dresden_kink_mods: black and white crescent moon and stars, sort of a burn out affect (Default)
dresden_kink_mods ([personal profile] dresden_kink_mods) wrote in [community profile] dresden_kink2011-04-01 08:53 pm
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Dressing Room

Ack! Close the door; people are changing in here!

This post is for RPG shenanigans. The rules stand. A short refresher: don't be an asshole.

This post-specifics: multiple characters are okay. Characters specific to alternate verses are okay. OCs are okay. Your journal coming in to hang too is okay. There isn't a formal scenario here; it's an open sandbox where all characters and community-watchers can come and play. If your thread is going adult-only, put up a notice in the subject line. If it's going into trigger territory, don't be an asshole: no noncon-noncon'ing anyone, watchers included. Don't start OOC shit.

And have a blast!

(Don't have a dreamwidth account for your character(s)? Go check out [site community profile] dw_codesharing. If there's nothing on the first page, dig deep. Lots get missed, especially when new codes go out. Also, check out the code sharing post.)
fanatic_os: hollow-faced and eyed man, side profile, lank grey hair, hand to his face, pensive, ring!bandages on some fingers (post-death: thinking)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-05-29 09:01 am (UTC)(link)
He takes the bottle, warm and solid. Hefts it carefully, checking the weight. It's real. It's wet. It's better than he was hoping. He takes a few careful drinks.

"New?" he asks, setting it back on the bar, mouth wet in like Winter ice and water doesn't make it, the new-old feeling of weight in his stomach. His brain pops and fizzles when the alcohol hits his blood. It's been a while. "It's good," he offers, after a beat. "Really good."

His shoulders aren't so expressive. But maybe the way his back settles, loses some of the icicle will say that he's glad for the company, for the quiet.


(ooc: off to bed!)
thirteen_pillars: An olive-skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks at the camera. His hands are linked and propped in front of his mouth. (Default)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-05-29 09:10 am (UTC)(link)
Mac nods at the question, and the corners of his mouth lift gently at the praise. Some of that smile, as low key as it is, is pleasure that what seems to be an old friend seems to be able to enjoy a new brew.

Mac lifts off of his elbows and goes back to wiping down the counter, letting Morgan handle the ale. It's like he's afraid it will go off in his hand, the way he handles it, but the relief on his face when he drinks is real.

Mac wipes the rag over surfaces already gleaming clean; the slow movement tends to comfort people, take the weight of conversation off of them, the weight of being the center of attention. He lets his gaze drift to the bar-- and to the rest of the patrons, flicking from table to table to shadow to booth to see if anyone's picked up on Morgan's presence.

(ooc: Sleep well!)
fanatic_os: hollow-faced and eyed man, side profile, lank grey hair, hand to his face, pensive, ring!bandages on some fingers (post-death: thinking)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-05-29 06:25 pm (UTC)(link)
He watches the cloth for a moment, Mac's sure, steady movements, the way the counter gleams, and rolls the bottle gently between his hands while he waits. The drinks is churning away merrily in his stomach, going to his head already. Half a beer, and he's losing track of exactly how gravity works. He'd be almost embarrassed-- half a beer!-- if he wasn't so relieved he hadn't thrown it up immediately, that it hadn't fallen through him somehow, caught his body out for the flesh imposture it is.

"How are things?" he says, to keep his mind from it, to keep himself from drinking down the rest of the bottle in one go and making a fool of himself. He's missed this; missed people. Missed old friends. And he's probably missed a lot of gossip, too. Not that he'd ever call Mac a gossip-- you'd have to say more than three words an hour for that label, in the least-- but news seemed to make its way back here eventually, no matter where it started. "Hear the Red Court's gone."

thirteen_pillars: An olive-skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks at the camera. His hands are linked and propped in front of his mouth. (Default)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-05-29 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Mac almost smiles; people make their own conversations with him. But then, this is a fairly special case. Even his body language is a little more verbose for old friends. He hasn't disappeared behind the bar, grunted and turned his back to work on a food order, do the night's books.

Some of that is probably still suspicion.

"Gone," he agrees, with a nod. He thinks he knows more of that story than anybody is telling, but it's not his to speculate. Dresden's an old friend, too. "Shakeup in South America." That sentence fragment has a preposition in it: it's the kind of thing he keeps in reserve and doles out to people he cares about.
fanatic_os: hollow-faced & eyed man, visibly dirtied and bruised, face on, grey stubble, hands cut off holding something to his head (post-death: crowned)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-05-29 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Morgan almost smiles-- hides it around the mouth of the bottle, takes a careful sip. And then another, because it's good and he's getting comfortable in a way he hasn't been since he woke up without form and bound to Winter's ground.

"Dresden involved?" It's not too big a conclusion to jump too: Dresden's always caught up in the biggest showdowns. Started the war in the first place, but that's a bitter, complicated sore, and he pushes it away.

...And if the pieces of rumour that have drifted back to him are true, events would coincide well with the Winter Queen's (he lets the words form in his head, drift away before he draws any attention to himself, become the sent of smoke and ice on the mountain morning instead, frozen holly berries, dark nights and family nearby, the Northern lights, the sense that everything in the universe is bigger than he is) claiming of her new Knight. He doesn't envy Ana that jurisdiction headache-- or the Dresden headache all on its own. Heh.
thirteen_pillars: An olive-skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks at the camera. His hands are linked and propped in front of his mouth. (Default)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-05-29 07:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Mac shrugs. Draw your own conclusions, that shrug says. You already know the answer, it adds.

"Interesting times."

It's almost pointed, almost an accusation but not quite. A little nudge, a little reminder that Mac hadn't expected to see this man walk into his bar again and it's at least a little bit of a surprise.
fanatic_os: hollow-faced and eyed man, lank grey hair, sullen face, 3/4 profile, looking away (post-death: surly bastard)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-05-30 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
Morgan's smile is more of a wince this time. He puts the beer back down, clasps his hands around it. They're dirty, bruised. Calluses and burns bandaged. He's not sure it's fair that he can still be injured, but there's little about life or death that's fair.

He knows what sort of things Mac might be thinking he is. Knows the type of things that wear the faces, the bodies of the dead. Has killed a lot of them, over the years.

...He's caught off guard by how personal talking about death is. How his throat closes up when he opens his mouth.

"Steak sandwich, Mac?" He says instead. "You still turning those out?"

Then, before he can take it back, because why else is he here? (For company, for warmth, to not be alone.) "It was in Winter. I died in Winter."

The whole story? No. A start? Yes.
thirteen_pillars: An olive-skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks at the camera. His hands are linked and propped in front of his mouth. (Default)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-05-30 05:33 am (UTC)(link)
"Steak sandwich." A nod, and now Mac does turn away at least half way, going as far as the cooler where he keeps the marinating strips of thin-cut steak, taking them over to the grill. He slaps them down onto the flat surface; it raises a steam and a sizzle, homey and wholesome.

"Hell of a place to die." He glances over his shoulder. "Tea? More beer?"

He blames Dresden; their little heart-to-heart last year must have loosened his lips. He's being practically conversational.
fanatic_os: hollow-faced and eyed man, side profile, lank grey hair, hand to his face, pensive, ring!bandages on some fingers (post-death: thinking)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-05-30 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
"...Tea." He says, pauses. "But maybe another one of these--" he tips the almost empty bottle, "later."

He looks away, scans the crowd. Uses it as a chance to press down on the wellspring of ...he'll call it grief. Life. Emotion. The system running through him, its course well-established after a few years mortal-time, a few moments and an eternity in the Nevernever, to become something that used to be alive. Turns back with a dry smile. "Not the place I would have chosen."

thirteen_pillars: An olive-skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks at the camera. His hands are linked and propped in front of his mouth. (Default)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-05-31 12:05 am (UTC)(link)
Mac moves smoothly; between flipping the browning steak slices and grabbing the roll to toast, he reaches for the hot water spigot-- not getting much use, this side of April-- and fills a glass bar mug. His hand hovers over a dusty bottle of brandy, hidden under the counter, on the back corner of a low shelf-- but he thinks better of it, and grabs some orange zinger instead, plopping the tea-bag into un-adulterated water.

Once the roll is toasting and he's flipped out a tongful of onions to grill with the steak, he covers it all with a pot lid, gives it a little water, and heads over to set the tea in front of Mac. He has better tea, herbal stuff from local suppliers, black leaf that will stand your hair on end (if you have any to stand). But the little box tea, with its cloying tang, is almost desperately mortal. Mass produced. He hopes Morgan appreciates the thought.

"Bartender's choice," he says simply, and places a hand over the top of the mug, spinning it to point the handle at Mac. Then he's back to the grill, finishing up the sandwich.
fanatic_os: hollow-faced & eyed man, visibly dirtied and bruised, face on, grey stubble, hands cut off holding something to his head (post-death: crowned)

[personal profile] fanatic_os 2011-06-01 06:03 am (UTC)(link)
Morgan reaches for the cup, wraps his hands around it, mines the fogged up glass for heat with a sigh he can't quite keep in. He leans over it a little, breathes in the steam like he has a cold, lets it heat up his face, making his cheeks flush under the hard lines and stains.

It smells. Well. Deceptively like the flat his sister lived in, with the hard sofa and wooden chairs, their grandmother's clock on the wall, her knitting forever folded neatly in a basket under an endtable. Familiar. Human. A hundred other things. A hundred years ago.

He pulls at the string--bobs the bag once, twice, watches the dark concentrate diffuse out-- his fingers dry and catching on the string, and lets it sit. Mac always knows what you need. It's a skill Morgan's been thankful (envious, admiring) of for years.

He takes a careful sip-- pulls back sharply when it burns his mouth. Can't help the dry little huff of a laugh because it's stupid and foolish and such a dumb thing to do, and he went and did it anyway, just like everyone else. "Sugar?" he asks. Why not; he's come to indulge, after all. His sense, his whims, his restlessness.

thirteen_pillars: An olive skinned bald man (Vin Diesel) looks slightly left of camera. One eyebrow is arched: he's interested. (Interested)

[personal profile] thirteen_pillars 2011-06-01 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
Mac nods, passing over a little basket of sweeteners and sugar. Then the sandwich is done-- he corrals the meat with a spatula, the grilled onions, sliding them easily into the toasted roll, going deeper into the kitchen to check the progress of the latest batch of fries-- they're done, and he drains them and spreads a generous portion along Morgan's plate.

"Welcome," he grunts when he sets them on the bar near Morgan-- and if he didn't wait for a 'thank you' it wasn't because he doesn't think one was coming.