gunsforhire | LOG: Crappy take out and some beer

Who: Texas (native) and Florida (native)
What: Chillaxing and relaxing. Oh and Florida has some feelings and things to talk about.
Where: One of Florida's safe houses.
When: 5/22 evening
Warnings: Possible adult situations and talk? Will edit this if it becomes a thing.

More scarves. He's saving her a bit by making them for her and she's not sure if she needs to thank him or not for shoving Omega into approaching her to hang-out. If only her brother didn't need that shove in the first place.

She's picked up what passes for Chinese take-out on Adaptive and brings it with her to his safe house. She's packed herself an overnight bag and a few things to occupy her time since she has a feeling he'll be knitting at least part of the night. It sounds like he's being doing a whole helluva lot of that lately and she's not sure what 'frustration' has brought that on.

Her bike is parked in the garage next to his Isis and she enters into the house with only a short knock of warning.

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That's enough to get him to moan? Well damn. Her hands sure as hell aren't stopping now, not when she can coax that kind of reaction out of him.

"Come say hi next time, I don't mind. And if you're going to plan a spa day, I might have to tag along just so I can see you in a face mask with cucumbers over your eyes."

"You could see me like that tonight if you want," Florida groans in pleasure, just melting into the couch at her touch. "I relent on my beauty routine when you're around. I work hard for these looks."

Then he hesitates. "So.. uh... I'm not entirely honest about that. The planet I come from, it's one of the ones where gene-modding was more popular before it was highly discouraged socially. Some things, including longer lifespans and reduced rate of aging, get passed on today. Thus..."

He makes a wide gesture at himself. "I sold well when I was doing my brothel training, because I still looked about fourteen, even if I was this tall. All baby-faced and smooth."

Edited 2015-05-23 21:04 (UTC)

The fact that looks that young fetch a higher price is enough to make her almost gag. Her expression is tight-lipped as she remains silent for a moment, focusing solely on what her hands are doing.

"Glad you're not stuck doing that anymore," she eventually says. "I already have an idea of how old you actually are. How long of a lifespan are we talking?"

"Not too much beyond what current medical tech on your normal, non-Adaptive, planet allows for," Florida answers. "It is estimated that, if I am lucky and healthy, I will easily make approximately a hundred and twenty before I need the care a person on most planets require past a hundred. Which means, all told, I could be looking at roughly, if I'm VERY lucky, a century and a half."

Of course the life span on Adaptive is lower. So many people dying due to the environment. It built up in the body and slowly wore you down.

"Aren't you fortunate. You'll have to forgive me when I start wrinkling sooner."

Even without Adaptives environmental toll, this job doesn't lend itself to graceful aging.

"You are a beauty who will age gracefully," Florida chides, reaching out (though it is a bit of a stretch with his foot in her lap) to stroke her cheek. "I've seen a lot. I am certain."

She presses her cheek into his hand and shrugs. "We'll see about that. I plan to live a nice, long life."

"Well maybe you can make time for a poor old man like myself," Florida laughs, falling back onto the couch.

His world is...

Better now.

She lifts his leg up slightly to make it easier for her to slide over and rest against his side.

"I thought I was already doing that. I'm surprised you can even keep up with me, Ed."

"Oh, little bee, I'm so well trained in keeping up," he teases, moving an arm around her. "You know this means I'm going to try and continue to shower you with knitted things, right? After the scarves."

She closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder. "As long as they're small and practical. I don't wear a whole lot of sweaters or hats."

"So scarves and socks is what you're telling me," Florida laughs, closing his eyes as well to just enjoy the company.

Bless him for having a deeper couch here.

"Or something. More likely to use those than hats and sweaters."

The knitted look isn't part of her style, usually.

"It's alright," Florida assures her, reaching up to stroke her hair. "I do it for stress relief. Stress relief of a socially acceptable form. And the baking as well."

At least she knows he won't be offended if she doesn't wear any of it. The scarves will see use, but she's not sure about the rest.

"You should clear out some closet space here to keep everything you make then. I don't have a whole lot of space between what I already have and my equipment."

Florida laughs cheerfully at her suggestion. "Brilliant idea, my dear, but I need the closet space for all my lovely toys."

Seriously, where would he move everything? This isn't a place he has ever meant to spend so much continuous time in. Not ever. And yet here he was.

"I donate quite a bit to charities," Florida adds.

"You do have a lot of those," she replies. "Not that I'm complaining. I'll make room for them and if I end up not using anything, you can donate it."

It would at least give the items some kind a purpose.

"I just promised not to make you anything useless," Florida chides her, hand still stroking through her hair. "Besides, I can keep making socks for Wash. He takes them. I think he uses them as cat toys. Asshole."

"Are you surprised? He uses everything as a car toy." Anything that's left out around base has the danger of becoming one. There's a reason she keeps everything in her room.

"Hate cats," Florida grumbles under his breath.

Cats hate him as well. He figures it's fair.

She knows what not to try to drag back here then. Not that she has any real time for a pet.

"More of a dog person myself," she says with a shrug. "As long as the cats stay out of my room, I ignore them."

"Dogs are good," Florida says very quietly, very distantly. He hasn't dealt with a dog in a positive way since...

Well, a very long time.

She opens her eyes enough to glance at him. It's clear there's more to it than that, the question is whether he wants to elaborate.

"The way you're saying it, they don't sound good."

"Beyond the dogs I've had to deal with on missions, I love dogs," Florida answers.

He doesn't trust himself with them.

"I had a dog once," he says, very quietly. "His name was Fluffles."

"I've never had the chance to have one." Moving around would do that, unfortunately. She closes her eyes once more and settles against him.

"Do I want to know what happened to Fluffles?"

LOG: Crappy take out and some beer

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