W H I S K E Y

“Perceptive as per usual. Still, I do plan on trying to cut down eventually. When the time is right.”

a legitimate observation. one people have occasionally made before when they get past his outer appearances. he wonders briefly what  hell he would have gone through had jack and chester ever met. 

     ❝ i do not consider those things mutually exclusive, ❞ he says with a slight        arch of his brow. 

“When a guy gets technical like that, it means I’m right.” British and a smartass. Jack wished he had had more to drink.

“That’s debatable, I’m afraid, and highly unofficial too. I fear that for something like this, I would require permission unless I found myself wishing to be out of a job.”

clark: gASPS BUT ITS NOT ME-ME. sTOP it.

“That would be a meme; a reaching reference to a joke based in absurdity and wildfire spread of short videos via the now-defunct Vine platform. If you give me a moment, I can locate the video in question here.”

     “I don’t make the rules, Whiskey, and I don’t have time to explain what a meme is.”

“I’m sayin’, I wasn’t expectin’ my back to shit out on me.”

Ford should’ve been used to it by now but it had always been up and down. It was always a toss up whether or not an INJURY in the field would make his back worse or not. Sometimes he didn’t even need to be on active duty for it to get worse.

“…It’s manageable. I don’ need ‘im worryin’ about me more ‘n he already does.”

“You couldn’t get up for a hot sec there, cowboy. I don’t think that’s manageable.” 

          His playful smile brings her to playfully grin right back at him. A brow is playfully raised before Carmen chuckles   ❝  I don’t think anyone could disagree with you .   ❞   Agent Margarita knew that most of the newer agents were terrified of him, but she really didn’t get why. The playful grin doesn’t drop from her lips, furrowing her brows in some type of confusion   ❝   I think it’s always polite to introduce yourself to your superior .   ❞      

“Well, you ain’t wrong there. Showing your superior you think you’re worth knowing the moment they’re in town...that shows ambition.” He gestured for her to follow him, down a hall in HQ that most junior agents dreaded going toward: Whiskey’s office.

That was a yes, right? It certainly sounded like it to Mycroft. Wonderful! 

“I’ll bring some paperwork. That, combined with replying to emails and occasionally stepping out to shout at somebody over the phone, should be enough to keep myself entertained.” In fact, the change of scenery might even help somewhat. Mycroft did find that stepping out of his usual routine - no matter how comfortable it was - would occasionally help him to think of things that he would not usually come up with.

“Of course, I can ensure you that I will not be a bother. you will barely even know that I am there. Well, unless an assassination attempt does actually happen, anyway.”

“Let’s hope no one is dumb enough to try that assassination shit at my New York Office.” He sighed, phone already out to type a quick notice to his assistants back stateside of rearranging his office space.

“Well for one, you know I ain’t as fancy and philosophical as you.” Sobriety was a difficult task to maintain when he had to deal with the Brits on a normal day, but Kingsman? Jack wasn’t sure why he didn’t at least have a shot or two of tequila before he attempted to make small talk with them.

“And I didn’t come here for a lecture on philosophy or the five senses, Galahad. I’m here to talk about this asshole.” He tapped at the photo on his phone, showing a tall, pale gentleman in red leaving the Savoy. “This guy’s a multimillionaire from your side of the world that no one likes and no one has ever figure out how to kill--not even Valentine when he did his cellphone thing.”

Swiping to the left, he showed a closer image of the middle-aged man.

“There is the practical use of the mundanity of an item, and then there is the usefulness of something in the hands of your lot. My curiosity is piqued, and not easily satisfied.”

“I haven’t ‘told on you’, what’re we in grade school?” It takes some doing but he gets himself up, trying not to WINCE every time he moves. Jack’s hand on his shoulder is, admittedly, a comfort. “’Cause I don’t fuckin’ need ‘em until some idjit like you comes along an’ fucks my back up all over again.”

“What, you saying you weren’t expecting lil’ ole me this fine evening?” 

Unhooking his flask from his belt, he offered it to Ford. It was no good substitute for painkillers, but everyone knew Jack kept some of the strongest stuff the distillery had to offer in that handy little flask of his at all times.