#ft. clearwinged

[dialsdrnk]

@clearwinged sent 🗣 for a line of dialogue from this generator.

" you look like you need a hug. "

[hlfmoonshine]

eight questions for nine people

tagged by @missmvrder

1. last song i listened to: the call withing - dario marianelli ft. jack liebeck

2. favorite colour: yellow & pink & forest green & deep navy

3. last tv show or movie i watched: dimension20

4. currently watching: criminal minds (like right now. this second. s12 ep22 red light.

5. sweet, savory, or spicy?: savory

6. relationship status: single and not even a little bit looking.

7. current obsession: oh man. my own health? and maybe coral island a little?

8. last thing i googled: 'coral island critter list' which. just. pretend it was the one before that. oh. shit. 'detect thoughts 5e'. guys. i'm just a nerd. just a lil baby nerd.

tagging: @saudadexmses @moonvvrites @queenxfthedxmned @wyntersecret @rennisaturate @ofcrxwns @pristinaluna @deathwritings @clearwinged

[dialsdrnk]

@clearwinged liked for a starter from scotty !

" hey. " there's something about an empty parking lot to really make your voice boom, huh? it makes a man like scotty — who has a softer, edgeless cadence unless he puts that edge in there with intention— flinch when his voice bounces back to him, even if just for a second. there's a quick recovery as far as his expression goes, the shock so momentary that his facial features return to what they'd been previously: resting easy on the fence between pensive and concerned. one might call him anxious, even — a little riled up. his fingers twitch at his sides and he looks around the endless lot like he's worried someone's coming after him, but he's actually the one scanning. "... uh — you seen a kitty cat? 'bout... this big." cue scotty making a vague estimate with his hands in front of his chest; nevermind the blood on his hand, either; or the wobble to his step, for that matter. scotty asks his company this, half-expecting the other man to walk away and starting to peer under what few cars are in the lot for said cat. "'s cold, man. i don't wanna leave 'er out 'ere..."

... it's not his cat. he's pretty sure he followed it from the junkyard, actually.

[dialsdrnk]

like clockwork, benji's body swivels just the slightest amount to point his knees towards oliver, his feet clinging to the bottom bar of the stool he's sat on and palms gripping the underside of the seat. "brian the dog," he says back in the small space of time between the question and oliver crossing his legs, just as non-committedly, and extremely unhelpfully. benji didn't have much investment in the brian and snoopy thing, either, evidently.

however, what oliver goes on to say piques immediate and intense interest in benji — he's familiar with hockney's work ( he's an artist himself — and one especially fond of bright colors, which david has much of ) but not so much his history, so color him fascinated to learn this. "i am really sorry i missed that, then. mind starting over? i know his work, but only a little. how obsessed are we talking?"

oliver wants to chastise him for not interjecting sooner -- though he doubts benji will catch it in full from where he's seated. so he gives in, huffing, and sidles into the space in question, fingers already coming down to squeeze at his own knee. "who's brian?" he asks -- albeit non-committal. his brows knit together in a furrow, and in the pause -- the whisper of quiet -- oliver's grasped leg comes to cross atop his right. he's only one rum and coke down, but his usual jitters feel exacerbated with liquor. it'd been watery and low in percentage, but he digresses. and oliver's not actually interested in the cast of 'family guy' (it sounds like a sitcom with a laugh track) so he waves through the inquisition, left hand coming up in gesture. "nevermind -- i was talking about david hockney. and his dogs. his paintings of his dogs. his obsessive paintings of his dogs."

[dialsdrnk]

" if you want me to be offering... i definitely will, " the words are exhaled, coming out soft to pair nicely with the look in his eyes, which is just as tender. it's maybe a cheesy response, but eddie means it in earnest — he doesn't want to impose himself here, doesn't want to offer something like a hug to someone who doesn't want it. his eyes do cling to the injury now that it's in better view, and suddenly, he's frowning. " what happened to your lip? i have a first aid kit in my bag, if you want. could take it out. "

his lip is split, lids heavy and distant -- up until a voice snips through the hum of background conversations, and stripes stares. "yeah?" he grins in turn, the dark red -- near black -- crust of injury more apparent from this angle. "you offering?"