three steps from falling apart

rules. | muses. | starters. | wanted opp. | wanted plot. |

"Who is that?" He asked the question but wasn't sure he wanted to the answer entirely. Eyes had caught interest from his place across the room but it hardly stayed, after all, rarely was anything permanent in Smith's life. He tended to learn that the hard way, each time. A pause was taken, really thinking about what he wanted, before a hand reached out to pick up his drink off the bar. "Nevermind, I don't even need to know."

"Well..." He's never been good at hiding his emotions, they were always just written on his face, hidden behind curls that were almost as messy as his life often was. "That's not what we were expecting but I guess there's a lesson in it somewhere." His optimism was not real, it was manufactured. The sugar sweet hint of sarcasm was left behind, a clear indication, before chuckling. "What now?"

He wasn't paying attention in the moment, but the sound of his voice quickly changed that, whirling on him instantly. Reactive, which was a rare trait for Dreas, the man had established and clung to his stoicism a long, long time ago. "What the fuck did you just say?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand for answers, that standard was set clearly and concisely, defined in the tone of voice he'd used very intentionally.

"You did that." A reminder of the decision that didn't include her, a reminder that Simone was never one to not force other people to stand on their business. Accountability, after all, was far more important these days. "You did that, you decided that, and now, that ain't got shit to do with me, so why are you..." She paused, emphasizing the way you was said, before continuing. "Trying to spin the block and bring it back here, cause we both know this." A hand gestured. "Aint where your home is anymore."

"Oh so that's what we doin..." The words were said in a way that didn't hide his distaste for the situation, and the way that corner of a grin itched at his mouth, it was obvious that he was already ready to start shit regardless of where they were. "Nah nah, don't get up, you obviously good where you at." Head nodded at them, a gesture that was the final cue before he would allow himself a bitter chuckle, turning away from the two people in front of him and heading straight for the door outside.

He had been out there for hours, the house itself looked like a fortress but held a vibe that was distinctly him even if he didn’t spend a lot of time there. The majority of it was spent in one of the outer buildings, one that wasn’t exactly hidden, garage style door left open, as he continued to work on the piece in front of him. Most people, would think he was simply cleaning the gun, but truth be told, he was improving it. “It’s been awhile.” Said without looking up or otherwise showing that he knew someone else was there. "You must want something because I know damn well you didn't come here at 3 am to catch up on.....old times?"

"You always end up here, does your boyfriend know that?" A casual question that probably deserved more attention, but clearly he remained unbothered by it. Instead, sleeves were rolled up, leaning over the island in the kitchen, dark eyes observant and brooding, which seemed like a near constant at this point. "Not that I give a fuck what he does or doesnt know, but you probably should. Leaves me with the question of why?"

Somehow the sound of the door was telling enough, or maybe it was the time. They always had a thing with timing, carried forth from this lifetime to the next. It was probably why she'd looked up from the bar she'd been cleaning, aggression in the way she nodded, a confirmation that dark eyes had fallen on them, and she clearly wasn't pleased about it. "Of course you show back up tonight, of all nights. What the fuck do you want?" Irish lilt in her voice made the demand, choosing to stand on her anger, the anger of them leaving, choosing to remember the way it scarred her. It was an excellent disguise, intended to hide the way that those scars ached, not with hate, but with the acute awareness that she always found herself missing them.

Anyyyyway. Your muse list is top tier (imagine me doing the chefs kiss thing) and I can’t wait until we have approximately 95 ships.