#ecflictim

knocking softly on the door to the man’s office,  it was the middle of the night  --  but he doubted that he’d be asleep just yet.   ❛  are you awake?  ❜  he asked,  more so to announce his presence than to check whether or not he’d gone to bed yet.  

❝   HAVEN’T you done enough already?    ❞  

Gabriel visibly frowned at McCree- once was enough, really. How many times has he had to tell the other to be careful && to stop being so reckless ( a little hypocritical of him, to tell you the truth, considering how often he went && got himself hurt ). At least he still had the effects of the SEP coursing through his veins- allowing him to heal faster than your average human. But Jesse? That idiot could very well get himself killed if he wasn’t careful.

He could feel the nanites in his body curl in irritation && with a heavy sigh, tried to calm himself down as to not break down right in front of him. After all, the experiment Moira had run on him was still at its beginning stages && any mood fluctuations could easily reveal it.

He didn’t doubt that McCree would disagree if he found out.

“Just once is enough, McCree, stop being a brat.” he replied, one hand moving up to rub at his temples. “You’re going to give Angela a heart attack.”

If there’s one word that accurately describes Jesse McCree in this moment, it’s most likely ‘petulant.’ It’s something about the way he rolls his eyes — openly, obviously — or perhaps the way he mouths the words shortly after Gabriel says them in a silent imitation.

He slouches further into the uncomfortable little chair he’s draped over, various bruises painting his face an awful shade of red here and there. He’s holding an ice pack over the worst of them, perhaps for the exact reason Gabriel mentioned — he’d hate to worry Angela. The poor doctor didn’t deserve half the trouble Jesse’s caused.

“I know, I know,”  he drawls again, mostly just to be a bigger — what was it Gabriel had called him? A brat. “Why d’you think I’m holed up here ‘nstead of goin’ to her?” He gives Gabriel his best smile, far too sweet to be genuine in the slightest. It’s just salt in the wound, really, but being infuriating is what the man does best. It’s in his blood! It’s not his fault Gabe is so easy to annoy. Maybe he should learn to build a tolerance to McCree’s antics.

horrortale starters || accepting!

Jesse’s drunk — again. Wasted out of his mind, hunched over the bar counter, half a glass of room-temperature whiskey held askew in one hand like Jesse has half a mind to spill it over the counter. He doesn’t, of course; he barely has half a mind to do anything at all. After a moment or two (or three or four), McCree lifts his head, unfocused gaze seeking out the far-too-recognizable voice of Reaper.