Nicholas McQuaid

Nicholas McQuaid 22 years old Senior at CBU Major: Biochemistry Minor: Genetics Disclaimer: This is a role playing account.

[sienna--turati]

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. 

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Give me a heart attack, Sienna.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

You scared the fuck out of me, mate!

[mellie-crowe]

No, senior, as in the fact that you are one.

…You suck.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Oh. That's less amusing.

Sorry, love.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

A Little Night Music || Lana/Nick

He walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, worrying about his friend's state of mind. He had known Lana to work like a clock: cogs perfectly meshed, well-lubricated, wound tight. She didn't often have these things of moments where she seemed off-kilter or like something was bothering her to the point of reticence. In fact, she had been one of the first people he felt most comfortable around after coming to the States and being at school for a little while. She was friendly and ambitious and violently motivated, like himself, and he enjoyed that part about her. So to see her so conflicted had Nick in a tornado of worry. He walked beside her, wondering if she would find comfort if he put his arm around her, or if she preferred to keep her thoughts entirely to herself until they reached his flat.

He opened the door for her and let her inside. sliding his coat from his shoulders and offering to take hers as well. "Would you prefer a soda, water, tonic...? I've got some tea as well, if you don't want anything cold," he said as he hung up their coats on the wall pegs and went to the kitchen to fetch himself a Guinness. "My parents sent me a bottle of English gin, but you said no alcohol..." he mused aloud, reminding himself of her preferences. It struck him as odd but admirable that a college student did not want to drink. But for Lana, it made an inordinate amount of sense. She had more discipline than most.

"Oh!" He startled with excitement, a smile coming to his face. He went to the cupboard, pulled out a container and started spreading an array of cookies onto a plate. "My mum also sent biscuits. You don't have to eat them, but." He shrugged, setting the plate down on the coffee table in the living room. "They're quite buttery. I like them."

[mellie-crowe]

Ah! But I had no negative tone to my voice, i think this whole conversation is amusing, despite how much you give off a very…mmm…senior vibe about it all.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Senior vibe? Like an old man? Well, I am English.

To be sincere for a moment, I like giving you a hard time in the most innocent way. I think you're very funny.

[mellie-crowe]

No, I think you’re an uptight smartass of a British man who tries to hide the fact that he swears like a sailor like the rest of the world to try and keep up a image.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

That's quite mean. I'm not sure I like you very much anymore, Mel.

[mellie-crowe]

Oh don’t you go harpin’ to me about language. I know you english people go about cursing up a storm more than we do.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Hush, you. As far as you're concerned I'm an uptight, nervous British man who only swears during a game of cricket.

[mellie-crowe]

Do you have to be so fuckin’ analytical? I know you tackle and I know you kick field goals. Happy?

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Ouch, Mel, watch your language, you act as if I'm pulling your teeth right out your face.

[mellie-crowe]

I’m aware of the terminology, thank you. Bit if you haven’t noticed, they use feet in tackle football too.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Not nearly as much as real football. And hey, I thought you knew nothing about football.

[mellie-crowe]

Oh! I thought you were talking about football football. Like tackle football. I know nothing about that.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Football is played with the feet, hence football. But not to worry, I know very little about American football, as well.

[mellie-crowe]

Wait…do you mean soccer?

[nicholas-mcquaid]

For you, perhaps.

[mellie-crowe]

I’d just call it a position. I know nothing about football.

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Nothing? Savage men running about on an astroturf pitch, kicking a ball into a net? Nothing?

[mellie-crowe]

….Halfback?

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Football term. You'd probably call it a midfielder.

[mellie-crowe]

No sports? No hobbies? No special interests?

[nicholas-mcquaid]

I'm actually quite a good halfback. Captain in secondary school in London. I play for the University now.

[its-macie-royce]

Hey now. America is what dreams are made of. Only in a completely shitty way. 

I may be magical but I am far from your stereotypical witch. My powers are strictly technology based. 

[nicholas-mcquaid]

In a batter-covered, deep-fried, bigger-is-better kind of way.

Like what?

[its-macie-royce]

I think you mean amazing, awesome and gorgeous. 

Mint chocolate chip. I want a change from my usual strawberry. 

[nicholas-mcquaid]

Isn't that the definition of ridiculous? You Americans, always butchering the English language.

I can handle that, I suppose. I half-expected some...mud-cup-martini-with-gummy-worms-and-nail-clippings business to come out of your mouth.

[its-macie-royce]

Yea! Come on, let’s blow this Popsicle stand. 

[nicholas-mcquaid]

You're ridiculous.

What crazy flavor of milkshake are you no doubt craving?