#ferocityflynt

The ship--Sanctuary the Third? If he’d heard Moxxi correctly, is a strange beast of its own. Populated with more people than he’d ever expected--each extremely wary of the man with Handsome Jack’s face. Old enemies and adversaries who he’d prefer to avoid at any and all cost.

Perhaps the worst offense of all--is the presence of Claptrap, who remembers him just as vividly as before. 

Flesh hand curls, knocking against Zane’s door and the doppelganger shifts his weight from one foot to the next. Hoping to have some companionship that doesn’t consist of Hyperion’s worst mistake and the hodgepodge of parts the bot has taken to as a girlfriend. 

His job--? Oh sweet frickin’ Lord, this guy worked for Jack. In any other situation, Timothy might have shed a genuine tear at the stroke of luck gracing this blunder of a situation but as it were--what with the spreading stain of crimson devouring the Hyperion yellow of Jack’s ugly sweater and the pressing issue of the fact that he’d been shot. Well. 

Another time. 

Attention focuses on the question at hand and Tim pauses. God. Would Jack even remember this guy? If he did--then he’d never mentioned anything about him to Tim. No mention of any blond Irish men--who came outta nowhere and made to save his ass. Blond Irish men who apparently called him Apple Pie. With an accent that lulled perfectly with the words. 

Focus Tim.

A grunt is given to save face at the question and his free hand moves, pressing to the wound on his side. “Alright alright--then do your frickin’ job and get me the hell outta this situation!’  Eyes flickered up at the sound of the drone winding up and flying off--and the tell-tale sound of a digi-device. 

Alright. Blond Irish Man with Fancy Tech Tools that He Probably Shouldn’t Have. 

Before another word can be bit out in protest, arms are hauling him upwards and Tim’s eyes widen, the ground no longer beneath him. Part of him wants to flail; cause a scene and be put the fuck DOWN. But it’ll cause more damage. Maybe get them both killed. The other part of him can’t help but enjoy the moment--because this stupid Blond Irish Man with Fancy Tech that He Probably Shouldn’t Have is incredibly strong and warm despite everything else. Just as quickly as he’d been whisked upwards, he’s back down. Gentle and hidden behind a set of trash cans, away from the action.  Back meets the solid surface behind and Tim groans, rubbing his face against the collar of the jacket.  Rescued and carried across the field like a damn bride. 

A sigh escapes the younger when Zane doesn’t show any interest in taking the out provided. That he’s essentially stuck with the other--until Jack feels that whatever target he’s painted on Timothy’s back has cleared. Honestly, there’s no telling what sort of trouble he’s roped himself into now; he tries to keep his nose out of his brother’s business, lest he gets dragged back into the lifestyle. 

“I’m not stupid.” Freckled nose wrinkles and Tim crosses his arms across his chest, fingers angrily musing against the fabric of his shirt sleeve. “I’m the twin brother of Handsome Friggin’ Jack. Of course, I know why people would be after me. People constantly get the two of us mixed up. It happens at least three times a week. Bare minimum." 

Of course, he hadn’t realized that anyone had already begun tailing him. 

Another sigh.

“No offense, babe–but when you mentioned going to a wedding…this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” The doppelganger’s voice is low enough, trying not to allow the grooms to be to hear his complaints considering the venue. Body leans back slightly into the warmth of Zane and he offers a soft sigh at the kiss that finds itself planted on his neck. 

Timothy had all but leapt at the chance of getting to tag along as a plus one to a wedding. An opportunity to get out and about, dip his toes into the world that existed outside the Handsome Jackpot; a chance to hang off of the Operative’s arm like a piece of candy–and stake his claim on the Vault Hunter after the years (and Jack’s backhanded scheming) had kept them separated. 

He didn’t particularly know Alistair or Wainwright–but he’d assumed that being related to Aurelia, that Hammerlock would…share that passion for the extravagant. A cushy rich venue; some swanky gift bags etcetera. No one had mentioned the carcass of a fucking vault monster that loomed over the place. Or you know–the genuinely cursed creepy vibe that the whole place seemed to produce. He blamed the wedding planner--Gaige and her stupid frickin’ murderbot that hadn’t really seemed too keen on the masked doppelganger’s companionship up the Mountain. 

Mismatched eyes darted uneasily around the Lodge before settling back on his partner, a small nod given at the idea, already pushing himself to his feet to escape the awkward small talk.

There’s a noise of absolute astonishment as Zane is suddenly by his side, a sudden whirlwind of affection. The kiss to his head. The nuzzling against his shoulder. With all the grace of a stray cat one could have befriended–who suddenly showed his face after months of absence. 

Mouth opens. Closes. He wants to ask. Demand to know where the hell the older man has been. If he were hurt; if he knew how much worry had been clouding the doppelganger’s heart and head. Vault Hunting has never been a safe business–even less so when one is always itching for a fight like Zane. The man thrives on it. Had as long as Timothy had known him. It’s enough to make the grey in his own hair spread tenfold. 

Instead of asking, he simply maneuvres along with the hands tugging him into the older’s lap. Twisting and straddling the familiar lap in order to meet the Operative’s one remaining eye. Hands raise, one flesh and one prosthetic. Cupping weathered cheeks and gently ruffling the man’s facial hair before he leans forward--delivering a gentle kiss in greeting before leaning back just slightly. Sitting like this is nice; a solid reminder that Zane Flynt is still alive. Still kicking and breathing despite the Universe’s best attempts to make it not so. 

       ❝ –   like what you see, vault thief? ❞   she feels his eyes.   well, eye.  her holo-form makes a slow circle, her hips sway and her coat swings in tow, she turns her head prompting her silver fringe out of her face, the corner of her mouth pulled into a grin, cheshire and glinting.    lapping it up like it was a stage and every spotlight was on her.  only her.   

    TYREEN turns back around, fingers curling into her palm as if retracting claws.  less boast, more roast now.

      ❝ –   everything is seductive when the other has it betterthan you.  hon-estl-y, look at what you got...         then at what WE got. ❞