' it on e'ery debaucherous thing that strikes me, whene'er I want, instead of bein' trapped in a place that's constantly torturin' me by shovin' me full'a new lives while holdin' me under the threat of unmakin' me at any moment?" A beat follows.
"Yeah, tough choice, that."
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