So yeah, Mik's heart didn't exactly race or nothing when Andre passed close enough that he could feel his body heat. Naw, he wasn't prone to palpitations and such. Then again, those lines called to him, the tips of his fingers itching to start tracing gently. Always starting with the gentle at the beginning.
But race? He didn't think so. He shook his head as he left the room, letting Andre dress. The girl was absorbed in cleaning...whatever the fuck that thing was. Pretty badass weapon. Not that he would get one. Like to put his own eye out trying to use it. At least now. Plus, fire was infinitely more fun, what with all the dancing colors and scents and the pure chaos and shit.
Where was he? Oh yeah. Chicky was cleaning her thing. He went to the freezer and pulled out a bottle of vodka, the thick liquid sloshing lazily through the clear glass. Oh yeah, nice and dense. After a moment, he got some glasses and then two beers. Whatever he had. He hadn't bought it. Jormund had, the last time they were there. He smiled at the memory.
He set them on the table as he heard the two switch places, with the sexy killer heading to the back. He was getting ice and some chips when he heard her return and glanced over and...forgot what he was doing. Jesus, she had rinsed out her clothes and put them back on. Not like they were form fitting or anything- at least by design- but damp, they did cling.
Yeah, ok. He knew what was up. And likely he wasn't gonna have that kind of fun with these two. But he was gonna have to scare up some here tonight, before too long. That is, unless the Lady provided him with some proper diversion. Jeez, but you can't just have all this beautiy around and not expect him to just sit there. It wasn't natural, is all.
Anyway, so, where was he again!?!? Right. Drinks. Chips. Andre with his feet up. No shoes so it was ok, or he'd have had words. That coffee table was nice. It was just stuff. But it was his stuff. And he liked it. He'd lose it one day. Or get something else. That was life. Everything was a lease, really.
So yeah, tray down, glasses clinked as he dropped them and the bottle, and then he fell into his couch sinking into his pillows- more than most had but hey, what could he say? He liked his comfort.
He nodded to the offering and took a sip from his glass, feeling the burn going down his throat. He eyed the woman with a smirk at Andre's words. "He's not kidding, doll." He frowned. "Working? What the hell kind of work are you in? Sewer extermination? Didn't know Moscow had such a thing," he laughed. He glanced at Andre. "You didn't do too bad yourself, bro. You moonlighting in her crew?" Just a joke. But you had to start somewhere.
But race? He didn't think so. He shook his head as he left the room, letting Andre dress. The girl was absorbed in cleaning...whatever the fuck that thing was. Pretty badass weapon. Not that he would get one. Like to put his own eye out trying to use it. At least now. Plus, fire was infinitely more fun, what with all the dancing colors and scents and the pure chaos and shit.
Where was he? Oh yeah. Chicky was cleaning her thing. He went to the freezer and pulled out a bottle of vodka, the thick liquid sloshing lazily through the clear glass. Oh yeah, nice and dense. After a moment, he got some glasses and then two beers. Whatever he had. He hadn't bought it. Jormund had, the last time they were there. He smiled at the memory.
He set them on the table as he heard the two switch places, with the sexy killer heading to the back. He was getting ice and some chips when he heard her return and glanced over and...forgot what he was doing. Jesus, she had rinsed out her clothes and put them back on. Not like they were form fitting or anything- at least by design- but damp, they did cling.
Yeah, ok. He knew what was up. And likely he wasn't gonna have that kind of fun with these two. But he was gonna have to scare up some here tonight, before too long. That is, unless the Lady provided him with some proper diversion. Jeez, but you can't just have all this beautiy around and not expect him to just sit there. It wasn't natural, is all.
Anyway, so, where was he again!?!? Right. Drinks. Chips. Andre with his feet up. No shoes so it was ok, or he'd have had words. That coffee table was nice. It was just stuff. But it was his stuff. And he liked it. He'd lose it one day. Or get something else. That was life. Everything was a lease, really.
So yeah, tray down, glasses clinked as he dropped them and the bottle, and then he fell into his couch sinking into his pillows- more than most had but hey, what could he say? He liked his comfort.
He nodded to the offering and took a sip from his glass, feeling the burn going down his throat. He eyed the woman with a smirk at Andre's words. "He's not kidding, doll." He frowned. "Working? What the hell kind of work are you in? Sewer extermination? Didn't know Moscow had such a thing," he laughed. He glanced at Andre. "You didn't do too bad yourself, bro. You moonlighting in her crew?" Just a joke. But you had to start somewhere.
"Good and ill.
We're like the wind,
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods