#crosscursed

[bulletblessed]

so what if he pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. what if. is that also gonna make him horny.

@crosscursed

Hᴇ's ʙᴇᴇɴ in the middle of a long winded ramble, gesturing wildly with his free hand and barely stopping to take a breath when he's suddenly finding himself in a predicament; collar pulled taunt by the sudden pressure on it, words stolen by lips against his, a tongue licking them out of his mouth along with any air. Instantly, whatever thought had been previously in his mind is wiped clean off, all animated fight (even if only verbally) gone in a flash. Glasses pushed askew by the angle to reveal the rapid blinking while he takes a second to recalibrate to what's happening.

(It's not easy to take him by surprise in a fight, or any other situation, but do anything nice or gentle and it hard resets his entire brain, overwhelms him, makes him unsure of how to proceed from here. A weapon to be used against him if wielded by the wrong person.)

It does indeed, predictably, send little shivers of electricity down his spine, but they have neither the time nor the space for that in the current situation, and besides, it's all just a dirty trick. As much flashes back when his eyes happen to stray lower, and the deck of cards in his other hand, now hanging low and quite visibly with their faces revealed, come back to mind. It still takes some effort to push against the broader man's chest and detach himself from the vigorous assault.

"That's hardly fair — "

[bulletblessed]

hold on just a goddamn second. one step at a time.

@crosscursed

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs too many things happening all at once, always; too many things to consider, brain running at two hundred miles an hour to try and calculate all the things that might go wrong, are going wrong, how to keep them from going wrong. There's a dark fog over his eyes and a hiss at being held back. He knows what he's doing. He's been doing it for long enough and it's easy to keep the majority of people from getting hurt (or worse) when you put yourself in the line of fire. Very few conflicts that cannot be broken up by creating a bigger one around himself. Why does the other one think he put so much time and thought and care into becoming larger than life, instantly recognizable, seen as harmless and stupid when he's not been either of those things.

Sometimes there is simply no time to take things 'one step at a time'. Sometimes there's only shit options and if he's collecting more scars in return for everyone being able to leave a situation upright, then that's the best one, and he makes it over and over and over again.

(You never loved so much to want to do it out of your own heart, it's simply what you've been taught to do to have any value. You've never been kind.)

He hisses out a sound that's not quite human, and for a moment there's no bright eyes and brighter smile, not even the concerned look that crosses his features so often. For a moment, he is (a reckoning, a force of nature, a terrible thing masquerading as human but as far from them as the natural catastrophe he's named after) exactly the thing people fear.

"Get out of my way."

There is no "or". There is no room for disagreement. No matter what, he will never choose the singular over the many — not even when it's someone so important to him. He has lived decades bleeding out on the sand for someone else to avoid that very thing; he's given pieces of himself to anyone that asked and those that didn't, he could stop his ways just as little as the sun will stop beating down on them, or gravity would stop working because it had been asked.

[everdaring]

don't mind him, he's just coming up from behind her and ruffling her hair in a much wilder shape while setting down a plate with her favorite cake in front of her. maybe he got it somewhere. maybe he scammed someone to get the ingredients to make it right. it's funnier if it stays a mystery.

She attempts to complain; at first. The weak protests and mock-annoyance on her features, displayed with a pout, melt away as soon as she spots the treat the preacher offered out to her.

A moment of surprise follows, barely perceivable; then, a smile widens on her lips, charming and sweet.

"You really shouldn't have," she chirps, her tone full well conveying that she would have, indeed, been very upset, had he not kept her special day in mind.

Another mask. Another role she plays. But it goes deeper than that.

She is certain the moment of bewilderment upon spotting the cake has not been registered by the other, of course.

"You better stay and have a slice," she follows up cheekily.

"I would be horribly depressing, to have no one to share a sweet treat with, on my own birthday. Don't you think?"

She figures in this case she has ever right to be making demands.

@crosscursed

[ofgunsmoke-a]

@crosscursed: outfreak the freak

Hey now, let's not go that far-

[grainbloomed]

probably won’t need 'em, but we should have 'em. (for the gf!!)

@crosscursed

Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ crease on her forehead as she watches him pile up a good amount of bandages and disinfectants. Things that she agrees are always handy to have around — you never know when you might get a nasty cut or something — but the pure number of them is why she had initially inquired about it. You don't stockpile on that if you don't plan something very dangerous. People think just because she chooses to be soft spoken and kind she's also oblivious to things, as if she doesn't know exactly what kind of world they live in, and as if one of the reasons why she writes so many letters isn't to make sure everyone she cares about does not worry about her, and can in turn reassure her about still being safe, a thing not a given.

He does not make the impression of someone that even wants to try and keep safe, and his smile sure meant to ease her does not do quite as much so as he might think.

(She's not blind. She knows it rarely means anything good when the boys try to ditch them both, and that their intentions might be good, but the methods aren't always.)

"Are you sure? It does seem like a lot for 'just in case', Mister Wolfwood."

Arguing never got anyone anywhere, but it does not keep her from expression concern.

[grainbloomed]

I’m doing a fucking thing here. I don’t need you getting in my way. (for worstie </3)

@crosscursed

Oʜ, sʜᴇ's not getting in the way. She's not offering any help, either. There's approximately a thousand things she could think of that would be a better use of her time, but unfortunately, most of them are not an option right now, and driving Chapel's nerves into the ground seems like a perfect excuse to get her own spirits back up. She's in a mood, and he's the closest thing to let it out on. Easy as such.

"Does 'your thing' involve complete and utter incompetence? I am aware that this is not an uncommon state for you to approach any task, but you do seem especially resistant to improving and learning from your mistakes today."

Naturally, she could offer at least eight different potentially fatal or at least mission critical flaws in his obvious plan, but it's much funnier to see him fail and get punished. It's not like it affects long term goals, so she might as well drive the knife a little further in and twist.

[bulletblessed]

“Let’s grab ourselves a drink.” (crosscursed)

@crosscursed

A ʟᴏᴛ of bad ideas tend to start with those exact words. Not all of them have been his bad ideas; sometimes he's directly involved (alright, alright: most times, even if he wasn't originally), sometimes it's just the things one observed (when has he ever done that without getting into the situation himself) and sometimes it's simply what people talk about.

Then again, a lot of good stories also start with that particular phrase.

Given. He's rarely part of this more elusive, secondary part. It's more like a beast of myth and legend, something that allegedly, occasionally, sometimes might occur. He's not entirely sure on the logistics. He does, vaguely, have the suspicion that those things require a vastly higher starting fund than they have (virtually none), which directly relates of the quality of said drink (bottom of the barrel kinda junk, in this particular case) and thus the clarity of the minds partaking in this little time waste (debatable at the best of times, which are rarely).

If one wanted to, they could see the coin flip inside his eyes; land on it's side, spin a second longer than necessary, before dropping on one side and being disregarded either way. Wrong side, either way.

"Ohhhhh, are you taking me out?"

Yes, likely. With the big gun on his back for the stupid grin he's getting.

[everdaring]

@crosscursed said: "here, let me help you"

"...owie."

It is not exactly a rare occurrence for her, to encounter strangers offering out their assistance to her - usually not without a bit of coaxing or coercion, perhaps a little convincing, a charming smile, a sweet, innocent request from the plump rosy lips-

With this one, she did not even have to TRY. Hah. Must have been her lucky day. And the gentleman offering his aid? Either very POLITE...

...or very desperate. Either worked for her.

And as much as she hated to admit it, right now she very much needed the help. Huddled in a street corner, away from prying eyes ( except for HIS, she assumed ), she had taken refuge for the time being, hoping against hope the pulsating pain in her leg would not slow her down all too much during her escape...

Well, the puddle of blood forming next to her did not exactly make that a promising prospect. Any thought of moving at all was currently unbearable.

She needed the help. Might as well... take the aid the heavens decided to send her. Hah. He better not be associated with Milton and his goons...

Trust was a near unattainable commodity in the desert landscape they all called home. The kindness of strangers, without hope for a reward, much less. She would have to take what she could get.

"A-hah... what's this, then?" the Spark managed out, forcing a smile on her features.

"A guardian angel? Mighty generous of the old man upstairs..."

First meeting starters