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“ SO, uh... ” Michael hadn’t expected to find Ash exiting his quarters as she approached the door, and it had taken her aback. She had been practising all morning to get this right, and now -- she was mute. Her eyes had fixed on his face and, apparently, her mind went along with them. It was probably half a minute before she could trace her thoughts and blinked. “ There is going to be a Christmas party. ” @xmousepotato’s Ash Tyler / s.c.
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Aw, Coffee no... || @xmousepotato Closed RP Not long ago was it that he’d sleepily been scribbling his name alongside an x and atop a line. Clint had signed his divorce papers with little thought. A lot had been happening, and the last thing to really sink in had been the divorce. Now, weeks later and with a broken coffee machine, Clint pondered the brief interaction he’d had with his Ex-Wife about the ordeal. Did she...feel bad about it? Did HE feel bad about it? Clint twirled the chewed up coffee machine cord and thought. What was he supposed to say? There had to be something right? Most people fought and threw law suits at each other but what were they now? Friends? Colleagues? Inspirations for break up songs? He lifted the coffee machine in his arms and decided. He’d go ask to borrow hers and...ask how she was doing. Yea that was it. He’d ask her to borrow her coffee machine and it’d be the perfect segue to check in. That was it. That was all he was going, checking in. Hopefully he’d get out of this in one piece and with a clearer idea of...what they were now. The archer arrived without calling ahead of time. He took a deep breath and knocked, practicing what he’d say before she would answer, → “Can I borrow your machine...no, no that’s too direct. Hey there Bobbi, I’m here to ask a favor...No, stupid...How’s it goin’--nope. That one’s bad too...”
They're connected because so many people want to eat it and like lol you can't cause it's toxic if you do! But since they're so bright and colorful and smell nice and they have a similar water consistency to good fruit , your monkey brain thinks it's a fruit and encourages you to eat it.
But in the wild aren’t bright and colorful things poisonous?
I’ve tried to make the Google on my phone match the photo and it doesn’t work!! I’m getting frustrated!
“ MATT! If you don’t stop moving, you will be blind and deaf. ” Claire sighed and waited for the man to stop fidgeting. “ I’m serious, stitching the ear is difficult... I might just sew it shut if you don’t stop. ” @xmousepotato / s.c.
@xmousepotato gets a random smol thing
“So, how has the new position been treatin’ you, Lieutenant Tyler? --- I trust you’re fitting right in on Discovery?”
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@xmousepotato (from x)
{ 🦎 } Rory immediately makes a noise that straddles the line between complete and total anxiety and frustrated exasperation as soon as Jesse mentions not wanting to worry them. The idea that Jesse had intended to just sit there eating cheetos like everything was fine and peachy while bleeding any amount is one that gives their frayed nerves and unrelenting brain a lot of horrific, worst-case scenarios to work with, and Rory really doesn’t need any help in that department as is.
All at once, they're moving, carefully ushering Jesse by his uninjured arm's shoulder down onto the nearest seat, and then rushing past him in search of the first aid kit they figure must be stashed somewhere in this safe house--a flash of red has them jumping a few feet in order to swipe at it, and they tuck the kit under one arm before scrubbing viciously at their hands to make sure they're clean--just in case.
They take in the blood-soaked gauze and their skull rattles a little, TV static filling their ears. It’s not as bad as it looks, they tell themself as they unzip the kit and pull out a wad of dressing, folding it with one hand and carefully unwinding the bloodied gauze with the other. They switch the two out quickly, pressing the fresh dressing to the wound just in case it’s still bleeding. They’re not supposed to clean a wound if it’s still oozing blood, they're pretty sure--not that it’s exactly oozing anymore from what they can see, really, which is a relief.
"If it’s ‘not that bad’, then you shouldn’t be so fussy about whether or not you wanna tell me when you’re bleeding,” they break their silence to mutter under their breath. They lapse into a hard silence again, applying pressure with both hands and staring pointedly at the dressing rather than the cowboy himself, relieved at least to find no sudden burst of crimson spreading thick across the surface of the fabric.
They slowly draw in a breath that they hope to god doesn’t sound as stuttery as it feels in the back of their throat. After another long silence, they start muttering again. “...I’m always worried, anyways. About everything. Even things I know I probably shouldn’t worry about, so if you’re trying to make me less worried, you’ve got it the wrong way around.” Their brows knit again, and their frown deepens. The words don’t come out right. After another pause, they’re speaking again. “All my brain does these days is overanalyze and try figure out the worst possible outcome to everything. Whatever’s happening, it’s usually not any worse than what’s going on up here at any given moment.”
“...Tell me right away next time,” they say as solidly as they can, though their voice wobbles a bit towards the end, shoulders hunched as they move one hand away from the dressing to search through the kit again. Their eyes burn imaginary holes in the cloth. “...I’m not so useless in these situations that you’re better off leaving an injury half-treated to spare my feelings.”
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@xmousepotato
[x]
Damian hummed at her answer, nodding to himself as if accepting the answer before he pointed at her feet.
“Please take those off the table. I’m fairly sure Tony knows, even though he’s not here. He has some sort of preternatural sense about these things.”
He paused partway through pouring himself a cup of coffee, frowning to himself.
“Or he has the place bugged.”
After a few moments he shrugged, going on with his cup of coffee. It probably should have bothered him that she was so comfortable wearing his husband’s clothes, but Damian was secure in where he belonged in Tony’s affections so he let it go. Setting the coffee pot back in the maker, he glanced over his shoulder at her, brows raising slightly.
“Breakfast?”
