#tabbyrp

When cops start drinking, they start telling stories. And not just any stories - they always either have to be disgusting, making fun of someone in the room, or a combination of the two.

Brian and Jim were no different. And when there were women around, they absolutely tried to slay each other's reputations.

Jim's flavor of the month was sitting directly across from Brian, and she seemed to be a special kind of woman, the kind who thought image was everything.

"So, Tiffany…" Brian had just finished his 3rd drink and was ready to start trying to end this date. "Has Jimbo ever told you about his love for gas station burritos?"

Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Brian." Tabby laughed, leaning in against his side and smacking his arm playfully. "She does NOT want to hear that story."

"I think she does." He grinned at his wife, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead.

The woman seemed semi-amused, but wary of whatever they were talking about.

"No, no, no." Jim countered, "I think she wants to hear about the time you bruised your junk."

"That did not happen." Brian laughed loudly.

"Babe!" Tabby could hardly choke out the word, "That definitely happened. I remember this one!" She had actual tears in her eyes from laughing.

"How do you remember it? It was before I met you." Brian replied with an incredulous look on his face.

"So it DID happen." Tabby laughed gleefully. "TELL US, JIM!" She was enjoying seeing the tables get turned on Brian for once.

"It was actually one of our first days on patrol together." Jim took a sip from his beer. "We got a call out for a domestic and we went code 3 and hauled ass over to it."

"Code 3 is lights and siren on", Tabby translated helpfully for Tiffany, who nodded her thanks.

"One of the first things I learned is that your seatbelt should be off as soon as you get to the scene. Because you don't want to have to pause and possibly get stuck in your car if someone's shooting." Jim grinned in Brian's direction. "Ranger boy here forgot to unbuckle and tried to leave the car at about mach 10." The laughing started before he'd finished his sentence.

Tabby was freely crying with laughter, but tried to pat his arm in a sympathetic manner. "Did it actually leave a bruise?"

Brian scrunched his face slightly, but let out a laugh. "Yes. Roughly the shape and size of the seatbelt buckle. I got a lot of sympathy for it." He grinned.

This Meme: Accepting @missmargomuse616 Honorable Mention: @tabbyrp

She had told Margo to meet her at Tabby’s bar. Another hole in the wall but with a charm that came from those that knew the area well. There were perks when the owner liked the bartender. There was more of a bonus when that bartender also happened to be a very close friend. That bonus was, when the fancy took her, Jayden could ask Tabby if she could dance on the bar. Most of the time there was nothing stopping Tabby from saying yes as there was a very high rise in tips for the night. 

Which was exactly what happened. 

All About Health Meme

Routine helps Ron get on with getting on, so breakfast lunch and dinner are three welcome pillars of the day - much as the stress food can* cause him thanks to his mile-wide paranoid streak makes it hard work to get on with from time to time. With that in mind it must be said--

Ron is Exceptionally Picky when it comes to food.

New foods are always met with a double serving of suspicion until he's decided** they're alright to go on the Safe List, and it's this list that informs most of his food choices day-to-day. Easy to get on with staples are tea, toast, biscuits, certain brands of granola or energy bar and easily picked up and eaten fruits like bananas or apples. Even these things though only remain on the Safe List at the discretion of Ron's ever present internal Committee and the mental condition that bought it into being. If one morning brain-chem makes buttered toast come off like...flayed skin ohhh...something fucking repugnant and rotten say, man ain't touchin' that meal with an 'undred foot pole for f'kin weeks.***

A good day's menu would look something like:

Breakfast A fry up out the pub's kitchen, made by his Aunt May A cuppa

Lunch A sarnie - turkey maybe, or ham 'n mustard - again out the pub's kitchen and therefore made by Aunt May

Dinner If he's off out, a trusted option out a trusted eatery If he's not, again, we're defaulting to something yummy out the pub's kitchen and, sensing a theme here?, made by his Aunt May

The reliance on May (bless her heart) isn't laziness on Ron's part. As mentioned above, his has Real World Trouble with food and the fact he trusts May helps negate a lot of that grief. Similar reliance on or preference for would be shown to a loving partner who didn't mind turning their hand to cooking. In that situation Ron would go out of his way to buy ingredients for dishes and help with non-cooked-bits, expressing his thanks and appreciation for his person's efforts like that as well as speaking the words.

@tabbyrp

Noknoknok-NOK… nok… noknoknok-NOK-noknok-NOK…

If anyone else bore witness to the way Peter rapped his knuckles against Tabby’s door, they would almost certainly think him mad, or at the very least attempting to playfully annoy the apartment’s lone occupant. But it was one among a series of cadences that they’d established to let each other know just who was on the other side. Who else in Tabby’s life was going to summon her to the beat of Papercut?

Even from out here, he heard her feet shuffling across her carpet and a quick stumble onto bare floor, and a series of rattling coughs that sounded like she was struggling to draw and hold deep breaths. Beneath the expectorating he could hear the shuddering of her heartbeat, though it was quickly overtaken by a faint whimper of discomfort and discontent.

From the other side, there were mumbles of protest, telling him now wasn’t a good time, she’d already texted him the symptoms, being here would only expose him to the gunk – all the things she’d already covered, all the things he knew she would say. Which sounded suspiciously like the sorts of things Aunt May would say, and it drew a quirky smile on his face. Tabby had picked up entirely too much from that woman, though it was certainly because May had been all too happy to teach her, and it spoke to how much she was adored by the Parker household. Even back to the days of Uncle Ben, Tabby had been a fixture in Peter’s life… and she was a stubborn reminder of times that were simpler and more carefree.

So how could he choose to not be here now?

“I mean, if that’s how you’re feeling about it, I guess I’ll take this soup Aunt May made back home with me,” he called through the door. “And all this pain relief and decongestant, what do you want me to do with that? Oh, and the chocolate, and the rental movies…”

He couldn’t be sure exactly which of his points inspired Tabby to pull her door open, but when the portal cracked and he saw the darkened bags underneath her bloodshot eyes, a measure of his playful snark dropped away.

“Wow. I thought I was the one having rough nights.”

Peter generally didn’t care for heavy amounts of eye contact, particularly not with those he cared about. Something in his heart told him it was a little too easy for his own eyes to betray him whenever he offered up an excuse for his flakiness. It was as good a reason for him to wear the mask as any other. Without that, he did have other methods… glancing about himself, finding spots of interest on the face or clothing of who he talks to, even pulling up his phone or checking his watch if it really came to it.

Yes, it was rude manners. But there was a reputation of obliviousness to maintain.

He held up the large paper bag, dangling it like a peace offering. “But like I said, I come bearing gifts, and if you don’t let me in, I’m just gonna have to play Linkin Park on your door until you do. Whole discography if I have to. You know, from the top to the bottom.”

Meme: Send me a face claim and I will use that face claim to make a NPC in my muse’s life, as well as talk about their relationship, connection and feelings towards my muse. Status: Open URL: @tabbyrp Answer 2 of 2 Alan Rickman

Name:  Theodore Age: a gentlemen never reveals his age any more than he would ask a lady hers. Species: (neutral) angel occupation: Mediator Status: Alive Relationship: co-workers...of a sort Verse: Tra La La La La || Main verse Story:

tldr: u rite gud.

The house he rents in the Keys may not be the most exotic destination but between work and school, Tabby deserves something nice and quiet. The pool competes with the beach, the snowbirds have only started to trickle in, and all in all, it's everything he'd hoped for. Roses greet her when they walk in. Something he doesn't normally get to buy, given his sister's...quirks. But like Tabby, they have a classic beauty about them. He has plans for a few of them later. He tries to make her laugh over the sneakers by saying they didn't have anything suited for beachwear, so he thought she'd like a galaxy instead. And even tried matching colours with her cake. He makes dinner and sometimes loses himself in her eyes. In her smile. After pouring her wine, he slips the necklace around her slender throat, brushing the line of her jaw with his lips. "Pirate treasure, you know." Later, over a fire-pit and coffee, and leaning back so she can rest her back to his chest, Andy turns seriously. Hands her a velvet box too big for a ring, too small for most anything else he might have in mind. Then he wraps her hands around it. His own cover hers. "Before you open this...I want you to know there's no strings attached. You don't have to say anything now, you can take all the time in the world to think about it and decide if it's something you really want. Beth and I did talk about it though, and she's totally behind it if you say yes." Maybe not the most romantic way he could put it. Maybe not the right time, either. But in all fairness, it's been a really long time since he's asked anyone to move in with him.

Cobb had more patience than a dewback waiting on dinner scraps but a life on the line demanded urgency and in fairness the kind of being he needed to coax into compliance hardly topped the list of people he had empathy for. Mos Pelgo's sheriff adjusted the cowl and hood of his cloak as he eased his way through the crowded cantina. The being in question, a young human reeking with unearned confidence and smugness, had just extricated himself from the limbs of the adoring mass he surrounded himself with - or addicts unable to pull themselves away.

Spice traders were little better than slavers. They may not have sold lives but they were complicit in the kind of drugs used to addict and create complacency. Cobb's issues with authority gained him a chip in his temple with the near constant threat of death if he didn't stay in line while others were dosed with spice, enough to make them complacent to work themselves to death without complaint. This human benefitted and from the way he carried himself, he lost no sleep at night doing so.

Cobb grabbed him by the collar of his coat and shoved him through the back door, quickly sliding out after. A knee went between his shoulders and he easily evaded the one flailing arm left free and threats went ignored as he stuck his hands in pockets, discarding credits and other items. He was only looking for one thing and as much as it would help, he wasn't a thief still. Finally he found the item he was looking for and started to rise to his feet when the door slammed open. He turned to face the two hulking shapes in the doorway.

"Problem, boss?"

-------------

"All he had left on him." Cobb set the small packet of spice on the front of the speeder. Parked in an alley between two buildings, the shadows kept the machine from being seen easily from the street. Ta'anti picked it up and held it aloft, trying to see how much was inside. "That going to be enough?"