RP side-blog for Askthechillpigmask

He's about to thank him, until he's caught curious. "..A lot on his..?" He quirks a brow, his expression tense. He'd rather him not look at him any more than he already has, really. His voice is a bit agitated as result. "You some kind'a--"  The heart is rattled about in its confinement. His lip draws back in a bitter snarl, albeit small. "What the hell, careful with that! Are you trying to break it..??" He puffs a growl to fit his mood, brittle from an empty-minded fear. He feels like he shouldn't care about it, but there's a pinch of greed in him that wants that thing for himself. With great hesitance, he looks up into the slender pair of glasses. "S-sure I can, damn it, what's it to you." Despite his irritable frown, he swallows hard. He doesn't like looking at those smug, beady eyes. "..You some kind of vending machine. You act like a damn salesman, but you look more like a slot-machine.. With, without the slots." A smirk of his own eventually finds itself a frown again. "..So what do you want, huh, do you run this place, or.." He's dropped eye-contact again by now, but with an air of faux condescension. 

"Nothing really? Come on, kid! You're kidding me! Pffsh," he gently pats his arm, reclining into his chair. He retains his grin, "it's one hell of a talent. I hope you're as proud of it as I am, damn. Can you teach that kind of thing?" He hums a laugh; ah, maybe in your dreams, McCruthe.  After a moment, his absent-minded bliss whittles away as Lucas hurries over to the shattered cup. "Oh, oh man..!" He leans forward, hands on his knees, attentive. " I'm, so sorry, I don't..!" He means to say he doesn't remember, but he gasps when he goes for the shards with his bare hands. He practically tumbles out of his chair to him. "HEY hey-hey hey..! You're gonna stick yourself, kid..! No no no..!" He bends down and picks up Lucas by his sides with little difficulty. "You ever been stuck with an itty-bitty piece of glass; that damn sucker hurts, and then you gotta get it out! Don't get me started!" He carries Lucas away in the same manner one would a large and docile cat, to be frank, hurried in his pace. He sets him down near the table, as he was. "Look, let me see your hands, huh, did you cut them," he bends his knees and shuts an eye to focus a little better, "I don't suppose you could heal them puppies too, huh? But, if you heal them, when you still got glass in them.. That could either be pretty kick-ass or, really really bad.." He frowns and shakes his head. "Look, I'll get what's left, okay," he raises two gloved hands, and wiggles gloved fingers, "I think these are called, rubber or something; I'll be fine messing with that junk." He hurries back over to the shards and starts picking up the pieces himself. "..I'll try and buy you a pair sometime, but I can't guarantee they'll be blue, you hear?" He tries a humble laugh.

He snorts a grin. "Fair point there." He listens intently, genuinely curious. He wouldn't mind something to fill his empty head. But as she goes on, it starts to make sense. "Oh yeah??" Another snort. "I catch you, I catch you.." He nods twice. "..Ain't that somethin'." He scratches his head. "Right on." He's suddenly perplexed. "More expensive than..? What sense does that make..?" He touches his chin, swaying a bit. "..Is it because it's new..? The, design, s'that it.. Well, it's all going to the army, ain't it?" He huffs a breath. Not like it's his burden, but he figures the army a damn good investment. "Aw, well." 

@ askthechillpigmask

"Oh yeah..?" He instantly begins to ponder what the letter could contain. Maybe it's his mother, maybe it's another bill or complaint or something. He shakes his head. There are bigger things. He steps back inside. "You know, put it right there," he points to a wayward side-table before he starts to put on his gloves, "thank you, thank you.." He nods, albeit facing the desk.  "So, just a few more things, yeah..?" He's smart enough to see through the ruse. He returns to him by the door. "..Look, if you just need to run them to people's doors..!" He starts to smile. "You think I could help, huh?.. We could knock the last few out real quick, right; you look like you're ready to crash, bud.. Like, damn, you know I'll carry you if I have to..!" There's some sort of reassuring smile as he nudges his arm a little.  He shrugs. "Well, it don't have to be booze, then. Maybe just some water, or some cola, huh.. Look, you just let me know if you need anything, alright, how's that sound..?"  To be honest, he doesn't really know the age limit for, anything. but by his own courtly version of Hammurabi's code, he feels compelled to tell him his own age. It wouldn't have mattered if he lied or not. He starts with a cough. "..I'm twenty-two, for what it's worth... I think.. Yeah." It dawns on him it probably doesn't matter, at all, but he shrugs. "Don't matter how old you are, it's all good..! It's all good."

Oh, it's been a lazy day for David. While I won't try and assume the time of day, he's sitting at the cluttered desk of his apartment regardless, his gloves lain beside a book he now writes away in. It's nothing more Daniel would have to worry of delivering, but to be honest, David likes to write in his spare time. In his ineligible hen-scrap, he scribes a poem or two. No, no, he tears the page out in sudden dismay. He thinks of it woefully, putting the balled-up sheet on the desk, before writing that very thought down. Something akin to his desire to write something philosophical and smart, only to re-read it in the tone of a babbling fool. It's not helped by his inability to spell anything from 'filla sofekill' to 'sumthan,' either, but he was never taught, so it doesn't bother him. However, his creative process is interrupted by a knock at the door. He drops his pencil and calls over his shoulder. "Yeah??" Before actually getting up to answer the door. He opens it with an easy swing of the arm. He greets the wary boy with a smile. The bag and letters were enough to tip him off.  "Mail-boy, huh?" He tries a grin, but it falters when he really takes his sorry state into account. "..You feeling alright, bud..? You're looking pretty rough; long day..?" He can't help but worry. For one, he doesn't know how bad things could be for him, and then he considers everyone in similar uniform worth the time. Enough so that the actual mail itself doesn't seem as important.  "..Do you got some time, huh..? I'd, be happy to get you something to drink, if you'd like.. You look like you need it." He frowns a bit, bowing his head a moment.

After passing the major a cockeyed stare, he glaces down at his stomach and snickers flusteredly, trying to push it under his belt as he tries to reply. "Well, now, what's there to complain'a, huh..??" He shoots her a sinister, challenging glare for a moment, before righting his back. Like shhh. Either way, her retort gets a triumphant grin from him. He feels his height to be advantageous in the most primitive of senses. "I'll take your word for it." He gives a winding sneer, but shifts his weight to teeter back for a more leisurely stance, his face reading ease upon relatence. "Aha, but aren't they, though.. I only had to get it mended around the back, and there, fits like a glove..!" He cocks a brow, before gesturing a hand towards her. "See, I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't said a thing." He grins. "Look at you. Yeah?"  ..He suddenly begins to ponder. "..There much a difference between the men and women's uniforms..?" 

He crosses his arms with a smile, phew. He’s loosened up. “Ah, well, I’d say you do!” He hums a laugh himself. He cocks a brow at her. “You won’t say, huh? Punishment, good entertainment?” He bounces a wily set of brows, oh-ho-hoh. He makes himself smirk. “You one of those types?” He elbows her once with a snicker. A pig indeed. He thinks on her statement a while. “Really..? We’re getting more and more of the mix, to be honest. maybe he just hasn’t noticed.. I mean, who wouldn’t want to join, you know?” There’s a content smile out of him. When she mentions the Fan Room, he begins to seriously ponder if she, well, is the aforementioned type. It catches him off-guard more than anything, though, it strikes him ironic. “Huh. Just as well. Better you doing you’re job if you’re doing good at it, yeah? Either way.” He gives her hand a firm shake. “Well, well, my pleasure to meet you, Miss..!”