See? He's supporting this freak financially. A few more of those, and he'll be able to carnage a Wendies. Now, go down there, and get that whisk, you insult to nature.. Ah, there he goes. " It's in the back. " A little cue to reach father, put a little wiggle into it. Is that his finger tapping on the phone? Ignore the sound of the zipper, just keep. Looking. Off the chair, a little waltz down, and the sound of Nate stepping over to the cabinets, legs open, above Kurjack. " Need help? " There's no whisk, but there's a healthy bit of rat poison back there if he gets hungry. " I can help. " He's just scooping a bit of ass with the tip of his shoe. " Anyone ever tell you that you look like a Jacky from the back? "

It's in the back.

"Odjebi ..." Fuck off, he mutters, loudly shoving a pot against the side of the cabinet to punctuate that. For the record, he's only halfheartedly looking when he starts, and then it becomes causing a ruckus, and that becomes realizing there's no whisk in here, at all, so another pot gets a defiant shove.

And he's close to whirling around and snapping the entirety of Nate's leg off.

"There is no looking like anything other than a Kurjak," still from within the cabinet. It's really a wonder his name incites unease. His left hand reaches back, settling against his own hip. "This is no Jacky."

A beat.

"— And you are worthless with your help."

And for the love of God, stop shoving shit around organize, damn you! " Horrible service. " He muttered. Cute in an apron, but barely makes edible food, makes a mess, irritable, and smells of petroleum with a hint of burning oak. " Shut up, Jacky. " Horrible service, he says. Bah.

" You haven't seen my help. " A flick of his tail that slithers down the jeans and swats at the muscle of Kurjak's thigh. It slinks under like a serpen. Just follow the snaking path, it's back there, just a little farther.. " Come on, before I starve to death. " Nate kneels closer, leaning, smug, smiling. " Maybe if you stopped shoving around the pots you might find something. " Or press the button that's connected to the C3 inthe basement.

See? He's supporting this freak financially. A few more of those, and he'll be able to carnage a Wendies. Now, go down there, and get that whisk, you insult to nature.. Ah, there he goes. " It's in the back. " A little cue to reach father, put a little wiggle into it. Is that his finger tapping on the phone? Ignore the sound of the zipper, just keep. Looking. Off the chair, a little waltz down, and the sound of Nate stepping over to the cabinets, legs open, above Kurjack. " Need help? " There's no whisk, but there's a healthy bit of rat poison back there if he gets hungry. " I can help. " He's just scooping a bit of ass with the tip of his shoe. " Anyone ever tell you that you look like a Jacky from the back? "

It's in the back.

"Odjebi ..." Fuck off, he mutters, loudly shoving a pot against the side of the cabinet to punctuate that. For the record, he's only halfheartedly looking when he starts, and then it becomes causing a ruckus, and that becomes realizing there's no whisk in here, at all, so another pot gets a defiant shove.

And he's close to whirling around and snapping the entirety of Nate's leg off.

"There is no looking like anything other than a Kurjak," still from within the cabinet. It's really a wonder his name incites unease. His left hand reaches back, settling against his own hip. "This is no Jacky."

A beat.

"— And you are worthless with your help."

" So when I think of an asshole... " Yeah, he'll hold off on that. This is a very dangerous position to find oneself in. Too many openings, and regeneration doesn't nullify the fact that getting your balls blown off by the gun this bastard is probably hiding somewhere is always in the back of his mind. " Whatever you say, Janet. "

He squats, of course, behind. Gotta' supervise. " Says the fucker who can't find it? Maybe you're old. And blind. And stupid. " God, three-hundred-years and he still has the urge to cat fight at any given moment. It's a sign of attraction, actually. A love language of the mangey, bone-rotten and probably lead-poisoned.

Make me a cake, he asks, all artificially sweet like the criminal amount of frosting Kurjak decides he's going to slather onto this cake he will, in fact, be making. There's a glare Nate's way all the while; since he's at the fridge, he fetches the milk and eggs to bring them over to the counter.

"... And what if my back hurts." Dry, and he knows exactly what Nate's getting at. Out comes a bowl, flour, sugar ... He's pointedly getting everything else before the whisk.

See? He's supporting this freak financially. A few more of those, and he'll be able to carnage a Wendies. Now, go down there, and get that whisk, you insult to nature.. Ah, there he goes. " It's in the back. " A little cue to reach father, put a little wiggle into it. Is that his finger tapping on the phone? Ignore the sound of the zipper, just keep. Looking. Off the chair, a little waltz down, and the sound of Nate stepping over to the cabinets, legs open, above Kurjack. " Need help? " There's no whisk, but there's a healthy bit of rat poison back there if he gets hungry. " I can help. " He's just scooping a bit of ass with the tip of his shoe. " Anyone ever tell you that you look like a Jacky from the back? "

@werepyr: i wanna see the gordon ramsey of airfryers do his thang in an apron only, let's go make me something that won't kill me.

"You're far too bold, making these demands ..." Says the man tugging the loose towel off from around his waist while he's grabbing the apron off of the hook. Carelessly, the towel's dropped onto the floor, and he slips the apron on, reaching back to tie it around his waist.

"— Use your manners." Like he's not already appropriately dressed and opening the refrigerator.

Oh, no antifreeze? Is the pope visiting? " Make me a cake, pretty please. I put the whisk under cabinet. Deep in there. " Of course.