#mac 012.

where: sharky's

With a borrowed (stolen) steel champagne bucket from the bar, Mack had dumped out the icy sloshy contents of it before he tucked it under his arm. He has to focus for a second to find the rhythm against the clash of the music playing but after a few light taps on the end of the bucket, he knows he has it.

He tucks his menacing twig behind his ear and beneath his nefarious ginger bob wig for safe keeping, granting a brief stay on his weaponized evildoing with it for a momentary pause.

It's then that Aunt Gladys crosses genres and movies as he drums out the same sound that the thumpers made in Dune when calling forth a sandworm in the desert. His lipstick smudged paper white face maintained a strictly serious expression as he marches like a funeral procession drummer through the bar in search of his sandworm-ified sister.

where: mac and mack's

With his head near the foot of Mac's bed and his ankles crossed at the headboard where his heels were propped against, Lucky was luxuriating like the half-dressed king of the castle as he waited for Mac to bring him his tea.

( Two sugars, not too milky and it had to be Yorkshire or he would balk at the taste which is why a box of the same had found its way to her apartment before they had officially started dating. )

He was fussy enough about it that he tended to make his own, but nights spent at Mac's instead of his and Helena's came with it's own risk factor -- the other Mack. It wasn't that Lucky didn't enjoy Mac's older brother, he did for the most part, but he had never found himself in a conversation with him that didn't last less than thirty minutes without intervention and he wasn't awake enough or centred enough for that yet.

With his phone in his hand, there was a look of distinct concentration on his face as he pinches two fingers against the screen and zooms in on a picture of a blonde, the third on Imogen Arnold's account that he was examining that morning. He was so deep in concentration with it, he had missed the door opening altogether and only realised he wasn't alone when a flash of pyjama shorts had him looking away from the device and up at Mac, the release of his fingers on the screen causing the image to bounce back to it's posted width and dimension making the subject matter unmissable.